A Winter Tale

A Winter Tale

by: Max


Inspired by the WIKTT Marriage Law Challenge, but not following it exactly

[Disclaimer see chapter 1]


Chapter 20: The Taming of the Shrew

Even in Artus Dumbledore’s days - and it was said that Albus’ father had been a very hospitable man - breakfast in Dumbledore Hall had rarely been such a public affair as on May 15, 2006 after the “Daily Prophet” had published the article about Hermione.

It had been a piece almost as long as the last about Albus’ youth sins and it was decorated with even more pictures: Hermione, standing behind Harry, her hand on his shoulder; Hermione, dancing with Severus at the Yule Ball; Hermione, walking through Diagon Alley, holding hands with Victor Krum; Hermione at Hogwarts on the quidditch pitch, whispering something in Ron Weasley’s ear and Hermione, just turning away with a rather grim look from her husband who wrinkled his forehead and looked severe (the picture had been taken by Severfakefake fun jus just after Fudge’s speech. Hermione had fumed so much that Albus had ordered her via legilimens not to hex the minister).

The text had been even worse: Rita Skeeter had started with reminding her readers of Hermione being muggle-born and the daughter of a “working woman”, therefore probably a very “emancipated young lady” who’d always shown that she liked to live her life in “her own, advanced ways”. Even in “very young years” she’d proven herself a “feminist” in her dealing with boys - so Skeeter had written. A list with Hermione’s “love affairs” to prove it was next. Following it, Hermione had first “broken Harry Potter’s heart”, and then she’d dated Ron Weasley before she’d left “the poor boy for the famous and wealthy quidditch champion Victor Krum”. But, so Skeeter told her readers, the “handsome Bulgarian wizard’s devotion” hadn’t been enough for Hermione. She’d left him for a “secret relationship“with D Mal Malfoy, “heir of one of the most rich and famous British wizard family’s” and done the seducing of the “Britain’s most demanded bachelor” so well, that he’d proposed to her “on his knee”. His father was quoted: “I wasn’t too happy about Draco’s choice - not because the girl’s muggle born, but because I never believed in her ability to make my son a happy man. Yet he was so much in love, so I agreed and was willing to take up the girl with open arms.” Only Hermione hadn’t fielded to her enchanted admirer, but married Albus Dumbledore, “the famous, very rich and 163 year old headmaster of her school, known for being eccentric” - so eccentric he hadn’t demanded the “usual” fidelity charm at the binding.

Reading this piece Hermione had needed an explanation from Severus because she’d never heard about a fidelity charm. Severus of course knew about it - he’d once seen his father casting this charm over his second wife, making sure with it, that she could never touch another man than him intimately without her marriage ring - a ring she of course couldn’t take off - burning a wound on her finger. Hermione had found this charm “ghastly” - like marking stock! And she couldn’t believe it was “usual”. Severus had to tell her, that a lot of wizards used it - and they would believe that Albus not casting it meant that he didn’t expect his young wife being faithful to him, but was willing to accept her having lovers.

And one of them - so the article - probably had been Severus Snape, who’s death had been so “mysterious”. Skeeter wrote: “Shortly before Severus Snape died, Hermione Granger-Dumbledore was seen flirting with her husband’s cousin, German potion master Johannes Praetorius. Rumours in Hogwarts tell about a scene between the two men - a jealous tragedy? A friend of Sus Sus Snape who wants to remain anonym says: “He was very depressed in his last days. I wouldn’t wonder if he committed suicide.”

Skeeter wasn’t done with that. Her article went on: “Under these circumstances the question arises: Who’s the father of the child Albus Dumbledore obviously wants to present as his heir? Is it really the 163 year old wizard who never sired a child in his life? Or was it Hogwarts’ late Potion Master Severus Snape, who taught young Hermione Dumbledore extra lessons in the weeks before his demise? Or is it even German Potion Master Johannes Praetorius who lives with Hogwarts former headmaster and his attractive wife at Dumbledore Hall? Albus Dumbledore, who wants to become the next minister of magic, will have to answer these questions. Until he does so, his moral standards will have to be doubted and with them his suitability for an office as honourable as the ministers.”

At least: No one could doubt the article mad deep impression. Hermione had just left Severus for going down at the breakfast table again, as a rather flustered Woopy appeared and announced that Mistress and Mister Weasley had apparated at the gates and were just walking up to the hall and if Woopy should wake the master? Hermione actually wanted very much to talk with Albus, but he’d been up all night, planning his campaign with Severus and her. So she answered with a sigh: “Let him sleep, Woopy. He’ll learn soon enough.” And rising she marched to the French window. “I’m going to welcome the Weasleys.”

Walking in the garden, Hermione was almost overrun by a furious Molly Weasley who pulled her in a tight embrace, crying and ranting at once: “Poor Darling” You must feel dreadful! As I saw this terrible article, I said at once to Arthur, that we had to see you - you can’t be alone now.”

Her float of words became interrupted by Woopy who appeared with a “plop”, her ears flapping: “Headmistress Minerva and Mister Augustus McGonagall just have arrived at the gates.”

And then Minerva stormed already through the garden, her green robe billowing as Severus’ in his best days, screaming: “It’s an outrage! What does this woman think?”

Her husband was a bit calmer, but sounded very determined as he said: “You’ll sue the Prophet of course. We’ll make them pay for that and I’m to make sure this Skeeter person won’t write another article again in her life time!”

Hermione didn’t get a chance to answer because five owls just came in low-attitude fly through the garden. Four of them approached the house, but one - Harry’s beautiful snow white Hedwig - landed on Hermione’s arm. As Hermione just had untied the letter on Hedwig’s leg, Woopy demanded her attention again: “Miss Nymphadora Tonks and Mister Kingsley Shacklebolt just arri ...” stopping in mid word, she let again flap her ears: “Mister Alastor Moody and Mistress Augusta Shacklebolt are the ...” For a second time the elf didn’t manage to finish, but had to say rather weary: “Mister Honorius Cracklebell and Mistress Lucasta Cracke ... and Mister Remus Lupin ...”

