As she likes it

As she likes it

Disclaimer: Please, look at chapter 1


Chapter 3: Seduction a’la Hermione Granger

“I know: Harry will faint when he hears about it and Ron - well, he’ll probably call St Mungo’s and ask if they have a nice, padded cell for me, but really: The longer I think about it the more convinced I become about him being the ideal man for the job,” Hermione said, looking at her girlfriends who sat on the sofa opposite to her.

Ginny Weasley-Longbottom had parked her glass with pumpkin juice on the arm of the sofa while Luna Potter studied - looking dreamily as always - the rain falling down in front of the window. Ginny was the first to speak. Cautiously she started: “I’d find it great if you had a baby too. And Dumbledore - I mean, he’s certainly an interesting man. But he’s a bit old, Hermione, really. I mean,” now she was blushing and stammering, “some men of his age aren’t up to sex anymore. Of course, he could use a potion - but wouldn’t it feel odd?”

Before Hermione could answer, Luna chirped in, her voice soft and absent. “He doesn’t need any potions.”

“And how do you know that?” Ginny giggled. “Luna, do you have a secret we don’t know about?”

Luna played with her hair. “I was at the hair dresser,” she replied as if that would explain everything.

Looking at Luna Hermione wondered if she’d once again missed something. When she’d got her last hair cut, the hair dresser hadn’t mentioned that birds’ nests had become the fashion of the winter. Luna looked like that - and there was even a feather sticking in her untidy bun. “What did your hairdresser know about Albus’ potency?” she asked amused.

Luna still watched the garden. “I don’t think my hairdresser knows something about it,” she replied. “He isn’t gay, you know?”

“As far as I know, Albus Dumbledore is neither,” Ginny stated dryly.

“There were two women in the cabin next to me,” Luna didn’t bother about Ginny’s interruption, but continued telling her story. “While I waited for a potion to work I heard what they were talking about.”

Ginny was fidgeting in impatience. Obviously she still hadn’t become used to Luna’s unique way to tell. “Pray tell me - what did the ladies say about Dumbledore?”

It would have needed more - perhaps something like an earth quake or a troll roaming through Chez Potter - to speed Luna up. She sipped first at her glass with pumpkin juice, then stroked over her belly and finally said: “They were pretty angry with him. From what I heard I’d say one had been his steady lover for some time while the other had had a one-night-stand with him. Number one - a dark-haired witch with an interesting accent - had caught number two - who was a blonde witch with an accent too, but another one; more Nordic, perhaps Swedish or she comes from Norway …”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Luna, for your information: I’m pregnant too. In seven months I’ll give birth. I’d really like to hear the end of the story before I go into labour, you know?”

This time Luna turned her head and looked at her. “If you wouldn’t keep interrupting me, you would have heard more already.” Patting Ginny’s hand she kindly added: “You know becoming hectic isn’t good for your baby.”

Ginny let her head sink back, folded her hands over her abdomen and sighed. “You’re right, Luna. I’ll wait patiently until you’re ready. Hermione, would you inform Neville after a week or so? I think he’ll possibly notice then that I’m not at home.”

“Of course!” Hermione grinned and looked at Luna. “Back to your story: The blonde was caught by the dark-haired one while she was with Albus - and then?”

“Well, the ladies weren’t pleased,” Luna said dreamily. “They hexed him and even weeks later, at the hairdresser’s; they ranted a lot about him being a ‘womanising bastard who couldn’t keep his robes down’. But then, after a while, they changed direction and started to talk about his qualities as a lover.”

“And?” Ginny wanted to learn more.

“They agreed that he isn’t only nicely equipped and - I quote - ‘amazingly fit for his age’, but extraordinarily talented as a lover. The brunette said she’d never before become so entirely and totally pleased while the blonde admitted he’d already given her a climax before she’d even come close to his bed. Unfortunately she didn’t get to explaining how that happened - the hairdresser’s assistant came over to me and they heard him and stopped talking.”

“What lousy timing!” Ginny sighed.

“Well - I wouldn’t have needed the ladies to know that Albus doesn’t have a problem with getting it up,” Hermione stated dryly.

“What?” Ginny starred at her. “Didn’t you always tell me,” she mimicked Hermione’s voice, “we’re just friends’?”

“Until last Saturday we were just friends!” Hermione defended herself. “Sex was never a subject between us.” She made a face. “In fact - he always treated me somewhat ‘fatherly’. Besides,” she tugged at her sweater, “I’m not his type.”

Luna directed her eyes at Hermione, examining her as if she’d see her for the first time. “You’re right. You’re not his type,” she stated then. Holding her hands in front of her chest, she added: “He loves big boobs!”

“I know,” Hermione nodded, but grinned then broadly. “Nevertheless - I don’t leave him cold.”

“Huh?” Ginny made round eyes. “Tell me more!”

“I tried to seduce him on Saturday,” Hermione told.

“Hermione - you’re as bad as Luna! Don’t make it so exciting! Just spill the beans!” Ginny begged. “Tell me: Did you get laid?”

“No.” Hermione filled her glass with wine. “But it was a very promising start. I just touched his neck and chest and then I hopped in his lap and kissed him and huh - he got an erection. It felt very nice.”

Luna had stood up and opened the French door. Looking out at the garden she said: “Causing a hardon always feels nice.”

“And if a man gets one from only one kiss and a little touching - it’s quite flattering,” Ginny stated. “But why didn’t you carry on, Hermione?”

“He didn’t let me,” Hermione answered. “However - next time he comes close to me he won’t get away so easily. The kiss - wow, girls! There’s something to say about a man with experience!”

“You could hardly get one with more experience,” Ginny giggled. “But how do you intend to go on with him? Seducing him and then, when he’s totally under your spell, telling him that you want him to father you a child?”

Hermione sipped at her wine glass. “Luna, would you mind closing the window again? It’s getting cold.” Smiling at Ginny she replied to her question: “I have already told him - and you should have seen his face! He chocked on his coffee and started to cough and the way he looked at me - it was priceless!” she giggled. “The great Albus Dumbledore at a loss for words! I would have never thought I’d once manage to render him gob-smacked.”

“Oh - I’d so have liked to be a fly on the wall!” Ginny laughed. “But after he’d got over the first shock - what did he say?”

“He refused - of course. I didn’t expect otherwise,” Hermione grinned. “If he’d have agreed immediately I probably would have been the next one to choke on the coffee.”

Luna had silently closed the window, come back to the sofa and sat down again. Playing with the feather in her hair, she said: “I like the idea of you having the Headmaster’s child. But Harry …,” she let the line hang in the air.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “When it comes to Dumbledore, Harry acts like the perfect git! I think it’s time he grows up at last! Blaming Dumbledore for everything that went wrong in his life may be easy, but it’s nevertheless idiotic.”

