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 22: With a little help from my enemy …


Albus shifted in his bed, pulling the blanket a bit tighter around Hermione and himself. After a heavy thunderstorm it rained in thick drops, the wind rattled at the windows and despite the fire in the fireplace he felt how the damp from the garden penetrated through the walls into the dark room. Cautiously he tried to stretch his left leg – weather like this always made his rheumatic becoming worse. This time it was his left knee which was aching - a numb pain, just enough to make him uncomfortable, but not enough to leave the warmth of the bed for getting a potion. He hoped he’d fall asleep soon despite the knee, but knew in the same time that his mind wouldn’t stop spinning in the next two hours.

Being as old and experienced as he was, Albus was rarely surprised by his fellow human beings and their emotions anymore and he had of course noticed that the verbal battling of Severus and Hermione had lost the acid of former times. He’d also noticed how close they had become over the last weeks and would have had to be deaf, blind and utterly insensitive if he wouldn’t have noticed the way Severus was looking at Hermione when he felt unwatched. Yet Albus was neither deaf nor blind nor insensitive, but fully aware of Hermione just being what the healer would have ordered for getting Severus Snape out of the misery which was his life. Hermione with her quick wit, her intelligence and independence of thinking, with her thirst for knowledge, her fierce loyalty, her outstanding courage, her warmth and her passion – if Albus would have been able to create a mate for Severus, he’d probably made a Hermione for him. And knowing that Hermione had learned to look through the boy’s sneer and malice to see the brave and honourable man behind it that she’d even learned to appreciate his dark sense of humour and his protectiveness about the people he cared for – Albus was glad about it. And to think of them both coming closer – hopefulne dne day even close enoughbecobecome an item – had been for months a thought Albus felt warmed by. To left Hermione and his child back in Severus’ care would make it easier to go.

It even gave an additional sense to Hermione being pregnant. Albus knew Severus and his highly developed sense of fairness as well as he knew about Severus no less developed pride. The thought that being with him could mean a woman sacrifice something she could get with another partner would probably keep him away from forming a close bound with her. Even with Severus never wanting to have children of his own, even with his dislike of most children – Albus was certain that he would never marry a woman who wanted to get a family. So with Hermione having a baby – Albus could hardly imagine that she’d wish for an entire quidditch team – would probably make it possible for Severus to see himself as a potential long time partner for her.

So far, so good – and under these circumstances Albus hadn’t wondered about what obviously had happened between the two of them in Paris. Of course – they hadn’t told him, probably an unspoken mutual agreement of sparing him. But even if they would have stormed into his hotel room that night, shouting: “So sorry, Albus, but we couldn’t help ourselves – we just had to snog like mad on the riverside” it couldn’t have been more obvious. Even with Severus being a Slytherin and as a former spy used to hiding fee feelings – in acting around Albus he wasn’t much better than his partner in crime. And as far as she was concerned, Albus was by now convinced that even Ron Weasley as her husband would have noticed that something was wrong and though Ron was probably as sensitive as a brick wall he wouldn’t have needed to Her Hermione when she was with Severus. Hermione on her own was enough to make the most naïve and harmless of husbands wonder.

Her clinging to him, her desperate attempts to show him that she loved him and only him and no one else – she reminded Albus of a first year, a very small and shy boy he’d once seen walking down the steps to the dungeons, his eyes closed and repeating to himself over and over: “No, I’m not afraid. Professor Snape won’t do anything bad to me. No, I’m not afraid …”

The little one in Hogwarts Albus had managed to comfort. With Hermione he hadn’t found a way yet. He knew that he actually should talk to her – and probably with Severus too. But for once it wt lat lack of time which prevented him from doing so, but the fact that in the three days since Severus and Hermione avoided even to look at each other Albus hadn’t succeeded in coming to an agreement with himself. It was once again a lesson about the difference between academic knowledge and felt emotions. Only it was his emotions this time and they were much more mixed and even shaken up than he would have ever imagined. He loved Hermione. So much was clear. And that this love meant he wished her a happy future, a future in which she wasn’t alone, but loved, admired and cared for by a good and decent man was clear also. So clear as that Severus was a good and decent man. But knowing all that and repeating it to himself at least three times a day didn’t change the fact that Albus fought with the “green eyed monster”, called jealousy. And it sent him to live through the entire catalogue of feelings connected with jealousy.

He was angry – so angry he sometimes wanted to shout: “Couldn’t you wait the few weeks until I’m death?” And he was furious and sometimes so cynic he wanted to congratulate Skeeter and Fudge because they’d once managed to get something right. Yet the cynic mood mostly got him to one he despised even more – and even in his biggest rage against Severus and Hermione he never was so hard to them than he was to himself when he felt self-pity. He was human enough to allow himself feelings of hurt – this was part of loving and losing this love. But wailing in self-pity he’d never forgive himself.

Hermione turned and laid an arm and a leg over him as she often did in sleep. Albus felt her belly – still not very much, but certainly rounder than before her pregnancy – on his side. Cautiously he moved his hand down and laid it against the soft skin. He’d done soularularly the last nights and sometimes he’d felt a slight flutter there, not more than the touch of a butterfly’s wing. But even if it had been only a pro of of his imagination: He was very much aware of the baby’s presence and in his mind he talked to him, telling the unborn how much he loved it and how much he would have given to only see it once.

