Much Ado about Nothing

Much Ado about Nothing


By: Max

[Disclaimer: see chapter 1]

Chapter 21: Amor vincit omnia


“Because thou hast the power and own’st the grace
To look through and behind this mask of me,
(Against which, years have beat us thus blenchingly
with their rains) and behold my soul’s true face.

The dim and weary witness of life’s race, -
Because thou hast the faith and love to see,
Through that same soul’s distracting lethargy,
The patient angel waiting for a place

In the new heavens - because nor sin nor woe,
Nor God’s infliction, nor death’s neighbourhood,
Nor all which other viewing, turn to go,

Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed
Nothing repels thee, … Dearest, teach me so
to pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good!*”

Albus stood in front of Hermione, his hair openly flooding down his back, her hand in his and his eyes connected with hers. His voice, so often husky, had been clear and firm as he’d spoken the words, not wavering for a single second, not hesitating. But now Hermione heard a sigh and a sob and she didn’t need to look at the audience for knowing that they’d come from Minerva and her mother who sat only a few steps away from her, holding each others hands. She’d never thought it possible, but both women - the one who’d given birth to her and had watched her childhood; the other who’d become her mother in the magical world - had only needed one look at each other to get on like a house on fire. Despite all differences in heritage, age and experience - they shared their love for Hermione and this made for a strong bond between them.

Now Albus spoke again, smiling at Hermione and squeezing for one moment her hand before he raised his voice, “I, Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore, pledge my soul, my heart, my body and my life to you. I promise to cherish, love and honour you in health and sickness, in wealth and poverty, in happiness and misery as long as I breathe. Will you become my wife, Hermione Jane Granger?”

Hermione breathed deeply. She was trembling like a leaf and afraid her voice wouldn’t obey. But in Albus’ eyes she found the security she needed to answer clearly and loudly, “Yes, I will.”

Now it was her turn to smile at him - and for a moment she fought against the temptation to raise her hand and to stroke the tears away which were running down his cheeks. But this would have to wait. First she would have to say what she’d chosen for this day.

Her voice was a bit shaken as she started, but became firmer with every word:

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alterations finds,
Or bend with the remover to remove: -

O no! It is an ever-fixéd mark
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark;
Whose worths unknown, although his height be taken.

Love is not time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out ev’n to the edge of doom.

If this be error, and upon me proved;
I never writ, nor no man ever roved. **”

Another sob - and this time it sounded as if Minerva McGonagall and Dorothy Granger were crying in unison.

Hermione smiled at the man who was to become her husband in only a few seconds. His eyes were as blue as the sky outside, beaming at her and filled with indefinite and and tenderness. The night before he’d asked her again, “Hermione, are you sure?” She’d told him she would have never been so sure about something in her life before - and it was true! He was the love of her life.

Clearing her throat, she slowly and clearly started the vow, “I, Hermione Jane Granger, pledge my soul, my heart, my body and my life to you. I promise to cherish, love and honour you in health and sickness, in wealth and poverty, in happiness and misery until death parts us. Will you become my husband, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore?”

“Yes, I will.” Now Albus’ voice was hoarse.

“Who are the witnesses to these vo#822#8221; Old Pemperton’s voice - cranky, but nevertheless cheerful.

“I, Ginevra Weasley-Malfoy, am the bride’s witness,” Ginny stepped on Hermione’s side, presenting her a little pillow where a plain, platinum band lay.

Hermione took it and put on Albus’ left fin finger. Looking at it, she declared, “With this ring, the symbol of our never ending love, I take you as my lawfully wedded husband.”
w Luw Lucius spoke, “I, Lucius Malfoy, am the bridegroom’s witness.” On his pillow lay a platinum band with a tansanit.

Albus’ hand trembled as he put it on Hermione’s finger. “Take this ring as a symbol of my ever-lasting love. With it I take you as my lawfully wedded wife.”