Five Minutes later Hermione shepherded a crowd of no less then 22 excitingly talking and ranting witches and wizards into the hall, hoping fiercely that a) the four house elves down in the kitchen would manage to serve tea and at least a little breakfast for all, that b) Severus had noticed the house was full of people and would therefore appear as Johannes, that c) Albus would be down soon and that d) Baby would stop proving itself as a true Dumbledore so much. It obviously loved the excitement and therefore rummaged in Hermione’s womb as a quidditch champion by hunting the snitch. Hermione felt already dizzy from being talked to from all sides and she was actually glad that Molly finally noticed how pale she was and jumped on her like a lioness protecting her cub. Molly wanted to lead Hermione to a sofa on teft.eft. Yet she wasn’t the only Gryffindor lioness in the crowd - Augusta Shacklebolt and Minerva McGonagall had a go at Hermione too. Unfortunately the two of them had never got along very well, so Hermione found herself suddenly not on the sofa but in the middle of a furious row between three ladies. And while Molly, Minerva and Augusta discussed their competence in dealing with pregnant Hermione, Hermione finally fainted and became rescued by no other than Alastor Moody, who caught her, carried her out of the room to the stairs and dropped her rather unceremoniously in the arms of Severus-Johannes with roaring: “Get the chick in bed before she vomits all over the idiots down there!”

Severus hadn’t been keen to show himself in the hall. So he bowed slightly, grinned, cradled Hermione closer and walked up the stairs. Hermione felt more then a little embarrassed by her weakness. She started crying and cursing the “damn hormones” until they reached the master bedroom where Albus just finished his dressing with putting up his spectacles. Seeing a crying Hermione in Severus’ arms, he almost choked.

“Albus don’t worry. I’m fine,” Hermione said as Severus let her down on the bed, but couldn’t let go his arm because the world around her was spinning - and so did Albus worried face which was bent over her.

“What happened?” Albus demanded to know.

“Hermione fainted - what’s no wonder because your hall is filled with a crowd of madmen,” Severus answered.

“The Daily Prophet ...” started Hermione.

Severus interrupted her. “Lay back and be quiet! You’ll only make yourself more miserable.”

“What’s in the ‘Prophet’?” Albus asked, sounding angry.

Severus, now sitting on the bedside because Hermione still had his sleeve in her grip, looked up to him. “Skeeter doubts you’re the father of Hermione’s baby. She suggests it’s me ...”

“Which you?” Albus asked curtly.

“Both of me.” Severus turned his eyes. “First Severus, then Johannes - she seems to think one potion master isn’t enough for making a baby.” Losing at last Hermione’s hand and laying it on her belly, he said: “Perhaps you should go down for calming down the crowd, Albus - if you’re able to, which I doubt. I’ll look after Hermione.”

Albus seemed to hesitate, looking at Hermione. She produced a weak smile. “I’m sorry, Albus.”

“You are sorry? For what?” He shook his head.

“For being so weak and for the bloody picture!” Hermione cried.

Albus bent down again. Stroking her cheek he said: “You’re not weak and I don’t think you have a reason to be sorry. But I should rather go down ...”

“Yes, please.” Hermione closed her eyes because the room spinned again.


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


As Hermione waked up - the second time this morning - the sun was high on the sky, throwing bright light in the bedroom. Hermione twinkled - she’d really slept deep. The two weeks in Beauxbaton had cost her a lot of strength, not only because the exams, but more because she missed Albus and her friends there and because d fod found time to think there over the last half year in her life and about her future. She was to be a mother - and although she never doubted that she’d made the right decision with becoming pregnant, she still couldn’t imagine how it would feel to be a single mother. Of course - she’d live in the Hall, she’d have every help money could buy, so it wouldn’t become too big a problem to handle university and the baby. But how would she handle to live without Albus? She loved him and in the two weeks in Beauxbaton she’d already missed him dreadfully. How could she bear to know that she would never see him again, that she would never fall asleep in his arms, that she would never kiss him again, never sleep with him again? And how would she explain to her child once that it would never know its father?

It was hard to live with such thoughts and it was even harder to live with them without burdening Albus with it. He needed all his strength for what he had to do and she wouldn’t make it more difficult for him. Besides: She needed the little bit of normality they’d saved through all the excitement and trouble. The little time she had left with him she didn’t want to spend in tears, but in laughter and love. She’d have time to mourn later. And then she’d need all cheerful, good memories for telling her child what a man its father had been.

Yet there was a comfort - it sat just now in the high backed chair in the nice window, reading a book and was back in its form of a dark-haired, tall wizard with black eyes. Only that he didn’t wear black anymore, but a rather nice mixture from muggle and wizard: Dark blue robe over jeans and light blue shirt. Hermione liked this although she knew that Severus wasn’t too happy about it. He’d rather wore his usual black, but even in the Hall he wanted to be prepared for changing into the Johannes disguise at every moment.

Hermione wondered sometimes about her own reaction to Severus. As she’d first meet Johannes Praetorius she spontaneously thought: “Wow - Severus could do worse than in getting this man’s appearance ...” And in the same time she’d felt a bit odd because the German wizard, though blond, reminded her very much of young Albus. He was as tall and well-proportioned as Albus, he had deep blue eyes, a long face and an energetic chin too, but his nose was smaller and so he was ever prettier than Albus had been. Hermione had immediately understood that a lot of witches were very interested in Johannes Praetorius who wasn’t only handsome, but intelligent and charming too. And she was sure: If the readers of “Witch Weekly” would have to choice between Severus Snapd Jod Johannes Praetorius as the more attractive male, Severus wouldn’t stand a chance. Yet one voice he would get: Hermione’s. The more often she got to compare the two men, the more she liked Severus. During her time in Hogwarts she’d never noticed, but now she even liked to watch his long, slender hands with the nimble, sensitive fingers. And she liked his fine, black hair. Now, as he didn’t stand all day over boiling cauldrons anymore, it wasn’t greasy at all, but in the sun shimmering like a raven’s wing. And the eyes - this groundless, black poles! Had she found them cold once? Unreadable? Today she saw amusement - and he was often amused! - And warmth and tenderness and his small smile and anger and wonderment and sorrow in them. Sometimes one gaze of them made her smile, sometimes she became sad because she saw the pain and bitterness he’d bared through the most part of his life.