The storm outside seemed at last to calm; the rain didn’t bang against the windows anymore, but became a soft murmur. Albuved ved his knee again – it started to swell and to ache more and he knew it wouldn’t let him sleep. As much as he hated to leave the warm bed, he would have to go up to get a potion. So he carefully tried to shove Hermione a bit aside, then he slowly rose up, picked his wand and spectacles from the night stand and slipped in his old, woollen dressing gown which had lain on the chair next to the bed. But by searching for his slippers he banged his swollen knee against the bed and couldn’t suppress a moan.

“Albus?” Hermione sounded sleepy. “Why you’re up?”

“Hush!” he whispered. “I only need to spend a Knut …” He didn’t know why he lied to her – probably it was his Slytherin pride which didn’t like to be pitied.

Waiting for a moment motionless, he heard the rustle of fabric. Then her breathing became regular and deep again. Bending down to find the slippers, he suddenly heard another sound – light steps, walking up and down restlessly. He knew immediately what this meant and felt a wave of anger. It was enough to make him forget about the slippers and his already cold feet. He marched to the door and stormed up the stairs to the potion lab. Bursting in he saw what he’d expected: Severus – still dressed in the grey trousers and the dark green shirt he’d wore all day – was wandering through the lab, his forearm clutched tightly to his body, his hair hanging in greasy strands over his pale, sweaty face.

Albus raised his wand. Directing it at the young man, he almost shouted the incantation to stop the burning in the dark mark. Without waiting for the effect of his spell, he started to rant: “Severus, you’re the most pigheaded idiot I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet. Why the hell didn’t you wake me? Did you intend to suffer heroically all night?”

Severus sank down in the worn chair next to the little fireplace. He sounded like a skulking child as he said: “I know you’ve had a hard day …”

“You stubborn git!” Albus really was furious. “Do you think my days will become less hard when I have to worry about you too?”

Severus sunk his head. “There’s no need to insult me …” he grumbled. Looking up again, he added tiredly: “To state the obvious: The dark lord is once again back and very much interested in seeing his followers.”

Albus pushed his wand in his sleeve. “When did he call?”

“One hour …” Severus looked at the wizard’s watch on thetelptelpiece. “Yes, it was exactly one hour and 10 minutes before.”

“Hmm,” Albus made. “It’s rather unusual he calls his followers in the middle of the night, isn’t it? What do you think? Is he up to an attack?”

Severus shook his head. “I can’t imagine. He was quiet for months. It’s not like him to start an attack without any preparation. So I’d rather say he’s planning …”

Albus sighed. “Let’s go down in the study and open the floo. If you’re right Lucius will come to inform us.”

Severus rose up and came to the door. “I wish I could be as optimistic about that as you are …”

Albus limbed already down the stairs. Now, with the rage gone, he felt the pain in his knee once again and wished he could have a painkilling potion and go back to his bed.

“What’s with your leg, Albus?” Severus asked. “You’re limping.”

“Thanks for telling. I wouldn’t have noticed.” Albus was still angry with Severus. Opening the door to the study, he commanded “lumos”. The candles lightened up, the girl with the guitar over the mantelpiece awoke, and her hand fell on her instrument and made a disharmonic sound. Albus didn’t look up, but concentrated on the fire place. A quick incantation made a fire in it burn, another opened the ward behind for Lucius Malfoy. Albus then sunk himself on the sofa, laid his wand on the table in front of him and put his glasses down. As he just started to massage the bridge of his nose – by now he got a headache too – Hermione busted in.

“Albus? Are you there? Professor McGonagall is on the floo in the bedroom. Harry woke her up – his scar burns. He thinks Voldemort is back.”

The pain in his head made Albus answer sharper than he actually had intended. “Why do you think I sit here in the middle of the night?”

“Sorry for telling you something your omniscience made you already know,” Hermione promptly snapped. “Don’t you want to come up and talk with Minerva?”

“No,” Albus said curtly. “Tell her I know and I’ll come over in the morning and talk to Harry and her.”

“Yes, sir!” Hermione managed to make the two short words sound sarcastic. She obviously didn’t like to be ordered around like his servant and disappeared in the style of a “royal princess on pissed off level four” as her friend Ron would have said.

In the door she bumped almost into Severus and even at that moment they both avoided to look at each other. But as Hermione was out of sight, Severus said quietly: “There was no need to shout at her, Albus.”

It was the last straw. Albus exploded at once. “In the moment she’s still my wife.”

It hardly happened to him anymore that he let his temper have free reign and it was probably the first time alf alf a century he’d spoken so entirely without thinking first. Oddly enough he felt better afterwards. The pressure on his head was gone and he wasn’t so cold anymore. Nevertheless he knew it had been wrong to shout at Severus and he closed his eyes and searched for the right words to apologize.

Suddenly he felt Severus’ hand on his knee. His cold, but tender fingers moved over the swollen bone. “It’s your rheumatic again, isn’t it?” he asked, went on his knees and pushed Albus’ shirt upwards. “I’ve got you a cooling gel. And,” he pulled a vial out of his pocket and gave it to Albus, “a painkiller – nothing strong, but it should work against the headache too.” Out of another vial he spread a blue, strong smelling gel on Albus’ knee.