“That’s what I’m forever telling him,” Luna said softly. “It was Voldemort who made his life hell. One day he’ll get that.”

“Optimist!” Ginny snorted. “I’m sure: When he learns about Hermione’s plan he’ll go ballistic.”

“Therefore we won’t tell him before Hermione is pregnant,” Luna stated. “Men don’t need to know too much.”

“And I don’t think we should tell my stupid brother either,” Ginny said. “But what about Professor McGonagall? Will you tell her, Hermione?”

“Not before I’m pregnant,” Hermione replied. “I’m sure: When I’m expecting a child she’ll be - after overcoming a little shock - all joy and fluffiness. She’ll even forgive me that I didn’t tell her before. But if I told her now, she’d try to talk me out of it.”

“Because he’s too old?” Ginny asked.

Hermione nodded. “Besides she doesn’t trust him with women. She would probably suspect him of having done something ‘inappropriate’ to me. And she’d try to influence him. This I can’t have at the moment. It’s hard enough to convince him without Minerva messing around with my plan.”

“And you’re sure you will get him to agree without her help?” Ginny asked.

Once again Hermione nodded. “It will need some working on him, but I’m sure I’ll get him. You know the old saying ‘Constant dripping wears away the stone’. Besides I know that Albus has always wanted children.”

“And he’s great with them,” Luna said. “Lily and Jamie are totally over the moon with him and even Harry admits that Dumbledore is cute with the twins.”

Ginny giggled. “Cassie won’t like Hermione having a child with Albus. She told me only the other day that she wants to marry her Uncle Albus and that he promised her to wait for her until she’s grown up.”

Hermione grinned. “So it’s a good thing that I don’t intend to marry him. Perhaps I can ask Cassie if she would lend him to me.”

“Hmm - let me think about that,” Ginny grinned. “You know our daughter is actually quite generous. And if we promise her she’ll get another baby to play with, she’ll perhaps agree. At the moment she’s crazy about babies.”

Hermione raised her glass. “To our children, girls! And cross your fingers for me that I’ll get Albus soon where I want him!”


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

Heavens, what a week this had been! Opening the door of her flat Hermione slipped out of her black robe, threw it over the hook on the wall, kicked her shoes away and opened the collar of her white shirt. What had driven her to volunteer to take over the classes at the Aurors’ Academy? She’d thought it would be fun to teach for two days a week and she’d liked the idea of gaining some extra money, but actually it was hard earned. Especially the classes on Friday were exhausting. The first one she had to deal with for four hours in the morning were Aurors who had at least ten years duty experience in the ministry. They were sent back to the Academy for “refreshing” their knowledge about Potions, Transfigurations and Charms. Most of them found that not necessary. And becoming taught by a teacher who was - as some of the men grumbled - “just out of school” they obviously didn’t like much. Hermione always needed some extra tricks to get their attention and her full concentration to keep them interested through the long lesson.

Afterwards she always was groggy, but there were two other classes in the afternoon. Directly after lunch she had to teach the second year Aurors in training. When she was done with them, the beginners came next. Especially with the last class Hermione had a problem. Apart from three Germans who’d been educated at the German wizards’ school Blocksberg, her students all came directly from Hogwarts and as much as it irked Hermione: After two months with them she couldn’t avoid admitting any longer, that the Germans did better than the former Hogwarts pupils.

As Minerva had become Headmistress, the jinx which had once existed upon the DADA teachers seemed to have switched over to the Transfiguration position. Minerva’s first successor, the Italian Transfiguration master Eugenio Nardini, had only lasted for a half year. Then he’d been caught kissing a student. Minerva had immediately sacked him and got one from the professors at the Merlin College. She’d lasted in the job for eleven months. Then she’d become pregnant with twins.

Number next had been Orsino Delawney who’d worked for the ministry before he’d gone to Hogwarts. He’d given up after one year, returning to the ministry and since then had been telling everyone that one would need nerves like broad noodles to deal with Hogwarts students.

After him came another Transfiguration mistress - a French witch who drove Minerva crazy with her constant whining about the English cooking and the cold at Hogwarts.

The ongoing changes showed in the students. Although the Aurors’ Academy accepted witches and wizards who’d at least achieved an “E” in their Transfiguration NEWTs, Hermione found that the standard wasn’t as good as it once had been. So it was hard work to teach the classes because she sometimes couldn’t directly work with the things they would need as Aurors, but had to refresh basic knowledge first.

And there was an additional problem: The Aurors in training knew they were elite - and some of them were rather arrogant. In particular, the four former Ravenclaws in the first year class seemed to believe they would have rented all of the sapience of the world. Hermione had needed a few lessons until she’d learned to put them on their places and though she’d now become good at that, she still found it tiresome.

Trudging on stocked feet into the little kitchen, Hermione opened the fridge, looked suspiciously at the dry cheese, the rest of the salami and the wrinkled tomato in it. Nothing of it appealed to her, but luckily she wasn’t very hungry. Taking an apple out of the bowl on the table - it would do for dinner - she marched into the living room and fell on the sofa. The Daily Prophet lay on the table, but looking at the headline “New tax law still not ready” she decided that she could live without learning the news from the wizarding world today. After the war Ginny’s father Arthur had become Minister of Magic and he’d shown himself as the ideal man for the job. With him - and the assistance of Albus who’d helped Arthur to box through a real democratic constitution - the English magical world had come at peace and the politics had become almost boring.

So had Hermione’s life recently. It was Friday evening and she didn’t have a date and, what was even worse: She even didn’t want one. She’d made up her mind about her future and she would work on it. The only problem was: In this moment she didn’t have the slightest clue how to proceed with her plan. Telling her friends - and well, to have their support was a good thing - that she intended to seduce Albus was one thing, but doing it wouldn’t be easy. It meant that she had to get him alone - not too difficult considering that he wasn’t attached at the moment. Yet getting him alone and with some time at hand wasn’t the only necessity. It would be even more important to get him in the right mood.

For that Hermione thought of a candlelit dinner, perhaps with some champagne and then a stroll along his beach in the moonlight. Yet an evening like that needed preparation and she didn’t have a dress for such an occasion. So she’d have to go to London first, searching for something sexy, but not too sexy because she certainly didn’t want to look like something out of Knockturn Alley. The required dress had to be elegant and stylish too. And she would need to spend some money on subtle lingerie. Her usual white cotton knickers and bras out of the “clean and comfortable is enough” department certainly wouldn’t do. Albus was a wealthy pure-blood and Hermione was sure that he was spoiled by his ladies. His last love interest Hermione knew - and Professor Athena Tsavdirodis was often named Oxford’s best dressed woman. Hermione would have betted her backside that the Greek witch didn’t wear white cotton and she certainly didn’t go in bed in a t-shirt with “Gryffindors always look sexy!” written in big letters on the front side.