Now he’d seen that she was awakening and laid the book aside, raising. In Hogwarts Hermione had never given much attention to his body and his movement - and even if she’d have watched, she wouldn’t have seen much with him always wearing his robe and the frock coat. But now she noticed that he moved with an almost feline grace and though he’d gained a bit weight - Hermione had never liked bony men.

“Hermione?” He stood now next to her, looking down at her with a tiny smile. “Do you feel better?”

Hermione stretched. “Yes,” she said. “I feel much better.” She listened for a moment - the house was entirely quiet again. “Are we alone? “She asked.

Severus leaned at the mantle piece. Although he was now at ease with Hermione, he’d never have seat down at her bedside if not forced to. “Albus has fed and watered the mob, and then he kicked them out. Now Augustus and he are going to see the editor of the ‘Quibbler’.”

Hermione grinned. She remembered how she’d once managed to get an interview with Harry in this magazine. She’d always thought the wizard world would need a second newspaper and with it a second opinion. “Let me guess: They’re going to get the ‘Quibbler’ to our side?”
deeddeed.” Severus shoved a strand of his black hair out of his face. “Albus will feed the magazine with a few esivesive stories. Besides he is trying to get Skeeter for the Quibbler ...”

“Skeeter?” Hermione sat upright. “After this article?”

“I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes when Albus gets her in his fingers,” Severus said, sounding satisfied by the thought. “He really wasn’t amused about her article - and you know: Meeting a cross Albus isn’t what one could call ‘pleasant’. I’m sure Miss Skeeter thinks new about her writing afterwards ...”

Hermione chewed on her under lip. “Severus,” she said then hesitantly, “do you think he’s angry with ..?” She fell silent.

Severus shook his head slowly. “No, he isn’t angry with the two of us. Before he went he came up looking after you. He only worries about you. Besides he knows as well as I do that Skeeter would have tried to get at you in every case. She wouldn’t have needed this photograph.”

“But I’ve provided her with ammunition!” Hermione complained.

“Hermione,” Severus sighed, “if you’d have spend all your life in a nunnery without ever seeing a man, Skeeter would have written that you’re a lesbian. She wants to ruin Albus’ reputation.”

“But why?” Hermione rummaged in her hair. “You know, that’s what I really don’t understand. Does she really believe that Fudge is tter min minister than Albus?”

Severus sneered. “Sometimes you’re naive, Hermione. Skeeter is a Slytherin and not one of the thick sorts. She certainly doesn’t believe in Fudge being any good as minister. But he’s useful to her. She can manipulate him as she never could manipulate Albus. She probably knows every skeleton in Fudge’s closet with its given name, so he must cooperate and provide her with information.”

“My, my - what a world we live in,” Hermione sighed.

“Now you’re sounding like Minerva.” Severus became a bit sharper. “You don’t believe the muggle world is better?”

“No, of course not.” Hermione climbed out of the bed. “If I would have believed so, I would have gone months before,” she reminded Severus. Plaiting her hair back, she smiled a bit weakly at him. “Would you mind going downstairs with me? I’m starving and you know, I don’t like eating alone.”

“I haven’t had much breakfast either. So I need a bit too ...” Severus answered and followed her up the stairs.


Woopy had been delighted to serve a second breakfast and had suggested their lay the table on the terrace. She’d just appeared with fresh tea there as Hermione heard a rustle of a robe and quick steps in the garden. Albus was back and Hermione jumped immediately to her feet and ran down to him.

She had expected that he would still look angry or exhausted, but his smile was warm and his eyes rather cheerful as he opened his arms for her. “You’re up and feeling better?” he asked.

Hugging him, she gave back: “Much better - and you? How do you feel?”

“I’m fine,” Albus said, kissing the tip of her nose. “Only I was thinking all the way back if I could send Johannes ...” when in the open air he always avoided to talk about Severus, “... and you to another shopping tour this afternoon.” He laid his arm around her shoulder and led her to the terrace where Severus had already ordered a third set of china.

“Actually I don’t think Johannes and I were in the mood for shopping,” Hermione said, looking at Severus. “Albus considers sending us for another round,” she explained to him.

Severus’ left eyebrow rose. For a few seconds he looked sceptical, and then he suddenly grinned. “I’m going. I think I could look after a few rompers more. But your darling wife should be at your side, Albus. It will make a better impression.”

“That’s the question.” Albus sat down and poured himself a cup of tea. “I don’t think stunning her would do - besides its probably bad for the baby.”

Hermione’s eyes run from her husband to his friend and back. Sounding like Minerva on a rainy day, she said: “You know, I’m a Gryffindor and even in being a clever Gryffindor - I will probably never learn to follow the cunning of Slytherin minds. So if one of you would care to explain?”

Severus grinned and bit in an apple.

Albus sipped at his tea and added two pieces of sugar more to it. Then he smiled at Hermione almost a bit awkward: “In ...,” he pulled his watch out and looked at it, “... approximately two hours a photographer and Miss Rita Skeeter, the new chief reporter of the ‘Quibbler’, will appear here.”
Hermione looked at her husband and shook her head. “Why do I think I really don’t want to know exactly how you persuaded her to work for the ‘Quibbler’?”

“Perhaps because it would remind you how you once made her write for the magazine first time?” Albus grinned. “She reminded me of it. Yet I’m nicer than you. I made sure she’ll get paid for her work.”

“I actually would like to know about your persuading ...” Severus grinned.

Albus got himself a spoon full of jam and sucked at it. “You know, I can be convincing, Severus, when I set my mind to it. Yet I must admit it wasnasy asy in tcasecase. Augustus and I had to use the entire repertoire from blackmail over treats to offers. But in the end we got here. She promised to be a good girl now. And because I’m a good boy, she’s to get a nice home story.”

“Home story?” Hermione looked very sceptical. “One of ‘our reporter met Blah and his enchanting wife in their cosy, little love nest” pieces?”

“Ugh!” Severus looked as if he were to faint now. “And here I thought, my lecture for breakfast couldn’t become worse. I can already imagine it: Albus smiling ‘lovingly’ at his wife while Hermione ‘tenderly pats his hand’, telling the world how proud she is of her husband ...”

