A Winter Tale

The usual disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowlings and her isheishers. The rest belongs to me and if you steal it, it will be very bad for your karma.

Author\'s Note: English isn\'t my first language. That means you\'ll have to bear with a few mistakes. If they bother you enough you want to correct them - just drop me a note. I\'m in need of a beta reader. ;-)


»Good evening, Albus, « greeted Madam Rosmerta, landlady of »The Three Broomsticks«, cheerfully the visitor who fell out of the fireplace in her bedchamber, landing just in front of her feet on the thick, wollen carpet.
»Merlin’s beard!« he complained, in this moment looking not very dignified and making a face like a boy who’d just lose his lollipop. »Your fireplace really is too small! Couldn’t you get yourself a bigger one where one could make an entrance without becoming a mess every time?«
Rosmerta laughed. She’d heard this often enough and so she replied amused: »Dear Albus, may I remind you that I’ve got a huge fireplace?« She pointed with her finger to the floor which was just over the hall of her pub.
»Would you like me to come through the public floo?« Albus got on his feet, stretched his back with a little sigh and started to knock ashes and soot from his dark blue robe.
»No, love, I wouldn’t,« answered Rosmerta and rose to kiss his check. »It would ruin your reputation as the venerable headmaster, spoil my chances to become charmed by our dear minister of magic and - worst of all! - rob me of the chance to see the great Albus Dumbledore on his knees in front of me.«
»Wicked woman!« Albus stroke tenderly over Rosmerta’s still dark hair and let himself then sink in one of her pushy chairs.
»Isn’t this why you love me?« Rosmerta teased him, seating herself down on the arm of his chair.
Albus laid an arm around her and lend his head on her soft breasts.’s o’s one of the reasons, Rosmerta,« he said, enjoying her fingers, playing lightly in his hair.
»I know. The other is your fess ess of my butterbeer. Shall I get you one?« she asked, lifting his chin with her hand so that she could look in his eyes. »I’ve made chocolate cake for you - and you look as if this were just what the healer has ordered. Shall I get you a huge slice?«
»I’d love both - butterbeer and cake.« Albus opened the buttons of his high collar, took the glasses from his nose, put it down on the table next to him and closed his eyes. »I’ve had dinner with your admirer,« he said.
Rosmerta, already on her feet and on her way to the door, looked back over her shoulder, smiling. »Which one? You know I have masses of admirers, swarming all over the place.«
»As you deserve, my girl, as you deserve,« Albus smiled back, but became immediately serious again. »I was with Fudge.«
»Poor darling!« Rosmerta said sympathetically. »Give me a moment, then I’ll be back with butterbeer and the cake. It will restore you in no time, trust me.«
Albus sighed and sank deeper in the comfortable chair. For a few seconds he allowed himself to doze, warmed by the fire and the cosiness of the room which was so entirely Rosmerta - bright and generous and peaceful. But then he braced himself again, once again stretching his back. This evening he couldn’t simply relax in this chair - at least not before he’d told Rosmerta what he had to tell. For what she was and for everything she’d given him over the years she deserved none less as absolute honesty.
Yet he felt tired to the bones, tired and in a way discouraged he hadn’t been in a long time. It hadn’t been only a long, but a hell of a day. He’d only slept for two hours in the night, then he was already up again, seeing Minerva for a very early breakfast and deciding with her that she was to talk with Hermione Granger first - and as soon as possible. A walk to the dungeons where his potion master resided had came next, but there at least he’d got away easier as he’d reckoned. Severus hadn’t been in such a bad mood as Albus had feared, he’d even had shown something like sympathy for his superior and friend. Probably he was becoming softer with the years - or was it only that he too had been too exhausted for an argument about the idea Albus had submitted to him? Severus had agreed to it too easily for Albus’ taste. He liked his potion master sharp-minded and even sharp-tongued - seeing him only nod and talking about »how to do it« instead of debating why to do it showed a kind of resignation and acceptance in fate which didn’t suit Severus’ character. Albus had been prepared for persuading Severus, for convincing him and even for begging him on behalf of their friendship, so only asking and getting the promise of ort ort irritated him and in walking away from Severus Albus had once again felt as if he’d failed the boy he considered not only his friend, but his son. He was sure he should have talked with him not only about the plan, but about Severus’ state of mind too, but he couldn’t have done so because he was to attend a meeting of the Wizengamot in the ministry. By walking to the apparation point in front of the Hogwarts gate Albus had already knew, that he’d fail in his attempt to convince the members in setting their feet down against the new marriage law. Nevertheless he had tried - he still hoped he could win the wizard’s council one by one and so with time manage to get the thing done.
