Much Ado about Nothing

Much Ado About Nothing


By: Max

[Disclaimer: see chapter 1]

Chapter 3: Three women and a headmaster

Look, how to the bank he\'s running!
and now he has reached the river,
he returns, as quick as lightning,
once more water to deliver.
Look! The tub already
is almost filled up!
And now he is filling
every bowl and cup!

Stop! Stand still!
Heed my will!
I\'ve enough
of the stuff!
I’ve forgotten - woe is me!
what the magic word may be.

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



“… rather think it could be something about the room-space correlation. If you take - at least for a moment and for the sake of our discussion - the fact …” Albus loitered on the sofa in front of the fireplace, his head braced against a few cushions in rather vivid colours, his long legs dangling over the arm. He wriggled his toes in red woollen socks on which tiny, golden snitches where flying around. Wearing only his silken under robe, the buttons on the collar open, the belt hanging loosely over his round belly, he looked very relaxed, despite the mess - his black leather dragon boots laying on the rug in front of him, his magnificent purple and golden velvet outer robe next to them - around him.

The swan sized, golden and red bird, which sat on the back of the sofa, looking at Albus out of almost human black eyes, obviously wasn’t as much at ease as his master. He danced from one leg to the other and sometimes he made thrilling sound. Then Albus, holding a dish of grapes on his chest, threw one at his pet phoenix who caught the fruit in flight and then nibbled graciously on it, holding the grape in one of his claws.

Sometimes the phoenix looked at the table where a bowl with chocolate cookies stood between dozen of open books, stakes of parchments, muggle paper, notes, quills, pencils and tea cups. Then Hermione, sitting in a worn, high-backed wing chair next to the sofa, reached for a cookie and gave it to the phoenix. She leaned back again, pulling her feet in blue-green socks up under her. She wore casual jeans and a vanilla jumper, her hair pulled up in a messy bun with a pencil sticking through it. Rummaging through some parchments, she looked at the wizard on the sofa and sighed. “Sorry for interrupting your thoughts,” she sounded a bit amused and ironic, “but my problem still is, that I can’t take somethior gor given if we don’t have the slightest proof of it. The theorem you’re trying to develop will sound very - forgive me the bluntness - harebrained if we can’t prove the basics of it. If they’re not as you reckon, then your entire philosophy on it is …”

“…. codswallop!” Albus finished cheerfully for her. “I know, Hermione. But why shouldn’t we do a bit of speculating? Just try to imagine: What, if we only dabble around with space? Then the amount of matter must be influenced by something else …”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Albus, I don’t doubt your idea is worth thinking about. Just on the contrary - I think it’s brilliant and it’s perhaps even what we are searching for. But you’re at least three steps too far into it. As long as we don’t know what we’re actually working with, everything above is pure …” she searched for a word.

Albus was once again quicker then. “Rubbish,” he offered, grinning at her. “That means, that one of us must do some nice basic research - and I don’t think it will be me. You’re the bookworm in this team.”

“Spending the nights in the library is always my job, isn’t it?” Hermione braced her head on her hand. “But you’re aware that this research will need some time? It obviously never been done before - and I’m even afraid I’ll have to get some Muggle science in it, too. Or do you know some one who worked already on this?”

“No, I don’t.” Albus wriggled again his toes, chuckling as he looked at the jumping snitches on his socks. “But it was you who wanted to work on the ‘why’ instead of the ‘how’ of Transfiguration. That’s what you get for it.” He chose three grapes, put one in his mouth and threw the others at his phoenix and Hermione respectively.

Hermione smiled and caught it. “You must admit: It’s a fascinating subject. And I’ve always wondered why it wasn’t done before.”

“Probably …” Albus got himself a cookie and bite in it, “… because wizards are lazy bones. Look at me.”

“Actually …” Hermione swallowed the grape, “I don’t find you lazy. Your mind is always working on overdrive. It only needs some …”

She didn’t come to tell what his brains would need because the door of the lab opened and a cold voice said: “How nice to see you, Albus.”

The phoenix on the sofa obviously neither liked the voice nor the rather cross looking blonde witch who just stepped over the threshold, her posh lavender robe billowing around her tall frame. The bird hissed, spread his wings and flew through the room to Hermione’s chair. Settling down on her shoulder with his back to the visitor, he nibbled affectionately at her ear.

Albus was already on his feet, but in his socks and with the dish in the hand he looked a bit sheepish. “Aurelia, my dear …” He put the dish on the table and approached her. “Am I late?” he asked.

“You could say so.” The blonde witch looked with dismay at Hermione who had raised, the phoenix still on her shoulder.

Politely she greeted: “Good evening, Madame Willington.”

“Doctor Granger …” With a slight bow of the perfectly combed head, ice blue eyes glided along Hermione’s small frame and found, obviously, that she wasn’t much to look at. Turning around, Aurelia Willington faced Albus, offering him her cheek. “You know, I don’t much like being stood up,” she said.

He dutifully kissed the cheek. “I thought our date was tomorrow.”

