Much Ado about Nothing

Much Ado About Nothing


By: Max

[Disclaimer: see chapter 1]

Chapter 2: Bossing around the boss

Come on now, old broom, get dressed
these old rags will do just fine!
You\'re a slave in any case,
and today you will be mine!
May you have two legs,
and a head on top,
take the bucket, quick
hurry, do not stop!

Go, I say,
Go on your way,
do not tarry,
water carry,
let it flow abundantly,
and prepare a bath for me!


“The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe,
Translation by Brigitte Dubiel


The visit itself was no surprise for the headmaster. Hermione and Minerva had hardly reached his antechamber, as the door already was opened. Albus Dumbledore stood in the threshold, beaming at Hermione and gripping both her hands. “Hermione - or must I call you Doctor Granger now?” He twinkled down at her over the rim of his golden half moon speles les which where once again slipped down on his crooked nose and now balanced on the tip of it.

Since she’d left Hogwarts Hermione had seen the headmaster only once - and from distance - by a celebration at the ministry. Since then she’d obviously forgotten how tall he was, so she looked up to him, almost amazed - and felt a profound relief. The years since the war had been good to him. He’d obviously recuperated from his injuries and without the burden he’d borne - not only as headmaster, but as leader of the resistance - he finally seemed to be getting enough rest. The dark shadows under his eyes were gone, he wasn’t as pale as during the war, but had acquired a slight tan which made his azure blue eyes looking even brighter. His hair had grown again - it was now at shoulder length again, but kept together in a pony-tail. The beard was gone for good and Hermione liked it - with the shaved chin the headmaster looked definitelars ars younger. Yet the robes - at this day forest green brocade with golden ornaments and a matching under robe with high collar and a row of tiny, golden buttons - were as imposing and glorious as in former times.

Hermione, who’d actually found her image in the mirror this morning quite nice, suddenly felt underdressed in her short, blue skirt, the white shirt and the plain, blue robe. If she really was to become Dumbledore’s apprent she she’d have to buy herself a few new robes or she’d always look like the poor relation.

Dumbledore’s smile was still infectious. Hermione suddenly found herself smiling back. “It’s good to be at Hogwarts, Headmaster,” she said - and meant it. Only a minute before she’d found McGonagall’s idea harebrained, but now, by looking in Dumbledore’s eyes - she remembered how she’d sat once at his bed and how they’d danced at the leaving fest. She’d felt it then and now it was there again: Admiration, affection, trust - and more. Hermione couldn’t define it, but she made a mental note: Later she would have to sort this “more” out. But now - there had been the question of the address and she had to answer it. “No, Headmaster, you don’t have to call me ‘Doctor Granger’. It feels still a bit strange for me. I always think people mean one of my parents - and expect them to ask me in the next moment if I’m really going to extract their teeth. So I’d rather like you call me ‘Hermione’.”

“Only under the condition that you drop the ‘headmaster’.” Grinning at Minerva McGonagall, he proceeded: “Am I right in reckoning that you want to tell me that Hermione is to become a member of our staff now? That makes for ‘Albus’ then.” He made an inviting gesture. “But do come in. I suppose you have had tea with Minerva already, Hermione. So what about a nice glass of pumpkin juice?”

“Thank you very much, but no - I have had tea and I don’t feel thirsty,” Hermione answered.

Minerva marched over to the sofa in front of the fire place. Seating down there, she sighed: “Albus, you know I hate it when you act omniscient.”

“But I didn’t,” he defended himself, leading Hermione to a cosy chair next to the sofa. “Yet I won’t let you get the credit for hiring Hermione, Minerva. I asked her years before …”

“You did?” Minerva looked at him. “And you never told me?” Now her gaze went to Hermione, almost a bit accusingly.

“I was still a student back then, therefore I didn’t take it very seriously,” Hermione heard herself say - and bite in her tongue. “Sorry, Headmaster … I didn’t mean …”

“Albus!” he corrected softly. “And I know already that no one takes me seriously. I always need Minerva to show people that sometimes I really do mean something. So - let&#;s t;s talk about your position here. I take it you’re to do a post doc thesis?”

“Uh …” Hermione looked for help at Professor McGonagall.

Minerva seemed to be enjoying the situation to the fullest. Stretching like the cat she was able to become, she smiled at her superior. “This time your famous omniscience fails you, Albus. Our dear Hermione wants to become a transfiguration mistress.”

“Oh?” He nodded approvingly. “Good choice, Hermione. I’ve always found an an apprenticeship with its personal bond between master and pupil makes for good education. And in your case one can only congratulate the master who’s to get you. I read your thesis and I was impressed.”

Now Minerva looked like the cat that’d just seen an unwatched cream pot. “I’m glad you think so, dearest Albus,” she purred.

Hermione wondered at how easily he fell in the trap Minerva had made up for him. He obviously hadn’t the hteshtest clue that Minerva wanted him to become Hermione’s master, but beamed at her with the pride of a father: “Aren’t we a good example of it? It’s more then 50 years since you were my apprentice and you’re still bossing me around.”