“As a devoted wife I have to be proud of him.” Hermione laughed. “I only don’t know if I should tell the readers of the ‘Quibbler’ that in private I always call my husband ‘my fluffy white bunny’. What do you think, dear cousin?” She grinned at Severus.

He shuddered. “For a Gryffindor you show sometimes a really amazing amount of cruelness.”

Hermione grinned. “Severus, you should be careful with me. If crossed I could come to the idea of telling Skeeter that the only dark spot in our marriage idyll is missing our dear friend Severus.” With the sweetest voice she proceeded: “You know, Miss Skeeter, behind his dark mask our Sevvie really hided a heart of gold. He longed so much for true love ...”

“Albus ...” Severus grumbled. “Would you mind very much if I’d throttle your sweet wife?”

“Yes, I think I would.” Albus smiled.

Hermione showed Severus her tongue.

But Albus hadn’t been ready. Laying his arm around her shoulder, he finished with his most boyish grin: “You know, Severus, a politician needs a wife. If you’d kill Hermione, I’d have to get myself a new one. Finding one isn’t too hard, but the taming, Severus! Think of the taming!”


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


Being a politician’s wife probably never is easy, but during the election campaign Hermione found it especially hard. Although Albus had managed to get the “Quibbler” on his side and the “Daily Prophet” at least silenced when it came to his private life, so Hermione hadn’t to fear shocks at breakfast anymore - except of the light shocks she always got when reading about herself as the “sweet” or “devoted” wife - she often wished herself back at Hogwarts. Being the headmaster’s wife there had meant that she now and then had to show herself “Madame Dumbledore” by a social gathering, but mostly she’d lived her life as Hermione Granger. But now she sometimes felt as if Hermione Granger had become a vampire who only existed in the night. Over the days her presence wasn’t asked because the days were filled with appointments for Madame Dumbledore.

And she was ry bry busy woman, this Madame D.! She starter der days at 7:00 h in going down to the kitchen to talk with Woopy and her fellow house elves about which guests were expected for what meals and what to serve and which china were where to lay out and if Woopy would be so good to iron the red dress robe for the evening and if Larry could manage to polish the master’s black boots a bit earlier today because Albus would have to change before tea?

After the kitchen conference Hermione went to breakfast, but her chances to have her tea and toast in solitude were pretty small in these days. Albus had got himself an assistant, a young witch named Isadora Cracklebell, great-granddaughter of his old friend Honorius Cracklebell. She - so at least Severus who by now mostly hide himself in the lab - obviously thought she’d have to make up for her lack of experience with doubled eagerness and with wearing a bun and robes so old fashioned even Minerva McGonagall would have protested to show herself with. And even worse: Isadora was never without her clipboard and a quill and Hermione sometimes thought that she would have made an ideal wife to Percy Weasley because like him her idea of the biggest disaster was her superior five minutes late.

Yet at least Isadora provided Hermione and Severus in the short time when she would seek refuge in his lab, with something to laugh about. The girl seemed absolutely immune to Albus’ charm and humour. Although he really tried hard to enchant her - and Albus being Albus, the born pied piper, meant he never stopped in his attempts - Isadora always remind serious and even Albus’ nicest compliments never got him much more than a “You have five minutes until Mister Terribly important will come to see you, sir” or a “May I remind you, sir, that we’ll have to leave for your speech at the Willy nilly club in 10 minutes?” And if Isadora was after Albus for getting him to an appointment as punctual as she thought he should be, there was nothing that could have stopped her. She kicked him without mercy out of bed; she didn’t mind standing in front of his bathroom, telling him “You’re already late, sir - in five minutes you’ll have to see ...”; she didn’t mind Severus hissing at her when she on her hunt for Albus came in his lab and she even didn’t shy away when her employer obviously was busy with “private matters” as she’d proven just the other morning when Hermione had almost jumped in a rosebush because Isadora suddenly - just three minutes after Hermione had caught Albus for a little snogging in the garden - had appeared, saying: “I’m sorry to disturb, sir, ma’am, but you’re expected in only 16 minutes in Edinburgh.” Hermione had only been glad that Isadora hadn’t come one minute later. She was sure: Even Albus with his highly developed resistance against feeling embarrassed wouldn’t have liked becoming caught by his secretary with the buttons of his robe open on the strategically most interesting places. He had already struggled a bit to hide the bulge in his robe because Hermione had thought it necessary to remind him of his pretty neglected marital duties not only in kissing him passionately, but by fondling his private parts through the robe.

Thinking of it now made Hermione sigh. It had been nice to learn by his prompt reaction, that he missed her too, but to get a bit more out of this missing than a whispered “I shall see to get myself a little free time soon” would have been even nicer, especially because for the rest of the day she hadn’t got another minute in private with him. Instead she’d felt in the evening as if she’d have to call Woopy for ironing the “devoted wife”-smile out of her face after she’d wore it for endless hours during Albus’ speeches in front of the magic population of Edinburgh and the official dinner afterwards. It had been the fourth one this week though it had been only Wednesday. But thanks to Isadora Crackebell’s talent for organization - Merlin damn her for it - Hermione and Albus had managed to attend to two dinners the evening before - the first and early one with the muggle prime minister, the second and later one at home with 10 important witches and wizards as their guests. So after coming back from Edinburgh Hermione had fallen in bed like a stone, asleep the moment her head had hit the pillow.

Probably it was for the first time in a fortnight now, that Hermione sat on the terrace with a book. But although she’d longed for a little reading - she felt already as if her brain would rot away because she only thought of robes, dinners and silly people to convince about voting for Albus - she didn’t look at the book. Instead she had a little conversation with baby. She - Hermione always thought of her belly’s little inhabitant as a ‘her’ - had been in great form, moving and turning and kicking her mother’s stomach or bladder. Hermione wasn’t sure what this meant. She’d seen Poppy Pomfrey a few days before and the mediwitch had been quite satisfied with the baby’s development, but Hermione felt as if her child would want to show her that it didn’t like her mother running around all day.