“Powers of the earth, the sky, the water and the wind! I call you to witness this day!” Cracklebell called out. “We came her together to witness a bond between lovers, cd ond on their free wills.” Raising his wand he directed it at Albus’ and Hermione’s entwined hands, “Declaratio matrimonium!” A blue and red light danced for a moment over the hands before it rose up to the ceiling and through the windows out to the sky. “From now on until your death you shall belong to each other. Hermione Jane Dumbledond And Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, I declare you wife and husband.” Aith ith a happy smile he added, “You may kiss your new wife now, Albus.”

Albus took Hermione in his arms with so much tender care as if he’d think her fragile. As she put her hands on his shoulders, he cupped her cheeks with his hands, making her look up to him. For a moment like eternity he looked in her eyes and whispered, “Piccola - tu sei la mia vita!***”

“I love you, Albus.” It was her who kissed him now, one of her hands now at his neck under his hair. And as always, when she touched him there, he made a little sound, almost like a purr.

He’d purred too, four weeks ago as she’d burst in his office, for once not minding the portraits of his predecessors, almost jumping over his desk. He’d been not only surprised - he had only just come back from a conference, so he hadn’t known that Hermione was at Hogwarts - but immediately worried. “Why are you here, Hermione? Didn’t you say you would be in your lab all day? Are you ill?”

She’d pushed his chair back for seating down in his lap. Kissing the tip of his nose and stroking the deep wrinkles in his forehead away, she’d assured him, “I’m perfectly fine, Albus. Don’t you worry. I feel like a million galleons.” And with a mischievous smile she’d added, “Actually I didn’t come here to see you. I thought you’d be away all day.”

He had looked worried again. “You came to see Poppy about this flu you’re suffering with? What did she say?”

Hermione had rolled her eyes. “Well - I saw Poppy. She said I’m going to be fine. But the true reason for coming was that I had to ask Sebastian something. I came along a problem with charms and I needed a master to help me with it.” She’d kissed his nose again. “It was very interesting. Did you know that only a few months ago some Germans - one of them Basti’s former master - found out what makes the focus for the lasting charms like wards? It’s very exciting, really. They even found the formula …” He’d looked sceptically and Hermione had laughed. “Sometimes you’re really a lazy bones, Albus! You should read that paper!”

He’d sighed. “Tesoro, I’m seating on a pile of unread transfiguration papers and have to struggle through Severus’ last project too. I don’t think I’ll find the time to read charms papers. Besides, theory of charms was never my strong side. I know how to cast a few charms, but I must admit that since my school’s days I’ve never bothered about the theory behind them.”

“Pity. It’s really fascinating.” Hermione had snuggled closer to him, one hand on his heck, the other playing with one of the buttons over his chest. “Albus - could you just kiss me?” she’d asked.

He’d put his spectacles down. Laying them on his desk, he’d smiled at her. “Let me think about it…” He’d smiledher.her. “Yes, I think I will kiss you.”

Their kiss had become interrupted by a sneer from the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black. Although he’d been a Slytherin like Albus he always found something to nag at his successor. This time he ranted, “Snogging in the headmaster’s office! Really, Dumbledore, you should know better! Can’t you get yourself a room?”

He’d probably become rebuked by the portrait of headmistress Morgaine Saint George, hanging opposite to him. “Did you know the word ‘discretion’, Black? It means one isn’t to interfere with other people’s privacy.”

“But I think Black is right for once,” another headmistress had said. “Dumbledore really shouldn’t kiss her in his office.”

“What’s your problem with it?” Albus’ direct predecessor Armando Dippet asked. “The young lady is something like Albus’ fiancé.”

“Something like!” roared an old Gryffindor with a head as red as his robe. “'Something like' isn’t good enough. In my times a gentlewizard knew how to behave and didn’t kiss a lady who wasn’t his wife. Dumbledore, it’s really time you make this young witch a honourable woman.”