“I said Friday, Albus - and today is Friday!” Aurelia Willington said, thin lipped. “But if you don’t want to have dinner with me? I’ll find another way to spend the night. I’d have liked to have gotten a note before …”

“Dear …” Albus tilted his head and tried his most charming smile at the annoyed witch. “I’ve been looking forward to our evening all week.” Taking her hand, bowing over it and kissing the inside of her wrist, he purred: “Besides: You look stunning. It would be a shame not to show you to the world. So give me three minutes and I’ll be all yours and ready to go …” Marching back to the sofa, he put his boots on. He had rather mixed feelings doing so. On the one hand: The discussion with Hermione had been very interesting and he’d enjoyed it. On the other hand: He’d really looked forward to this appointment with the blonde witch.

The sister of a younger colleague at the university, he’d known Aurelia Willington-nee-Fenton for ages. He’d even flirted with her 60 years before, but by then she’d wanted a husband and he’d loved his freedom more then her. So she had married an ambassador and for years she’d lived overseas. Becoming a widow a few years ago, she’d come back to England and then, a few months before, at the birthday party of a friend, Albus had seen her again. She was still a breath-taking beauty with her golden blonde, flowing hair, blue eyes and the fine, creamy skin. Critical people - like Minerva and probably Hermione, too - found her too lush, but Albus had never liked bony women. He enjoyed feeling an armful in an embrace and he didn’t mind voluptuousastsasts and backsides, on the contrary! And if they came in the form of a blonde, Nordic goddess with style, intelligence and a passionate temper, as was the case with Aurelia Willington, Albus was the last to complain.

Yet what he liked most about her was her frankness in matters of sex. When he’d met her again, he’d immediately started flirting with her, but considering her age, her social standing and upbringing he’d been prepared for a few weeks of courting, sending flowers, writing letters, inviting her to dinners and some dancing before he would get a chance to take her on a weekend trip to Venice or some other romantic place where she’d finally give in.

Aurelia Willington had surprised him. At their first dinner he’d made clear that he still wasn’t interested in marriage. He’d been married once, the failure had hurt him deeply and he’d had a hard time getting his life back in order afterwards. Now he liked it just as it was and had absolutely no intention to change it for a woman.

Noblesse obliged to tell this before a woman could get the wrong idea about his interest in her, but with Aurelia it hadn’t been a problem. She’d laughed and laid a hand on his: “Don’t worry, Albus - I like my freedom, too. Besides: If I were after a husband I wouldn’t have dated you. It’s common knowledge that you’re more afraid of marriage than of dark wizards.”

Later that evening he’d accompanied her back to her house. As he’d bent down for a kiss on her cheek, she’d laid her hand on his shoulder. “Care for a coffee?” she’d asked him.

He’d been a bit confused. Had she really meant “coffee” like a nice, hot cup of it in front of her fireplace before she’d send him back to Hogwarts or “coffee” like breakfast in her bed after a nice, hot night? Obtaining the answer to this question had been quite simple: After she’d let him in, he’d pulled her gently into his arms. Bending his head he’d kissed her and nibbled on her bottom lip. She’d reacted by hugging him and opening her mouth. For the next minutes he’d let her lead. It had been she who had deepened the kiss and made it more passionate and it was she who’d slid her hands under his dress robe, stroking down his back until she had reached the swell of his buttocks. This he had taken as an invitation to cup one of her breasts and enjoying the firm fullness, he’d looked down on her: “Don’t you want to stop me, Aurelia?”

She’d smiled at him. “Why should I? I’m too old for playing the naïve girl and you’re, hopefully, too old for believing that only scarlet women like sex. I want to sleep with you, you want to sleep with me - so let’s do it!”

“With the greatest pleasure,” he’d answered and swept her up in his arms. “Where’s your bedroom, my dear?”

She’d directed him up the stairs into a womanly boudoir with rose and blue Aubusson carpets and a huge four-poster bed with matching blue and rose hanging. There she’d once again surprised him with pulling her wand out, casting an undressing charm on him and herself, and laying down then, smiling at him. “You’re in good form for your age, Albus - very nice to look at. But I’m sure you’re even nicer to tou#823#8230;”

A few minutes later he’d almost laughed about himself. He’d intended to seduce her, but now it was she who seduced him - determined and showing her lust without any restraint. She’d told him what she liked andR’d finally turned him on his back, string ing him, expertly guiding his erection where she’d wanted it. Sinking down on him, she’d closed her eyes, laid her head back and purred: “Hmm - that feels good. I haven’t had a man for too long a time. And you’re just what the healer ordered, Albus …”

Of course - it hadn’t been the first time that a woman had taken him like that. Just on the contrary. He’d always liked to have his mistress on top and not only because it gave him a chance to play with her breasts and to look at her, but because he liked to feel desired. Knowing that she enjoyed making love with him and that she found pleasure in the act - that was what did the trick for him.

Aurelia’s passion, her moaning and screaming, the sight of her glorious body, shimmering with sweat, the smell of her, the heat surrounding his most delicate parts, had awaked something in him. He hadn’t only felt pleasantly aroused as he’d felt mostly in the last years, but suddenly driven by a need he hadn’t felt for a long time. And so he’d finally turned her over, taken her buttocks in his hands and had started - much to her delight - to take her in long, hard strokes until she’d come again, clinging to his back and screaming his name. Her orgasm had drove him to a climax so intense he’d almost passed out - something he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

Afterwards, laying in his arm and playing with the few hairs on cheschest, she’d giggled. “I should have made the bet.”

“Hmm?” he’d asked, stroking her back.