“Only I can’t get you back to serious work!” Minerva rebuked him. “To do so I would have to kick you at least once a day.”

“What a pity you don’t have time for it!” He grinned like a boy who’d managed to escape from class.

Minerva smiled again. Looking down at her hands - and Hermione, watching it, suddenly saw an image of a cat, licking her claws before clutching a mouse with it - she said with her sweetest voice: “It’s not only about lack of time, dear Albus. Getting you to become serious needs the energy and enthusiasm of the young.”

Now Albus finally got the message. Hermione watched how he wrinkled his forehead, then he shook his head twice as if he had to get his brain cells back in working order. Sighing, he looked at Hermione. “You don’t want to do that, Hermione,” he said wearily. “Whatever Minerva told you to persuade you - don’t believe her. She found her time as my apprentice draining. She nagged all day at me, saying I was sloppy, lazy, too playful …”

“… too easy to distract, needing at least oerioerious dressing down a week and driving one crazy in being unpunctual,” Minerva finished for him. “I’ve told Hermione.”

“And that’s why the girl wants to become your apprentice, Minerva!” Albus said. “Hermione, you know: Minerva is neatly, well-organized, punctual, determined …”

“… and not suiting Hermione at all,” Minerva interrupted him. “We’re too alike to become a good team. I’m afraid we’re even alike in our short-comings. We both tend to stick too much to the academic way of doing things. Hermione - and in this Professor Bellini who taught her the last years agrees with me - needs to unfold her creativity. I don’t think she could do so with me. But with you she can, and will, Albus.”

Hermione suddenly felt a bit unhappy. It was so obvious that Dumbledore didn’t want her as an apprentice! Her pride revolted against the idea to beca bua burden to him, some one he only bore with because Minerva McGonagall had persuaded him to. As little as she wanted to disappoint her favourite professor - getting her apprenticeship with an unwilling master she found even worse. Clearing her throat she, therefore, said awkwardly: “Sorry, Professor McGonagall, but I don’t want the headmaster to take me up if he doesn’t really want to. I know he’s a busy man …”

Two pairs of eyes - one green and irritated, the other one blue and amused - looked at her. Then Albus smiled. “I must admit I’m a bit surprised. I didn’t intend to take up an apprentice again. But the more I think about, the better I like it. Minerva’s right - I should start to work again. There are a few things I’d like to develop, but knowing myself I need help for doing so. Research and academic talk were never much to my liking …”

“But didn’t you write a book about the use of dragoon blood in potions? That’s alchemy - and alchemy is all about research, isn’t it?” Hermione asked.

“That’s why I finally became a transfiguration master,” Albus laughed. “I was bored to no end by all the research in alchemy. But you always were a bookworm …”

“I like research,” Hermione answered.

“Minerva is right - we’d make a good team.”bus bus looked at Minerva. “But in providing me with an apprentice you’ll get to do something too: You supervise her education as a teacher. I don’t want the poor lass to find herself running between Skylla and Charybdis, getting orders to the left from me and to the right from you. And I don’t want myself getting a tongue lashing from you once a week because my apprentice ‘messes’ around with your precious pupils.”

“Of course I’ll supervise her teaching,” Minerva assured him. “I actually would have liked to offer it myself - I’m really not keen about your dabbling around with my students.”

“Isn’t she nice?” Albus grinned at Hermione. “Hearing her one could think I was an absolute disaster as a teacher.”

“You weren’t - at least in the time you really taught,” Minerva said firmly. “I needed some time to get used to you and your teaching style …”

Albus laughed out loud. And And how you got used to it!” He looked at Hermione. “After three months she told me she’d drop transfiguration directly after her OWLs - if she’d make it through the OWLs with having a teacher as unprofessional as me. Her Scottish temper was in full swing - she even asked me if I was able to read because I’d obviously never looked in a book …”

Minerva blushed and looked very severe at him. “You provoked me! I came to talk seriously with you and you only teased me.”

“You needed a bit teasing, dear Minerva,” said Albus, sounding very amused. “You still do sometimes …”

“Oh, Albus!” Minerva turned her eyes - she’d obviously have had this conversation more then once with him. “Yet I got used to you. After a while I learned that you’re a very able teacher - as long as you take teaching seriously. Unfortunately, when deputizing for me you never do.” Looking at Hermione, she said: “As I was last time away for a day, he decorated my class room new. He taught the fifth years colour transfiguration - and so everything in my room turned pink. And he taught surface transfiguration to the sixth years - so I got my chair and my desk covered in fluffy, pink fur! My room looked as if Dolores Umbridge tried to make it her living room and it took an entire day and four classes to clear up the mess!”

Albus giggled. “It was fun …”

“Albus!” Minerva shook her head. “Teaching isn’t all about fun.”

“But when having fun the children learn more,” he said.

“Oh sweet Merlin - what have I done to deserve that?” Minerva sighed. “But back to our subject. I think Hermione should teach the Ravenclaw-Slytherin third, the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff second and perhaps the Ravenclaw-Slytherin sixth years.”

