The Comedy of Errors

The Comedy of Errors

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1


Chapter 3: A Hogwarts’ tradition


With a contented sigh Minerva leaned back, stretching her long legs. It was her third day at Chateau Dumbledore and by now she actually didn’t understand herself anymore. Why had she been so hesitant about coming there? Albus had left Hogwarts the day after term’s end, but before he’d gone he’d visited Minerva in her office, repeating his invitation.

Why had she hesitated for almost two weeks? Asked by Poppy, Minerva had maintained she’d need to finish her work first. “Term’s end doesn’t mean work’s end for me. Just on the contrary. I’m the one who has to send the result of the OWLs and NEWTs to the students; I have to get the booklists done and I have to prepare the time tables - and I can assure you, that’s hard work especially with as many students as we have now. I’ll need at least ten days until I’m done. And I certainly won’t leave before I’ve cleared my desk.”

In fact, she’d worked like a beaver during those ten days. Being almost alone in the castle - all members of the staff except of the caretaker and the divination teacher, Sybil Trelawney, were gone for the holiday - she’d even taken her meals in her study. But to herself Minerva hadn’t managed to deny that it wasn’t only her sense of duty that had kept her at Hogwarts. In her sleepless nights she - always honest with herself - had become aware that she felt insecure about visiting Albus in his home. Spending so much time with him in private would certainly alter their relationship. Minerva wasn’t sure if she would like that. Of course, she trusted Albus. She knew he would never hurt her deliberately and she knew too, that he cared as much for he she she was fond of him. Wasn’t that enough? Why alter something which worked so well? She was perfectly comfortable with their friendship as it was. Or wasn’t she? And what about him? His always slightly husky voice was still ringing in her ears: “Did it never occur to you that I could sometimes feel lonely?”

If it hadn’t been for those words, she probably wouldn’t have sent the owl. It had been a rather short one, “Dear Albus, I’m almost done with my work. I could visit you for a few days, starting on Monday. Please let me know if this would be convenient for you. M.”

She’d expected an answer the next morning, but it had come only a few hours after she’d sent the bird to Cornwall. Fawkes had burst into her study with a cheerful cackle, carrying a note in Albus’ loopy handwriting, “My dear, I was already afraid you’d stand me up and I would have to send Fawkes to drag you by the collar to Cornwall. I’m looking forward to Monday! And don’t think I’ll let you go after only a ‘few days’. You’re in for a real break, and for being spoiled by my house elves and yours truly - Albus.”

Monday had come, and knowing that Albus liked to sleep in, Minerva had waited until eleven o’clock before apparating onto the grounds in front of the Chateau. The weather had been glorious - a perfect summer day with a deep blue sky and a soft breeze - and the Chateau, a rococo building, painted in a sunny yellow, had been as always a breathtaking sight. It stood on a little hill; stone stairs, flanked by rose beds, led up to the terrace in front of the house. To Minerva’s amazement she’d been expected. Albus was sitting on the stairs. When he’d seen her, he’d risen and come down, his long hair flowing in the soft breeze.

“Minerva!” His eyes, blue as the sky, had shone as he’d opened his arms. “Welcome to Cornwall!” Hugging her, he’d kissed her forehead and then, holding her at arm’s length and looking down at her, he’d said, “You’re a bit pale, Minerva. But this will change.” Eagerly, like a boy, he’d led her into the house and up the stairs. “I thought you’d perhaps like to stay in the room which once belonged to my mother. It’s got the best view of the sea.” Opening the door to a bedroom, he’d almost sounded nervous and a bit shy, “I mean - if you don’t like it here - the colour or the decoration or something else - I mean, we have lot of guest rooms and you can of course have another one.”

Minerva, entering the bright room, had looked around and then smiled at him. “Thank you, Albus - I’d very much like to stay here. It’s lovely.

It was indeed one of the loveliest rooms Minerva had ever been in. Looking out over the garden to the sea, the walls of the chamber were covered with tapestries in pale rose. The almost cold colour accentuated the warmth radiated by the cheery wood of the furniture. It was quite clear that the woman who had once lived in this room had been cultivated and well read. Two book shelves at the left and the right side of the big bed were well filled; the desk under the window wasn’t a spindly lady’s secretary, but a real desk with a lot of space - just as Minerva liked it. There were no knick-knacks on the mantelpiece, only two busts - the heads of boys, one around 10 years, the other younger, nose and mouth reminiscent of the baby he had been only a few years before the bust was made. And although the nose was rather tiny - the high, curved forehead was as unmistakable as the pointed cheekbones and the large eyes. Minerva had smiled at the bust. “You were a very handsome child, Albus.”

He’d looked a bit sheepish and tipped his index fingerinstinst his long, crooked nose, “My mother always said she should have fixed my nose the way it was then.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Minerva had said. “Your nose suits you as it is.” Looking up at the painting over the mantelpiece of cliffs and green hills under a rather clouded sky, she’d asked Albus, “Was that painting done around here?”

