A Winter Tale

For the disclaimer and the Author\'s Note see chapter 1 ;-)


Dawn and daze

“Huh!” Hermione Granger shook her head and looked again out of the window up to the main tower. It’s gray granite form was just getting stark against the leaden winter sky and until just a few seconds before the red of the flag had been the only little colour in the dawn. But now the flag seemed to beam in brightness - Gryffindor red, Ravenclaw blue, the gold of Hufflepuff and the dark, vivid green of Slytherin shined, the animals on the crest looked as if they were alive, Slytherin’s snake raising its head, the Ravenclaw raven ready to take fly and Hermione even meant she’d hear the Gryffindor lion roar. And there was something else, more colour and light, golden light, mixed with purple, playing around the flag, keeping one corner of it, presenting it to the day and Hermione recognized the purple and gold for the headmaster’s phoenix and now saw the flag in it’s entire glory in almost dazzling white.

“So he’s back”, she heard herself whisper, her eyes wandering from the flag over the grounds to the dark shadow of the forbidden forest. On the path along the trees Hermione saw a tall figure, wearing a blue robe and a matching wizard’s hat, long, silver hair floatindernder it. Dumbledore was heading to the castle, but he didn’t look as if he were in a hurry. For a moment he remembered Hermione on an old lion, strolling through his territory in the absolute and unquestionable knowledge of being the invincible master of his land. But then he suddenly stood still, raising his head and looking to the castle and although Hermione couldn’t see his face in the distance, the gesture stroke her so hard she’d struggle for breath. The headmaster seemed to hesitate - as if he wouldn’t like coming back to Hogwarts and to the task which awaited him there.

Hermione felt a tear hotly running down her check. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, sniffling by it and in the same time ranting to herself: “Stop behaving like a silly girl! It won’t make anything better, you’re only feeling worse by it!” Yet she couldn’t help it: She hated the idea of being a burden to anyone in general. The idea of becoming one to Albus Dumbledore, the man who already carried the responsibility for Hogwarts and the Order, Hermione loathed even more. For the first time since she’d learned about the marriage law she started to think about leaving the magical world now. Hadn’t Minerva talked about this being the other option? Stepping back from the window and seating down on her bed, tugging her bare feet under her, Hermione considered. Were she really and on all cost - even the cost of Dumbledore getting even more weight on his shoulders - to remain in the wizard’s world? Couldn’t there be another life, a life which could give her challenges and sense too? Perhaps Minerva’s talking about Hermione getting a place in an Irish college had in fact meant, that her teacher and mentor wanted her to go? Nibbling at her under lip and playing with her hair, Hermione thought about. Breaking her wand, leaving this world and going back to be a muggle - perhaps it wasn’t so final as she’d thought? Perhaps she could come back after the war?

“You’re nuts!” Hermione said loudly, much to the amazement of Crookshanks who slept on the carpet in front of the fire. “You’re entirely and wholly nuts - or mental, as Ron would say.” How should be think of running away and living in security until her friends had fight during the war? That would be the coward’s exit - and Hermione Granger certainly wasn’t a coward. “If I go it will be for ever,” she thought now and once againfeltfelt as if it were the end of the world - of her world and of the Hermione Granger she knew. Yet - there was the sight she’d just seen: s Dus Dumbledore hesitating as if he’d fear what the future - a future with Hermione at his side - held for him. “Who am I and who is he?” Hermione asked herself. The last question was simple to answer: The greatest wizard alive, the only enemy Voldemort feared. Without Dumbledore Harry and with him the entire magical world wouldn’t stand a chance of winning the war. And what meant one Hermione Granger compared to this? After all: She only was a 17 year old schoolgirl.

Now Hermione really cried - not in self-pity, but in absolute perplexity. What was she supposed to do? With whom could she speak, who was there to be asked for advice? Harry and Ron, her best friends, didn’t even know about the real subject Hermione and Minerva had talked about. They’d asked for it, of course, they’d done, but Hermione hadn’t felt ready to talk about and so she’d lied in murmuring something about “only head girl’s business, nothing to worry about”. The boys had bought it, both being busy with cursing about Snape and the horrible class they’d just suffered through with him.

“Miss Hermione?” A high voice suddenly quaked. “Is Woopy to help you?”

Hermione swallowed, rose her head, whipped once again with the back of her hand tears away and tried a weak smile. “Sorry, Woopy - I didn’t hear you coming.”

s sos sorry for disturbing Miss Hermione,” the house elve looked apologizing, but in contrast to the others of her kind certainly not as if she’d start punishing herself. Instead she gave Hermione a little roll of parchment, bowed and disappeared with a “pop”.