“You were the subject of girl’s talk a few days ago, dear Albus,” she’d told him. “I had friends to tea and they were naturally very curious. Our flirting at the party had been noticed, you know? So they started to speculate about your bedroom manners.”

“Oh?” He’d laughed. “I hope you wouldn’t have won with too high a wager.”

“For the general bet of you being an able lover the money wouldn’t have been good. About this all women present agreed.” Aurelia had kissed his cheek. “We only couldn’t agree what kind of a lover you are. Resmiranda Fudge thinks you’re - I quote her - ‘kind of wild and animalic’.”

“Ah!” Albus had cringed. “Considered she’s married to our former minister of magic who appreciates me as much as having boils on his backside, I actually don’t want to figure out what she exactly means by that.”

“Judging from the look in her face I’d say something highly desirable. Yet she was outvoted by Narcissa Malfoy, Artemis Shacklebolt, and Cassandra Nitwick. Narcissa thinks you’re probably a bit too calm to give complete satisfaction. Besides she rather likes young men. Cass and Artemis find you ‘cute’ and are convinced that you are - I quote Cass - ‘a cuddler’. Only, I’ve always known that you’re hiding quite a temper behind your perfect façade of the always-calm headmaster with the impeccable manners.”


It was now three months since that night and Albus was well aware that he wouldn’t get praise for his manners from Aurelia anymore. She had begun to nag at him rather often because she found his notorious unpunctuality rather “impolite.” Albus kept apologizing for it, but even doing so he knew that he wouldn’t get any better in that department. His unpunctuality wasn’t a result of disrespect for fellow human beings, but of his determined refusal to become the slave of his duties again. He&7;d 7;d fought two wars during his lifetime, and in both cases he’d for years given up his personal freedom and every spontaneity in order to defeat the evil. And in the last war as the leader of a resistance group, always bound to perfect timing and working day and night, he’d felt enslaved by a too-tight schedule. He’d always known that even a little slip, only five minutes delay, could make for something important going terribly wrong, and sometimes even costing a life. So he’d been punctual and always aware of his schedule, and he’d never given in to a spontaneous idea or to the wish to be on his own for only a few minutes. But now the war was over - and he was given time of his own again. He enjoyed it very much. To wake up and to know that the day would be his, that he wasn’t expected to shorten talks for the next visitor, that he wou#821#8217;t have to refrain from having a sandwich at his desk instead of attending a lunch or dinner, that he’d find some hours to spend as he pleased - and if it meant only that he’d stand on the balcony of his bed room, looking out over the Hogwarts grounds, reveling in how peaceful his beloved school looked - he enjoyed this freedom. To him it felt as if he’d got a precious gift.

Yet the funny thing about was that even Minerva, as his deputy, nd and and confidant had never noticed how changed he found his life since the war’s end. If he’d asked her, she’d probably have said: “You’re doing business as usual.” And in fact he still spent much of his day in working through mountains of papers. He still gave advice to the ministry whenever he was asked - and it still happened often enough. He still was the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and attended the council once a week. But even with all of these duties, a new sense of ease and freedom was with him.

And there was something else: Hermione. When Minerva ove overrun him with her plan, he’d inwardly sighed. Having an apprentice was another duty to look after and going back to the academic Transfiguration work had ranked rather low on his to-do list. The basis for accepting, nevertheless, had been his sense of justice. He’d always found it unfair that the girl, who wasn’t only the brightest witch of her generation, but had been the brain behind Harry Potter’s heroics, had always d ind in the shadow of the Boy-Who-Defeated-Voldemort. The wizard’s world, so Albus thought, owned her more than the lousy Order of Merlin Second Class she’d got after the final battle. His noblesse had demanded he give her a chance in taking her up as his apprentice.

But now, after four weeks with her, he had learned that she certainly wasn’t a burden he’d shouldered out of justice. She was much more, and with every day he worked with her, he’d saw her more as a gift life had provided him with. Her quick intelligence, her brilliant talent for the subject, her enthusiasm, her grasp of even the most advanced ideas, her logic, her discipline - she was the partner he’d searched for all his life. She managed to stop him when he needed to be kept in check, but she also was able to inspire him and, with her, he discovered once again why he’d chosen transfiguration once. The fascination of the sub - d - during the war it had paled for him. He’d stopped workin itn it because, although he had still wanted to discover and to invent, his transfiguration skills were of high use as a weapon against the enemy, and had become yet another duty.

With Hermione he’d found back to the pure pleasure and to the love of his subject he’d felt during his years as a teacher and scientist. In the first days she’d sometimes needed to come in his office to ask him down to the lab, but now she was the only person who didn’t have reason to complain about him being unpunctual. He even sometimes waited for her when she came from class and he’d begun to have tea with Hermione, becoming more and more relaxed from it. Hermione seemed to like it. The first time he’d first slipped out of his heavy outer robe, she’d smiled at him - almost a bit shyly - and then she’d put off her teaching robe, hanging it neatly on the door. And his reclining on the sofa during their long talks silently allowed for her to slip out of her shoes, too, pulling her legs under her or propping them on his sofa.