The next point of his agenda he’d found even worse: Fudge had asked Albus to accompany him to a talk with the muggle prime minister. The muggle officials had taken notice of Voldemort and his crimes by now ahey hey urgently wanted to know how the wizards dealt with the problem. Albus didn’t believe that Fudge’s tactic of maintaining auroaurors were having the situation under control was right, but to start a panic under the muggles in telling them the entire, cruel truth wouldn’t do either. The last thing both worlds - the wizard’s and the muggles - needed were muggle forces messing around with death eathers, so Albus had tried a bce ace act between calming and warning them. For this he’d demonstrated some magic - a show of power for the muggles which left him back feeling as if he were the minister’s clown.
Afterwards dinner with Fudge - and this meant the minister shoving food in his mouth without stopping his ramble about this and that and the other for a single second and with Fudge’s all too eager secretary Percy Weasley overdoing pathetic attempts of mirroring the minister’s mood in always seconding him - laughing about the feeblest of jokes as if it were the funniest thing ever heard, nodding gravely when the minister complained about how better »the old times« had and and how hard it was for him to be minister of magic in such bad times. After two hours of this even the often proved and long trained patience of Albus Dumbledore was almost at its end. He’d found himself suddenly thinking about a few nice jinxes for the minister and his assistant and discovered once again that he sometimes envied his potion master - certainly not for his task as a spy with Voldemort, but for his reputation as a cynic with the social skills of a dragon suffering migraine. To give Fudge a piece of his mind would had made Albus day and it would have been surely more fun as shoving his food appetite less around his dish.

He heard Rosmerta coming back, the heels of her red pumps cheerfully clicking on the wooden floor as she rushed in the room, carrying a tray with two bottles and a delicious looking chocolate cake. She put a slice of it on a dish and gave it to Albus, watching him with a motherly smile as he started to eat.
At least his appetite was back and chewing he smiled up to her. »Your cake tastes like heaven, dear.«
Rosmerta stroked over his head, then she sat down on the chair next to him. Almost shy she asked: »Will you stay for the night?«
Albus sighed and swallowed. »It depends, Rosmerta,« he said, looking not in her eyes, but - now again not hungry anymore - to the rest of the cake on the desk. »I’ve got to tell you something and I’m not sure if you’ll want me to stay afterwards.«
»Oh, oh,« made the woman. »Let me guess: You couldn’t resist the urge to throttle our dear minister? And now the aurors are all after you because they want to make you the new minister of magic and so you’re here to hide in my bed?«
Albus laughed. »Hiding in your bed actually sounds tempting - but no, I didn’t throttle Fudge yet. Perhaps one day I will.«
»Get in line then, dearie,« Rosmerta gave back dryly. »But prepare yourself for not standing much of a chance - there’s already a long queue in front of you.« She became serious, her dark eyes suddenly glimmering with hardly suppressed rage. »This afternoon I was afraid your students would float the place. Three victims of this bloody marriage law sat on the bar, crying their eyes out, the poor kids.«
Albus sighed again and pushed the dish with the chocolate cake finally beside. Quietly he said: »I hope none of them was Hermione Granger - though I’d understand if she’d opened the floodgates.«
»The Granger girl is a victim too? Oh my ...« Rosmerta trio lao lay her head against Albus’ shoulder, but he bend forward to the fire, poking it almost furiously.