“Slytherins?” Hermione shuddered a bit. “You know, I’m muggleborn …”

“Yes, I do.” Minerva said firmly. “But the Slytherin sixth years are quite nice and the third year - there you’ll get perhaps one or two arrogant little Slytherin princes. But I think you’andlandle them. As soon as one dares to breath something about you being ‘muggleborn’, just take 25 points away and send him to scrub bedpans at the infirmary without magic.”

“And how will I survive Snape’s revenge?” Hermione asked, one eye brow rose.

Albus laughed. “Don’t worry, Hermione. Severus bellows, but he rarely bites. And if he tries, I’ll be there too. And I’m quite used to having rows with him. We quarrel at least once a week …” Looking at Minerva, he said: “It’s settled then, isn’t it? Hermione ….” Once again the blue, cheerful gaze was directed at her. “When will we start?”

Hermione swallowed. Ten minutes before she’d feared she’d have to crawl back to the university - and now her future master and his deputy were already discussing her teaching! “Actually … I’m free …” she stammered. “I only have to clear up a few things - like getting books back to the library and packing - then I could come …”

“Fine.” Albus gripped her hand and squeezed it. “I’m looking forward to working with you.” Rising up, he marched to his desk and looked in a rather worn, black book laying there. “Hmm … “ He wrinkled his forehead. “It’s Monday, today, isn’t it? At Wednesday I’ll be all day in a conference. The day after I’m at Prague to superve a mastery exam. Hmm …” He took his glasses down and massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “Hermione, would you have time tomorrow for a visit to the ministry? We have to see old Cracklebell to register your apprenticeship. If I owl him now, he surely can get us in tomorrow …”

“Oh - ah - yes, of course …” Hermione found his tempo rather overwhelming.

Minerva obviously noticed. “Albus,” she said crisply, “I think you’re once again two steps ahead. There are a few questions you should clear with Hermione before owling old Cracklebell - like her wage and her quarters. I think an instructor’s earning will suffice - and we can use the free budget for assistant teachers …”

He turned around, shaking his head. “No, Minerva, I don’t think so. Hermione will be my apprentice and that means, that I’ll pay out of my funds. For teaching at Hogwarts the school will provide quarters and grub.” He smiled at Hermione. “100 galleons per month for the first year, 120 for the second, 150 for the third - would that suit you? And for earnings from published books we’ll make a special agreement.”

Hermione swallowed. 100 Galleons - that was double what she’d get for an assistant’s job at the university. With 10lleolleons and free housing and feeding she would be richer than ever before. Beaming she said: “Of course that would suit me! It would do very well. But I actually don’t need so much …”

“Your modesty honours you, but you’ll surely find a way to spend the money. Remind me tomorrow when we’re in Diagon Alley to give an order to Gringott’s …” Albus sounded a bit muffled because he had bent down to rummage in a drawer of his desk.

Minerva patted Hermione’s hand. “It will be wonderful to have you back at Hogwarts, dear!”

“I’ll be quite happy myself …” Hermione still couldn’t believe her luck. Back at Hogwarts, well paid - and the apprentice of Albus Dumbledore! Working with him - it would be fascinating, she was sure.

Albus had found what he’d searched for. He laid a golden coin on his desk and pulled his wand out of his sleeve. “What do you think, Minerva? A lioness?” he asked.

Minerva nodded. “What else? Hermione doesn’t know about her animagnus form yet, so a lioness would be best. But please, Albus - don’t make it a playing cub! She’s quite adult …”

“Spoilsport!” Albus grinned and looked at Hermione. “If memory doesn’t fail me - you’ve got a middle name, do you? Jeanette or …”

“Jane,” Hermione said, rising up herself. Her curiosity made her step to his desk and look at the coin.

Albus laughed at her. “You’re looking like a living question mark, Hermione Jane. Didn’t you read all about the master-apprenticeship-relationship? Tradition demands that we’ll share a token - and I’m just about to conjure one.” He directed his wand at the coin and murmured an incantation. The golden piece jumped on the desk, hovering for a few seconds in the air and glowing in green and red. Then it fell with a melodious “clunk” back on the wooden desk. Albus once again tapped his wand against it. The coin broke in two pieces, each one with a little hole in it. Albus took both pieces and presented them to Hermione. On the one half she saw a falcon, flapping his wings over the initial “APWBD”. The other half showed a trotting lioness over the letters “HJG”.

Albus gave Hermione the piece with the falcon “That’s yours - my animagnus is a falcon.”

“It’s beautiful!” Hermione touched the falcon, stroking with one finger over it.

“And it’s quite useful - my animagnus form and this coin. If you need me, you can send the token to me. You only have to touch it and to say my name, then it will work like a kind of portkey, coming to me,” Albus explained. “Mine works the same way - and if you’d get it, you’d only need your wand to do a tracking charm on it. So you can find me …”

Minerva sighed. “At least if he wants to be found. He teased me once in sending his token. I ran through the entire castle and couldn’t find him - even not with the tracking charm because whenever I cast it, he’d changed location. After almost two hours I got it - he’d made himself invisible. It really was maddening.”