“No.” He’d shaken his head. “My mother came from Connemara, Ireland. The landscape there is a bit more raw and austere than here. As much as she liked Cornwall, she sometimes was a bit homesick for Connemara. Therefore my father got her this painting. It’s the sight from the terrace of the house my mother grew up in.”

Minerva was touched that he’d given her just this room - and that he hadn’t only put a bunch of roses at the little table in front of the fireplace, but a pillow on the windowsill too, remembering that she liked to lie in her feline animagus form in a window. “In the morning you’ll get the sun there,” he’d explained. “And you can see over the grounds to the sea.”


Her first morning in the Chateau, Minerva had awakened to the sound of music. Lying in the comfortable bed she’d listened to the soft, silvery sound coming in through the open window until curiosity had gotten the better of her. During the grand tour through the house Albus had given her the day before, she’d seen three paintings of musicians - a singer and a man with a guitar in the great study; a chamber orchestra out of Mozart’s time with white wigs and silken stockings in the ball room, and a flutist in the hall. But this music hadn’t sounded as if it were coming from one of the paintings. Slipping on her dressing gown, Minerva had walked down to the corridor on the first floor. There she’d heard the music better and she’d recognized the sound - some one was playing Bach’s Chromatic Fantasia and Fugue on a harpsichord.

Minerva had remembered that she’d seen a harpsichord in the library. But who was playing? Marching down the stairs and entering the room, Minerva’s eyes widened. She’d thought the harpsichord had been enchanted to play on its own, but it hadn’t. Albus sat in front of it, his long, thin fingers dancing over the keyboard, his head bent forward, his face hidden behind a curtain of silver hair. He’d played masterfully, and so concentrated was he on the beautiful music with its almost mathematical structure that he hadn’t noticed Minerva come down.

Standing on the threshold, Minerva had almost stopped bring ing so as not to disturb him. She’d known that he loved music, but he’d never mentioned that he played an instrument himself.

His hands - Minerva had always found them fascinating and always liked watching them. His face and his eyes he had under perfect control and even Minerva, who knew him so well, couldn’t read them if he didn’t want her to. But his hands often betrayed him. By watching them Minerva sometimes ht aht a glimpse of what was going on behind his always calm façade. She’d learned that Albus balling his hands into fists frequently meant that he wanted to hide the slight trembling of his fingertips, which indicated that something had gotten under his skin; and whenever he shoved his hands into the rich folds of his sleeves she knew that he was bored beyond belief. Placing his fingertips together and looking at them was his way of keeping his temper at bay when he was upset or annoyed.

On this morning his fingers on the keyboards, with their typical black ebony keys and ivory semi tones, had looked like something that lived on its own, something very precious and enchanting. But suddenly Albus had noticed her, and in the very moment he’d raised his head to look at her, his fingers had stumbled over a complicated trill. Albus had wrinkled his forehead and stopped playing. Smiling at her, he’d said a bit awkwardly, “Good morning, Minerva - and sorry. I didn’t want to wake you. I especially damped the harpsichord.” He pointed to a knob just over the second keyboard.

“Good morning, A..” Minerva had stepped closer. “I didn’t know you could play the harpsichord.”

“My mother insisted that her sons learn an instrument. She said that without playing oneself one would never be able to really understand music. So Aberforth learned to play the trombone - much to the dismay of my poor father who was a bit sensitive when it came to noise. He wasn’t too unhappy whedecidecided to play the piano, mostly because the piano I was practising upon was on the second floor, so he didn’t have to listen to my etudes.” Stroking one finger over the magnificent black, gold and red decorated instrument, he’d added, “The harpsichord I discovered when I was in Germany a few years ago. I heard a Bach concerto on the harpsichord and immediately fell in love with the instrument. Asking the musician where she’d gotten her wonderful instrument, she gave me the address of a German Muggle who builds harpsichords in the traditional way. This beauty here,” once again he touched his instrument tenderly, “is a copy of a harpsichord the great French harpsichord maker, Francois Blanchet, made in 1733(1).” He pulled the knob over the keyboard out and played an arpeggio. “It sounds great, doesn’t it?”

“And it’s really beautiful - very elegant.” Minerva looked over Albus’ shoulder at the keyboard. Just over it an inscription was put in the wood. “Ekkehard Merzdorf meit 1it 1978,” Minerva had read.

“Ekkehard Merzdorf - that’s the Muggle I talked about - made me in 1978,” Albus had translated for her. “And he probably still wonders about this eccentric customer from Great Britain who couldn’t for the world decide if he wanted the Blanchet or rather its lovely Italian brother.”

“Let me guess,” Minerva had smiled down at him. &0;In0;In the end this eccentric customer bought both instruments?”

“It seems you know this oddball pretty well,” Albus had replied.