By now they were so at ease with each other that he even sometimes teased her by nudging her with his toes or enchanting her socks, saying he found them too boring. This had lead to a competition both of them had a lot of fun with. Hermione had started it by wearing Muggle toe socks in bright blue with every toe in another colour. He had been delighted and, changing a tea cup, had given her the newly invented “Socks Queen Award”. Yet the next day he’d wore green socks on which flowers had grown, bloomed and exploded in sparkles. Hermione had laughed and changed the inscription of the cup to “Socks King” to give back to him. Since then the cup was exchanged every day.

Albus loved the playfulness Hermione showed by that. He’d always found her too serious and, as much as he enjoyed her hard work, he wanted her to have fun, too.

Hiding his bright socks in his black boots now again, he rose up and slipped into the robe Aurelia presented him with, wrinkling her brows with a frown as she did so. As much as he’d looked forward to dinner with her - especially because he hoped he’d get her for dessert - he’d have liked to have continued his talk with Hermione as well. Yet on the other hand, the girl hadn’t had much free time in the last weeks. She’d worked with Minerva in preparing for classes, and she’d spent every evening in the lab setting it up, organizing and working on their project.

So now he looked down at her. She was sorting the papers on the table, her face concentrated. He knew: If he didn’t stop her, she’d work all night again.

“Dottoressa …,” he said softly. He was the son of an Italian mother and in the years he’d taught at the Cagliostro University in Venice he’d fallen even more in love not only with the beautiful city, but with Italian cooking and the language, too. Therefore he often liked to address people dear to him in Italian. “Could you do me a favour?”

She seriously looked up to him. “Yes, master?” When in company - especially in company of Aurelia Willington - she always was formal with him.

“Could you perhaps do a little evening stroll with Fawkes?” Stroking his phoenix’ neck with one finger, he proceeded, “He’s not only becoming lazy, but fat. He needs to fly - but you know how he is. If I kick him out of the window, he only flies to the owlery, teasing the owls.”

“I’ll go with him.” Hermione tickled Fawkes’ claw. “What do you think about a little fresh air and exercise, old boy?”

The phoenix crooked his head, looking sceptically at his master and producing a rather disapproving sound.

The wrinkle between Aurelia Willington’s brows became deeper. Crisply she said: “I think you’re spoiling this pet of yours, Albus. If he’d spend his nights outside as he should, he wouldn’t become fat.”

Albus sighed, stroking the phoenix again, but looking at Hermione. “Would you mind keeping him until tomorrow?” he asked.

“Certainly not.” Hermione put her wand, which had been laid on the table in her sleeve. “Fawkes - will you keep me company tonight?” she asked the bird. For an answer he nibbled at her ear. Hermione laughed. “I reckon that’s a ‘yes’. So it’s settled.”

“Fine.” Albus patted the bird’s head. “Behave, Fawkes, will you? I don’t want to hear any complaints about you.”

“May we go now? I’m rather starving.” Minerva Willington sounded impatient.

“Of course, my dear.” Albus laid his hand on her shoulder. “Good night, Hermione. I’ll come for Fawkes after breakfast.”


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

After Albus had closed the door behind him, Hermione sighed. “You know, Fawkes,” she said then, “I like our lord and master. Yet I find his taste in women rather peculiar. We only can hope this walking ice cube doesn’t manage to haul him down the aisle one day.” Fawkes crackled again, sounding as if he’d take the marriage of his wizard with this certain witch for a reason to pack his perch and toys and seek refuge at the home for deserted phoenixes.

Hermione laughed. “I see you don’t want to throw flowers at such a wedding either. But now let’s go down - you really do need to fly.”

She slipped on her cloak, which hung at the door, put a blue cap on her head and wrapped a golden and red Gryffindor scarf around her neck. Stepping down the stairs with Fawkes on her arm, she met a few students - it was half an hour before curfew and the castle seemed to hum with life - who greeted her in a respectful yet friendly manner. It made her feel a little like singing. She’d loved Hogwarts when she’d been a student at the school, even with the shadow of the war always hanging over the castle like a dark cloud. And now, being back as a member of the staff, she loved Hogwarts even more. It was her home and although she was the youngest member of the staff with only DADA professor Nymphadora Tonks who was 10 years her senior close to her age, she almost felt as if she’d found in Hogwarts a family, too. There was Minerva - once her favourite teacher - who, despite of her severe way, had become something like a second mother to her. And being a witch herself, Minerva understood Hermione probably even better than her Muggle mother. And there was Dee Sprout - “Sproutie” - the always cheerful, warm-hearted Herbology witch. And Poppy Pomfrey, the school’s mediwitch, energetic, but whose dry wit and unsentimental caring made her wonderful company too.

“Hello, Hermione!” A warm female voice greeted her. Nymphadora Tonks just had come out of her quarters and walked down the stairs until she reached Hermione. She wore a thick woollen cloak and a fluffy pink scarf that made a nice contrast to the raven black hair flowing down her back. Being a metamorph, Tonks - which she preferred to be called because she couldn’t stand her given name - could change her hair colour and length as she pleased, an ability Hermione had always a bit envied her for. “Are you’re walking the headmaster’s pet while he’s walked by his lady?” Tonks grinned.

“Fawkes and I need a bit of fresh air,” Hermione answered. “And what are you up to?”