After a long moment of silent he cleared his throat and spoke, his voice not more then a whisper: »You’re a member of the order, so you’d learn the news at our next meeting. Yet I reckon I owe you to hear it first in private. In nine days time Hermione Granger will become my wife.«
»What?« Rosmerta’s eyes became as big as saucers. »You will marry the Granger girl?« She swallowed hard, then she rose her hands. »Wait, wait - say nothing. I must first stomach that.«
»Rosmerta ...« Albus tried.
»Be quiet!« she begged, laying a finger over his mouth. »I know you, Albus Dumbledore - and I trust you. You don’t do that because you’re one of this lecherous old men who want for young meat. You must do it, mustn’t you?«
»It’s the only way we can save her ...« he said, his head down, his eyes resting on his hands which laid motionless and pale in his lap. »Let me tell you the entire tale, Rosmerta ...«
Once again the woman silenced him with her finger. »No, Albus.« She rose, stepped in front of him, went down to her knees and looked up to him. »I can see it in your eyes. I know how you feel about.« She hesitated for a few seconds, her dark brown eyes connected with his blue gaze. »Oh, Albus ...« Slowly she took his hand, laid it on her cheek and breathed deeply, then she kissed the tip of his fingers, rose again and sat gently down in his lap. »Just kiss me, Albus - and stay with me this night. It will the our last one and I want us to ...« Her voice broke, but bravely she swallowed and whispered: »A wise man told me once one shouldn’t whine for what one can’t have, but enjoy too the fullest what life offers us. I’d like to enjoy this wise man’s kisses and his embrace once again too the fullest for a last time.« Her lips found his and while he closed his eyes and lost himself in her tenderness, he tasted the salt of a teYet Yet her fingers, stroking and combing his hair, didn’t tremble and her body, soft and inviting against his, seemed to long for his touch. Even if he would have wanted to he wouldn’t have been able to refuse her. He needed to touch her, to keep her, to feel her with all his senses so much as she longed for him.
Rosmerta deepened the kiss, her tongue teasing his lips, searching and playing. Bot her hands kept his head now, gently, with the caution they’d held a precious goblet with, making him felt adored and desired. Her wanted to give her such a feeling too, so he let the fingers of his left hand wander to her breast, cupping it and drinking in the soft warmth and the firmness of it. Rosmerta seemed to like what he did - she ached her back for getting more contact with his hand and sighed a little, throaty whimper in his mouth. Albus smiled - since the first time he’d kissed her, he’d loved the way she reacted to him. Even inng yng years as the needs of his body had been so strong, he’d sometimes needed all his self-discipline to keep them in by, he’d always loved nothing better as to feel desired by a woman. And as he became older and his passion more a matter of wanting then of needing, he’d learned that to him the strongest of all aphrodisiacs - magical or muggle, ancient or modern - was a woman lusting for his touch. Knowing himself as well as he did, he knew also, that one of the reasons he liked Rosmerta so much was her responsiveness to his touch - and her frankness in showing it to him, so as now, as she broke the kiss and said: »Take me to bed, Albus - now.«
»With the greatest pleasure!« he answered, shove one arm one her knees and - with the other bracing her back - rose up. Rosmerta wasn’t as light as a feather, but he was still strong enough to carry her over the four steps distance to the bed - and he loved to do so because he always got a sweet chuckle and »Hmm - I love strong men« from her.
Seating her gently down on the bed, he said smiling: »You’re boasting my ego, Rosmerta. Severus wouldn’t like that. He’s convinced it lrealready much too big.«
»Sometimes,« Rosmerta answered, stretching like a cat, »Severus is an ass.«
»Sometimes?« Albus laughed and sat down on the bed, taking Rosmerta’s ankle in his hand, stroking from there upwards to her knee. »Most people think he’s all the time not only an ass, but a bastard too.« He kissed her knee lightly.