“My only question is, where’s the Italian harpsichord?”

“In my bedroom,” Albus had answered. “It’s made from cypress wood and still smells lovely(2). Therefore I like to have it close by. However, my Italian beauty is a bit loud - so I came down this morning to play here. Only,” he’d looked down on his hands, “I’m a bit out of practise. Perhaps I should take the Italian instrument with me to Hogwarts. During the last few years I’ve rarely had time to play, but now…”

“Now you really should play more often,” Minerva had taken over. “You’re doing wonderfully. Would you perhaps play something more? I’d love it.”

“Well - one piece more. But then we’ll have breakfast, shall we?”


Now, on her fourth day in the Chateau, it had become almost a routine that Albus played for Minerva in the morning. But after breakfast he always shooed her outside. “You’re still looking like a princess in a fairy tale: Ebony hair, ivory skin - much too pale!”

“Don’t you like princesses out of fairy tales?” Minerva had asked - and wondered at herself. Since when was she flirting with Albus?

But his charm was simply irresistible - which he’d proven again at that moment by smiling and responding, “I like a certain princess so much I want to see her cheerful and healthy and with blooming cheeks.”

This morning Albus had taken her for a shopping trip to the little Muggle town near the Chateau. He’d needed - so he’d at least said - new bathing shorts, and while he’d searched for them, showing once again his rather extravagant taste, Minerva had discovered a bathing suit she liked. It was light blue and covered her front to the neck, while the back was deeply cut. For a moment Minerva had doubted if she could wear something like that, showing her naked legs, but Albus had been delighted, and assured her he’d adore seeing her in a bathing suit. Besides, it was nice to feel the sun and the soft breeze on her skin as she sat in the cove which belonged to the Chateau, digging her naked toes in the warm sand. It reminded he hap happy days as a child.

“Minerva?” Albus was spreading sun lotion on his legs. Now he looked almost pleadingly at her, the bottle with the sun lotion in his hand. “Could you perhaps help me? I like the sun, but she doesn’t like me. I always get burned.”

“That’s one of the disadvantages of being a true redhead,” Minerva smiled and took the bottle out of his hand. Moving behind him, she pushed his mane over his shoulder with her free hand, giggling. “And all that hair!”

“Hmm?” Albus asked.

Minerva, opening the bottle, answered with a slight blush, “I was quoting one of my dear colleagues. You know, the female members of the staff sometimes like to put the males through the ringer - with special references to their desirability as lovers. And when it comes to you, you can be sure that one of the ladies says sooner or later, “And all that hair!”

“Interesting!” Albus sounded amused. “Only I’d like to know in what tone they say it. Is it an ‘Ugh - and all that hair!’ or an ‘Ooh - and all that hair?’”

Minerva, pouring lotion in her palm, started to spread some of it on his shoulders. “I don’t think I’ll tell you,” she replied. “You’re already vain enough.”

“Well, well.” Although Minerva couldn’t see Albus’ face, she was sure that he was grinning. “There goes your chance to learn how desirable the male members of our staff think you.”

“Oh, I know already,” Minerva snorted. “Severus especially is absolutely over the moon with me. When we were discussing the exam results he offered me a potion to - I quote him - ‘speed old Pemperbroke up’ because - and I quote again - dealing with me as ‘cramped and uptight’ as I am would be worse than teaching the bunch of dunderheads in my house.”

“He’s one to talk!” Albus shook his head.

Minerva rubbing sun lotion on his shoulder, breathed deeply. “Thanks. You could have said it would have been a case of the pot calling the kettle black.”

“It’s certainly not!” His voice sounded a bit muffled because he’d bent forward to give her better access. “You and Severus don’t have much in common and the reasons for your being sometimes a bit stiff and he being entirely cramped are quite different.”

“Thanks,” Minerva repeated dryly. Gripping his shoulder a bit firmer, she added, “Speaking of uptight, your neck is very tense.”

“Oh yes!” Albus moved his head and promptly his spine made a cracking sound. “I was hoping to find a merciful soul who’d massage it.”

“Well, it seems today is your lucky day,” Minerva smiled, now using both her hands to work on his neck. She’d often massaged her husband’s shoulders when he’d been tight after a long day at his desk and she’d always enjoyed it. Touching Albus felt nice too. While kneading his shoulders Minerva had to suppress a giggle. She suddenly remembered that Poppy had said, “He’s in a great shape for a man of his age.” The mediwitch had been right. Albus had not only well defined, strong muscles, but the skin covering them was smooth and felt like silk under Minerva’s fingers. He was a true redhead, which meant that he had pale skin - and many freckles. Just on his right shoulder blade were a few that looked like the constellation of the great wagon with the polar star on its top.

As Minerva came closer to Albus’ neck, he made a deep sound, almost like a purr.