Tonks blushed - and to Hermione’s amazement it wasn’t only her pretty face which became as red as a tomato, but her hair, too. “Oh …” Tonks stammered, “… ahm …. I’ve got an appointment … and actually … if you don’t mind? I’m already a bit late …” Not waiting for an answer, she sprinted down the stairs and, with clicking heels, through the great entrance hall to the doors.

Hermione grinned. “My, my, Fawkes - isn’t February a bit early for half of Hogwarts getting spring feelings?” she said quietly. “I only hope it isn’t infectious. I don’t need such complications in my life.” She hadn’t heard from Victor since she’d moved to Hogwarts and she actually was glad about it. The fact that she only missed him in bed, but certainly not during the days, showed her clearly enough that it had been high time to call their relationship off.

Outside the castle now, she raised her arm and tossed the phoenix in the air. “Off you go, Fawkes - I won’t carry you round!” She looked up to the phoenix, which now spread his wings and rose over the grounds. Against the pale winter sky he only was a dark form, but he looked nevertheless impressive. And the soft song he was now trilling made Hermione smile.

Fawkes and his master had more than their magic in common, she thought once again. Both managed to make people around them feel light-hearted and cheerful. Admittedly: With Albus she hadn’t always felt so. During the war their relationship - if one could speak about a ‘relationship’ considered that there had hardly been more contact than greetings when they met in the castle - had been tense. In contrast to Harry and Ron, Hermione had always understood why Dumbledore hadn’t told Harry about the prophecy concerning his future before the end of their fifth year. But intellectual understanding and emotional acceptance sometimes were very different. She’d seen Harry suffering, she’d watched how he’d mourned for his godfather who’d fallen victim to Death Eaters, and being Harry’s friend, she’d sometimes blamed the headmaster for not helping more, for not talking the burden from the boy’s shoulders.

She’d needed to grow up before she’d learned that Harry hadn’t been the only one suffering. But in her last year at Hogwarts she’d finally learned that by seeing how the once-so-cheerful headmaster had become graver and paler with each day, how the wrinkles on his face had deepened and how tired and old he’d looked. And being Head Girl, it had been one of her duties to do night patrols in the castle. During them she’d seen Albus Dumbledore more then once pacing restless through the halls.

To see him cheerful and at ease now, to be teased by him and to see him enjoying his life, she liked very much.

Wandering around the lake now, Hermione suddenly heard the rustle of the phoenix wings again - and a hissing that sounded more then only a bit furious. Tipping her head back and searching the sky, Hermione saw Fawkes holding something in his claws. The something fidgeted and hissed - it obviously didn’t like to be 20 feet over the lake.

“Fawkes!” Hermione called. “Come down to me!”

The phoenix chirped cheerfully and, flying so close over the water that his prey almost got wet, approached Hermione. As he hovered over her, she recognized the furious thing in his claws as a grey-black tabby cat.

“Oh, Fawkes!” Hermione sighed. “Let Professor McGonagall down immediately!”

Fawkes trilled again, sounding like a mischievously boy, but obeyed in letting the tabby cat drop. Landing next to Hermione it immediately changed form and became a very ruffled Minerva McGonagall, who ranted at the bird.

“One day I’ll find a hex you can’t block, Fawkes! You know I hate it when you do that!”

Fawkes obviously wasn’t much impressed by this threat. He chirped and soared over the lake again.

Hermione looked after him. “Sorry, Minerva - if I’d have known you were around I would have gone in the other direction with him.”

Minerva plaited her hair, which had become untidy by the flight, with both her hands. “It wouldn’t have prevented this impossible bird from going after me. He always does - he obviously thinks it’s funny. Albus really spoils him too much.”

Hermione giggled. “You’re not the only one thinking along this line. Only half an hour ago the headmaster was told that he should kick Fawkes out at night.”

Minerva turned her eyes, suddenly looking much younger. “Let me guess: Our dear Albus is once again honoured with a visit by the impeccable Madame Willington? I really wonder what he likes about her.”

“I’d say he knows how to defrost her …” A deep voice behind Hermione and Minerva said. “And having done so, he certainly enjoys her rather nice forms …”

“Augustus!” Minerva turned around, shaking her head. “You’re almost as bad as Alastor!”

Augustus McGonagall, a tall, gaunt wizard with a bald head, an eagle nose and friendly brown eyes, kissed his wife at the cheek and offered Hermione his hand. “Have you already found the secret behind all transfiguration?” he asked with a twinkle.

“Good evening, Headmaster,” Hermione answered with a smile. She liked Minerva’s husband though she sometimes found it mildly irritating to address him with the title “headmaster” too. Yet he deserved it. He was the highly respected headmaster of the Auror’s Academy and a powerful wizard. Besides he was the deputy chief warlock of the Wizengamot and probably England’s leading specialist in matters of wizard’s law. “The secret,” she told him now, “isn’t entirely out yet. But we’re working on it.”

20;I20;I’m sure you’ll find out,” Augustus smiled at her. Bending his head down, he said confidentially: “I’ve just discovered another secret. Guess who was standing at the gates as I apparated in?”

“Huh - that’s no secret!” Minerva said. “I saw Severus stalking down the path - all billowing robes and the trademark sneer firmly plastered in his face. Hogwarts’ resident drama queen actually manages to make a walk down to the ‘Three Broomsticks’ look like McBeth just going to sharpen his knife.”