Albus opened the first buttons at his collar and fished a golden chain out. “I only did so because Minerva used her token three times to kick me out of bed!” he said. “She deserved revenge.”

“What should I have done?” Minerva defended herself. “I needed you and I couldn’t find you. And I only used the token when you …” She blushed and fell silent, looking down at the tips of her polished, black shoes. Clearing her throat, she started new: “I mean, I only used it when you slept at your brother’s place …”

“… or was otherwise engaged.” Albus had his chain out now and holding it at his hands, he put the token on it. “You can’t imagine how glad I was when Minerva finally fell in love with Augustus. Her having a private life of her own gave me back the chance to have a little privacy too.” He smiled at Hermione. “I hope you’re not as severe a disciplinarian as Minerva was. Have mercy with me, Hermione!”

“I think you’re by now old enough to spend your nights in your bed, Albus Dumbledore,” Minerva said crisply.

Albus raised an eyebrow. “Am I?” he asked amused. “But you won’t make Hermione come up at the nights to tuck me in? You know, I like bedtime stories and sweet kisses before sleeping …”

“One word more and I’ll send you Filch to tuck you in!” Minerva threatened him. Looking at her watch she continued: “Besides: It’s twenty past twelve now. You’re supposed to attend a luncheon at the Auror’s Academy at twelve which means: You’re already late again.”

Albus sighed. “Oh Minerva - what would I do without you?”

“You’d miss half of your appointments,” Minerva stated dryly. Looking at Hermione, she smiled. “But don’t you worry! I’ll get him punctually to the ministry tomorrow. At least he shan’t make you wait to start your new partnership. You’ll get enough of it over the next three years.”


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


Minerva had kept her promise. As Hermione - panting because she, herself, was rather late - had rushed into the hall of the ministry, Albus was already there, cheerfully chatting with a blonde witch who’d looked admiringly up at him.

Hermione understood the blonde’s interest in her soon-to-be-master. He looked once again quite a sight in blue and gold and matching fur hat. While approaching him, Hermione had felt something like pride. She’d learned - hard and often enough with tears and cursing the unfairness of it - that even after the war being muggleborn was a handicap in the wizard’s world. Although most people didn’t admit it anymore: The wizard’s worls sts still ruled by the old pureblood families and their network of relations, built up over generations of intermarrying and dealing with each other. It was hard for outsiders to find a place in this world and being a witch didn’t help either. Just the contrary. The heads of the old families were mostly ancient wizards, born and raised as Victorians, so the magical community was still much more old-fashioned as the muggle world. Hermione’s boyfriend Victor, who wanted a wife to stay at home and raise the children, was certainly not an exception, but with his ideas about having a good little housewife he was simply an average wizard.

That was one of the reasons why becoming Albus Dumbledore’s apprentice meant such a lot to Hermione. By taking her up he didn’t give her only a chance to learn from him, but made her, finally, a part of the magical world. Her girlfriend Ginevra Weasley, daughter of an old, but poor wizard&7;s 7;s family, had seen that at once. When she’d heard about Hermione’s new position, she’d commented on it with saying: “My, my - now you could even marry into one of the big families. Becoming the headmaster’s apprentice is almost as good as if he’d adopted you. And considering that you are only the second witch he ever found good enough to work with - Hermione, you’ve hit the jackpot!”

Unfortunately Ginny seemed to be the only one of her friends who saw it like that. Hermione wouldn’t get Victor’s support. She’d sent him an owl, telling him that she’d be moving to Hogwarts in two days, but she hadn’t gotten an answer yet.

However, at least she’d experienced something she knew she’d laugh about in months to come. As Albus had led her in the antechamber of the office where the apprenticeship was to be registered, Hermione had seen a familiar face: Cho Chang - the girl who Hermione during her years as a student in Hogwarts had appreciated as much as a severe toothache. “Cow Chang” - as Ginny had rechristened her - had been Harry’s first love and she had treated him badly. That was one of the reasons Hermione couldn’t stand her. The other was that the pretty Asian was the very model of everything what Hermione detested in women. Though she’d probably got some brain, she obviously never used it for more than to develop new make-up charms. For all other matters she used her pretty smile and her well-equipped body - and mostly she got what she wanted with it. And what was first on her list of wishes she’d already shown at school: Wealth and social rank - best provided by a husband from one of the old, rich families.

Obviously her quest for getting one hadn’t been successful yet. Hermione hadn’t been able to suppress a smirk as she’d discovered that Cho Chang worked as a secretary for the magical bonds registrar. And her face when she’d learned why Hermione and Albus had come! It had been priceless! She’d smiled with showing all her perfect white teeth as Albus had entered - he obviously was, despite his age, on her list of potential husbands. He probably even ranked in the “big catch” section for his fame - and so Cho Chang had immediately jumped to her feet and had come around her desk, offering him not only a good opportunity to take a deep look in her rather generous décolletage, but on her - admittedly - perfect long leg in a short skirt and high heels. Hermione she’d entirely ignored by purring: “Headmaster Dumbledore - what a pleasure to see you. What can I do for you?” She’d sounded as if her offer included a quickie on her desk and serving breakfast in his bed without wearing more than a drop of Chanel No. 5 behind her ear.