“You like that?” Minerva asked amused, laying her left palm against his spine and pulling his shoulders a bit back against it.

“Mmm!” Albus moaned. “I like that very much. Proceed and I’ll become a puddle.”

“Question is if I’d like an Albus puddle,” Minerva said, but didn’t stop her massage.

“You would!” he promised her. “I’m a very nice puddle.”

Minerva laughed. “Your modesty is overwhelming.” She was now at his left shoulder where she found an especially tight spot. Digging her thumbs in it made Albus wince.

“Ouch!” he protested. “That was a bit hard.”

“You’ll survive.” Minerva spread more oil in her hands. “Stretch your arms, please.”

Albus willingly obeyed, offering her his strong upper arms. Minerva worked at the muscles, smiling at him. “You’re really full of surprises, Albus,” she said. “Are you secretly taking exercise?”

He laughed. “Of course. I play quidditch every night when the rest of the castle is asleep. No, in fact I think my animagus form gives me enough exercise. I like flying and I sometimes compete with Fawkes. Only he cheats. Whenever I come close to catching him, he apparates.”

“Poor Albus! Beaten by a cheating phoenix! Speaking of Fawkes, where is he?” Minerva asked. “I haven’t seen him in days.” She gave Albus a light slap on the shoulder. “Would you turn around and lie on your belly? It would make my work easier.”

“With pleasure. I never can resist when a beautiful woman wants me to lie down,” Albus grinned up at her, turned and placed his head on his folded hands. “To answer your question about the feathered nuisance, I suppose he’s out courting. On the island you can see from the cliffs lives an old charms mistress - a pretty odd person, if you ask me. But she’s got a phoenix. As far as I know it is the only other phoenix in England except for Fawkes. And to Fawkes’ delight, the phoenix on the island is a female.”

“Oh?” Minerva was kneeling next to Albus and dripping oil on his spine. “Any chance of a phoenix wedding and some nice chicks?”

Albus chuckled. “I’d like that, but I’m afraid we’ll have to wait a few years for that to happen. The lady phoenix seems to be one of the hard to get sort. Fawkes has been courting her for five years - still without success.”

“Poor Fawkes! But at least he seems to have a lot of patience,” Minerva said.

“Small wonder - if you don’t have any other chance for a mate!” Albus laughed. “Besides he’s probably not wondering about. The mating season for phoenixes often lasts 20 or even 30 years. Phoenixes are obviously very picky when omesomes to their partners.”

“Ah!” Minerva sounded amused. “That’s why Fawkes gets along so well with you.”

“You think me picky about women?” Albus asked.

“Well - I was actually thinking more along the lines that dealingh yoh you needs a lot of patience too,” Minerva responded. Her hand having arrived at the waistband of his shorts, she gave him another light slap. “All done, Headmaster.”

“Thank you.” Albus turned over and sat up. Taking the bottle out of her hand, he smiled at her. “Your turn, my lady. We don’t want you to get a sunburn.”

“Aye.” As always when Minerva felt awkward, her Scottish accent came through. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she presented her back to Albus. With the bathing suit cut so deeply it would indeed be better if she had some protection. And besides, her skin wasn’t bad either. Her back cer certainly could show to a man.

Albus had moved behind her and he obviously liked what he was seeing. “I just remembered a German saying: ‘Ein schoener Ruecken kann auch entzuecken’,” he said. Knowing that she didn’t speak German well, he translated for her: “It means, ‘A lovely back can be a delight too’.”

Minerva didn’t answer. Albus had started to spread oil on her shoulders and his large, soft hands gently stroking her skin felt wonderful. It had been more than three years since she had been touched by a man, and now it felt as if every pore of her skin longed for some tenderness. Minerva wanted to purr and to stretch under the soft hands to get more of their gentleness, and she felt how her entire body became alive. Her nipples were prickling, the blood hummed in her veins, between her legs she felt a familiar warmth. To enjoy it was something of a guilty pleasure - it was the first time that a man other than her husband had been so close to her, and she was well aware that it was her superior who was stroking her. But for once she didn’t care about professional behaviour and ladylike manners. She’d missed being touched and feeling alive! And Albus - he certainly didn’t think anything of it. For him it was probably a boring routine to spread sun lotion on a woman’s back - only that he normally didn’t work on such bony bodies as hers.

Yet it was nice that he was softly humming. And his hands - oh! He knew how to use them. Just now his dexterous fingers were closing around her shoulders, kneading the knots out of her muscles. And then this hands gliding down her sides, the thumbs pressing gently the flesh along her spine - did he want her to become a puddle?

She almost jumped as she suddenly felt a kiss on her shoulder. “Albus!” She rebuked him before she could even think about it.

“Sorry. I couldn’t resist. Your skin feels like a peach - and you know how fond I am of peaches.” He didn’t sound too apologetic, more amused.