Her husband chuckled. “Tabby, you’re wrong. Your dear colleague wasn’t only out for a drink and a look in the landlady’s nice cleavage.”

“Augustus! You do have a one-track mind!” Minerva nudged her husband with her elbow.

“Aye - I’m a man,” he defended himself. “But coming back to the master of the smirk: I think he’s out for a little courting. It even may be serious courting, considered who he was waiting for.”

“Tonks!” Hermione cried. “Don’t say he was meeting Tonks?”

“Exactly!” Augustus chuckled again. “And you should have seen it! Severus seemed to remember he learned manners once - he greeted her with a perfect bow and a hand kiss. And the fair maiden blushed sweetly, purring an ‘Oh, Severus …’.”

Minerva and Hermione giggled in unison. The idea of the always acerbic, bad tempered potion master suddenly acting the shining knight was too funny. But then Minerva became serious again. “I hope he treats her well. Albus would bite his head off if he’d hurt the girl.” To Hermione she explained: “Nymphadora’s late parents were Albus’ friends. He became her legal guardian when she lost her family and he’s still very protective of her.”

“I nevertheless hope she’ll lay the boy,” Augustus said. “He urgently needs it and she’d earn the eternal gratitude of all your students with loosening him a bit.”

“Augustus!” Minerva cried again, but spoiled the effect of her rebuking by putting one of her hands in the pocket of his cloak. “I start to feel a bit chilly. What do you think about completing the evening at our fireplace and with a nice cup of tea, Hermione?”

“Make that a glass of wine, dear spouse,” Augustus offered Hermione and Minerva his arms, “and Uncle Augustus will tell the children another story about Hogwarts’ romances.”

“That sounds tempting!” Hermione looked up at the sky. “May I bring Fawkes? I’m supposed to baby sit him until tomorrow.”

“Oh, oh!” Augustus laughed. “Albus won’t risk interruptions by Fawkes anymore?”

Hermione stretched her free arm. “Fawkes!” she called. With a “swish” the phoenix landed on her arm and started to nibble at her ear.

Minerva looked at him. “Hah - he’s playing the innocent again!” Fawkes crooked his head and chirped apologizing at her. Minerva laughed and stroked his neck. “You’re almost as bad as your master, Fawkes!”

“Albus and Fawkes are Minerva’s problem children,” Augustus laughed by walking up to the castle. “All her attempts to bring them up always fail. I’d say that makes a rather bad prognosis for Madame Willington. Where Minerva fails she certainly won’t succeed.”

“I reckon she’s already given up on Fawkes,” Hermione giggled. “She was rather determined to get rid of him for the night.”

“Of course!” Augustus sounded very amused. “After what he did in her bedroom …” He opened the door of the entrance hall for his ladies.

Now, after curfew, the halls were empty, so Minerva didn’t mind speaking frankly. “Fawkes was in her bedroom? How do you know about that?”

Her husband grinned. “First, Tabby: Fawkes is never far away from Albus. Second: Albus told me as I healed his black eye. He didn’t want to bother Poppy because - but that’s another story I’ll later tell.”

“Moment …” Minerva just opened the door to their quarters. “Come in, give me your cloak and make yourself comfortable, Hermione!”

Augustus took Fawkes from Hermione’s arm and placed him on the back of a chair in front of the big fireplace. Minerva, taking off her cloak, waved Hermione to a seat then she rang for a house elf who appeared with a “pop”. Minerva ordered wine and seating herself, she looked inquiringly at her husband. “What was this about the black eye? How did Albus acquire this?”

“He came too close to Madame’s elbow,” Augustus told amused. “He said she became pretty jumpy when she’d discovered that Fawkes - who obviously hadn’t been watched for some time - had entertained himself with building a nest in one of her drawers. Madame obviously was not pleased to find Fawkes in her undergarments, though Albus said he’d looked pretty funny with a bra over his head. Albus laughing while she chased Fawkes, who soared with the bra, through her bedroom obviously didn’t improve her affection for his pet. She ordered him to help her. And by doing so he collided with her elbow.”

“Poor Albus!” Hermione had once gotten a black eye during a night patrol when she had stumbled and fallen against a suit of armour. She knew how much it hurt.

“Poor Albus indeed,” Augustus said.

The house elf appeared again with a bottle of wine, glasses and a dish with cheese and crackers. Minerva took the tray, thanked and dismissed the elf. Pouring the wine into the glasses, she said crisply: “It’s his fault! He really should train Fawkes better.”

“Madame Willington certainly would agree with you, Tabby - though I think she’d like this ‘infernal bird’ best when served with a nice filling of apples.”

Fawkes seemed once again to understand that Augustus was talking about him and produced a protesting sound.

“Don’t complain, Fawkes!” Augustus laughed at him. “You got yourself in this mess with pecking on her!”

“He pecked on Madame Willington?” Hermione couldn’t believe it. She’d never known Fawkes other as peaceful and soft.

“He obviously thought she’d attacked Albusnd and attacking Albus is the surest way to be attacked by Fawkes. He’d approached her immediately and pecked her before Albus could stop him,” Augustus proceeded with his story.

Minerva sipped at her wine. “Why do I know that Madame Willington didn’t understand for that?”

“Because you know her?” Hermione smiled at the elder witch.