Albus had rolled his eyes. “Come, Hermione!” he’d whispered, had stood up, took her hand and led her up the stairs to his private living room. Closing the door behind her, he’d embraced her again. “Sometimes they really get on my nerves.”

Hermione had turned her head to get away from his lips. “But they had a point, Albus. I’ve thought about it too, the last few days.”

“About what, Piccola?” he’d asked.

“Marriage - or, for being precise, our wedding,” Hermione had answered. She’d giggled. “Although you still didn’t manage to propose, I don’t want to wait until the summer. I want to become your wife as soon as possible.”

“Huh?” Albus had been surprised. “Why? Are we in a hurry?”
mionmione had kissed his chin. “Of course I’m in a hurry. Who knows what happens when I wait? Perhaps you will change your mind?”

“Hermione!” he’d protested. “You know I wouldn’t. I love you.”

“Then let’s marry, Albus,” Hermione had said firmly. “Let’s do it during the Easter break, shall we? I do so want to belong to you finally. And I want to show the world that I belong to you in becoming Madame Dumbledore.”

He’d been more than only a little amazed. “You want to change your name?” he’d asked. “I’ve always thought you’d like to keep yours as a married woman.”

Hermione had smiled. “I actually thought so too. But the longer I considered it, the more I came to the conviction that I want us to share a name too. I don't suppose you want to become Mister Albus Granger?”

“Uuh …” he’d shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, Granger isn’t a bad name, but I actually would prefer to keep mine.̶
He
Hermione had kissed the tip of his nose. “Fine. It’s settled then. I’m to become Madame Dumbledore.”


Now she was Hermione Jane Dumbledore - with a ring on her finger and a husband at her side who looked as if he’d suddenly lost all usu usual self-confidence. He seemed to be totally overwhelmed by his emotions. Hermione was very touched by it. She had pulled him closer to her and stroked his cheek in an almost motherly gesture. She’d known that he loved her and she’d been aware that marriage meant a lot to him, but she hadn’t been prepared for him to be so moved by it. Checking her own feelings she found that she wasn’t so shaken. Despite the difficult start and the countless arguments with Albus; despite his attempts to get her to marry “a nice young wizard”, she’d always known that she belonged to him and that she would either marry him or no one. The wedding vow, to her, was just the public announcement of a promise she’d given him long before. Yet he seemed to need a moment to collect himself. Hermione was determined to give him this time, even if Cracklebell already looked a bit impatient and Lucius was fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. Only her new husband mattered to Hermione and, wrapping one of his white strands around her finger, she whispered in his ear, “Beloved - my very own beloved …”

“Hermione …” Suddenly the twinkle in his eyes was back. “How do you feel as Madame Dumbledore?”

“Wonderful, Mister Dumbledore.” She took his hand. “But I think we should face the world now.”

Actually Hermione had wanted a small wedding. Even as a young girl, she had found the idea of a “meringue wedding”, as Ginny always called it, with the bride wrapped in white satin and lace and looking like a mad pastry chef's creation, rather irritating. And while her dormitory mates had swooned about carriages -- white and decorated with roses and with at least four horses in front of it - and a reception with all the “really important people” in the British wizarding world, Hermione had always thought that she’d be only interested in one person at her wedding, her husband. She would only marry a man she was deeply in love with. That meant, at her own wedding, nobody except him would interest her.

She’d suggested to Albus a visit to a registrar’s office. “You and me and our witnesses - do we need more?”

He had agreed, saying, “I want to marry you - that’s what counts to me. About the ceremony in itself I don’t care. As long as I don’t have to consummate the marriage in front of 100 witnesses, you can do with me what you want.”

“You wouldn’t like to show all our friends how much you love me?” Hermione had teased him. “How disappointing!”

“Darling, I’d like to show it the entire world - but not in this way,” he’d given back. “I’m certainly not shy, but little Albus is. I don’t think I could persuade him to cooperate in front of other people.”