“Flatterer!” Minerva turned around to look at him, but he’d just stood up and so her gaze fell upon his midsection. “Oh!” The sound had slipped before she’d become aware of opening her mouth. She felt how her cheeks became hot and knew that she was blushing now, becoming as red as a ripe tomato. Looking down at Albus’ feet, Minerva swallowed and searched for words, but couldn’t find anything to say what wouldn’t make the situation even more embarrassing. She wished herself back in her study at Hogwarts or in her classroom - there she always knew how to handle things!

Albus had of course noticed not only where her gaze had landed, but her blush too. He sighed and got down on his knees in front of her. Placing oneger ger under her chin, he lifted her face to make her look into his eyes. “I’m sorry, Minerva,” he said. “I certainly didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or embarrassed. But,” now he looked a little sheepish, “I’m a man. Touching a beautiful woman like you does have a certain effect on my body - a strong effect. And as much as I try - erections are hard to control.”

Minerva nodded, suddenly feeling like a young girl. “I know, Albus. And I’m sorry - I shouldn’t have put you in such an embarrassing situation.” Smiling rather awkwardly, she added, “A lady is not supposed to notice certain things.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Minerva,” Albus assured her, his eyes now twinkling again. “Dealing with inappropriate erections is part of a man’s life. One hopes it will become better with age - and it actually does. But sometimes…” he let his line hang and rose up. “Cold water solves the problem. So I’ll go for a swim.”

Minerva watched him as he climbed on a rock and jumped with an elegant dive into the water. She’d rarely before felt so confused. “Touching a beautiful woman like you does have a certain effect on my body” he’d said. And it certainly hadn’t been a charming lie. She’d seen the bulge in his shorts, evidence of his arousal - and she’d caused it! That meant that he found her attractive, didn’t it?

Although Minerva had known only one man in her life intimately, her knowledge about male sexuality certainly was more than average - at least when it came to the theory. She was a teacher and head of a house at Hogwarts, which meant she had to deal with the sexual education of teenagers. Explaining the pattern of male arousal to giggling girls certainly wasn’t her favourite pastime, but right now she was glad to know about it. And yes, she couldn’t deny it - to know that she had aroused him flattered her. Why did she nevertheless feel so embarrassed?

Methodical as she always had been, she started to sort out her mixed feelings. Why had she been so embarrassed? Because he’d suddenly made her aware that he wasn’t only her friend, but a fully functional male? She’d known that before, hadn’t she? And although she’d never been confronted with evidence of his manhood - it really wasn’t such a big deal, was it? Honest as she always was, Minerva had to admit that the biggest part of the embarrassment had been caused by the fact that she’d felt aroused too. Her own pleasure in being touched by him was why she’d blushed so much, feeling caught by what she hadn’t want him to know. Had he noticed? She wasn’t sure. He was very experienced with women, for her taste even too experienced. Probably he’d … oh no, she didn’t want to think about that. The only comfort was that he certainly was too much of a gentleman to ever mention it.

On the other hand, to know that he obviously didn’t see her as a “genderless something” - that he hadn’t found her body bony and plain - it really was flattering. She had felt hurt when Ignatius Pemperbroke had refused her invitation, and she had doubted her desirability. To know that Albus probably wouldn’t have refused, had he been in Pemperbroke’s shoes, was like a plaster on the wound. It was even ego-boosting, because Albus wasn’t just an average man, but one who certainly had high standards when it came to women. Although Minerva hadn’t liked his last mistress much - that Ingar Freyasdottir was beautiful she couldn’t deny. And Constanze Harbinger, the Viennese opera singer he’d been with before, hadn’t only been beautiful, but very talented and intelligent too.

Wrapping her arms around her knees once again, Minerva looked out at the sea. Albus was drifting on his back, lazily moving his legs. He was obviously enjoying his swim. Minerva smiled, suddenly feeling a rush of affection for him. It was good to be with him and it was good to feel like a woman again. It was what she’d needed.

But what she needed even more now was some refreshment. The weather was so wonderful, the water looked so tempting - it would be stupid to sit around while Albus was having all the fun. Minerva stood up, marched to the rock, climbed on it and jumped into the sea.

It really felt great! Cheerfully splashing, Minerva raised one hand and pulled her bun off. Shaking her head she combed spread fingers through her hair, letting it float in the ripples. And the water around her - on the surface it was warmed by the sun, but deeper it was fresh and it seemed to carry her. Closing her eyes, she swam forward, enjoying feeling weightless and free until she suddenly bumped against something solid. Opening her eyes, she looked at Albus who was studying her as if he’d see her for the very first time. “You’re making it hard for me to calm down, looking like Melusine, the mermaid.”

Minerva let herself sink on her back, cheerfully flicking her legs and splashing him with water. “You see, there’s no fish tail.”

“No, certainly not.” He caught one of her feet and pulled her to him. “There’s a pair of exceptionally well shaped legs instead. I actually like that better than a fish tail.”