“And probably,” Hermione whispered, stroking her belly, “you miss your daddy too, little one. But you must know that he doesn’t neglect us because he wants to. I’m sure: If the both of us had found a better time to appear in his life, he’d have become the most devoted father you could wish for. He loves us, you know - and even if he isn’t with us as much as we’d like, he certainly thinks of you and me ...”

“He does.” A long, tender hand stroked over Hermione’s belly.

Feeling the soft whiskers of Albus’ beard on her neck, she stretched her free hand and laid it on his arm. “Albus - aren’t you a bit late already?” She turned and looked around, expecting to see Isadora with her clipboard. “I’m afraid I lost a bit track of your schedule, but wasn’t it tea with the Academic Witches Club today? And later an order meeting?” She suppressed a sigh by asking - order’s meeting always meant he wouldn’t come home before midnight.

He sat down on the chair next to her. “Actually it was, but I’ve asked Severus to deputize at the order’s meeting. He needs to see something else than the lab now and then and he can give the information to me in the morning.” Hermione was for a moment a bit sceptical. The last weeks had taught her to keep her expectations rather low. But Albus, seeing the doubt in her eyes, smiled at her. “One could think you wouldn’t want me at home for a quiet evening.”

“Nonsense!” Hermione said. “You know I do. And the prospect will even make my afternoon. I even won’t become jealous about the Academic Witches flirting with you.”

“Oh, but they had their flirt with me already.” Albus took her hand and pulled it to his lips. Nibbling on her thumb as he often did, he said: “You’re really a bit out of my schedule. The tea was for three o’clock and now it’s four ...”

“I thought you were to hold a speech and to answer questions?” Hermione asked amazed.

“I made a rather short speech.” Albus laid her palm against his cheek now. “I told the ladies that I think women deserve more respect than they get in our community in the moment, but that one could easily and truthfully name me a ‘hypocrite’ by talking about it because in the last days I didn’t show my own wife the respect she deserves. I said that I’d hate to see you as a kind of ‘decorative element’ in my life - though I would never deny that you’re very nice to look at. So I asked the ladies if they would allow me to have a talk with my wife while a member of their club - who was for forty years the person who worked closest with me - would answer all their questions about me and my political ideas. They agreed and so Minerva is having tea now while I’m at least for the rest of the day all yours.”

“Albus ...” Hermione almost cried. She’d rather swallowed her tongue than complained to him about feeling neglected, but she’d missed him dreadfully. Yet by her climbing in his lap she looked around nervously. “What have you done with Isadora and her clipboard?” she asked. “You know, kissing you is a bit irritating when one has to fear she’d step in every moment ...”

“She won’t.” Albus pulled Hermione a bit closer. “I’ve ordered her to stay with Minerva. And Minerva, good girl as she is, will take Isadora with her to the order’s meeting where she can pester Severus about having the protocol neatly done.”

“Poor Severus!” Hermione said, snuggling happily closer to her husband.

“For the moment it’s better him than me suffering with her.” Albus laughed. “I’m to enjoy my day off with you.” His hand wandered over her belly to her side and up to her breast, stroking it lightly. “Pregnancy becomes you, Hermione,” he whispered and bent down to kiss her.

Hermione had closed her eyes, answering to his sweet kiss eagerly. To feel him so close again made her body hum with desire and his hand on her breast added to the arousal she was feeling. Breaking the kiss she whispered: “What do you think about a nap, Albus?”

“A nap sounds like a wonderful idea ...” He nibbled on her ear again. “But I wouldn’t like staying indoors at such a glorious, warm day. So what do you think about running down to the kitchen to get us a little something while I go up and change in something less formal and hot?”

Hermione caught his marauding hand on her breast and kissed it. Thinking of the long, white shirt with tiny buttons from the collar down over the entire length he liked to wear in private, Hermione said: “I hope less formal doesn’t mean a hundred buttons and so much fabric one easily could get lost in it ...”

“Hmm ...” Albus made, his eyes twinkling. “One could think you don’t like wizard’s fashion.”

“For being honest: I really don’t do,” Hermione said. “I mean your robes are nice to look at, but unwrapping you is always a bit complicated.” She rose up and kissed the tip of his nose. “Although I have to add, it’s always worth it. But I’m going in the kitchen now.”

“And I’ll see to get myself dressed in something you like,” Albus promised and followed her into the house, stroking her backside by it.

Five minutes later Hermione stood on the terrace again, a cradle with fruits, a few sandwiches - Woopy and Larry had been delighted to serve her with - a cake and a bottle of pumpkin juice in her arm. She felt like singing in joy - and wasn’t it a day made for singing? The sky was blue and clear as Albus’ eyes and the sun felt as if she’d tickle Hermione’s skin with thousand of tiny hands and Albus was there and she would have not only the afternoon, but an entire evening and a night with him and no Isadora would keep her away from snogging him! And here he was and Hermione found that he looked very appetizing and - even better - accessible in a blue muggle polo shirt and a wide, cream short, his naked feet in sandals and his mane bound back in a pony tail. She couldn’t resist teasing him in tugging lightly at his shorts: “Huuh - aren’t you afraid Percival feels restricted?”

Albus waved his finger and made the picnic cradle hover with it. Laying his arm around Hermione’s middle, he walked her through the garden to the gate which lead in the meadow, saying: “I promised him you’d set him free soon enough.”

“Oh?” Hermione let her hand wander down on his bottom. It was always nice to fondle it a bit, not only because Albus seemed to like it, but because his backside was still firm and well-muscled. “I’ve never thought of you being one for outdoor activities,” she said.

“That comes from marrying me in winter, Darling,” he gave back. “Even with warming charms I never liked outdoor shagging in winter much. Probably I should have worked on my charms, but they always had a tendency to wear off just at the wrong moment.”

Hermione laughed out loud. “And your passion wasn’t enough to keep you warm? Albus, I’m disappointed. I’ve always thought you were a hot lover.”

“Yes, I tried - but it’s really distracting when you get snow on your butt by making love,” he explained and then chuckled. “It’s probably one of the reasons why I knew Hogwarts very well as I came as a teacher. During my last two years as a student I was always on the search for deserted corners. I became so good in finding them; I even could provide my house mates with tips too ...”