Hermione had grinned. “Well, well, that means no swinger party to our wedding. It’s a small ceremony then, I think.”

Her friends’ reaction to her idea hadn’t been as calm as Albus’. Minerva had almost cried as she’d heard that “her” girl would marry without her friends and family and a proper ceremony. Poppy had swallowed, looked sad and said, “Well, I understand you don’t want a fuss …”

Ginny, always the sensible one, had been direct, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Lucius and I would understand, but a lot of other people would feel offended. Ron and Harry are already pretty piqued because you didn’t tell them all that time. If you don’t invite them your wedding your friendship with them is over. Besides, my bitchy sister-in-law will tell everyone that Albus didn’t want an official wedding because he’s afraid you as a muggleborn would tarnish his standing.”

Lucius had sneered. “I wouldn’t care about Pansy talking codswallop. She always does. Yet I think of your parents, Hermione. I know you’re not very close to them, but if you keep them away from your wedding it could mean the final break. Do you want that?”

“No, of course not. But,” Hermione had looked sulky, “I’m actually not keen of having my silly sister there.”

“Why not?” Ginny had grinned. “Considered how convinced she was that she’d marry first, she’ll probably try to bite herself in the butt. I think that could be funny.”


So it had become not big, but nevertheless, a rather crowded wedding. The great hall of Chateau Dumbledore - Albus had wished to marry in his family home - was filled and for a moment, Hermione, looking at all the people who’d come, felt rather nervous. Would they really all find a place at one of the tables in the ball room? It felt odd, but she was now the mistress of this house and so it was her duty to look after the guests, wasn’t it?

Yet she wouldn’t have to it on her own. Out of a corner of her eye, she saw how Molly Weasley left her place next to her husband to go down to the kitchen. She’d offered to help in organizing the feast. Hermione knew if anyone could get 120 guests fed and watered at once, it was Molly Weasley.

“Hermione!” Ginny hugged her. She was crying and her kiss on Hermione’s cheek was rather wet. “Bloody hormones!” she ranted. “I really don’t know why I’m crying. I’m so totally happy for you. And from one Slytherin wife to another, nothing is ever easy with them. But they’re worth it, aren’t they?”

“Oh Ginny!” Hermione had tears in her eyes too as she embraced her best friend.

“I see the ladies have opened the floodgates,” Lucius sounded amused, and his eyes were warm and friendly. “Will it get worse when I kiss you, Hermione? You’re really a lovely bride and if you weren’t my adopted sister …”

“… and if you weren’t as married as you are!” Hermione laughed, embraced him and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Lucius,” she whispered, “for everything what you’ve done. You’re a real friend and I’m proud you’re my honorary brother.”


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


“There’s one thing about wedding I’ll never ustanstand.” Albus sat down on the bedside, looking wearily at his black boots. Crooking his finger, he let them disappear, sighed with relief and wriggled his toes in their red socks. “This fuss about wedding nights - I really don’t get it. Weddings are tiresome and tiring. I can’t imagine people want to jump on each other afterwards.”

Hermione, who’d fallen on the other side of the huge bed, was lying on her back and just opening the collar of her blue and golden robe. “Does that mean you won’t make our wedding night an unforgettable experience, full of passion and wild sex?”

“Perhaps I would if I could!” He sounded a bit muffled because he’d just undone his robe and was lying on his tummy with his face in the pillow. “But I’m so groggy! I feel as if our guests have danced on my back. And my feet are aching and …”

Hermione rose and slipped out of her robe. “You need your feet for sex? I didn’t know this before.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Albus looked up at her with a big grin. “You were never married before.” Stretching his arms and shoulders he moaned. “You won’t have sex and fun anymore. From now on it will be the marital duty.”

“Ah yes.” Hermione had her robe off. Opening her bra she looked at her new husband who now lay spread eagled over half of the bed. “And is there a law that the marital duty has to be done standing upright? I mean that could get a bit complicated with you being so tall and me being so small.”