Smiling at him, Minerva pulled her foot out of his hand and let herself float on the waves. “Are my legs new to you?” she heard herself ask.

“They are.” He was on his back too, swimming next to her. “You’re always wearing robes – which is actually a pity, considering what you hide under them.”

Suddenly the awkward feeling was back. Minerva swallowed. “Albus, I’m your Deputy,” she reminded him.

As always he immediately got what she was really trying to express. Looking serious again, he said, “You’re also a woman I respect deeply. I’m sorry, Minerva - I overstepped the bounds by flirting with you.”

“No, Albus.” Minerva laid her hand on his arm. 20;Y20;You didn’t. You’re your usual, very charming self and you flatter me very much. But,” she smiled sadly, “we can hardly flirt with each other, can we? You’re my superior, we have to work with each other, and that demands professional behaviour around one another.”

“Hmm.” He nodded, sighed and looked towards the cove. “I’m feeling a bit cold. I think I’ll get out of the water.”

“I come with you.” Minerva had to keep herself from hugging him. He’d suddenly looked so unhappy - and Merlin, why did life have to be so complicated? For once she’d felt like just living out her emotions. But she couldn’t, could she? Albus wasn’t only an attractive and charming man, but he was Hogwarts’ Headmaster. And professionalism demanded that one keep a certain distance from one’s boss.

Arriving at the shore, Minerva wrapped herself in her towel. Through her eye lashes she risked a quick glance at Albus. He had used a drying charm, and now was lying on his back in the warm sand, arms under his head and looking up at the sky.

Minerva, sitting down herself, let her eyes wander over him. Strong arms, broad shoulders, well-defined chest with only a few grey hairs and flat, pink nipples, a rather round belly, which she found suited him, narrow hips, long legs. On his left thigh was a long scar - a memory of the battle against Voldemort during which he’d been injured.

“Albus?” Minerva had never been one to let a difficult situation remain unclear. “Would you rather I go back to Hogwarts?”

He rolled over to his side, supporting his head on his hand. “You don’t have to. I certainly won’t harass you.” His voice sounded flat.

“Albus!” Minerva looked reproaching at him. “I would never think you could! But perhaps we need a little distance from each other to get a grip on this.”

Albus tried to smile. “Hey - aren’t you the Gryffindor here? Since when do Gryffindors run away when a situation becomes a bit difficult? I think we’re adults. That means we should be able to handle this…” he searched for a word.

Minerva laughed. “My, my - you’re at a loss for words! We’re obviously in what Alastor would call a ‘siion&ion’.”

“Alastor would probably even call it a ‘bloody situation’,” Albus shot back. “But let’s sort it out. How did we get here?”

“We came too close to each other,” Minerva answered dryly.

“Which actually felt quite nice,” Albus smiled at her.

“Albus Dumbledore!” Minerva shook her head.

“Honestly,” now his eyes were twinkling again, “we shouldn’t make too much of it. I’m attracted to you - but that isn’t new. I’ve always found you a fascinating and beautiful woman.”

“Please.” Minerva wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. “You always found me - what?”

“A fascinating and beautiful woman,” he repeated, amused. “Minerva, I was never blind nor was I ever an idiot. You’re lovely, brilliant, and passionate and if you hadn’t been married to a friend of mine I certainly would have tried to get to know you better.”

Minerva was flabbergasted. Shaking her head, she said slowly, “When we first met, I wasn’t married. I even didn’t know Augustus then.”

Albus laughed. “Yes, of course, but at that time you were my student. And even with me being a reckless Slytherin, I never laid a hand on a student of mine. Besides, girls never interested me much. Even ayounyoung man I always found adult, experienced women much more fascinating. Furthermore, Minerva Stuart was a special case,” now he was grinning and looking once again like a cheeky boy. “If memory serves me right, said Minerva Stuart despised me heartily.”

“You knew that I didn’t like you?” Minerva asked. “But I was always polite!”

“Of course you were. You always behaved like the perfect lady with impeccable manners,” Albus confirmed. “But I’ve known a few ice cubes who acted warmer towards me, my dear.”

“And when did you discover that I’m not a walking ice cube?” Minerva wanted to know.

“Hmm - I don’t remember an exact moment,” Albus answered. Scratching himself behind his ear ear, as he often did when searching for something in his memory, he proceeded, “But I remember a day not long after you became my Deputy. It must have been around 1960. I was late for breakfast one morning, and during my absence a student had let a herd of Cornish pixies loose in the Great Hall, causing quite a ruckus.”

“Oh yes - I remember that morning too!” Minerva said. “I could have throttled Sybil Trelawney! Instead of helping me calm the students down, she became hysterical.”