It helped almost immediately and Albus sighed in relief. Looking down on the black head of his friend, he said quietly: “Thank you, Severus. And …,” he hesitated, but not because he didn’t want to apologize, but because words seemed so lame. “I’m sorry, Severus. I really am.”

Severus didn’t answer. Instead he put the gel back in his pocket, took Albus’ legs, helped him to lay them on the sofa and put a plaid over it. “Take the potion,” he said then. “Malfoy is bad enough without a headache.”

Albus was aware that this was not the best moment for “the talk”, but after Malfoy’s visit it would probably be even worse. So he opened the vial, drank the bitter potion and said: “Severus, I know it’s not your fault.”

Severus looked at him, his face a neutral mask, but the black eyes glittering. “You’re wrong, Albus,” he said determined. “It’s in any case more mine than Hermione’s fault. She didn’t do anything wrong. It was me who kissed her in Paris. I’m sorry for it. It won’t happen again.”

Albus wondered. Why he’d needed so long to open his mouth? He should have known that he could trust in Severus not to over dramatize. Probably he was less of a drama queen than Albus himself. Yet Albus tried to overcome his tendency to sound like a Victorian and produced a small smile. “I wouldn’t call it ‘wrong-doing’, Severus, but pre pretty sure Hermione kissed you back.”

At least: He’d managed to surprise the boy – even so much he let his cold mask drop for a moment, making big eyes: “She told you?”

“No, Severus, she didn’t,” Albus said calmly. “But if she hadn’t wanted to kiss you back, you’d probably get a slap in the face and a kick in your genitals. And afterwards Hermione wouldn’t have avoided looking at you, but sending daggers with every gaze.”

Severus sunk his head. Playing with the empty vial on the table, he said: “There’s something you probably don’t know already. It was Hermione who broke the kiss, saying ‘But I love Albus’.”

Albus sighed. “And now you can ask yourself to whom she has to tell this – to herself or to you?”

“Albus!” Severus obviously couldn’t sit still any longer. He jumped to his feet and started pacing through the room. “You don’t doubt her love, do you?”

“No, I don’t.” Albus’ headache was better, so he put his spectacles back on their right place and opened his eyes. “But I don’t think a woman can love only one man. Hermione loves me – but one day she’ll probably love you.”

Severus turned around. His voice sounded like breaking ice as he said: “Albus, I’ve always hated your meddling in other people’s lives. I would be grateful – very grateful indeed – if you would stop meddling with things which are in the future – or not, as the case may be. And in contrast to you I don’t believe a woman needs a man to become a complete person. If Hermione ever will need a second husband she’ll find herself one. And if you’re looking out for a father to your child, then please: Try Harry bloody Potter or Ron stupid Weasley. I don’t like children and if you think I’d start to like one only because it’s got your blue eyes, then you’re terribly wrong. I’m already shuddering by the thought it could inherited your …”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his line because the flames in the fireplace suddenly roared and became green. A few seconds later the tall frame of Lucius Malfoy, still in complete death eater attire, only with the silver mask in his hand instead of in front his face, stepped out. Brushing a bit of soot from his robe, Malfoy looked around the room and to the painted ceiling. “Nice,” he said then, pointing to the ceiling. “Original?”

“Yes,” Albus answered. “Cuvillies.”

“Oh? I didn’t know he ever worked in England.” Malfoy slipped out of his robe and throw it over a chair.

“One of my ancestors’s met him in Munich and persuaded him to come over the channel,” Albus said.

“Did you come to talk art?” Severus sneered.

Lucius Malfoy looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Then he sai a b a bored tone: “Couldn’t you train your pet spy in manners, while he’s on his holidays from hell, Dumbledore? When the war is over he’ll probably need to have a civilized conversation now and then.”

Albus only smiled his usual benevolent smile, but his eye eyes didn’t twinkle. “Is Riddle to start an attack?” he asked then.

Lucius Malfoy leaned back in the chair as if he were at a party. “Yes,” he said. “He is. So what do you want to hear first? The good or the bad news?”

“As you like, Lucius.” Albus wasn’t to provoke easily.

“Let’s start with the good news then.” Lucius poured himself a glass of fire whiskey from the tray on the table. “Our oh so powerful lord and master seems to get the jitters when he thinks about a certain ‘old fool’ – I’m sorry but that’s how he mostly addresses you, Dumbledore – becoming minister of magic. Therefore he wants to spit in your soup in his probed manner: He plans to attack the most prominent members of the Dumbledore Adorer’s Association in the hope that people will learn from that to better stay away from you. So tomorrow at this time the dark lord’s faithful death eaters will storm the weasel’s burrow.” He looked at his well manicured hands and murmured. “I only hope the ruin won’t break down on me by the first little curse.”

Albus still smiled. “I don’t think so, Lucius. The Burrow is much more stable than most people think. Besides it’s heavily warded.”