“And later, as teacher, you used your knowledge for catching poor students?” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Albus, how unfair!”

“I didn’t!” he protested. “I was the one who was always whistling during my night patrols and as long as the students weren’t exceptionally thick, they could be sure I wouldn’t catch them. I had - as my headmaster Armando Dippet sometimes stated - too much of a love life myself for wanting to spend my evenings with supervising detentions.”

“Was Headmaster Dippet right?” Hermione asked.

“No, actually he over exaggerated,” Albus said. “I was 62 years old when I came back to Hogwarts and though this isn’t much for a wizard, it was enough to have me a bit more settled than in younger years. Besides I was in a long term relationship at this time ...”

“You were?” Hermione became very curious. “Who was she?”

“A very strong, beautiful and independent woman - the cousin of Augustus McGonagall, Kassopeia.” Albus smiled in remembering. “You would have liked her, Hermione. She was charm professor at Oxford - the first woman in that job and one of the founders of the Academic Witches Club. And she was the only woman I ever wanted to marry - I mean after the rather idiotic engagement to that girl in Rome. With Kassopeia I really meant it ...”

“And why didn’t you marry her?” Hermione wanted to know.

Albus sighed. “Because she didn’t want me. She said I’d make a nice lover, but probably a lousy husband. Today I think she was right. I really expected her to give up her career for living with me at Hogwarts.”

“Buh ...” made Hermione. “I think I wouldn’t have liked that either. I mean, she’d probably worked hard to become a professor - so why should she have given that up?”
“Today I know it was wrong to demand it. But 100 years ago I was an idiot who wanted his wife all to himself. Probably I was even a bit jealous of her career - she was very well renowned in her work while I wasn’t entirely sure if my decision for coming back to Hogwarts was really a good move. I never was good in taking orders and even with Armando being more a friend than a superior - there were a lot of things I’d have wanted to change or to do in another way than he did.”

They reached the river now. Strolling along, Hermione came back to her almost-predecessor. “What became of your relationship after your proposal was refused?”

Albus sighed again. “As I said: I was an idiot. My pride was so hurt I thought I would have to show Kassopeia that I wouldn’t need her. I started an affair with a pretty silly younger witch and Kassopeia - who had quite a temper - sent me a howler.”

“Uh!” made Hermione, remembering the screaming, snapping letter Ron had once got from his mother. “I hope you didn’t get it in the great hall during a meal.”

“It came just there,” Albus said. “And it was so quick I didn’t stand a chance to run away with it. So the entire school heard how I was advised to learn about thinking with my brain instead of my cock and that - I quote - ‘always following the direction in which my various erections were pointing’ would get me nowhere in the end. Besides Kassopeia told me I shouldn’t show myself in Oxford for the next 50 years because she couldn’t give any guarantee she would resist the urge to have my balls for breakfast - boiled, of course.”

Hermione laughed. “Sorry,” she said, “but I think you deserved it. Though ...” she stopped and laid her arm around his middle, “... I must admit I like your balls where they are ...” For proving it she stretched on her tiptoes, kissed him and stroke over his shorts.

Albus kissed back, laying both his hands on her backside. “You like them even wrapped?” he asked her then. “You know, they like it better if you touch them without so much fabric over them ...”

“I like touching them better when they aren’t covered,” Hermione smiled. “I only doubt that’s the ideal place for undressing you. I’m afraid Isadora and Severus would have the jitters if a picture of us, playing Pan and the nymph, would appear in the newspapers. And even with Skeeter as your pet bug - the ‘Daily Prophet’ would probably like such a photograph.”

“You’re right. Therefore I’d rather do Leda and the swan - with me as Leda, of course.” He grinned and pointed with his chin to the little island on the middle of the river. “As a boy I often swam over there. It’s a nice place with a soft sand beach. And ...” he once again stroked her butt, “... it’s easy to ward. Actually it still should have a few wards.”

Hermione raised her eyebrow. “Does this mean this island was the place you came with your female friends to?”

“No, my lady, it doesn’t.” Albus pulled his wand which he had hidden at the side of his shorts, out. “I never was there with a woman. It was my hiding place and I didn’t want to share it.” He directed the wand at the island and murmured an incantation. “Don’t ever say I couldn’t do good wards. They’re still there - but open now. So if you would get your sweet butt over there?”

Hermione giggled. “Rump, Albus - I’m going to get my rump there.” She was pretty proud for being now a perfect animagnus though she still needed a bit more concentration and time than Albus to change her form. So she closed her eyes and thought of becoming a swan, feeling the now only soft prickle of growing feathers and changing. Opening her eyes again she heard water splatter and saw Albus - still in his human form - just jumping in the river. She followed him there and if she could in her bird form, she’d laughed because he obviously had to struggle against the current. For her it was easy to glide over it with grace. Only waddling on land she didn’t like much, so she immediately changed back to her human form as she arrived on the island.

It was really a beautiful place with soft, white sand and a few old trees, spending not only shadow, but with their roots, paled and smoothened by standing in the water during high floats, offering places to seat on comfortably. Hermione sank down on one of them, pulled her wand out and made with an “accio cradle” the picnic fly over the river. Then she looked at Albus who just came out of the water, hair and beard dripping. He slipped out of his shirt, laid it on the soft sand and changed it to a blanket, and then he opened his shorts, let them drop down and smiled at Hermione. “I promised: No buttons ...”

Hermione liked looking at him. Despite his age, she found him still handsome and - what was even more - she loved him. To her he was the most beautiful man and even in comparing him to his younger self - no, she didn’t want him more slender or more muscled or more tanned or something else. He was the man she’d fallen in love with, he was the man she desired and it touched her every time to see that now he obviously was entirely at ease with being naked around her. Sometimes it even amused her because he obviously was more comfortable with her than she herself was with him. The thought made her giggle and open her shirt.

“What amuses you?” Albus had lay down on the blanket and looked now at her.

Hermione slipped out of her shirt, hung it over a branch, and opened her bra - Albus had been right: The pregnancy became her, her breasts had grown and she found herself looking rather sexy with the bigger boobs - and smiled back. “You know, I just thought it’s actually quite funny. You’re the Victorian - and I’m the prude.”