“We could use a levitation charm,” Albus suggested.

Hermione, now only in her white lace undies, turned around. “But tng ang about charms, didn’t you miss something today, Beloved?”

He rolled himself on his back again, a few of his bones cracking by it. “Heavens, I’m too old for this wedding business,” he groaned.

“Don’t worry, Albus. You won't have to repeat it.” Hermione giggled. “But now, answer my question please. Didn’t you miss something?”

“What should I have missed? You were there - and that was what counted.”

Hermione smiled at him. “You’re not used to being a married man yet. You’re still charming.” She walked over to the closet and opened a drawer in it. “The bridegroom’s gift from the bride, didn’t you miss it? Minerva and Molly and my mother were all excited about it. They thought I’d forgotten it.” Taking an envelope out of the drawer, she laughed. “You should have seen their faces when I told them you would get it in private. I’m sure they will think I am giving you something rather naughty.”

“And it isn’t naughty?” Albus scratched lazily his belly. “How disappointing!”

“You’ve just declared that you wouldn’t be up to something naughty. So stop whining, loud mouth!” Hermione put the envelope under her arm, opened the door to the bathroom and took a vial from the shelf there. “I have a suggestion, while you look at your gift, I’ll give you a massage.”

“That sounds like a great idea!” Albus braced himself of his elbow and smiled at her. “Actually I don’t need a gift - I’ve got you. But now I’m really curious.”

“You can be, my love.” Hermione walked to the bed, put the vial on the nightstand and pulled a thick package of neatly printed sheets out of the envelope. Some of them were flagged at their edges with littelloellow notes. Hermione looked fondly at them, then she laid the papers down in front of Albus. “Here we go, the first part of your gift.”

Albus sighed, raised his eyebrow and looked at the papers and then questioningly at Hermione. “You want me read this?” She only nodded and so he took his spectacles from the nightstand and put them on. Slowly he read the title on the first page: “The lasting elements of charms, their origins and their theoretical basis.” Making a face he asked, “You really want me to read all of that? Now?”

“Yes, my Darling, just get started with it.” Hermione straddled his back, opened the vial and dropped lavender oil on her hands.

Albus rolled his eyes, but obediently turned the first page and looked at the second. “Oh heavens - they start with quoting Nietzsche!” Quietly he read: “Take care, philosophers and friends, of knowledge, and beware of martyrdom! Of suffering “for the truth’s sake”! Even of defending yourselves! Spoils all the innocence and fine neutrality of your conscience, makes you headstrong against objections and red rags, it stupefies, animalizes, and brutalizes when in the struggle with danger, slander, suspicion, expulsion, and even worse consequences of hostility, you have to pose as protectors of truth upon earth:-as though “the truth” were such an innocuous and incompetent creature as to require protectors!****”

He let his head fall down on the paper. After a few seconds he moaned, “And there I thought the worst thing what can happen to a man on his wedding night was getting a shy virgin in bed! Reading Nietzsche certainly is a close second, if not worse.”

Hermione had started to knead his cramped shoulder mus. &#. “Don’t you give up so easily, Albus. It’s not all about Nietzsche. Actually,the parts you should read I’ve marked for you; just follow the yellow notes.”

“Sweet Merlin,” Albus grumbled. “What have I done to deserve this? I think it’s time you face the ugly truth, Tesoro. You’ve married a lazy, ignorant old crackpot who gets the jitters from the idea of reading all this stuff.”

Hermione tugged at his hair. “Don’t you dare to belittle my husband! Just read!”

“Well, I’ve sworn obedience. Or haven’t I?”

Instead of answering Hermione bent down and bite lightly on his biceps.

“Huh - yes!” Albus said. “I’m already reading!”

For a while both of them were silent, Hermione tenderly stroking and kneading his muscles, Albus reading, his forehead wrinkled in concentration.