“Dumbledore!” Lucius shook his head. “Are you becoming senile? You don’t really believe that a few wards will keep 20 death eaters – with Bellatrix Lestrange leading the troop – away? Even your wards here wouldn’t keep up from them for long …”

“But probably long enough to get the aurors round,” Albus answered. “But ...,” he once again put his spectacles up and massaged his nose, “let me think. Ronald and Virginia Weasley are safe at Hogwarts. The twins are living over their shop in Diagon Alley, Bill is still in Egypt, and Charlie is in Romania. So we have Molly, Arthur and Percy at the Burrows.” He wrinkled his forehead. “To keep them away would endanger Lucius …” he said quietly, more to himself than to the two listening men.

“Thanks for thinking of me!” Malfoy sneered. “But I don’t think the dark lord is suspicious of me. I’m high in his esteem after killing our dear Severus. So I think you can warn the Weasleys. They will probably have to build a new home after the attack, I’v I’ve always thought the best way to make their shag a decent place is burning it down.”

“I think we’ll sacrifice the Burrow in fact,” Albus said thoughtfully. “Besides I think we should sacrifice a Weasley too. I could do with a funeral before the election.”

“What?” Lucius grinned. “Dumbledore, you start to frighten me. I always thought you’re not Slytherin enough, but now you’re becoming even a bit too much Slytherin for my taste.”

“I wish you were more of a Slytherin!” Severus said. “Couldn’t you try a bit thinking now and then? Dumbledorrtairtainly isn’t to kill a Weasley.”

“No, I’m not.” Albus still massaged the bridge of his nose. “But the uproar a killed Weasleuld uld make I’d like very much. I’m pretty sure it would make the election children’s game.”

“The dark lord doesn’t believe so,” Lucius Malfoy said. “He’s convinced people will run away and hide then.”

“He underestimates the British wizards and witches,” Albus stated calmly. “In this he makes the same mistake as Fudge. Both believe that people rather hide liv live under terror than to fight. I don’t believe so. People in general are alike to rats – which are pretty intelligent animals. If you corner a rat and it becomes convinced it hasn’t got a way out anymore, it attacks. Until now most people didn’t feel cornered and Fudge always confirmed their belief that laying low would be enough to avoid becoming a target of Riddle. In his dealings with Harry Potter Fudge even tried to prove this. It was always a kind of ‘if the boy wouldn’t mess around with the dark lord, the dark lord wouldn’t want to kill him’ story Fudge told.”

“You’re right,” Malfoy said thoughtfully. “A death Weasley would probably make people feel cornered. I only would like to know how you intend to get your death Weasley. The Severus act won’t work again because I won’t be alone in the Burrow. And Bellatrix doesn’t trust me. If I would storm first and then maintain I’ve just killed the first Weasley who came in front of my wand, she’d certainly want to see the body.”

“And mental as she is, she’d probably even play a bit to make sure it’s really and absolutely death,” Severus added bitterly.

“And with our lord not accompanying us to the Burrow, Bellatrix would perhaps even wish to get him a trophy. So your talent in changing bones to bodies won’t help much,” Lucius said to Albus.

“Hmm …” he made. “What do you think, Lucius: Who would believe a death eater if he would deny a murder I accuse him of?”

“Huh?” Malfoy obviously didn’t understand.

But Severus did. “That’s not too bad an idea, Albus,” he said. “And you could even find the body yourself.”

“Indeed. The Weasleys are friends of mine; Arthur is supposed to be mye my right hand. So I would of course hurry to help when his house is attacked. Only I’d come too late to save Molly who was alone at home during the attack.”

“Because Arthur – devoted to you and his duties at your side – was with you in …” Severus looked at Albus.

“… A most public place,” Albus finished.

“I take it that Mistress Weasley won’t be at the Burrow tomorrow?” Lucius asked.

“Right,” Albus nodded.

“Nevertheless you’ll blame the death eaters afterwards – hmm …” Malfoy wasn’t entirely convinced about the plan. “You know a few of them are still undercover, living their daily life as respected members of our community. They will tell that you’re lying.”

Albus looked at him over the rim of his spectacles. “I don’t think so,” he said almost cheerfully. “As you and Severus were often telling me: The death eaters aren’t much in contact with each other. Most of them meet only when Riddle calls them. If Arthur, the aurors and I are quick enough at the Burrows, we can produce a nice mess – afterwards no death eater will know exactly what happened there.”

“We can even produce a death eater who maintains he did the murder,” Severus added. “If the wards are down, I can apparate in the house and shout something like ‘I got the bitch’ out of a window. If there’s enough mess no one will notice there was one death eater too much …”

“That’s true.” Malfoy rose and took his cloak. “It sounds like we’re going to have fun.” He marched over to the fire place. “The gentlemen won’t miss me? I’ll enjoy the gathering tomorrow more when I’ll get a little rest before. Until tomorrow then.” With a slight bow he added: “My regards to your wife, Dumbledore. I hope she won’t mind I kept you out of bed so long.” And with another mock bow he threw floo powder into the fire and stepped in, calling “Malfoy Mansion.”

“I never liked his sense of humour much.” Severus grumbled as his old housemate had disappeared.

Albus smiled. “I’m not a great admirer of it either. But you must admit: Lucius does well as a spy.”