Yet by thinking about her favourite shirt - a gift from Ginny for her twenty sixth birthday - Hermione decided that it would be more comfortable for an evening on the couch with the skirt she was wearing. And a shower would be nice too. The classroom at the Academy was always a bit overheated.

Half an hour later Hermione landed on her sofa again, clothed in her favourite shirt and with a few slices of a cucumber sticking on her face which was covered in the new crème Ginny had given her as a birthday gift. As Hermione had spread it over her face, she’d giggled. The crème was sky blue. Combined with the cucumber slices it made her look really funny. But Ginny, who was still working as a beauty specialist for Witch Weekly had said that the crème worked best with cucumbers and for the project “laying Albus” a witch had to look at her best.

Her attention was diverted by a knock at the door. Hermione sighed, rolled her eyes, stood up and marched into the corridor. She was sure it would be Marc again. He’d still not managed to get his flat completely furnished although it was now almost one year since he’d moved in. Nevertheless he liked to celebrate with parties which meant that he was always borrowing chairs, pots, bowls, dishes, glasses and cups from Hermione.

Hermione opened the door. “Hello, Ma …”

It certainly wasn’t Marc. It was the biggest bunch of red roses Hermione had ever seen. It filled the entire upper half of the door frame and smelled breathtaking. Looking along the flowers and down, Hermione saw robes - a lot of robes of the glorious kind: A huge amount of forest green brocade with silver ornaments for an outer robe; a jade green under robe with tiny, silver buttons. And under the robes stood a pair of shining black dragon leather boots which had certainly cost more than Hermione earned with three months of work.

Hermione knew only one person who’d wear such robes and shoes. “Oh, Albus!” she sighed.

He moved the flowers down and beamed at her, his blue eyes behind the golden half moon spectacles cheerfully twinkling. “Hello, darling!” Bending down he seemed to search for a crème free spot on her face. Not finding one, he kissed her neck. “May I come in?”

Actually Hermione wished the floor would open and swallow her, but she remembered her manners, stepped aside and said: “Of course, come in.”

He stepped in her living room, smiling at her. “Gryffindors always look sexy,” he read the inscription of her shirt, sounding immensely amused. “Indeed - they do. Who would want to doubt it?”

Hermione certainly didn’t want to. Instead she wanted to kick a certain Slytherin, former Headmaster of Hogwarts. She remembered how shocked she’d once been as she’d learned that Albus was a Slytherin, but she’d nevertheless always defended him against her friends with saying that he’d be untypical for his house. Yet at the moment she didn’t believe that anymore. This smug grin on his face was as Slytherin as Slytherin could be!

Raising her chin - and heavens, it would have made a bigger effect if the cucumber slice sticking on it hadn’t just started to slide down - she said as haughtily as one could while catching a cucumber: “Please, take a seat, Albus. And excuse me for a moment. I’ll be back in a minute!”

Too bad that one couldn’t turn on one’s heel when in bare feet! Hermione hoped that her exit in the direction of the bathroom didn’t look as silly as she felt. Yet arriving there, she closed the door behind her, leant against it and shook herself like a dog that had been out in the rain. So much for the romantic seduction scene she’d worked out in her mind! Appearing in front of him with cucumbers on her face and wearing this shirt - and heavens, she’d forgotten her wand in the living room! Marching back there would probably make him grin even broader. No, she wouldn’t give him more to amuse himself about.

Picking the cucumbers from her face she threw them in the loo and started to wash the crème from her face. The stuff was first sticky and then started to drip down upon her shirt, leaving blue spots there. Hell - was there no end to her misfortune? And what was she to wear instead of the shirt? Her collection of nightwear didn’t contain anything seductive, but only long flannels for cold nights - mostly gifts from Minerva who always feared for the health of her darling girl - and shirts for the summer. And her dressing gown was one out of the “sensible girls wear sensible things” department - terry in pink and white stripes.

Hermione looked at it - and spontaneously decided: The dressing gown would do. She wasn’t Miss Sex-bomb 2004, but still she was Hermione Granger and even for having Albus Dumbledore she wouldn’t become another person.

Slipping into the dressing gown Hermione breathed deeply and marched out in the living room again. Albus hadn’t sat down, but was standing by the window, the roses still in his hand. As he heard her enter, he turned, smiled at her, took her hand and led her to the sofa. “Darling, sit down. I have something to ask you and it’s important.”

He sounded as if he’d swallowed a pound of honey and the look in his eyes - Hermione would never have thought it possible that someone blue eyed could produce a puppy dog look, but Albus managed perfectly. Hermione wouldn’t have questioned when he licked her naked knee next - though this actually she wouldn’t have minded.

No lick, but a smile out of the “I’m such a cutie” drawer and then he fell on his knees in front of her, raised the flowers up, took her hand with his free one, kissed it and said, his voice suddenly very serious: “You’ve asked me to think about founding a family with you and I’ve done so - deeply and thoroughly. So I’ve come to the conclusion that I would love to become the father of your child. Hermione, you know I adore you. Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

For a moment Hermione wasn’t sure if she was dreaming or really experiencing that. Had the world suddenly decided not to turn any longer? She’d always thought there would be a few constants in the universe - like “Finite Incantatum” not working on transfigured objects; water always flooding downwards and Albus Dumbledore rather facing evil wizards than becoming confronted with the w-word. How had Minerva once said it? “The quickest way for Albus’ lovers to get rid off him is to start talking about a wedding.”

Looking in his eyes - and really, he was a good actor! He still looked like the most harmless boy ever - Hermione became convinced: He didn’t really mean it. He only wanted to have his little revenge for her over rolling him like she’d done.

Well - this game could be played by two. Taking the flowers out of his hand and laying them on the floor next to the sofa, Hermione switched on her broadest smile and jubilantly proclaimed: “Oh, Albus - yes, of course I want to become your wife!” She didn’t give him a chance to answer, but jumped forward onto him, threw her left arm around his neck while with the right hand took his spectacles off and kissed him.

At the moment their lips met the fun stopped. Hermione suddenly didn’t think about teasing him anymore, but felt only one urge: To deepen the kiss, to come as close to him as possible, to touch him and to be touched by him.

Was it he who fell backwards, pulling her over him? Or was it she who pushed him on his back, covering his body with hers? Hermione neither knew nor cared. The only thing she was interested in was the man whose hands were now sneaking under her dressing gown, gliding down her naked back and cupping her buttocks while at the same time claiming her mouth with his, his tongue dancing with hers as if they’d never done anything else.

“Albus, Albus!” She needed to breath and to get her hand free for opening the buttons on his collar. She wanted to feel skin and groaned in frustration about the buttons being so tiny. But then she suddenly remembered that she was a witch and that there, on the table, lay her wand. Reaching for it she cast an undressing charm on them both while he nuzzled at her neck.