“No, I don’t think so.” He watched how she now hung her jeans over the branch too. “A prude wouldn’t undress so gracefully ...”

Hermione, now only wearing her white undies, looked a bit sceptically to her image, mirrored in the water. “Hmm,” she made and stroke over her belly. “I’m already becoming pretty fat.”

“Women!” Albus turned his eyes. “Come here!” he demanded, stretching his arm. “I’ll show you how I see you ...”

Hermione first climbed out of her undies, and then she lay down next to him. “In a few weeks I’ll really be fat!” she complained.

“I’m looking forward to it.” Albus bent over her, stroking her belly. “I like very much what a baby does to your body,” he said, his hand now on its way to her full breasts. “You’re becoming more womanly and more enchanting every day. Yesterday during my silly speech I once almost lost track because I looked at you - and suddenly the only thing I could think of was pulling you into the next dark corner and ...” he stopped talking and kissed her, his tongue demanding entrance to her mouth, his hand cupping her breast.

Hermione let herself fall in this kiss and the pleasure his stroking worked on her. It had been too long since they’ve last slept together - once again almost three weeks. But now his mouth glided down over her chin and neck and she arched her back presenting her erect nipples to him and it was bliss and pain in one, as his tongue started to tease it. “Albus ...” she whispered, massaging his scalp by it, “I missed you.”

He laid on his side, half over her and so Hermione had only access to his back, but she felt on her tight his already heavy, half-erect member and as always the proof of his arousal sent shivers down her spine. Now his lips blew kisses on her belly and down to her mound and she found herself whispering: “Oh yes, Albus - that’s how I dreamed off you in the lonely nights in Beauxbaton. I missed you so much it almost hurt and I ... I touched myself when it was too bad. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine it were your mouth and your hands. I imagined you filling me, your weight on my body, your cock moving in me and the thoughts made me come ...”She hadn’t intended to tell him, but now it suddenly seemed right to share this moments with him.

He obviously liked it. His eyes were dark as he looked down on her and his voice even huskier than she was use to: “Show me, love ...”

Hermione swallowed. This she hadn’t expected and she wasn’t sure if she really would like to expose herself so much to him.

He seemed to understand her hesitating. Taking her in his arms again, he pressed her to his long body and, still holding her close, he said quietly: “You remember the letter you wrote me from Beauxbaton in your second week? It reached me here on the island - and it made me feel very young. I read that you miss me - especially in the nights. My voice, my hands, to laugh and to talk with me, to touch me, to be touched ...” He cleared his throat. “I wondered how far this missing would go. I wondered if you would touch yourself - and the very idea of it aroused me very much ...”

Hermione swallowed again. “I touched myself in Beauxbaton. I just did after writing that letter to you ...” she whispered in his ear.

“I would have loved to watch you ...” he gave back, no louder than her.

“I would have loved to see you as you got the letter. I wondered if it would ...” She hesitated. “I mean - you said ... you said, it aroused you ... and ... Albus?” She blushed deeply.

“I did,” he answered the question she hadn’t dared to ask. “I closed my eyes, laid back and thought of you and your hands and your mouth and your scent and your body against mine. Getting an erection then I had no choice: Satisfying myself or jumping in the cold water. Cold water makes my rheumatics worse, so I decided for the other way to get rid off.”

Hermione closed her eyes and swallowed a third time. Curling a strand of his hair around her hand, she gave herself a push and said: “If I would touch myself in front of you ... would you ...?”

“Hmm!” He purred, obviously liking the idea. “Sounds like a deal - I’ve only one condition: I want to watch your climax, but for myself - I’d rather like to come later, inside you ...”

Hermione smiled happily. Once again he seemed to have read her mind - or was it simply that their ideas about sex were so alike? She’d come to like the variety and his experience in making love very much. She loved how quick and easy he could make her come with his talented fingers, she loved to touch and to play with him, she loved when he performed oral sex on her - and heavens, he was good at it! And she liked to suck him until he was as hard as a rock and panting. She’d even learned that she could make him scream by using a finger to stimulate his prostate, but he’d never allowed her to make him come in her mouth. He always stopped her just a moment before and always for the same reason: “I want to come inside you.”

This was just as she wanted it. She was sure, she wouldn’t mind tasting him - actually she even felt a bit curious about. With young Albus she would have at least tried once. But with Albus as he was it was another matter. She knew by now that his old body needed always a day or two to recover from a climax. Yet with knowing his body’s reaction so well as he did, this certainly didn’t mean he’d have a problem with pleasing his young wife. In the contrast to most young men Albus was able to control himself almost perfect. He could avoid reag thg the point of no return almost perfectly and this meant that he never came before Hermione was entirely and thoroughly satisfied. He got his greatest pleasure from playing her virtuously and making her climaxing as often and as hard as possible. After the fourth or fifth time she mostly was exhausted and then she asked him to come - and it wasn’t only her sense of fairness, but that she loved to watch him then. The prolonging of his arousal obviously made for very intense orgasms which had him panting and moaning and sweating and sometimes almost passing out. And sometimes it even looked as if he was in pain, but he’d assured her of this not being the case. Yet even more than watching him during his climax, Hermione loved the precious moments just afterwards when he was still in her, but laying motionless in her arms, limb, his body glimmering with sweat, his eyes closed, struggling for breath.

She was always aware with whom she was sleeping. Knowing him so intimidate as she did now hadn’t reduced her respect for him, just on the contrary. Part of his sex appeal for her was the fact that he radiated power, that she felt his strength in every movement, in every whispered word, in every touch. But part of it was also the vulnerability he showed to her in these sweet moments after his climax when he let her keep and hold him. It made her feel strong and womanly and very close to him. And she knew without him ever saying a word about it, that he ht alt allowed himself this time of absolute rest and abandon with other women. This knowledge gave her a feeling of exclusivity she dwelled on when without him. She wasn’t bothered by jealousy when hearing about his past or seeing him flirt with a woman – and he still liked to do so very much. Hermione could smile about it. She was absolutely sure of him.