“If only I could trust him.” Severus pushed a strand of black hair out of his forehead. Then he rose and went to the fireplace. “Shall I call the Burrow? I think the Weasleys should be informed as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, please do. I think its best they come through.” Albus got up too and limbed to his desk. Opening a drawer he got himself a little bag with lemon drops, put one in his mouth and hoppled to the door then.

Severus looked after him. “What are you up to?”

“I’m getting myself socks and slippers,” Albus said. “Besides I wake Hermione. Shouting at her I’d probably survive. But not informing her about a planned attack on the Weasleys – I think this could get me to sleep on the sofa for an entire week.”


Hermione didn’t sleep, but was reading. Albus wasn’t surprised about that. He had known she was waiting eagerly for some information and even if it hadn’t been her inborn curiosity which had kept her awake – the anger about his tone would have done so.

Albus sighed inwardly. As much as he loved her – sometimes he couldn’t help remembering that life as a bachelor had been easier. As such he’d have simply accio his slippers and socks instead of limping up the stairs. And hell, his knee just started puckering and swelling again – it obviously didn’t like his running up and down the house.

Now Hermione had noticed him staying in the threshold. She laid her book down and only asked: “Finished?”

“No, unfortunately not.” He tried to avoid limping – he didn’t want a sympathy bonus when he’d just crossed her. But the bedroom was big and the bed stood on a little platform with two stairs. Reaching there, he found his slippers standing neatly next to the nightstand – obviously Hermione had put them there. But now his feet were so icy the slippers wouldn’t be enough to get them warm enough, so he sat down on his side of the bed, waved his wand and commanded wearily: “Accio woollen socks.” A drawer in his closet opened and a pair of thick, woollen socks sailed through the room in his outstretched hand.

“Albus …” Hermione sounded not too friendly. “It’s not my fault when Severus is too stubborn to wake you.”

He unfolded the socks. “You’re right, Hermione. I’m sorry …” He suddenly felt bone-tired and looked longingly at the bed. Yet he knew he couldn’t lie down. He had to speak with Arthur and Molly first and he had to make sure his plan would work and then he’d have to think about hiding Molly – or better said: Persuading her to act the body and … but first he really had to do something about his frozen feet and so he bent down. The right foot was easy enough, but for the left …

Suddenly Hermione was in front of him. Kneeling down, she took the sock out of his hand. “You really shouldn’t complain about Severus,” she ranted. “You’re not an iota better than he is – you’re probably even worse.” She took his foot in her hands and then shook her head. “It’s unbelievable. You’re already suffering with rheumatic so much you can hardly crawl, but you’re running around barefooted.”

Despite his tiredness Albus laughed. “Your metaphors are a bit out of form tonight, Hermione. Some one who’s hardly up to crawling can’t run around.”

Hermione had started to rub his foot. “Don’t lecture me, Albus. I’m already angry with you!” she said with a furious gaze at him.

He laid his hand in her hair, grateful for the warmth her fingers were spending. “I’m really, truly sorry, my love. Sometimes I’m an idiot who doesn’t deserve a wife like you.”

“At least you know it,” she grumbled.

He felt that her anger at him was already shrinking. Using his chance – he wasn’t a Slytherin and a trained tactician for nothing – he laid a finger under her chin, pulled it softly up, opened in the same time his knees and made her tumble against him. Embracing her he whispered: “At least: Being an idiot doesn’t prevent me from loving you.”

“Does that mean you want me to forget about your tone?” Hermione stretched and looked in his eyes.

“Yes, Hermione – it does. And if you’re just in forgiving – I was a bit beside myself the last days …” he said quietly. “I apologize …”

She watched him for a moment, and then she swallowed. “Actually it should be me who asks you for forgiveness …” she said then slowly.

“I don’t think you did anything wrong.” They both knew what he was talking about.

Hermione sunk her head. A moment she was quiet, then she whispered: “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.” He once again laid a finger under her chin and made her look up to him. Seriously he said hen: “One of the things I appreciate about you – very much indeed – is your heart. It’s big enough to give me everything I need and it’s big enough to have space for other people too …”

She swallowed again. “But it’s only you I want for a lover,” she said then quietly. “You give me everything I need – and even more. Marrying you was the best thing that ever happened to me …”

“I could have done worse myself,” he smiled to her, and then he pulled her close once again and searched with his lips for her mouth. Hermione responded by stroking his head and for a moment he forgot everything around them. Then, with regret, he broke the kiss. “As much as I’d like to kiss you all night,” he said, “we’re expecting guests. The Weasleys are coming over and I’d be glad if you’d accompany me down. It would spare me to tell the entire story twice.”


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


“I’m really to become a cynic,” Albus thought, looking down on Hermione walking next to him, her hand on his arm so that her finger just touched the inside of his wrist. He sighed – actually he didn’t like all the lying and cunning and scheming he’d done over the last days.

Hermione’s fingers stroked his hand lightly. “What you’re sighing about?” she asked quietly.

In a whisper he gave back: “I’ve just discovered that I like mourning.”