The moment his skin met hers for the first time he moaned, but then raised his head. “Hermione, that’s not a good id…”

She didn’t allow him to finish, but rather kissed him again, her right hand roaming over his shoulder and arm to his side and from there to the outside of his thigh. His skin was smooth and his flesh amazingly firm. Only around the middle had he become a bit soft, but Hermione had always liked his belly. Yet what she liked even better was the erection she could feel on her leg. He wasn’t entirely hard yet, but as Hermione shifted and reached for his cock, he moaned once again, pulled her closer and turned her around with one quick move. As he looked down at her, she saw that his eyes were dark with lust. It made her feel triumphant. He wanted her! He wanted her as much as she wanted him.

“Hermione - you’re so lovely!” He started to shower her with little kisses, beginning at her throat and going down toward her breast, licking a wet trail around her nipple.

“Albus!” Hermione dug her fingers in his silver hair, amazed with its silkiness.

He obviously liked how she massaged his scalp. He purred a deep, throaty sound which Hermione found incredibly erotic. And his mouth on her breast, sucking and licking and kissing - she’d always liked it when a man played with her breasts, but she hadn’t known that it could arouse her this much. Her centre was dripping and she felt an almost aching emptiness in her and she wanted more and that he would never stop and -

“Albus!” How could she tell him how she felt when not able to find the words? She needed to make it clear to him that his kisses weren’t enough, but she only managed to buck her hips and to spread her legs.

He understood. His hand glided down over her belly, the tips of his fingers playing for a moment in the curls covering her mound and then, finally, he went down between her legs, his index finger tenderly parting her folds. As he touched her clit, Hermione screamed. “Albus, please, please!”

He placed another kiss on her breast and then shifted down between her legs, his hair falling over her thighs. His breath felt like a touch and then his tongue flickered over her clitoris.

Hermione had been on the receiving end of oral sex before and she’d found it nice, but if someone would have asked her for preferences, she wouldn’t have named a man going down on her first. Yet now - Albus’ mouth seemed to discover and to map her, claiming her for him and she melted under his skilled lips. Being with a man had never before felt so perfect, so absolutely right. She couldn’t remember when she’d even been so aroused before, but at the same time she’d never known that she could feel so content. It was as if she was on her way home after a long journey in the dark, already in sight of the place where she belonged and where she would find peace and warmth.

A long finger entered her, carefully and gently, waiting for her reaction. Hermione moaned and moved down on it, trying to get more and he gave her more, his tongue whirling around her nub while he added a second finger.

“Albus - so good!” she heard herself and then, as he started to move his fingers in the rhythm of his suckling, the first wave of an orgasm washed over her, lifting her up and surrounding her entire being with joy and pleasure.

It was wonderful, but it wasn’t enough. Pulling him up, she wrapped a leg around him, pressing herself against his firm erection. “Albus - I need you! Please, come inside! I want to feel you,” she whispered.

He bent over her and kissed her tenderly, then raised, pulling her in his arms and lifting her up. “You belong in bed, young lady,” he carried her into the bedroom, setting her down on the mattress, “and so do I.” Stretching next to her he took her in his arms again, kissing her and stroking her back. Cupping her buttocks, he said quietly, his voice soft and almost distant: “Straddle me, Hermione. I’ve dreamed about you riding me.”

His words set her on fire. With one quick move she was over him, with trembling fingers reaching for his cock and guiding him to her entrance. He was hard and felt huge and as she sank down on him it almost ached, but the little pain was sweet and added to the intensity of having him inside. He was hers and she was his and they were supposed to be together and to complete each other.

“Hermione, sweet, lovely Hermione!” His hands came up on her cheeks, cupping them tenderly. “You’re so beautiful! Just perfect!”

Bending down Hermione kissed him, but then rose up again, bracing herself with both hands against his chest. Closing her eyes she started to move, slowly raising upwards until she felt him almost slip out and then sinking down on him again, wriggling her hips as she did. The friction and the stretching - it was glorious and exciting and had never felt like that before and now his hands were on her breasts, covering them completely and his touch was like magic, filling her with warmth and pleasure.

Once again up and now he moved with her, bucking up to meet her and sliding in her again. “Hermione - do you know what you’re doing to me?” His voice wasn’t more then a hoarse whisper and he moaned as she raised her hips again. “You’re so tight and hot and - oh, Hermione!” She’d sunk down on him and her hands had found his erect nipples, tugging softly at them. “Yes, Hermione, yes!”

The blood was humming in her veins and she was burning and as much as she wanted to go slow and to enjoy their coupling for as long as possible - she needed more and she was already close to a climax again. Falling forward her lips searched for his mouth while she braced herself on her elbows and speeded up. He immediately responded with his hands once again kneading her buttocks and his cock now pounding in her hard and fast. “Albus, heavens - I’m coming!” she screamed, her entire body trembling with the force of his strokes and her climax.

He didn’t stop , but drove her even higher and she was shaking and screaming and felt out of herself while at the same time aware of every fibre in her body and then suddenly his grip on her bum became so firm that she knew that he would leave marks there. She loved it and it made for the next wave of lust rolling through her and then he suddenly turned her around and she almost cried in disappointment because she’d lost him. “Albus, please! Need you!”

He was there again, entering with one forceful stroke and setting up a new rhythm, hard and quick, his balls slapping against her perineum and his pounding sending flashes of lust through her. She couldn’t move much with him keeping her hips in a firm grip, but it was wonderful to feel his strength and passion and to look up at him, studying his face. The few men she’d known intimately before had looked distorted during sex and sometimes even disturbingly strange, but Albus’ face was still familiar. It showed concentration - he’d furrowed his brow - and even some tension with a vein stranding out on his temples, but his eyes were clear and warm and around his mouth played a little smile.

“Hermione - darling Hermione!” Braced on his elbow he stroked her cheek. The tender touch took her over the edge again and this time he seemed to have been waiting for it. She felt how the muscles in his back tensed and how his skin now became covered with sweat. “Hermione!” For a moment time seemed to stand still. Then Albus sank slowly down on top of her, panting as if he’d just done a marathon.

Hermione pulled him close, feeling almost motherly tenderness for him. Kissing his sweaty shoulder she whispered: “Albus - darling.”

For a little eternity he lay in her arms, then raising his head he looked down at her with a smile. “Sweetest heart!” Kissing her he rolled away from her, still breathing hard.

Hermione turned on her side, snuggling her head against his shoulder and tugging lightly at one of the few hairs on his chest bone. “You’re a marvel of a man, Albus Dumbledore!” she whispered.

He positioned his arm under her neck and kissed her forehead. “Nevertheless you don’t want to marry me?” he grinned.

Hermione giggled. “Afraid I would take you on your word? May I remind you: It was you who proposed!”