Rosmerta sighed. Bracing herself on one elbow, she used her free hand to play with her lover’s hair. »Dear Albus - you know I appreciate how much you care even for your mostly insufferable potion master, but in the moment I think you could use this mouth of yours for better things as for talking about Hogwarts resident pain in the ass, don’t you think?«
»My mouth and I are entirely at your service, ma’m,« Albus answered, pushing her robe aside and kissing upwards until he reached her garter. As he lightly bit the soft, naked flesh over it, he got another throaty chuckle as a reward. Another little bit, a kiss, his hand followed his mouth, stroking and warming her. »You know,« he said, »you smell even better as your chocolate ...«
»Flattery will get you everywhere, Albus.« Rosmerta’s small hand were now tucking at his heavy robe. »But you’d get there sooner if you’d remove this robe of yours.«
»Perhaps ...,« Albus said, laying his forehead on her tight while one of his long, practised fingers played with the hem of the flimsy garment she was wearing, »I like where I just am. I’m not in a hurry, you know.«
»And if I were?« Rosmerta managed to push her hand in his collar, feeling soft skin underneath.
»The I’d - of course - speed up.« Albus rose his head and looked in her eyes. »Are you in a hurry, dearest?«
»Yes, I am, Albus Dumbledore.« Rosmerta stretched, craning her breasts with it and so he could see her nipples pushing proud and erect against the soft fabric of her robe. »I want to feel not only your mouth and your hands, but your skin and your cock too. Now!«
Albus breathed deeply. »You know, what you’re doing to me?« he asked, raising.
»‘course.« Rosmerta grinned. »Therefore I do it!«
He was already aroused by kissing and touching her, but now, hearing her and looking in her dark eyes, filled with desire, he felt how the blood rushed to his groin, how his already half-erect, heavy member began to arise and the beating of his old heart quickened. His finger trembled as he pulled his wand - 12,5 inch, birch with a unicorn’s hair, silvery-white with age and using - out of his sleeve. But before he could use it, he felt his clothes disappear - Rosmerta hat been quicker as he and laid now in all her womanly, naked glory on the bed, cheerfully playing with her wand and grinning.
»Hmm!« she giggled. »I’ve made a mistake. Years before I should have told Rita Skeeter - in confidence of course - that seducing you isn’t only fun because you’re a great lover, but because it gives a witch the biggest ego-boast thinkable: For once being quicker in doing magic as Albus Dumbledore himself. If I’d told Skeeter, it’d surely made headlines in the Daily Prophet - and the next weeks Hogwarts would have been stormed by thousand of witches. At least 75 % of them would have wished for a drink before making a pass on you, so I could have doubled my earnings.«
Albus had laid down next to her, taking her in his arms and kissing the tip of her nose, before he said amused: »Quadroubled, dearest. The disappointment they’d have been in for had made for a few drinks more.«
»Disappointment?« Rosmerta’s hand glided over his chest and his soft, round bell, found his stiff cock and closed around it. »This I don’t find disappointing. On the contrary.«
This time it was him who whimpered softly. For a moment he closed his eyes, enjoying her expert grip and the sensations her stroking fingers sent through his body. Yet there was something he wanted to do before he concentrated entirely on her and so he rose his wand. A soft incantation, a flick and his long hair found together in a neatly pony-tail, kept by a small leather ribbon. Another flick and his beard shortened until it only surrounded his chin. Then Albus laid his wand on the night stand and turned to Rosmerta who chuckled amused.
»I’ve always wondered why you need a wand for this,« she said. »You’re doing much more complicated magic without it, so why the wand now?«
»Wandless magic needs a certain amount of concentration,« he answered, stroking her breast. »I wouldn’t want to mess around with it - especially not close to my head - when you’re distracting me like that!«
»Hmm - I like that!« Rosmerta snuggled closer to himesidesides I like to be in this little secret of yours. You know, the other day I’ve overheard a conversation between your female colleagues - Minerva, Dee Sprout, Poppy Pomfrey and Irma Pince. They were gossiping a bit - speculating about your bedroom manners and the question they were most interested in was what you do with all this hair of yours when you make love to a woman.«
»They’ll never learn!« Albus laughed, kissing her forehead. »It will remain a secret I share with you exclusively.« He didn’t give her time for an answer, but searched her mouth with his, nibbling tenderly on her lips and finally deepening the kiss.