For a moment Hermione had felt an urgent need to hex her soon-to-be-master. He’d smiled back and - she’d really have liked to punch him in the ribs for that - he’d even said: “You’re looking ravishing, Miss Chang.” But before he could start something more or Hermione could start to think of a jinx she could do to him without being too obvious, Cho Chang’s superior had saved the day. He’d stormed out of his office, beaming and crying in delight: “Albus - I’d never thought I’d live to see the day you take an apprentice again! And this …” he’d looked at Hermione questioningly, “is the lucky one, I suppose?”

Hermione had granted herself a quick glance at Cho - and it had been worth it! By the word “apprentice” her jaw had dropped, almost falling in her cleavage. And it got even better: As her boss had shook Hermione’s hand, he’d said: “Considering how picky Albus is when it comes to choosing apprentices, you must be something like the eighth wonder of the world.”

Cho Chang had looked as if she’d boil and Hermione wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam coming out of her ears. And perhaps it had? Hermione missed it, because Albus had laid a soft hand on her shoulder, smiling down at her. “She is the eighth world wonder, Galahad: Minerva’s star pupil, Bellini’s first ever summa cum laude doctor, probably the most powerful witch of her generation and besides …” His blue eyes had radiated so much warmth and affection Hermione had felt as if she’d become wrapped entirely in it, “… she’s a most delightful young lady and a pleasure to be with.”

The tiny registrar had laughed. “Huh, Albus! What am I to register? A marriage or an apprenticeship?”

Albus had laughed back. “If I were a few decades younger, it would be a good question. But we don’t want Hermione to become stuck with a barmy old codger like me - therefore I’d say we’ll settle for an apprenticeship.”

It hadn’t been the first time Hermione had heard him referring to himself as a “barmy old codger”, but suddenly she didn’t like it anymore. Of course - she was aware of his advanced age. And she remembered that as a child she’d seen him as ancient. But then she’d found even her then 50 year old father ancient!

When had it started that she didn’t see Albus as an old man anymore? Had it only been yesterday? Yes - there had been a moment in his office. As he’d risen up to go over to his desk, she’d noticed that he moved with the grace of a dancer. And the way he held his shoulders and the always erect back - no, he wasn’t an old man, bent from age. And while thinking about his shoulders Hermione had suddenly remembered how she’d sat at his sickbed once. It had been the first and only time in her long acquaintance she’d seen him without his heavy robes. She remembered well how smooth his skin had looked and how well defined his biceps and the shoulder muscles were.

No, he wasn’t an old man, but still a very interesting and handsome one. And his blue eyes, so alive and sparkling! And the long, dexterous hands and his always a bit husky voice which nevertheless held so much commanding power …

They were walking now through Diagon Alley after they’d visited the wizard’s bank Gringott’s, where Albus had placed an order to transfer Hermione’s earnings every month from his to her vault. Afterwards he’d asked her to go lunch at “Ildiko’s”, the posh Hungarian wizard restaurant at the end of the street. While going there his attention was occupied by people greeting him - after half a century at Hogwarts, with almost every British wizard going to school there, and with Albus being the decorated hero of two wars, he was one of the most famous people in the wizard’s world. So he hardly could cross a street without being stopped by people at least twice. Hermione already found it a bit tiresome and wondered how he kept smiling and talking. She actually felt like she needed a moment’s rest to think. There was her left wrist, still feeling a bit numb. She gripped it with her right hand, remembered how only half one hour ago the registrar had scratched the vein there with his wand. The bonding between a master and his apprentice based on ancient blood magic, therefore both parties involved had to sign their entry in the register with a drop of their blood. Although the old wizard had healed Hermione’s wrist immediately after the signing, she still felt a light sting - and a flutter in her stomach when she thought about it. She’d known - of course she had after reading every book available on the subject - how seriously apprenticeships were taken in the magical world. This was why she had wanted it so much.

But now she suddenly felt a wave of fear and self-doubt washing over her. What if she wasn’t able to live up to Albus’ expectations? By signing the bond he’d taken - at least in the eyes of other wizards - responsibility for her. What if she failed? She was, after all, a muggleborn and all the reading in the world couldn’t give her the regal security with which Albus and other purebloods, like Minerva or Severus Snape, moved in the wizard’s world. Hermione - as much as she loved being a witch, as much as she loved magic - still was searching for her way in this world and she often felt rather torn between her respect and liking of its history, and her feeling that some of the highly-valued traditions were simply tiresome, overestimated and old-fashioned.

During her years at the university she’d thought she’d found a way of dealing with it. She’d started to “cheat” a bit - first only in little things such as using muggle pens and paper instead of the always-dripping quills and the parchments which had such an annoying tendency to roll up at the wrong moment. Then she’d developed a way to create something like magical-laden batteries which made electric devices useable in the magical world. By now, she was used to working with a computer and listening to music from a CD player and she’d even developed a liking for watching TV now and then.