He stroked her breast. “It was you who ambushed me on a peaceful Saturday morning with the wish to father you a child, my dear.”

“Well,” Hermione pulled the blanket up over him and her, “in contrast to you I meant it.”

He breathed deeply and became serious. “In a way I meant it too, Hermione.”

“What?” Hermione sat up, looking down at him. “You want to marry me?”

Albus stretched, put his arm under his head and said: “It’s actually simple, Hermione. Yes, I would like to have a child. However, I certainly wouldn’t like being only a weekend father. I would want to live with it under one roof; I would want the child to have a complete family with a mother and a father. And I would insist on the child bearing my name. I wouldn’t mind if it would be combined with the name of the mother, but I certainly wouldn’t agree to the child having only her name. Besides I wouldn’t agree to her having sole custody. I’d insist on shared and the simplest way to achieve all that and making the child my heir would be marriage to the mother.”

Hermione had wrapped her arms around her legs, but now she looked to the side at Albus. “Did I understand you right? If I marry you, you’d start a family with me?”

“Marriage wouldn’t be my only condition. I’d expect you to live with me,” he said almost cheerfully.

Hermione raised her eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were so old-fashioned, Albus.”

“When it comes to family, I’m obviously a conservative prick,” Albus didn’t sound angry, but factual. “I would want a stable family environment for my child. I want it to have parents who take their role seriously and who were willing to make their child the most important issue in their life - at least during the first years.”

“So much about you trusting a woman to raise a child on her own,” Hermione said sharply.

“Don’t ruffle your feathers, Hermione!” Albus crossed his long legs. “I didn’t deny she can. I know a lot of women who proved their abilities in raising children without a man helping them. Yet I don’t think it would be ideal when a child has only a mother. And I don’t need to tell you that some children from single mothers miss their fathers terribly.”


Hermione breathed deeply and rose up. “I’m going to get myself a glass of wine. Do you want one too?”

“Wine is a bit unspecific. What kind of wine?” he asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. When she’d left Hogwarts, she’d only known two sorts of wine: Red and white. During her first year in Oxford she’d got to known two other varieties: Sour wine - which snobs like Albus called “dry” - and the kind one got a terrible headache from. And now Marc had introduced her to another sort: Drinkable wine which wasn’t too sour or sweet like lemonade; didn’t make for a headache the morning after and even smelled nice. And with Marc filling up her stocks - whenever he got her a gift when returning the things he’d borrowed from her, he gave her a bottle too - she was now pretty sure, that the wine she had to offer was even good enough for the spoiled pure-blood aristocrat in her bed.

On her way to the kitchen she came through the living room where clothes and the roses still lay on the floor. Picking the flowers up, she entered the kitchen and put them in a bucket with water. It looked odd, but Hermione was still an underpaid post doc and certainly not used to receiving bunches the size of a bush.

The wine now - Hermione stood in front of the shelf and scraped her head. “Albus - red or white?” she called.

“Red!” came promptly back.

Hermione pulled one of the red wine bottles out, put it under her arm, took two glasses from another shelf and trotted back to the bedroom. Opening the bottle, she poured the wine into the glasses, passed Albus one and sat down on the bedside. “Slainte, Albus!”

He sniffled at the glass, sipped at it, let the wine roll over his tongue, swallowed and nodded approvingly. “Potable,” he stated then. “But how did you get a Barolo?” He reached for the bottle and read the label. “Barolo DOCG ’99 - Hermione! Did you finally get yourself a lover with some taste?”

Once again Hermione rolled her eyes. “I hate it when you let your inner Slytherin loose!”

“Really?” He sipped again at the glass. “A while ago I thought you liked it.” He kissed her shoulder.

“Oh, Albus!” Hermione let herself sink against him. “Why’s life always so complicated?”

“At the moment I actually don’t find my life very complicated,” Albus replied, wrapping the blanket and an arm around her. “I have a lovely woman in my arms and a good wine in my glass. What more could a man want?”

Hermione closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of his body against hers. “Albus?” she started after a while. “Would you really marry a woman you don’t love?”

“Would you really want a child from a man you don’t love?” he asked back.

Hermione turned around, looking at him. “I’m very fond of you, Albus.”

“I care for you too, Hermione.” He once again kissed her shoulder, his hand sneaking around and on her breast.

“But a marriage needs more than caring!” Hermione exclaimed. “A marriage needs love! At least at the start of it the partners should be in love with each other.”

“Do they?” Albus raised an eyebrow. “One of the best marriages I knew was my parents. They were together for more than seventy years and happy. Yet they hadn’t married for love. It was their parents’ idea that they should come together.”

Hermione shuddered. “Victorian prudes. Forcing their children into a marriage - how terrible! But it was normal at this time, wasn’t it?”

He shook his head. “No, Hermione. Don’t forget: Were’ talking about witches and wizards here. During the reign of Queen Victoria our community was even smaller than today. It couldn’t have improved without the potential of the females. Witches were never as dependent to their men as Muggle women. Besides they were never as vulnerable as Muggle women. Witches have wands - and most of them know very well how to use them. Can you imagine a Minerva McGonagall or Poppy Pomfrey that would allow themselves to be beaten by a man? Even sweet Pomona Sprout would probably give every man who’d dare to raise his hand against her a run for his money. And my mother was a very strong woman. She was Potions professor at the Cagliostro and as much as she adored her father - she certainly wouldn’t have let him rule her life.”

“But you said it was his idea, didn’t you?” Hermione said.

“Yes,” Albus confirmed. “Both my grandfathers, Ahearn Dumbledore and Albino Houdini, were old friends. Around 1840 they were both becoming increasingly worried about their offspring. My father was since more than twenty years a widower without children; my mother was nearing forty and still unmarried. She’d once been engaged to a man who’d cheated on her only a few days before the wedding. Since then she’d concentrated on her career.” He sipped at his glass. “The grandfathers found that their children would suit each other nicely and so they decided to give them a little hint.”

Hermione had attentively listened to the story. “Didn’t they know each other? I mean, their father were friends.”

“Yes, of course. But they hadn’t seen each other in years. My father had been ambassador in Egypt and China while my mother had studied in Oslo and South America,” Albus answered. “So it needed an invitation from my maternal grandfather for them to meet again.”

“And?” Hermione asked. “They liked each other, didn’t they?”

“Very much so. My father had humour and my mother actually was rather serious. He made her laugh and she enjoyed that very much. Besides they found that they had a lot in common. They shared many interests; they had the same background and the same values. And they both wanted a family. So they decided to marry.”

“And they never were in love with each other?” Hermione couldn’t believe it. “They decided to marry just like that?”