“Ah?” Hermione looked up to him and he saw a warning in her eyes. Obviously she didn’t feel comfortable in talking with him as long as they were walking over the grave yard with Fudge and his wife only a few steps behind them. Ber fer fingers tugged now on his wand – so slightly even somebody standing in front of them wouldn’t have noticed. And for making sure he really understood she lent a bit closer to him and said, just in the tone a grieving person was supposed to use: “My only comfort is we’re so close in our minds and hearts, Albus.” She pronounced the word “mind” a bit more than the rest of the sentence, but Albus actually wouldn’t have needed her to do so.

He had already understood. Tugging at his voluminous black robe as if he would to plaid it, he pulled his wand out just so much he could direct it at his wife. His “legilimens” wasn’t more than a toneless whisper; he even almost didn’t move his lips by it.

Although Severus had trained Hermione in occlumency – the first step to become a legilimens – her mind was open to Albus. Nevertheless he didn’t try to dig in it, but stayed carefully just on the edge of her being where he was welcomed with the warmth and brightness which was her. He heard her inner voice now. It said crisply: “I don’t think you’d like mourning in general. But mourning for some one who’s probably just chasing our house elves through the kitchen – I actually like that too. Especially when it gives you a reason to stay at home for the rest of the day.”

“I shall enjoy it very much,” he sent back. “It means I’m with you …”

“Actually I think I will help Molly a bit in cleaning the nursery,” Hermione looked up at him and – thinking, that her silence would perhaps make Fudge and his wife suspicious, said with her normal voice: “Honestly, Albus – you look dreadful. And you’re still limping.” In her mind she added: “You didn’t get more than five or six hours of sleep during the last two days. I think you should have a nap as soon as we’re at home.”

“You didn’t get much sleep either,” Albus sent back. He absolutely didn’t mind what Fudge thought about his silence. Knowing the soon-to-be-a-former-minister as well as he did, he knew Fudge wouldn’t notice the magic sparkling from 25 legilimens, singing a Christmas carol in their minds while gathering around him. So it was easy to send Hermione another thought. “You know, I sleep best with you in my arms …”

Hermione’s face remained serious, but in her mind she laughed. “Am I your teddy bear?”

“Actually, no, rather not. I couldn’t think of making love to a teddy bear. Even in being a Slytherin: My kinkiness has limits.”

“Albus! I was talking of sleep!” Hermione thought at him, but he felt that she found the idea of an afternoon shag nice.

“So did I,” Albus answered therefore. “Sleeping together would be a pleasant way to spend a rainy afternoon like this. Besides: My father always used to say ‘who sleeps, doesn’t sin. But who sins, sleeps bettfterfterwards.”

“Frivolity seems to run in the family,” Hermione laughed at him.

They had arrived at the gates of the grave yard now where already a huge crowd gathered. Albus sent a sigh at Hermione: “Now to the last act of this dark comedy …” Then he waved his hand, hidden in the folds of his robe, murmured a “finite incantatum” and cut the connection with her. Looking at the young Weasleys, standing around their father with Harry, holding Ginny’s hand, he braced himself. Of course – except for Percy who stood a few steps away with his bride, all Weasleys know that their mother wasn’t death, but Ginny was nevertheless in tears, Ron looked as if he were close to joining her in crying and Charlie looked worryingly from his pale father to Percy and then with an accusing gaze at Albus. The eldest Weasley had been fiercely against lying to Percy and Albus would have had managed to convince him. It had been Molly herself who’d spoken the final “no”, explaining that she loved Percy as much as his siblings, but simply didn’t trust him enough. Yet the sadness in her eyes and how she searched for Arthur’s hand had Albus led to make a note inwardly: “Speaking to Percy as soon as possible.” Although Percy was his least favourite Weasley – he would try to get him on their side and back in his family again.

Isadora Cracklebell suddenly was on Albus’ side. Although she’d refrained from bringing her clipboarda fua funeral, she looked already all business again. “Sir, I’ve flooed the deputy major of Twinkletown and told him that you wouldn’t feel up for holding a speech today. He asked me to exs his his understanding to you, sir. And Mistress Pearsfrols from the Council of St. Mungo’s I’ve flooed also and she says she thought already you should stay with the Weasleys today and she’ll send you an owl later, sir. So all appointments for today are cancelled. Only Mister Van Dirksen from the Wizard’s Wireless Network was very unhappy about your refusal to give him an interview today. He asked me to ask you if you couldn’t reconsider. He’d need you only for a few minutes.”

“No.” Albus shook his head. “I’ll see him tomorrow at nine o’ clock. Today I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“But, sir, Mister Van Dirksen says his audience …”

“No, Isadora,” Albus interrupted his secretary. “I really mean it.” Laying a hand on her shoulder, he smiled down at her. “Get yourself a little rest today, child. Tomorrow I’ll need you at 7:30.” He took Hermione’s hand again. “Excuse us, Isadora – my wife and I have to talk to the Weasleys.” Walking over to them he embraced Arthur, whispering in his ear: “Do you want me to finihis?his?”

Arthur whispered back: “I’d be grateful. It’s becoming a bit too much, especially for Ginny and Ron.”