They arrived at the restaurant and sitting at a table opposite her master who studied the menu, Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. He’d told her that he’d already had given orders for the house elves to prepare rooms for her at Hogwarts - and as his apprentice she was to live near him in the main tower. The lab she’d work in was on the floor above his office and her flat was over his chambers at the top of the tower. Hermione wasn’t sure how she would settle in. Sure - she could take her computer and the other electric devices to her parent’s place, using it only when she was there for a break. But on the other hand - the computer she’d miss and not only for the fun the internet provided her with, but for the information she got there for her work.

Albus was through with the menu. Smiling at Hermione he said: “You know what you want already?”

Hermione looked at the menu, but couldn’t figure out the strange name. The only thing familiar to her was goulash and so she said: “I think I’ll have a goulash …”

Albus took the menu out of her hand. “I don’t think so,” he said smiling. “The landlady here - Ildiko, that is - is a true Hungarian. Therefore she insists of having her dishes named in proper Hungarian what means: What’s called ‘goulash’ here is a soup with meat in it. What you want is called ‘porkoelt’.”

“Well …” Hermione smiled back at him. “Then I’ll have porkoelt …”

Albus grinned. “Which kind?” he asked. “Pork, lamb, turkey, goose, chicken, beef? Or horse? I’ve heard horse would taste nicely …”

“Iih!” Hermione made a face. “I don’t want to eat a horse!”

&0;Yo0;You don’t have to. If I may suggest something? Join me in a chicken a’l red. It’s a roast chicken with a sauce from cream and papricash - rather delicious!”

“Papricash?” Hermione studied him. “You speak Hungarian?”

“A bit - I knew once a nice Hungarian witch …”

Just at this moment a dark haired witch in a white robe with red and green embroidery approached the table. Smiling at Albus she said: “You always liked learning languages best when becoming taught by a native speaker. And it’s said you got a very quick grasp when laying in a bed …”

Albus had rose as he’d seen her. “Ildiko …” he greeted her now. “You’re ruining my reputation!”

The landlady stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I just thought I should warn the young lady …” Smiling at Hermione, she proceeded. “Beware of him! He may want to teach you a language!”

Hermione couldn’t resist a giggle. She remembered Albus standing by the bay of the Hogwarts lake, conversing with a merman in his language. The memory made for an image popping in her mind: Albus, carrying a mermwithwith a fishtail on his arms, purring “Let’s do something fishy!” in her ears. Fighting against the urge to laugh out loud, Hermione said: “As long as he doesn’t want to teach me mermen’s language …”

“I wouldn’t wonder if he’d try!” The elder witch offered Hermione her hand. “I’m Ildiko Bertok, the landlady of this place and an old friend of Albus.”

The way she looked at him by naming herself an “old friend” - Hermione had to fight against a grin now. She’d obviously just met a member of the probably rather big “Former affairs of Albus Dumbledore club”. Taking the offered hand and shaking it, she said: “How nice to meet you. I’m Hermione Granger.”

“Hermione is my new apprentice,” Albus added and Hermione liked very much that he sounded proud of it.

“Oh?” The landlady studied Hermione interested. “You must be good.”

“She is.” Albus saw that Hermione blushed and laid his hand on her shoulder. “She just isn’t used to getting credit by my name. She’s very much her own person.”

The Hungarian witch nodded. “Ah so. That’s good for you …” she said, looking again at Hermione. “You’ll need to be strong when standing next to Albus. He throws a huge shadow.”

“I think Hermione will get sun enough,” Albus said determined. “She’s very bright herself.”

The landlady got the meaning. She came back to business. “What can I bring you?”

“We’d like to have some of your famous chicken a’l red.” Albus ordered.

“Fine. Wine with it?”

“Hermione?” Albus asked.

Hermione shook her head. “No, thank you - not at lunch.”

“Same here. We take mineral water then - and later coffee,” Albus said.

Well - give the cook a few minutes …” The landlady disappeared.

Albus sat down again. Smiling at Hermione he said: “It will ebb down. In the moment people are surprised, but they’ll come to get used to us as a team.”

“I hope so.” Hermione played with the hem of the tablecloth.

“It bothers you?” Albus asked softly.

“No, no - it’s not about the people …” Hermione looked up to him. “I’m the friend of the boy-who-defeated-Voldemort. That draws some attention, so I’m used to it. Yet …” Hermione decided to prove her Gryffindor bravery in a direct approach. “What do you think about muggle inventions - like pens and computers, master?”

The formal address made him look questioningly at her. But then he smiled and pulled something out of an inner pocket of his robe. Laying a fountain pen on the table, he asked cheerful: “Does this answer your question, Doctor Granger?”

“You don’t use a quill?” Hermione looked at the miracle who was her master.

“I have one on my desk - it makes a nice decoration. But I was never fond of using quills. Wherever I put the ink pot - I always managed to get ink from it on my sleeve, which makes for a big mess. And you should have heard Minerva when I made an ink spot on a degree certificate once!” He put the pen back in his robe. “Do you have a computer?” he asked eagerly.