“It was a marriage of convenience, but done by two adults who respected and liked it each other very much. They were friends and,” Albus smiled, “obviously discovered some passion as they were married. My mother was a very beautiful and passionate woman and my father - I think he appreciated her very much. In any case: They were attracted to each other.”

Hermione sighed. “But arranged marriages don’t always work so well. Besides - I’ve always thought I’d marry once and for love.”

Albus took her face between his hands and turned it to him. Looking in her eyes, he said, his voice soft, but determined: “You will, Hermione. I’m convinced you will find and marry a man you’ll truly love. You’re only twenty six, Hermione. You shouldn’t give up hope yet. I know, you’re not a very patient person, but in this case you really shouldn’t rush something. Give yourself a little time and everything will fall in its place!”

“Albus, I’m already twenty six! And just now is the right time to have a child! It could grow up with the offspring of my friends …”

Albus softly interrupted her. “As far as I know, the Potters and the Longbottoms aren’t ready with their family planning yet. In three or four years your child will still find playmates of its age in your friends’ families.”

“Three or four years!” Hermione was chewing on her bottom lip. “And what if I don’t find a man before then?”

Albus rolled his eyes. “It’s amazing. I worked for more than half a century with Minerva McGonagall. I was convinced I’d know now all about obstinate Gryffindors that a man could ever learn. But you aren’t only obstinate. You’re an epitome of stubbornness!”

Hermione obviously wasn’t insulted. She smiled. “As if you aren’t pigheaded! Besides: You didn’t answer my question. What if I don’t find a man in three or four years? Would you then start a family with me?”

Albus let himself fall back, covering his face with his hands. “Hermione, you’re incredible! But if you insist: Yes - under those conditions you know.”

She crooked her head, a twinkle in her eyes. “If I were in your place I wouldn’t be so sure to comply, Albus! In three or four years I will probably have become used to the idea of being married to you.”

Albus started to laugh. “Your enthusiasm about marrying me is overwhelming, Hermione!”

Hermione bent down to the bottle and filled her glass again. “You have to admit: The thought of you as a husband needs getting used to. Honestly: Could you imagine being faithful to just one woman? For more than a few months?”

Albus took the glass out of her hand and sipped at it. Without looking at her he said then: “Hermione, I won’t deny that I like women and that I have what Minerva names ‘a troubled past’. But I was married once before and believe me or not: During the twenty three years this marriage lasted, I never cheated on my wife.” He’d become serious and his eyes looked even angry.

Hermione swallowed. “Sorry, Albus - you mention your wife so rarely that I sometimes forget that you were once married.”

“I forget it sometimes too.” He looked at the clock on the nightstand. Rummaging with one hand through her hair, he said: “Hermione, I think I should be going now. It’s late, you need your rest and so do I.” He tried to climb out of the bed, but Hermione reached for his hand.

“Albus - what will become of us?”

He sighed and pulled her into his arms. Kissing her head, he said softly: “Hermione, I meant it when I said that I’m fond of you. I’d hate to lose your friendship. Hence,” he breathed deeply, “I think we shouldn’t continue what we’ve started this evening. It was wonderful and I’ll never forget it, but …”

Hermione swallowed. What had she expected? She’d started it. She’d seduced him though she’d known beforehand that he wouldn’t be interested in more than a few sweet hours. And well - actually she wasn’t either. She still wanted a child and she still thought that he’d be the best to become the progenitor of it. Yet a relationship with him?

No, she wasn’t interested. Why should she be? She wasn’t in love with him, was she? What she’d derived in his arms was fascination with his brilliant mind and mutual sexual attraction. No more, no less. And therefore she wouldn’t make a fuss about it now. They’d slept together, it had been great - and that was that. She wasn’t a teenager anymore. Two adult people having some fun together were nothing to become melodramatic about. Besides she’d known before that sleeping with Albus would make her a member of a rather big club.

She could deal with it. She was sure she could and it even wouldn’t lose her a single tear. She wouldn’t cry - at least not as long as he was around.

Forcing a smile she embraced him. “We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

“Yes, Hermione - and nothing will ever change what I feel for you!” For a moment he held her close, his nose and mouth in her hair, then he whispered: “If I were hundred years younger, I wouldn’t let you go, sweetest heart. And I know already: I will envy the man you’ll marry.”

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

Minerva McGonagall looked with a sigh on the papers pilling upon her desk. Although she was well-organized and experienced in dealing with the mountains of forms, letters and reports landing in her office and although she’d got herself an able and hard-working deputy - on some days she found being Headmistress of Hogwarts a very tough job. Sometimes she wondered how her predecessor had managed not only being Headmaster, but all his other duties too. Looking up at his portrait hanging on the most prominent place of the room over the mantelpiece, she smiled. The painting showed once again nothing more than an empty chair and a Phoenix, sleeping on a perch with his head under his wing. The painted Albus was as vivid as the Albus she’d known almost all her life and he obviously found it very boring to hang around in her office, watching her work. He actually came only into his portrait for sleeping. Otherwise he was visiting other paintings, not only in the castle, but in the ministry where a portrait of him hung in the minister’s office and at Merlin College.

Minerva didn’t have a problem with his absence. When she needed his advice, she sent the real Albus an owl and though he was often travelling and still involved in a lot of things - he rarely let her wait for more than a few hours until he Flooed or Apparated to Hogwarts.

At this moment she wondered if she shouldn’t ask him how he’d dealt with the work load. It was Friday evening and she hadn’t even managed to attend dinner, but had eaten a few sandwiches at her desk. Now, at half past seven, she would call it a day. And at the weekend she would let her hair down, forget all about the severe, always disciplined Headmistress McGonagall and enjoy being Minerva, loving wife of a wonderful husband and proud foster mother of a great young woman. This weekend her darling girl would be at Hogwarts - perhaps she’d already arrived!

Thinking of Hermione Minerva rose up. After spending all day at her desk her back ached. Yet she knew how to deal with tensed muscles. Changing into her Animagus form as a tabby cat, Minerva dug her front claws in the carpet and stretched her long, feline body, immediately feeling better. A little cleaning of her front paws and her face and then she staggered through the room to the spiral stair case which led up to her private rooms over the office.

Entering her living room she saw her husband sitting in his favourite chair at the fireplace, reading a book. He hadn’t heard her coming what gave her a chance to observe him for a moment. In the light of the fire his hair, falling in soft curls on his shoulders, had still the golden shimmer of his younger days and despite of the crows feet around his eyes and the deep wrinkles on his forehead, Minerva couldn’t look at him without remembering the glorious winters day she’d first met him.

For her it felt as if it had been only yesterday. She remembered so vividly how she’d walked down to the Quidditch pitch, surrounded by her cheerful and very noisy Gryffindors - she’d only a few weeks before become Head of the house - and how she’d seen Albus standing in front of the entrance. He was talking with two men. The dark-haired, broad-shouldered one Minerva knew. Alastor Moody wasn’t only one of Albus’ closest friends, but the ministry’s best Auror.