****

A soft murmuring, a tender nibble on his ear - it didn’t neuch uch more to wake Albus up. »Pssst, Fawkes!« he whispered, opening his blue eand and stroking softly over the bird’s head. The phoenix made a sound almost like purring, then he spread his wings and sailed to the chair where his wizard’s robe laid. With one crawl he took them and flight back to the bed where Albus already sat, looking to the still sleeping Rosmerta. She looked peaceful and relaxed, a little smile playing around her mouth. Fawkes let the robe drop in Albus’ lap and hopped then to the window, looking longingly at the still dark landscape.
Albus sighed, turned around and bent down to the sleeping woman, kissing her forehead tenderly. For a moment he fought against the temptation to crawl back under the warm blanket, but then he braced himself, stretched and rose up. One flick of his index finger did a quick cleaning charm, the next took care of his full bladder and the morning erection - not so strong as in young years, but, as Rosmerta a few weeks had stated, still »pretty useful«. Another flick made the robe settle on its owner’s body and then next one grew the beard back to his usual length and made the ribbon in his hair disappear. Once again the imposing figure his students and colleagues were used to see as their headmaster, Albus took his wand from the night stand, pushed it in his sleeve, went to the table in front of the fire and put his spectacles back on his nose. A least look to the room and the sleeping woman - no, there wasn’t anything left he could write or tell her. He was sure, she’d understand his quiet departure - probably it even made it easier for her too. Yet for him it was harder as he’d expected. For once his pragmatism didn’t help him. He remembered his mother always saying »What can’t be cured, must be endured« and actually he’d thought himself pretty hard-boiled and therefore good in enduring by now, but this leave hurt deeply.
Fawkes made a thrilling sound and flight through the room, landing on his human’s shoulder. Albus sighed again. »Yes, Fawkes, I know,« he whispered. »We have to go.« Fawkes looked to the fireplace, Albus’ glance followed the bird’s eyes, but in a spontaneous idea he shook his head. »No, Fawkes. I need a little fresh air too.« The bird jumped in delight and Albus smiled. It was only a few weeks since Fawkes’ last burning day what meant: The phoenix, though centuries older as his wizard, had got a new body once again - a youthful, strong body which liked to fly, to play and to hunt. So a flight in the dawn would give Fawkes an opportunity to stretch his wings, perhaps he could even get himself a mouse for breakfast.
Rosmerta stirred in her sleep. Albus waited a moment, watching her, but no, she didn’t wake up. Silently he left the room, sad in the knowledge that he was never to come back. Rosmerta and he would like and see each other in the future, but they’d never make love to each other as they’d done in this last night. Stepping up the stairs and going through the pub’s hall to the entrance door, Albus felt as if this last night would have been his swan song. The sound of the closing door was the last to it and as Albus walked outside, snow cracking under this dragon leather boots, he allowed himself a thought so sarcastic his potion master would have liked it: »Exit Albus, the lover - entrance Dumbledore, the husband.« From now on no women would want him anymore, he’d never hear sweet words of seduction again, he’d never feel desired and wanted again. And he didn’t know how to cope with noticing, that this wasn’t something he could get himself with one push over it. Of course, he was aware that the war had already and would certainly in future demand much bigger sacrifices as what he - for a moment bitterly and angry with himself - named »an old fool’s petty desire«. He’d certainly not wail in self-pity about it. But he was damned if he were to allow Voldemort - or Tom Riddle how Albus still thought of his former pupil - go on with his way of destructing everything what made life worth living. Walking away from Rosmerta’s house and bed, wandering through the icy cold of the dawning winter morning, Albus Dumbledore felt as if he’d just heard the gong, saying »Last round in the fight Riddle versus Dumbledore.« And for one thing Albus was sure: This time Tom Riddle wouldn’t get away. This time he dark lord wouldn’t escape - neither in the flesh nor in the spirit. This time Albus Dumbledore was prepared and willing to trade life against life and soul against soul. Only it wouldn’t be Harry Potter who’d give his life for the destruction of Tom Riddle. It would be Albus Dumbledore himself.