“Yes,” Hermione answered, feeling suddenly cheerful too. “I own a notebook. That’s a small computer. And I’ve developed a device to make it work in magical surroundings. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to bring it with me to Hogwarts.”

“Dear girl, I certainly don’t mind.” He sounded as delighted as a boy who’d just had been promised to get a new toy. “Perhaps you’ll even find it in your mind some day to show it to me? I always wanted to have a closer look at such a thing.”

“And here I’ve always thought it was Arthur Weasley who’s fascinated by muggle technology,” Hermione laughed.

“He’s not the only one, my dear. Besides: I’m the one who was once married to a muggle and so I learned something about the muggle world. I’m even able to drive a car …”

Hermione was aware that she probably looked like a goldfish out of its bowl. She didn’t know what she found more amazing: The fact that he’d been married once or the idea that Albus Dumbledore, who to her always had looked like the very model of a wizard had chose a muggle for a wife.

He obviously found her puzzled look amusing. “Your expression reminds me of my former wife. She looked just like you when I told her that I was a wizard.”

“She didn’t know from the start?” Hermione’s eyes became even rounder.

“Of course not,” he said. “She met me at a muggle’s party. I had a friend - unfortunately he’s long dead now - who was headmaster of a muggle boarding school and married to an actress. My wife was a colleague and friend of hers. I met her when I attended a first night with my friend and his wife - and of course, at the first night party I didn’t mention that I’m a wizard.”

“And when did you tell her?” Hermione’s inborn curiosity was in full swing.

He chuckled. “When she proposed to me. We’d known each other a few weeks, we were madly in love with each other - only I hadn’t found an opportunity to tell her that I’m not working at my friend’s school. But then we spent a weekend on Bristol - she was there for the summer season. And one night, walking at the beach after her performance in theatre, she told me …,” He smiled in remembering, “You know, she was always very straight-forward - something I liked very much about her. And in a way you remind me of her … anyway: She told me that she’d been paid handsomely and therefore she could afford to marry a poor schoolteacher. That’s when I thought it necessary to tell her my little secret …”

“And what did she say?”

“She told me I shouldn’t pull her leg.” Albus laughed. “She didn’t believe it.”

Hermione laughed too. “Probably she felt like my mother on the day my Hogwarts letter came. Until you appeared, she was absolutely convinced about being set up by a friend …”

“She still was when I came to your house,” Albusembeembered. “You believed quicker as her.”

“Of course. I’d already felt that I wasn’t like other children - though I must say that I found your appearance pretty overwhelming, too.” Hermione smiled by thinking of the day in the summer of her eleventh year.

First the letter - she remembered the thick parchment and the old-fashioned hand writing pretty well. The letter had told that she was to attend Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft and if she or her parents would wanted to have more information or felt the need to talk with the headmaster or his deputy, they were to drop a note to a mailbox in London.

Hermione’s parents had laughed loudly and together they’d composed a letter, saying that they’d love to have a talk with the headmaster (Hermione’s mother had said: “Why should we do with the deputy if we can have the big head? For Grangers only the best!”) and that he should come round at any time he’d find convenient.

Over the next three days every knock at the door of the house had sent the Grangers in fit of giggles and laughter. “Darling, get the newt’s eye cocktail out of the fridge - the wizard’s there!” had become a running gag in the family - much to Hermione’s dismay because she’d hoped that the letter was genuine.

And then, on the third evening after sending the note, someone had knocked on the door again, but this time Hermione, who’d opened it, hadn’t seen of the post man or a neighbour, but a white haired stranger in an elegant blue suit, a pristine white silken shirt and perfectly polished black shoes. Only his tie - Hermione first hadn’t believed her eyes looking at it: It was blue silk - so far, so suiting. But the silk was embroidered with tiny, golden rubber ducks - which were moving!

And then the stranger’s voice - smoky, a bit hoarse, but melodious, warm and sounding like the voice of a man who was used to being in command. “Good evening, Miss Granger. My name is Albus Dumbledore. I’m the headmaster of Hogwarts.”

Hermione had blushed - not because of him, but from hearing her mother who stood in the hall and whispered to her husband: “Who ever made up this prank put a lot of effort in it!” And then she’d smiled broadly and had approached the door, offering the stranger her hand: “I’m Hermione’s mother, Doctor Dorothy Granger. Do come in, Mister Dumbledore. I’ve always wanted to meet a wizard.” And with her voice dripping with sarcasm she’d proceeded: “Oh pity - you don’t have a hat? I’ve actually hoped you could get us a white bunny. Hermione’s little sister wishes so much for one and I couldn’t find time to buy one yet …”

Albus had softly smiled. “It will be my pleasure to help out.” He’d pulled out a handkerchief - blue silk with a monogram - and his wand. Looking at Hermione, he’d given the handkerchief to her. “Would you care to assist me? Just hold the handkerchief for me - close! We don’t want to chase your sister’s bunny through the entire house.” A flick of his wand, a murmured incantation and then a flash and Hermione had felt warm, fluffy fur under her hands and looking down, she’d seen a white bunny with brown ears who blinked a bit confusedly at her.