“Indeed. The lady wasn’t pleased,” Augustus chuckled. “She became so livid that Albus decided to remove himself as quickly as possible from her presence. But having the wards in Hogwarts set as he always does when leaving the castle, he only could have gone through Poppy’s floo or apparated to the gates. Considering it was a damn cold December night, the last wasn’t an option. And the first wasn’t either because he knew about Poppy having a visitor. Disturbing her without having his head under his arm would probably have got him another black eye. But he knew I was on night duty at my school and so he used my floo …”

“Why couldn’t he apparate to our gates?” Minerva asked. “I mean he’s good in warming and shielding charms, so a cold winter night shouldn’t bother him. Or he could have changed in his animagnus form …”

Her husband laughed and patted her hand. “Dear Tabby - you know probably better then Hermione and I: The injuries the human carries the animagnus suffers with, too. And as Albus explained me once: The wind over the castle’s roofs and towers makes it very tricky to fly up to the main tower. Even trained owls often are in trouble on stormy days. A falcon with only one eye working - it would have been too dangerous. And apparating wasn’t an option because he was in the lady’s bedroom …”

“Hmm?” Minerva still didn’t understand.

Augustus smiled at Hermione. “Sometimes she’s too decent, my Tabby,” he stated.

“Oh!” Minerva blushed. “You mean, Albus was …” she stammered. “He didn’t wear a robe …”

“Right you are. His robe and he had separated earlier this evening and obviously the robe wasn’t even in the bedroom, so he couldn’t get it with a simple Accio. And even Albus with his highly developed resistance against feeling embarrassed has limits - walking naked through the school obviously is even too much for him.” Augustus grinned. “Hencefort his visit to my study. I healed his bruised eye, lent him boots and a robe and …”

“… promised to tell no one?” Minerva raised an eyebrow. “Sometimes you’re an old gossip, Augustus McGonagall! What shall Hermione think now about her master?”

“Dear wife - Albus didn’t demand such a promise. Give him a few years until the affair with the lady is forgotten, then he’ll tell the story himself. Second: If Hermione would still believe she’s the apprentice of St. Albus the Chaste it would be high time to tell her the truth. It will prevent her from storming in his room without knocking and becoming embarrassed as it once happened to her predecessor.”

Minerva hid her face in her hands. “Don’t remind me of that! I never could look at her again without blushing!”

Augustus laughed. “At least you didn’t catch him with one of his affairs, but with his lawfully wedded wife.”

“It didn’t make it less embarrassing!” Minerva cried. “And him saying - as calm as if I’d have disturbed him by reading a letter - ‘Oh, I’ve forgotten to ward the door. Would you please, Minerva?’ I thought I’d faint!”

Hermione laughed. “I will always remember to knock. Yet …” she chewed on her bottom lip. “I mean, it’s no business of mine, but I rather hope he won’t marry Madame Willington.”

“Heaven prevent us!” Minerva cried. “”I can’t stand that woman’s tone and the way she bosses him around.”

This her husband obviously found very amusing. Grinning from one ear to the other, he said: “You don’t mind bossing him around yourself, Minerva.”

“He needs me to! You know how he is. Besides he rather likes to be looked after.” Minerva defended herself.

“Funnily, he really does. He told me once he’d like determined women. Obedience would bore him rather quickly …” Augustus said.

“That makes Madame Willington a good candidate to keep him entertained.” Hermione took a cracker. Biting into it, she said quietly: “I’m afraid she’d try to boss me around, too - and that I really wouldn’t like.”

“Don’t worry, Hermione.” Augustus patted her hand. “There’s no danger. Albus may be pretty gaga in a lot of things, but when it comes to women he shows a lot of common sense. Besides he’s actually a romantic …”

“Yes.” Minerva sighed. “It’s actually quite sad. He’s able and willing to love and he’d probably wished for nothing more than for a wife and a family.” She looked at Hermione. “Don’t judge him for his playing around now, Hermione. I’m sure: If he’d find the right woman, he’d become a devoted and faithful husband again.”

“I don’t judge him,” Hermione said quietly. “First it wouldn’t be appropriate. His private life isn’t a concof mof mine. Second …” She searched for words “I mean, I don’t like Madame Willington much, but Albus is a man on his own and he’s single. Why shouldn’t he have a lady friend?”

“Right you are, dear girl.” Augustus poured her wine again. “Besides: Minerva is right, too. Albus was once a very devoted, loving husband. He was heartbroken as Rhianon left him.”

“It was hard for him and I sometimes think he never really overcame it,” Minerva said.

“What happened?” Hermione asked. Since Albus had mentioned that he’d been married to a muggle once, she’d been curious.

Minerva sighed. “She was a Muggle - and I think she was afraid of magic. Hogwarts terrified her although we all tried to make her comfortable here.”

Now Augustus sighed, too. “I think she’d have got used to our world if she’d only got a bit more time.”

“And without that terrible incident.” Minerva sipped at her glass. “But who could have foreseen something like that?”

“None of us - though Albus blamed himself for it and probably still does,” Augustus said thoughtfully. Looking at Hermione he explained: “Rhianon was an actress - a pretty famous one. She actually lived in London where Albus was with her as often as he could. Hogwarts she visited rarely and until this fatal day she’d never come to the castle without Albus at her side although he’d prepared a kind of permanent portkey for her. It made it possible for her to see the castle and to go through the anti-muggle wards. She only used it once …”

“Aye,” Minerva said - and as always when something got under her skin, her Scottish accent became heavier. “She wanted to surprise him at this day with the most wonderful news a wife can have for her husband.”