Albus laughed. “Your reaction was brilliant. Stunning screaming Sybil, blowing the Pixies out of the window, closing it behind them - it was a stroke of genius! But what I admired most about you was how you sat down and proceeded with your breakfast as if nothing had happened.” Leaning forward a bit, he looked into her eyes. “Honestly, Minerva, you hadn’t forgotten that Sybil was still stunned, had you?”

“Well,” Minerva shrugged her shoulders, “I saw you entering and thought you’d like to enervate her.”

“I actually would have rather liked to tell you how breathtaking you were looking with your slightly flushed cheeks and that shine in your eyes - and how much I’d enjoyed watching you. It was one of the moments I became aware what a lucky man Augustus was.”

Minerva studied him for a moment. “And here I always thought I wouldn’t be the type of woman you find attractive.”

“Well - it seems you don’t know me as well as you think,” Albus pushed a strand of silver hair out of his face. “My type of woman,” he said then thoughtfully, “is not defined by appearance, I think. Perhaps in my younger years, but certainly not in the last 50.”

Minerva couldn’t suppress a giggle. “Albus, you won’t tell me you only admire the fine souls and brilliant intellects of your lady friends, will you?”

He joined in her laughter. “No, I won’t. But I’ve come to the conclusion that interesting minds rarely ever come in absolutely ugly packing. On the contrary, the things I find fascinating about women - intelligence, heart, generosity, temper, wit - shine.”

“Ah - and does this work the other way ‘round too?” Minerva asked, once again feeling how much she liked him, and how fascinating she found the insights of his mind.

“Yes,” he answered after a little moment of thinking. “It does - at least for me.you you remember Dolores Umbridge?”

Minerva shrugged. “How could I forget her?” The witch who’d once been “High Inquisitor” of Hogwarts, sent by a Minister who distrusted Albus deeply, had been the one responsible for Minerva being hit by four stunners.

“She was ugly!” Albus declared. “I never knew what I found more horrible about her, her appearance or her character.”

Minerva had just pulled her wand out of her bag. Transfiguring a stone to a big pillow, she leaned back on it and crossed her legs at the ankle. “Did I ever tell you that this abominable person once accused me of having an affair with you?” She shook her head. “Only a few minutes before I had advised Mister Potter to keep calm around her; then she started talking about me being your mistress, thus implying that that was how I got my job. I found myself not only close to hexing her, but throttling her with my bare hands! And afterwards I would so have liked to jinx her back under the stone from which she’d crawled. But you know what the strangest thing was? Although she always maintained that she despised you, she really sounded jealous when talking about you and me!”

“Well,” Albus followed Minerva’s example, only that he didn’t content himself with a pillow, but produced a deck chair with striped pillows which promptly got him a “show off!” from Minerva. Rising, he offered her the chair and conjured another one from her pillow while she sat down in the first one. Settling himself, he came back to the subject, “I have reason to believe that Umbridge really was jealous. She once made some advances.”

“And how did you react to that?” Minerva asked amused. “I can’t remember seeing you run away with billowing robes.”

Albus made a face. “I actually felt like it, but your husband kept me back, telling me I shouldn’t ‘fret like a first year facing a mountain troll in heat’. Actually I found this a pretty accurate description of Umbridge.”

“I never saw a mountain troll wearing pink,” Minerva giggled.

“Oh thanks - you just have to rub it in!” Albus shuddered again. “But your husband was even worse. Always the pragmatic lawyer he started to discuss whether I shouldn’t - for the sake of the school and the Order - take up the offer.”

“Oh sweet Merlin!” Minerva laughed. “That would have been the ultimate sacrifice.”

“Yes - and I was very glad that Alastor saved me from this fate which to me really looked worse than death,” Albus remembered with a smile. “While Augustus and Severus were discussing if I should use a lust potion or a certain charm, Alastor reminded them that one shouldn’t mess around with the memories of a legilimens and that the Order couldn’t deal with me - I quote him - going over my ‘usual level of insanity’.”

Minerva smiled. “Poor Albus! One who’s got such friends doesn’t need any enemies. But considering that this person made a pass at you, it was even more outrageous that she threatened me with the sack if she’d ever gotten evidence of our affair.”

“She threatened you with that?” Albus shook his head. “She would have needed a new decree for that - and while she made it up I would probably have told her that she’s just destroying another Hogwarts tradition. Besides I know at least one member of the Wizengamot who couldn’t have signed such a law without becoming the laughing stock of all Britain.”

“Huh? What do you mean by that?”

Albus laughed. “Didn’t you know? Affairs between the Headmaster and a member of the staff are an old Hogwarts tradition. It went so far that Phineas Nigellus even rebuked me once for not keeping my love life where it belongs - between the discreet walls of the castle.”

Minerva starred unbelievingly at him. “Albus! You’re making this up! You can’t tell me that Headmaster Dippet was having an affair with a staff member!”

“But of course he was!” Albus said. “Everyone knew that Marianne Ensworth and he were sleeping together. That’s why she could hardly have signed a decree against intimate relationships among the Hogwarts staff as a member of the Wizengamot.”