Her mother had got eyes like saucers. “Wow - you’re really good!”

“I’m a wizard, Doctor Granger.” Albus had directed his wand against his body and whispered something. Suddenly his suit had changed to a dark blue robe with gold and his beard had grown and the silver mane had flooded down his back. Amused he’d asked: “Do you need more demonstrations, Doctor Granger?”


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


Victor’s return had been the usual routine: After two days of sulking he’d appeared at Hermione’s door with a big bunch of flowers, his most charming smile, an apology and the promise to be more patient in the future. Hermione’s reaction had been the usual too: A sigh, an “Oh, Victor, why is this always so difficult with us?” but then she’d kissed him back and she’d accepted his invitation for dinner.

As much as Hermione was aware that quidditch champion Victor Krum was not the man she wanted to share the rest of her life with - he’d been her first love and her first lover and she felt connected to him. In the ten years since they’d first meet, Victor had become a part of her life - and mostly he was a pleasant part of her life. It was nice to cuddle with him, it was sometimes nice to have him in bed. Sure - sex with Victor had never been an earth shattering, passionate affair. But Hermione had always been sceptical girl; she had never believed the romantic stuff her dormitory mates used to read and to drool about. Hermione even didn’t like the idea of becoming “consumed” entirely by “the love of her life”. What good could that could have been to her? She had other things to do than to sigh about a man and to keep herself busy for hours preparing to meet him and thinking about him and with talking in indefinite length with her girlfriends about her last rendezvous with him.

Love, so Hermione had decided years ago, was something for her spare time. But she’d rather become an old spinster than to allow love to rule her life. And besides: Was what so bad about becoming an old spinster? Hermione liked the idea better than to think of herself as a housewife who only talked about recipes and children’s sickness anymore. As an old spinster she could at least have a career of her own - and she would never feel like the doormat of an entire family.

Nevertheless: After dinner Victor had asked for a “coffee” at her place, and Hermione had smiled approvingly. Sex with Victor would be something familiar - and she needed something what make her feel a bit like the “old” Hermione after the last two days in which her life had been turned upside down. So she’d apparated back with him to her almost empty flat - all her books and belongings were already shrunk and packed for the transport to Hogwarts - took his hands and led him to the bedroom. Standing in front of her bed, Victor had kissed her and Hermione, never one for patiently waiting when action was asked, had started to unbutton the shirt he was wearing under his light robe. Victor had understood this as he should - he’d pulled her sweater over her head, opened her bra and had bent down to kiss her breasts.

Hermione, looking down at his dark head, had discovered that she was really glad to make-up with him once again. His scent, his bony, but firm body against hers, his tenderness - it was nice to have him and the idea of sinking down on the bed with him …

“Hermione!” He looked up at her, his tone and eyes accusing. “Vat iz dat?” As always when he was angry his accent became strong and heavy. “Why do you wear zat?” He held the half coin with the falcon that she’d hung on a chain around her neck in his fingers.

Hermione didn’t understand why he looked so shocked. “As I’ve told you, Victor: I’m Dumbledore’s apprentice now. That’s …” she looked at the coin, “… is the token he gave me.”

Victor wrinkled his forehead. “APWBD,” he read the letters on the golden piece. “What does zis mean?”

Hermione took the coin out of his hand and sat down on the bed. “APWBD means Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore - and the falcon is his animagnus form.”

“You wear his initial and his animal?” Victor shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it. “Merlin - it looks as if you’d belong to him, as if he’d hold a claim over you!”

“Does it?” Hermione became furious. “Then it hopefully works the other way round too. He wears the other half of the coin with my initial and the Gryffindor lion. By your logic that means I have a claim on him. Wonderful. I’ve always wanted to get a great wizard of my own.”

Victor didn’t seem to hear. Gripping the token again, he fumed: “I can’t believe it! My girlfriend wears another man’s dog tag! What’s next? Will you sleep at the rug in front of his bed? Or in his bed?”

Now Hermione really became angry. Pulling the coin out of his fingers, she stood straight and hissed: “First, Mister Krum: I’m neither Albus Dumbledore’s pet or whatever you assume, nor your possession! I’m my own person and I wear whatever I want to. If you can’t live with that, you probably should get yourself a girl who’s greatest dream is to become Madame Krum and to wash your socks and to cook your meals and to provide you with a brat every year until you got enough for an entire quidditch team!” Hermione had become pretty loud at the end and now she was panting.

Victor closed his shirt. Looking at Hermiout out of fiery black eyes, he sneered: “You know what, Doctor Hermione Granger? I’m leaving. I’m going to get myself such a girl - one who feels like a woman and isn’t a haughty, arrogant, bossy, cold-hearted blue stocking! I’ve had enough of you. You can fuck Dumbledore if he’s still up to it and can bear with your bloody feminism and your talking-talking-talking. I don’t care anymore!” And with that he stormed out of the apartment, shutting the door with a bang.


To be continued …