And there was something else: She simply knew – once again without ever asking him about – that this certain Slytherin’s “subtlety” in matters of sex didn’t mean only finesse in technique, but subtlety in matters of intimacy too. Hermione was sure he’d never shared so much of it with one of the other women in his life. As much beds he’d come through, as much as he’d liked and perhaps even loved and respected the women he’d slept with – to him it obviously made a difference that Hermione was his lawfully wedded wife and soon the mother of his child. This meant an openness he’d probably never showed before and it meant now, that Hermione wanted to give back what she received from him. So she turned on her back and laid her hands on her breasts, looking up to him.

Albus immediately knew what Hermione was starting. Moving down on the blanket, he sat on his knees between her spread legs and – true to this promise – his hands went down to his private parts.

Hermione looked at him – and felt as if even an entire herd of wild photographing Creevey trampling over the place wouldn’t get her to look away from what she thought the most erotic sign she’d ever seen. She had always loved Albus’ hands. She remembered that his long, tender hands with the sensitive fingers had been the first feature on him she’d noticed – even before his famous blue eyes and the hair. And for all the years in Hogwarts watching Albus’ hands had been a secret pleasure for her, especially after she’d learned that his face always showed only what he wanted to display. It looked even in crisis calm, but by watching his hands Hermione had sometimes got a look behind his disciplined mask. She remembered his hands as once, in her fifth year, Dolores Umbridge from the ministry had tried to overpower him, announcing her plan in a speech. Albus had managed a friendly smile, but she’d seen the firm grip around his goblet – so firm the knuckles on his hands had shone white. And as he’d asked Severus to go back to Voldemort, his left hand had been a tight fist whiles the right hand, open and hanging down at his side, had trembled.

But mostly his hands meant magic to her. He could do more with crooking one finger as most wizards managed with swinging their wands and she had always been fascinated by it. And now he used his fingers for touching himself. His left hand was closed around his shaft – much more firmly than Hermione had ever gripped him – stroking up and down while his right played with his testicles, rolling and massaging them. Yet his eyes were on Hermione who now had her right hand between her legs and rubbed her clitoris with her thumb while her middle and index finger filled her hot channel. Normally, when doing so, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine it would be his cock moving in her, but now she looked at him and this made the act better than it had ever felt when she was alone. She found herself coming to the brink of climax only after two or three minutes. Her clitoris became as always almost too sensitive to touch, so she refrained from stroking the part over it and her body buckled and arched on his own accord and she heard herself moan: “Albus – I’m so close …”

“Yes, my Darling – come for me!” he answered and it was as if she’d just waited for him to order her. Now pushing three fingers inside the tight heat she felt the red wave taking her and pleasure exploded in her body. And then, as she still struggled for breath, shaken by the aftermaths of her orgasm, he was over her like a predator over his prey and with one forceful stroke his rock hard shaft filled her and she heard herself scream and wrapped her legs around him, clinging to his back with her hands, pressing to him as tight as she could. It was as if they become one flesh and one body and one mind and they moved together in a perfect rhythm and he hit once and once again that special spot inside her and she forgot time and space and everything and only felt his skin under her lips and the bliss of being connected to him and the roaring of her blood as she once again came and fell and flight in the same moment.

She meant she’d needed an endless time to come back to coherent thinking, but his kisses on her forehead and the stroking of her sides brought her back to reality and she smiled at him. He was still inside her and, as he proved with a little movement of his hips, still hard. And only this little push made her shudder again and she laid her hands on his bottom, keeping him in place. “One day you’ll kill me, you insatiable Slytherin!” she said.

His smile became a smug grin. “Don’t say you’re already done, Darling.” He moved his hip once again to tease her. “I just feel up for …”

“No, Albus Dumbledore!” Hermione laughed. “You promised me picnic and I’m starving now.”

“Well, well,” he sighed and turned at his side. “If my passion for you isn’t enough to satisfy all your needs …” He rose up to his knees and began to rummage in the picnic cradle.

Hermione purred and went on her knees too. Leaning against his back, she kissed his shoulder and shoved her hand in his lap. Gripping his erection firmly, she whispered: “I didn’t say I’m done entirely. I only need a break and something to eat. You know, you’re rather exhausting.”

“That sounds better.” He presented her an apple and a peach he’d taken out of the cradle. “Fruits?”

Hermione took the apple and bite in it. Chewing she laid back and said: “I could come in use with picnics.”

“Me too.” Albus turned to her, the peach in his hand. “I only don’t know what I find more appetizing: The peach or you. But …,” grinning he bite into the fruit, parted it, took the stone out and looked then on the two parts and back on Hermione, “I think I can have both.” He put the peach’s half’s on her breast so that they cupped her nipples. “Hmm – peach served on Hermione – that looks very delicious.”

Hermione laughed. “Did your mother never tell you, you shouldn’t play with your food?”

“My mother always said, the eyes need feasts too,” Albus answered and bent down to lick the peach juice from her breast. “Hmm …” he made again, looking up. “Actually I like peaches with clothed cream …”

“But you don’t have cream here.” Hermione laughed. She loved his playful moods and – the cool fruit on her skin felt arousing.

“I’m a wizard, sweet wife!” Albus took his wand from his shorts and raised it. “Accio cream!” he commanded.

Hermione – though she tried to lay still for not losing the peaches – had to hold her belly in laughing. She just imagined a harmless muggle wanderer coming along the river. From Dumbledore Hall he wouldn’t see more than a few old, withered stones and sign “Entrance forbidden – danger of collapse.” But a bowl with cream flying through the meadow and over the river he would see – and probably think he’d spent too much time in the sun.

Now the bowl was there – Albus had caught it with one hand and immediately started to spread the cream on Hermione. He covered her breasts with it and licking his fingers he said: “That’s really the nicest way I ever saw peaches and cream served.”

“Only I’ve never thought I was to become your plate.” Hermione teased him. “What do you think, the Academic Witches would say to that?”

“I don’t think you’d like that.” Albus licked over her skin. “They’d probably kill to become my dish …”

“Oh heavens!” Hermione turned her eyes. “You know, your modesty overwhelms me. It’s so good you’re neither smug nor arrogant. I really couldn’t stand that.”


To be continued … ;-)