“She was pregnant?” Hermione asked.

“Yes.” Augustus nodded. “But on her way through the hall she came along two students who had an argument. They were hexing each other. A stunner bounced off and hit Rhianon in her abdomen.”

“Oh heavens …” Hermione swallowed. She knew what this meant. “She lost the child?”

“Aye,” Minerva answered gravely. “Poppy couldn’t prevent it. Rhianon and Albus were of course heartbroken. She couldn’t stand magic anymore. And he couldn’t stop blaming himself because he hadn’t been able to protect her and his child. He even thought about leaving our world. But then Voldemort started to rise …”

“… and I had to make it clear to Albus that he was needed,” Augustus took over. “He was the only one strong enough to stand up against Voldemort. Yet with him doing his duties as Hogwarts headmaster and leader of the order and with his wife living her life in London the marriage didn’t have a chance to recover. Two years after the incident Rhianon divorced him. She later married a muggle and became mother of two children - and one of them, her son, proved what we’d always supposed: He is a wizard, too - which means that Rhianon probably had some magic of her own.”

Minerva sighed once again. “By the way, Hermione: You know the young man. He’s only three years your senior and was Ravenclaw prefect when you were in your fourth and fifth year.”

“Corin Rodham?” Hermione remembered the handsome Ravenclaw pretty well. “Didn’t he study potions later?”

“Yes,” confirmed Minerva. “Albus helped him to attend the Cagliostro University.”

“It must have been hell for him,” Hermione said quietly. “I always wondered why he didn’t have children of his own. I think he’d made a wonderful father.”

“I still harbour the hope that he’ll find one day the witch of his dreams,” Minerva said. “He’s a bit over his first prime now, but so was his father. He married at the age of 118 and got his first son - Albus’ brother Aberforth - as he was 120. Albus was born five years later and then, another ten years later, his sister Ariadne was born.” Minerva looked at her husband.

Augustus swallowed, his eyes becoming sad. “Ariadne Dumbledore was my first wife. We were at school together, we became aurors together …” He fell silent.

Minerva squeezed his hand comfortingly. Looking at Hermione she said: “She was killed by Grindelwald in 1945. I knew her - she’d been my DADA teacher for a few years. She was an outstandingly brave and powerful witch - and a beauty, though so alike to Albus that you couldn’t see her without thinking of him.”

Hermione laughed. “I actually don’t think him ugly.”

“He certainly isn’t,” Minerva approved. “But with that nose of his …”

Augustus smiled, but his eyes were still sad. “Ariadne had quite a nose, too, but it wasn’t as crooked as Albus’. And she had beautiful blue eyes and the auburn hair which runs in the Dumbledore family.” He took Minerva’s hand and looked in her eyes. For a moment the couple became silent, then he turned to Hermione. “Poor child! All this sad history on one evening - you must be bored out of your robe now!”

Hermione tugged at her sleeve. “Oh no - you see: I’m still in it. I found the history very interesting. When I was a student, my favourite book was ‘Hogwarts - a history’. And I was always interested in the old wizard families.”

“Oh, in this section you can get quite enough at Hogwarts!” Minerva laughed. “The McGonagall’s are a very old family; the Dumbledore’s have a pedigree reaching back to the sixth century; and I’m born a Stuart - a family almost as old as the Dumbledore’s.”

Augustus giggled. “Yet in Severus’ eyes we’re probably all parvenus. His family is the oldest wizard family known. He can claim being the great-great-great-great and a few times more grandson of Cleopatra and Julius Caesar.”

“Huh?” Hermione crooked her head. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you? I know Cleopatra had a son with Julius Caesar, but he was killed by Octavian, wasn’t he?”

“He was not,” Augustus said. “Caesar’s personal guard was an English wizard. He saved Caesarion - that was the name of the boy - and brought him to England. Ask Snape - in his family’s archive at their mansion are the documents. He’s even got a scarab Caesarion got from his mother.”

“Considered that our Severus is the last Snape, it’s time the boy gets himself a wife and a few children,” Minerva said. “It would be a shame if such an old family as his would die out.”

“By talking about out dying wizard families …” Augustus grinned now. “I’ve promised you a little more gossip, haven’t I? So here we go: I think Alastor just arranged to keep the Moody family alive.”

“At last!” Minerva said energetic. “It’s really time he proposed! They’re too old for a clandestine affair - especially with every one knowing about it!”

“I told him so,” Augustus nodded. “And so he went to buy a ring. I’m sure Poppy will say ‘yes’.”

“Our mediwitch?” Hermione asked. She actually couldn’t imagine the old auror with his magical eye and his wooden leg as a bridegroom, but on the other hand, before she’d come back to Hogwarts she couldn’t have imagined the venerable Headmaster flirting either. And if anyone would have told her during her time as a student that stern Professor McGonagall wasn’t only married, but lovingly called “Tabby” by her husband and that she blushed like a young girl whenever he smiled at her - Hermione would have probably called him mad. By becoming a member of Hogwarts staff she’d learned at lot about her former teachers - and the more she learned the more she felt like she belonged to Hogwarts.


To be continued …