Yet the tall blond on Albus’ left Minerva had never seen before. He wore a Ravenclaw scarf, but no hat and the wind was playing with his silken hair. As he raised his hand to stroke it back, Minerva found the gesture amazingly gracious for a man. And his hands were beautiful - long and sensitive.

Albus had discovered her and waved: “Minerva - come and let me introduce you to …”

Minerva didn’t hear the rest of Albus’ line. The blond had turned and was smiling at her. Until this moment Minerva would have sworn that she was immune to blue eyes. She was years used to Albus Dumbledore’s sky blue eyes and by now she even managed to remain severe when he tried his famous twinkle at her.

However, this blond wizard - his eyes were azure-blue and surrounded by a set of dark, curved eyelashes most women would have killed for. And his nose was perfectly shaped - a small bridge, absolutely straight, the wings fine and showing sensitivity. The mouth under it was generous, with a sensuous bottom lip and dimples at the corner. It would probably have made him look a little weak if it hadn’t come with an energetic chin.

Minerva scolded herself for starring at him. He was too handsome and probably arrogant and generally - one couldn’t look like that and be intelligent too. He was probably as thick as a brick and working as a sales assistant in a posh robe shop for men.

Albus’ voice broke into her musings. “Minerva, may I present Professor Augustus McGonagall? He’s an old friend of mine who’s spent the last ten years in Germany. Now he’s back taking over the Atherton chair for law at MC.”

Minerva swallowed, offered him her hand and felt like a love struck teenager with her heart beating like mad and her knees becoming jelly as he took it, bowed and formally kissed the air over it. Albus’ voice seemed to come through a thick mist: “And this, dear Augustus, is Professor Minerva Stuart, our Transfiguration Mistress and Head of Gryffindor. I can assure your: Her beauty is matched by her brilliance.”

Never before had Minerva been so grateful for her mother and grandmother raising her to be a lady. Although she was in turmoil, she managed to smile ironically. “When one gets so flattered by Albus, one should become suspicious. He probably wants me to take over the weekend duty for the next half year. Nevertheless: It’s nice to meet you, Professor McGonagall.”

Albus hadn’t made her do weekend duty and she’d been very glad about it because - after they’d talked through almost all of the Quidditch match - on Tuesday she’d received an owl from Augustus McGonagall, asking her to have dinner with her on Friday.

Four weeks, six dinners, twenty one owls and seven nice little kisses later Augustus had accompanied Minerva back to Hogwarts after another wonderful evening together. Standing in front of the side entrance, Minerva had reminded herself that she was a Gryffindor and therefore supposed to be brave. And so she’d asked Augustus if he’d like to have a night cap in her flat. There she’d told him that she really appreciated him being a gentlewizard, but wouldn’t mind him losing a bit of his perfect composure around her. And later, as she’d fallen asleep in his arms, she’d known that she’d found the love of her life.

Now, after almost half a century of marriage, she still thought him to be the most handsome, wonderful man alive and her love for him had deepened to a point where it felt as if it had been always a part of her.

With one quick move she jumped on his lap, laying her front paws under his chin. He immediately put his book down and started to pet her, his long, nimble fingers firmly stroking along her spine.

“Hello, Tabby!” He smiled at her. “I thought that I would have to go down and pull you away from your desk.” Minerva purred, enjoying with all of her senses how he massaged her back and tickled the special spot just above her tail. Her purring became even louder as he kissed her forehead, chuckling quietly. “You know, I love your winter fur. It’s really nice, but you’re shedding, darling.”

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Augustus called “Come in” and stood up, Minerva on his left arm. Smiling at Hermione who had just entered he reached out with his right arm and pulled her close. “Welcome home, dear! It’s lovely to see you.”

Hermione put her bag down, hugged her foster father, kissed his cheek and softly stroked over Minerva’s head. “Minerva, Augustus - it’s good to be home. I’ve missed you.”

Minerva jumped down from Augustus’ arm and changed back into her human form. Looking at Hermione she stroked one finger over her cheek. “Darling girl - you’re pale. Aren’t you well?”

“Don’t worry, Minerva - I’m only a bit tired. I didn’t sleep well during the last couple of nights. Marc is away visiting his parents and I obviously can’t sleep without his noise anymore,” Hermione replied.

Augustus laid his hand on her shoulder and led her to the fireplace. “And you’re sure it’s nothing else that bothers you?” he asked. “You know, we’re always here to help you.”

Hermione sat down with a little sigh. “Really, Augustus - there’s no reason to worry about me. But tell me: How are you?”

Minerva sat herself down next to Hermione and took her hand. “We’re fine, Hermione. We have both a lot of work to do, but we manage.” Looking proudly at her husband, she asked: “Did you hear about Augustus’ Dribblewitt versus the Daily Prophet trial?”

“Yes!” Hermione beamed at Augustus. “Luna was there and she said you were brilliant! You really got them! And they so deserve it!”

“It was high time someone showed them that they can’t write everything about everyone,” Augustus said. “I’m actually very glad Dribblewitt was willing to go through with the trial. Most people badmouthed by this paper don’t want to get into even more trouble by suing them, but old Dribblewitt is a brave man. Yet what you will like best about the outcome of this trial, Hermione: Your special friend Rita Skeeter will get a new job. The editor-in-chief obviously thinks she needs a little distance and therefore she’s to become the Daily Prophet’s new Australian correspondent. She’ll move to Melbourne next week.”

Hermione giggled. “If she changes there into her bug form for spying on people she’ll probably get eaten by a rather nice animal.”

“Hmm - Skeeter becoming the lunch for an ant-eater or something like that would be great!” Minerva joined in the laughter.

Augustus grinned. “And wouldn’t it make a great story for her paper? I can already see the headline: ‘I just found her so appetizing, the ant-eater says’.”

“Read the full interview with the beast that ate the beast on page three!” Minerva took over.

“And on page five we’ll get the report from a specialist from the zoo in Melbourne: Was Skeeter digestible? Will the ant-eater survive this lunch without lasting damage?” Hermione chuckled.

Augustus shuddered. “Hopefully they don’t show - in smelling pictures - the material the specialist got to complete his research.”

“Augustus!” Minerva scolded him. “Sometimes you’re horrible!”

“All lawyers are. It’s a kind of professional disease, Tabby,” Augustus replied with a grin. “But as for being nice again: Did you already have dinner, Hermione?”

“Yes, sir - and even at the High Table,” Hermione told. “We’ve got a guest professor from the Al Muhani University in Granada and therefore Pendenance wanted to show the entire team. And you should have seen our male staff members as the lady made her entrance! She’s a ravishing beauty: Brown curls reaching down to her buttocks; beautiful dark eyes and a figure to die for …”

“… and all this beauty goes by the impressive name Dona Pilar Isabella de Verriocha y Bojeda?” Minerva asked.