“Yes …” Albus let him go and turned around, stretching to his full length. “Dear friends and guests,” he said loudly and waited then a few seconds until he was sure everybody was looking at him. “I think you can imagine how much of a shock Molly’s departure was to her family. And as much as they all appreciate you coming here – I’m sure you’ll understand that they need some time to themselves now. So I hope you’ll excuse Arthur and his children now …”

A murmur of agreement came from the crowd. Only Fudge looked furious – probably he had thought it would have been his job to make a speech and so Albus didn’t wonder when the minister approached him, hissing: “You seem to be very sure about taking over Sunday. But I’m still a quantity you should reckon with!”

Albus looked over Fudge’s shoulder to Arthur. Charlie, Billy and his wife and the twins had already apparated. Arthur was now holding an old belt in his hand – the port key to the hall Albus had conjured earlier. He looked sadly over to Percy who stubbornly avoided his father’s gaze. Finally Arthur sighed and asked: “Albus, shall we take Hermione with us?”

But she gave Ginny a last hug and stepped away. “Thank you, Arthur, but my baby likes travelling by port key even less then me. I’ll come back with Albus.”

Albus directed his eyes back at Fudge. Despite all the trouble the man had provided him with over the last years he felt a pang of pity to him. Fudge had dreamed all his life of becoming minister only to get kicked out of the office after a few years and by a rival who must look to him as if he would enjoy humiliating him. Yet Albus didn’t. He still would have rather been headmaster of Hogwarts and he really didn’t look forward to spending the last weeks of his life in the ministry.

Knowing that this was probably the last time he’d see Fudge as minister, Albus offered him his hand. “I’m sorry, Cornelius,” he said. “I would have wished for another way.”

Unfortunately Fudge proved once again that he wasn’t only a lousy minister, but a bad loser also. He refused to take Albus’ hand, but walked without a word over to Percy Weasley. So it was Hermione who took Albus’ hand. “Let’s go home,” she said. “Minerva and Augustus have already gone too, so we’ll be expected.”


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


Albus had always admired and liked Molly Weasley, but now, two hours after her fake funeral, he couldn’t resist taking her in his arms and kissing her cheek. “Molly,” he said after doing so, “if I weren’t married already, I would give Arthur a run for his money. You’re simply wonderful.”

To his amusement Molly blushed, peeked his cheek and answered with a little giggle: “Old flatterer! Don’t stay around here – off you go? Your wife needs rests and so do you – and I think Arthur and I will have a nap too. I’m supposed to be death – that should make for a little lay down on a rainy afternoon.”

“If you say so …” Albus bowed. “Then I’ll be a good boy and go to sleep. See you later then, Molly, Arthur!”

Hermione had already gone upstairs, now he followed her, still limping and feeling a bit exhausted. Arriving at the bedroom, he sat down on his bedside. For the first time in two days he wasn’t in a hurry. “Fake deaths are almost as exhausting as real demises,” Severus had said the other night as they had talked to the Weasleys. But at least convincing them had been much easier than Albus had believed before.

Especially Arthur had immediately seen a point he liked very muchthe the plan: A hidden Molly was a safe Molly. Arthur had always feared his family would become a target for Voldemort – they were member of the order, they were known as close friends of Albus and the surrogate family of Harry Potter. So Arthur Weasley, the decent Gryffindor who detested lying, had almost immediately agreed to acting like a heart-broken widower who – of course – couldn’t live in his more or less ruined home anymore, but would take refuge under the roof of his friend Albus.

And Molly, always practical, hadn’t made much words about the “why” either, but had gone over to discussing the “how”. She’d come up in minutes with an idea for a disguise: “Your young wife is pregnant and inexperienced with having a baby, you’re a rich man, Albus and a very busy one – so no one will wonder if you engage an experienced nanny already. She’ll help Hermione with her shopping and making up the nursery, she’ll keep her company when you’re away. And I’m from Irish descent as you know. I have cousins over there who are midwifes. I’ll go to Ireland for a day or two, buy myself a few typical Irish things and come back as Elaine Kennedy, your new nanny. I’m sure my cousin Elaine won’t mind lending me a few hairs and her name.”

The next morning Albus had gone to Hogwarts and had spoken not only with Minerva, but with Harry and the two Weasley children there. Then he’d asked his old friend Cracklebell to order Percy Weasley to him for the evening and to keep him in his home until he’d heard from Albus. After this he’d gone to meet the aurors and order members Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks for making sure, the aurors wouldn’t come too son to the Burrows. The entire act wouldn’t work if the wards wouldn’t fall. Besides Albus had made sure that no auror would kill the death eater who would announce Molly’s death.

Next Albus and Severus, disguised as muggles, had visited a butcher and boughtreshreshly slaughtered pig half. As less flattering at it seemed to Molly: The cell cturcture of pigs was pretty alike to human and so a body conjured from a pig would even work when a mediwitch or a healer came with the aurors.

At this part Molly Weasley had once again proven what a brave woman she was. With a crisp “One has to do these things rights!” she’d asked Hermione to help her and had Severus and Albus kicked out of the cellar where they had deposed the carcass. Telling them “You two don’t have any idea about how I look like under my clothes and I really don’t want to know what your imaginations would make up.”

At this Severus had shown that living in freedom did him good. He’d smiled at Molly, saying: “Pity. You would have learned how attracted we are to you.”