“I didn’t know,” Minerva contradicted him. “I was at Hogwarts while Armando Dippet was Headmaster and Marianne Ensworth was the Arithmancy teacher.”

“Sorry, with ‘everyone knew’ I meant the members of the staff,” Albus explained. “And most people in the Ministry and some people out in our world - adults, of course. The students didn’t know. But I must tell you that students hardly ever know something about the private lives of their teachers. You remember how flabbergasted Mister Potter was when he learned in his sixth year that there was a Mister McGonagall? And you never made a secret ou you your marriage! Augustus lived in the castle, he was often enough with you at Quidditch matches, but even your Gryffindors never took notice of him. Teenagers – most of them are so self centred, and convinced that love is only something for young people like them, that we would have to snog our partners in the middle of the Great Hall during a meal for our students to notice that we’re not switched off yet.”

“It’s probably better that the students don’t know. They’d find even the idea of older people being with each other ‘gross’,” Minerva commented. “But Headmaster Dippet and Professor Ensworth! I’m really glad I didn’t know about that as a student.”

“Why?” Albus grinned. “Would you have thought it ‘gross’ too?”

“Certainly not!” Once again Minerva was slightly blushing. “It’s only - I had a little crush on our Headmaster during my last year. You know, I’ve always liked older men and Armando Dippet was a very imposing and attractive one.”

“You had a crush on the Headmaster?” Albus laughed. “And here I always thought Miss Minerva Stuart would have been only interested in her books and grades!”

Minerva played with the hem of her striped pillow. “You said, affairs like the one between Headmaster Dippet and Professor Ensworth would have been rather normal in Hogwarts’ history? Was there another one? I mean, Headmaster Dippet’s predecessor was a woman, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Albus nodded. “But Headmistresses don’t have to be nuns. Clementine Atherton, the Headmistress of my student days, certainly wasn’t one. She was a very strong woman - a great potion mistress and a descendant of our founder, Rowena Ravenclaw, who was, as history tells us, not into celibacy either. She was very close to Salazar Slytherin.”

“And your Headmistress?” Minerva was more interested in the not so old history. “Did she have an affair within the discreet walls of the castle too?”

“Yes,” Albus confirmed. “As I’ve said, it’s an old Hogwarts tradition. As Deputy, Clemence was with her Headmaster, Phineas Nigellus Black. And as Headmistress she kept the tradition up and slept with her Deputy.”

“But that would have been Armando Dippet!” Minerva said.

“Yes, it was Armando.” Albus chuckled. “When I became his Deputy, the entire staff teased us that we would have to change our preferences to keep with the tradition. Luckily Phineas Nigellus helped out by telling us that he’d been the Deputy of Headmistress Georgina Hartlewitt, but had never slept with her. She was married to her charms professor.”

“Well,” Minerva sounded almost relieved. “At last one of the Headmistresses was a decent woman.”

Albus laughed. “So sorry, Minerva, but I have to disappoint you. Georgina Hartlewitt was the one who made the biggest scandal in the history of the Hogwarts Headmasters. She was one of the youngest Headmistresses Hogwarts ever had - only around 50 when she took over. And three years later she was pregnant. Unfortunately her husband, at that time Minister of Magic, was an arithmancy master and as such he was able to count. So he knew that he hadn’t sired the child. He was away at the time it was conceived. So he divorced his wife - and three days later she married her charms master. It’s said that her wedding would have been the quickest binding ever done at Hogwarts because she would have been already in labour. And only one half hour after she married she gave birth to twins - and one of them became my great-grandmo..”

Minerva was shaking her head. “One should probably be glad that sleeping with the Headmaster didn’t become part of the job description for the Deputy at Hogwarts!”

“Oh?” Albus rose an eyebrow. “Now I feel hurt!” His eyes were twinkling.

“Albus! Sometimes you’re really impossible!” Minerva said, laughing. “You know how I meant it.” Thoughtfully she added, “I think it would pretty difficult to behave professionally around one another when there’s an affair.”

“Hmm.” Albus didn’t sound convinced. “Excepting Georgina Hartlewitt, the Hogwarts heads and their lovers were all at least in their middle age. At that point one should have learned to keep the professional and the private life apart - even when professionally dealing with one’s lover. And considering how small our world is, one cannot always avoid becoming involved with people one has to deal with too.”

“Ah?” Minerva couldn’t resist. Smiling at him she asked: “But you don’t want me to consider following the Hogwarts tradition with you?”

To her amazement Albus became serious. Taking her hand and kissing it, he answered, “Dear Minerva - I thought you’d know the answer to that by now. But if you really need to hear it explicitly said: If you would ever find it in your heart to follow this particular tradition, I certainly wouldn’t shy away, but rather would be a delighted and proud participant.”

To be continued



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