“Yes,” Hermione confirmed. “Do you know her?”

Augustus grinned. “Albus knows her. Oh, by the way: Was he at the dinner?”

“Albus is in Venice, supervising master exams at the Cagliostro,” Minerva informed her husband.

“What a pity! Dona Pilar certainly would have liked to see him again,” Augustus’ grin broadened. “Although she probably likes it to better to see him in private.” He stood up and smiled down at his ladies. “I’ll get us a bottle of wine and some crackers.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. “Did I miss something about Albus and Professor de Verriocha? Is she the new amorosa?”

There was something in her voice which made Minerva watch her with doubled attention. She’d always known that Hermione had something like a crush on Albus, but - Hermione was a sensible girl, wasn’t she? She knew herself that Albus was much too old for her and a hopeless womanizer. Although when it came to the first point Minerva wouldn’t have been the best person to bring such an argument up. Her husband had been Albus’ classmate and was eighty years her senior. She remembered well how she defended him against her shocked sister and mother by saying: “I rather live ten wonderful years with a man like Augustus McGonagall than one hundred years with a moron like …” She hadn’t finished the line, but her sister had exactly known that Minerva had meant her brother-in-law.

Minerva still believed what she’d said. Yet when it came to Hermione’s affection for Albus she nevertheless felt uncomfortable. Hermione’s fondness of older men Minerva really understood and well, she liked Albus too. But Albus coming closer to the girl she loved like a daughter? Heaven prevent!

Minerva breathed deeply. “Pilar de Verrochia isn’t Albus’ new love interest,” she said then, “but one of the steadiest in his life. She was for years and repeatedly seen as the favourite in the run for the vacant position of Madam Dumbledore and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d start her next attempt now.”

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself. “How long have they known each other?” she asked.

Minerva furrowed her brow. “Oh my - it was a long time ago. Forty years or so. Albus met her at a congress. She was at this time the assistant of Elmassy in Budapest.”

Augustus who’d rung for a house-elf, sat down again. “They got on like a house on fire,” he took over. “Albus once said, his heart was highly inflammable and in this case it burnt in the brightest of flames. He came back from the congress and was all fluffy eyed and day dreaming …”

Minerva rolled her eyes. “He behaved like one of our students and on Fridays after classes we almost couldn’t spit out ‘have a nice weekend’ when, just as quickly, he had disappeared via Budapest.”

Augustus ordered the house-elf who’d just appeared to bring a bottle of wine and glasses. Then he smiled at his wife. “Do you remember your attempts to keep Fawkes out of our bedroom?”

Minerva shook her head in defence. “Don’t remind me of that! I could have throttled Albus!”

Hermione looked curious. Augustus explained: “Fawkes and Dona Pilar weren’t exactly friends. He was probably jealous - or was she? I don’t know. However, after Fawkes began nestling in her lingerie, he was banned from her bedroom. Yet alone in the living room he obviously became bored. Therefore he decided to rearrange it a bit.”

“Oh my!” Hermione laughed. “Let me guess: The lady didn’t approve? She doubted his talent as an interior designer?”

“And how!” Minerva confirmed. “From that day on Albus always asked us to do some Phoenix sitting during the weekend.”

“Only Problem was that Minerva didn’t want Fawkes in our bedroom,” Augustus smiled at the house-elf who’d appeared with a tray. “Thank you, Dobby. I’ll take over from here.”

While he uncorked the wine, Minerva proceeded with the story. “You know, I like Fawkes, but in the bedroom he’s a nuisance.”

“Although he didn’t nest in Minerva’s underwear!” Augustus had opened the bottle and poured now a little wine in his glass. He tasted it, nodded approvingly and filled the other two.

“But Fawkes sat on the mantelpiece and watched!” Minerva remembered. “And he had such a way of looking - like he …,” she searched for words.

Augustus helped her out. Handing the glasses to the two women, he chuckled. “I had once a Muggleborn lady friend - long before I met Minerva, of course - who loved Muggle dance contests. There were judges there and after the performances of the dancers, they held up signs with marks. Fawkes on the mantelpiece looked like such a judge.”

“And I always thought he’d hold up a sign!” Minerva confessed with a blush.

Augustus laughed. “Be honest, Tabby: You were afraid he’d give us a zero!”

“Augustus!” she didn’t manage to sound angry because she had to laugh.

“Anyway: Minerva decided that Fawkes would sleep in the living room,” Augustus told, sipping at his wine.

“Only the feathered nuisance whined all night! It was unbearable!” Minerva shook her head.

“So it was Fawkes in the bedroom and my sweet spouse telling me to keep my hands away from her because she was so irritated by the beast,” Augustus laughed. “I actually think Albus still owns me for that time!”

“And what became of him and Professor de Verriocha?” Hermione wanted to know.

Augustus leant back. “At first they were together for almost four years. It was a very stormy, but probably rather passionate relationship.”

“She was terribly jealous,” Minerva remembered. “He was four or five times hexed because she thought he had been looking after another woman.”

“He was amazingly patient with her,” Augustus said. “For months he always excused her with her difficult childhood and bad experiences during a marriage to a Spanish super macho, but then she made a scene in public. She accused him of flirting with another woman at the Yule ball here at Hogwarts, became increasingly loud and slapped him in the end. And that was too much even for Albus. He called the relationship off.”

“For the first time,” Minerva sighed. “But half a year later they reconciled and for the next few months it was all happiness again. But then she started with her scenes again. She tried to control him and he didn’t like that. So they separated once more.”

“It needed almost another year before they came together again,” Augustus took once again over. “Yet she still hadn’t learned her lesson. And this time Albus wasn’t as patient as he was before. He probably thought ‘the trouble I get in every case - so I want to have the fun for once too’. He had a one-night-stand - and it came up of course. Dona Pilar found a barrette belonging to the other woman in his bedroom, started a big scene, accused him of cheating - and he confessed. He was fed up with her continual behaviour.”

“She ran away of course, married another man shortly afterwards - a long time admirer of her - and became pretty unhappy with him,” Minerva told. “I’d say she only married this other man to show Albus that she didn’t care about him anymore. So of course the marriage didn’t work. Three years later they divorced and made a last ditched attempt to get Albus back. Yet at this time he was already involved with Angharad Wilkes and very happy with her.”

“Dona Pilar and he became nevertheless something like friends,” Augustus said. “But I wouldn’t wonder if she was still interested in him. And as far as I know, he isn’t attached at the moment.”

Minerva rolled her eyes. “With Albus one can never tell. It’s now around three months since he was left by both of the ladies he was with. Knowing him I’d say it’s time for the next one - and he’s probably already working on catching her.”


To be continued …