Then suddenly he swallowed, shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just learned. Hermione watched over his shoulder how he read the certain piece in the text again, with one finger following the writing, his lips silently moving. She smiled and bent down, kissing his shoulder.

“Moment …” He sounded flabbergasted. “Did I get this right? Their experiments lead to the result, that,” he started to quote, “‘the lasting elements in charms like: disguises, shielding, contraceptus infertile and temperature changing -- those charms directed by a wizard rds rds his own person -- is the wizard’s willpower and not raw magical power.”

Hermione heard how he swallowed again. She kept her breath, waiting for the moment it would finally dawn on him.

He was still reading: “Our experiments showed that said charms tended to wear of slowly when the casting wizard’s intention about it changes. If the intention changes, especially when the intent becomes wholly inverted, the charms disappear completely….” With one quick move he turned, catching Hermione in his arms and looking at her out of very serious eyes. “You gave me this paper because...&#; He; He searched for words, his voice suddenly very hoarse. “Hermione, are you …?”

She couldn’t tease him any longer. He looked almost desperate. “Yes Albus,” she said. “I didn’t want to tell you before I was entirely sure and before the first, dangerous phase was over, but yes. At the end of September you’ll become a father.”

“Hermione …” He laid his hands around her cheeks, tears running down his face. “Please - say it again!”

She beamed at him. Rou&#ou’ll become a father, Albus. I’m pregnant.” She took his right hand and laid it against her belly. “May I introduce you to your son? He’s just as long as one of your fingers, but he’s got already tiny hands and feet and I’m sure he’ll smile at you and look out of eyes as blue as yours and I hope he’s a redhead …”

“Hermione …” He closed his eyes. “I wished so much for this to happen …” he whispered.

“Therefore it did.” Hermione pulled him down for a kiss. “I first couldn’t believe it,” she told him then. “My period had never been very regular, so the first signs were feeling dizzy and my breasts aching. And then,” she giggled. “Didn’t you wonder, Albus? I became so terribly randy! I only had to think about you - which I actually do all day - to become wet and needy. If you’d been in Venice all the time, you would have hardly gotten a chance to get out of bed.”

“And I’ve missed this?” He smiled at her.

“Not entirely. And,” Hermione let her hand glide down his back to his buttocks. “I’m not sure I’m completely through it. Tomorrow you’ll have to do your marital duty.”

“But …” He looked at her seriously. “You’ll need a lot of rest now, Tesoro.”

“Albus, I’m pregnant, not sick. And Poppy says the baby and I are in perfect health and we don’t need to be treated like invalids. The only thing she forbade me is playing quidditch. Considering that I’ve always hated flying on a broomstick, I don’t think I’ll start quidditch just now. For other matters: Poppy says a pregnant woman needs tenderness and love and therefore she should do whatever makes her feel good with her husband.”

He still looked rather worried. “When did you see Poppy last?”

“Today, my dear. She was our guest and, if I remember, you even danced with her.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “But she warned me already. One of the first things she said was, ‘Poor lass! Albus will become absolutely overprotective and will fuss so much it will make you crazy.”

“I don’t fuss!” he defended himself. “But a pregnant woman deserves to be cared for.”

“Yes, Beloved. But promise me, you won’t become overprotective, will you? You really don’t have to worry. I’m fine and so is our baby.”

“Our baby …” he repeated. “I can’t believe it. You’re expecting our baby. I’m going to be a father!”

“Yes, my love.” Hermione stroked tenderly over his hair. “And at Monday you’re to fulfill your first duty as a father.” She giggled. “ wil will tell Minerva that the teaching schedule for the first weeks of the new term must be rewritten. I don’t think I’ll be up to teaching until November.”

Albus smiled. “I think it doesn’t need a big rewriting. It will be only a change of one letter: Instead of Professor H. Dumbledore the students will get Professor A. Dumbledore.”