Albus knew that this hadn’t been only nicety. Women were a point where Severus and he were in agreement. Both of them had a liking for “a lot of nice, round, soft equipment all around the lady” as Albus had said once and both weren’t attracted by haughty, too slender types like Narcissa Malfoy from whom Severus once had said, she’d remind him of a compound: “In every corner a bone.”

Albus felt a bit weary now and just asked himself if it really had been so good an ido pro promise Hermione something more then a nap. But she deserved more attention than she got from him and so he sighed and bent down to undo his black leather dragon boots. The right one was easy, but the left one still was a problem with the swollen knee over it and so Hermione, just coming out of the bathroom in only a long, blue shirt, found again reason to rant with him.

“Actually,” she said, coming over to him and bending down on her knees, “it’s amazing. You’re known for having a brilliant mind, Albus Dumbledore, but obviously it isn’t brilliant enough to get, that you don’t have to prove yourself as the lonely hero twice a day. If you need help – and you do need help in the moment – you can ask me. I assure you: I won’t tell, so your reputation stays untouched.” She undid his left boot and his sock.

Albus looked down at her. “I think I don’t like you on your knees in front of me,” he said thoughtfully.

Hermione looked up, her honey brown eyes amused. “That’s the reason why I don’t mind. If you would expect me to serve you on my knees, you’d probably have to work on your imperio because you’d need a very strong one for bringing me down.” Laying her hand on his knee, she wrinkled her forehead. “Black doesn’t become you,” she said then. “You’re looking rather pale in it. And …” she opened the buttons of his black silken under robe, starting from the last one over his shin bone, “… you should see Madame Pomfrey soon. Your knee seems to get worse instead of better.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Albus protested. He never liked seeing the mediwitch. “It only got a bit too much by the long walk over the grave yard.”

“Let me have a look.” Hermione was now on the buttons just over his knees. Opening them, she pushed the fabric away and laid her cool hand against his hot, swollen bone. Shaking her head, she said: “What you need is a generous amount of Severus’ cooling gel. Just you wait – I’ll get it …” She jumped on her feet and ran to the bathroom, calling over her shoulder: “Don’t you move! Try to behave at least once like a sensible human being.”

“Yes, mommy,” Albus smiled. Though he really didn’t like Poppy Pomfrey fussing over him, he enjoyed to be fussed over by Hermione. She was back now with the gel and a bandage. Kneeling down ag she she spread the blue gel over his knee and started to wrap the bandage around. Albus used his chance to catch a curl of her hair and playing with it. “You know, you’ve just waked the child in the man?” he asked. “I can’t remember anyone – except my mother, of course – ever fussing over me.”

Hermione looked for a moment up to him. “None of your lady friends?” she asked.

He shook his head. “They never got to see me when I wasn’t fit.”

“Oh, oh!” Hermione was finished with the bandage and smiled again to him. “My vain, proud Slytherin. You hate being vulnerable, don’t you?”

“That depends …” Albus laid his hands arounr far face and tried gently to pull her up. “With you I rather like it …”

Hermione resisted his attempt to kiss her. Instead she bent her head again and opened another button of his robe. Kissing the skin she’d just exposed, she said: “I was wrong about the black, Albus. It makes a rather nice contrast to your skin.”

Another button, another kiss, this time more on the inside of his tight – and suddenly his weariness were gone. Instead he felt the familiar prickle in his groin. “You know, what you’re doing to me?” he asked.

Hermione laughed. “That’s why I do it.” Dexterously she unbuttoned his robe up to the belt, grinned at him cheekily and said: “The rest is for you to do. Tiny buttons are your department. I need my hands for bigger things …” And with that she took his already heavy member in her hand and blew a kiss on the tip.

“Uuuh …” Albus actually didn’t want opening buttons and his belt. He wanted to concentrate entirely on her stroking and fondling. So he pulled his wand out and murmured an undressing spell.

Hermione lookedand and giggled her warm breath like a soft touch on his sensitive skin. “Spoilsport!”

“Oh, Darling …” He waved his wand again, this time directed at her. Her shirt vanished and her hair floated freely over her creamy shoulders. Laying his wand and his spectacles on the nightstand, he caught again one of her curls, wrapped it around his finger and kissed it. “My Hermione …” he whispered, closing his eyes and concentrating entirel the the feeling her warm, tender lips gave him.

And once again he wondered at how much and how quickly she was able to arouse him. He’d had more experienced lovers who’d performed with more finesse, but it had never meant so much to him as it meant with Hermione. In former times it had been “sex” – fun and pleasure, satisfaction for the body. But with Hermione it was much more. She didn’t only satisfy his body, but his heart and soul too. She had become the love of his life and he knew: If he’d get the chance to die in her arms, he’d go feeling happy and content.


To be continued ….


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Author\'s Note: As usual: Thanks to my beta reader Kristle and to all my reviewers. I wouldn\'t have thougt it possible, but your reviews make me thinking about another HG/AD story ...

I don\'t promise anything yet (because the next story certainly isn\'t HG/AD), but ... perhaps in a few weeks? In every case: I\'ve started thinking about this pairing again.