Hermione kissed the tip of his nose. “Then you should tell your son that he’s to make his entrance in this world at a time when you aren’t in class. I’d like you to hold my hand.”

“Son?” Albus raised an eyebrow. “Is that already sure?”

Hermione snuggled closer to him. “My feeling says it’s a him. A little boy with your blue eyes, your twinkle, and your beautiful hands - I can already see him. But wouldn’t you like a son, Albus?”

“Oh, Piccola - I want a healthy child. I don’t care if it’s him or her. I’ll love a boy or a girl just the same. But if I would have a choice, I’d probably ask for a little girl with cinnamon eyes and bushy, brown hair and your smile,” Albus answered.

“A girl who would wrap you around her little fingers in no time?” Hermione smiled at him. “You would probably spoil her to no end!”

He kissed her tenderly. “You know you can avoid that? If you allow me to spoil you instead…”

“Even more as you already do?” Hermione asked. “You know I already feel like the most spoiled woman alive. The last few months you’ve spend a fortune on flowers and dresses and books and perfume and sweets and everything. I’m afraid you’re rather extravagant, my love.”

He turned on his back and pulled her with him. Cradling her head at his shoulder, he said, “You never wanted to talk about money, Hermione, but we’re a family now, so I think you should be informed. I’m well off. We wouldn’t need to work. My father not only invested in a few wizards’ companies, but in muggle industries too. And my mother was the last Houdini. That means I’ve got a few houses and some land in Italy. Whatever I own is now yours too. So if you want something - a house of your own or something like that - just tell me.”

“Don’t we have already a house of our own?” Hermione pointed to the ceiling. “I think this one is big enough. And Palazzo Houdini is yours too, isn’t it?”

“Ours, Tesoro,” he corrected her. “And there’s the vinery in Tuscany - my grandfather Houdini bought it. And we have a house in London, though I’ve rented it out because I didn’t need it. But if you want to use it for going to the opera or a concert occasionally, we can get it back. And my brother had a cottage in Cornwall - rather nice. I’ve inherited it. We could spend a few days in the holidays there sometimes. The child certainly would love it.”

Hermione laughed. “But you don’t have a nice palace in France? You know I always liked the chateaus at the Loire. And Versailles - uh! There you’d have space for your mess! You could spread your robes all around. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“I promise I’ll get better,” he said.

“I’m looking forward to it. But seriously, Albus, I like living at Hogwarts. And we’ve got enough space there. My former bedroom can become our nursery and we won't need more space,” Hermione said.

“Hermione, I won’t be Headmaster for the rest of my life. I don’t intend to die at my desk,” Albus said seriously. “One day I’ll retire.”

“Then we’ll talk about our living arrangements again,” Hermione decided. “Until then it’s Hogwarts - and I really look forward to going back. I’m already counting the days until I can leave Venice.”

“So am I.” Albus wrinkled his forehead. “I don’t like the idea that you’ll go back to Venice next week or that you’ll be on your own there for the six weeks until the semester ends. Do you think you could ask Luciano if he’d release you earlier? Or shall I ask him?”

Hermione sighed. “And then? What shall I do then? You have a school to run and I was never very good at knitting. I don’t think I’d like to just watch my belly grow all day, considering that I will have to do that for the next five months. It certainly would get boring. So just let me do my job, won’t you?”

“Well …” He smiled a bit lopsided. “I promised I wouldn’t be ovetecttective. But you promise you’ll take care of yourself, right?”

“Yes, my love, I will.” She yawned. “And now, just hold me, Albus. I want to sleep in your arms and to wake up seeing you smile at me. From now on - ‘til death will part us.”

The end …

or isn’t it?

I think there’ll be a le epe epilogue. ;-)




* Elizabeth Barrett-Browning, Sonnerom rom the Portuguese, No. XXXIX

** William Shakespeare, “True Love”

*** “Little one, you are my life.”

**** Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, Part 2: The Free Spirit