Hermione enrolled the parchment and saw an elegant handwriting in green ink on it. It said: “Dear Hermione, would you kindly join me for tea at 3:00 p.m.? I’ll send Woopy to collect you in your chamber then. Yours ...” a sweeping squiggle.

Hermione was puzzled. She’d never seen this handwriting before and who was it to invite her in such a strange manner? She looked closer to the squiggle and then it dawned: The first letter - this was an “A”, wasn’t it? And the next one - with a bit of good will one could take it for a “l” or even “lb”. So it was “Albus” then - Albus as in Albus Dumbledore and it probably meant, that this invitation was meant “private” - private as in “matters of matrimony”. Only Hermione was afraid she’d never come in use - or even at ease - with thinking of the headmaster as her husband or call him “Albus”. This was so out of the question with having a girl’s talk with Minerva McGonagall, wasn’t it?

*****

When later asked for this day Hermione always said she wouldn’t remember anymore how she had made it during the classes. She only knew, that it have been very strange indeed, seating there as if nothing had happened, as if she’d still were a normal schoolgirl with the upcoming exams as the only problem. Yet on this cold winter day Hermione Granger, Hogwarts top student, bookworm extra ordinaire and always only panicking when in fear of messing up an exam, suddenly discovered that she didn’t care about her NEWTs anymore. Instead she felt as if she’d became finally adult in only one night - if only her stomach wouldn’t cramp and her mouth fall dry every time she thought of the little note in her pocket!

And there was a lot of time to think about, because for the first hours of the morning the time seemed to have speed down. Breakfast had been an endless affair with Harry and Ron talking quidditch all the time and not noticing that Hermione only mumbled on a piece of toast. All minute she’d looked up to the great table at the upper end of the hall, not sure if she’d hope or fear for the headmaster’s entrance. Yet his glorious golden chair stood deserted - Albus Dumbledore once again didn’t appear to breakfast. Nevertheless Hermione couldn’t get over the odd feeling of being watched. Every time she tried to steal a look on the head table, she’d met eyes watching her - the green eyes of Professor McGonagall, looking worried and sad; the black eyes of the potion master, unreadable and distant; the brown eyes of Professor Sinistra, looking warm and friendly; the blue eyes of Professor Vector, neutral and a bit cool; the yellow eyes of Fly Inspector Hootch, looking - curious? Hermione wasn’t sure - neither about being watched nor about the curiosity. The teachers couldn’t already know, could they? Of course, Minerva McGonagall and Snape were informed, bot being members of the Order, but Madame Hootch and the others? What would they think about Hermione? How would they treat her if she really was to become their headmaster’s lawfully weeded wife? Hermione couldn’t imagine.

The day went on - but even after lunch - without the headmaster and Minerva McGonagall - and the herbology class Hermione didn’t have the slightest glue what she’d tell the headmaster. But now time seemed to run. Hermione suddenly felt herself lying again to her friends - something about homework and seeing them later - and then she sprinted to her room ryffryffindor tower, suddenly aware that she didn’t want to wear school uniform for her appointment with the headmaster. But what else? Standing in the front of her wardrobe, she’d only knew that casual muggle style with jeans and shirt would even less do as school uniform. So she decided at last for an ankle-long brown velvet skirt with a matching shirt - an attire her mother had only a few before her death insisted to buy Hermione. She’d never wore it, but now it seemed the less wrong thing in her entire closet.

Her mirror obviously liked it, yet it advised her to use “a nice little make up charm” because she’d look a “bit pale, m’dear”. Hermione resisted the childish urge to show the mirror her tongue - talking mirrors were a magical inventions she never had been fond of - but used her hair brush instead. She couldn’t find it made a big effect, her head still looked bushy at always, but what would it matter? Dumbledore surely wouldn’t care about her hair nor for any other feature of her.

“Plop” it made - and Woopy was there, appearing as always out of the not so blue air. “Miss Hermione,” she squeaked, “I is to accompany you. If Miss Hermione would follow Woopy?”
“Of course,” Hermione answered kindly, wondering why he had sent the elve. As every Hogwarts pupil Hermione knew not only the way to the main tower, but to the gargoyle which guarded the entrance to the headmaster’s office. He’d only needed to tell her the password and she could have made her way without being lead by Woopy.

Much to Hermione’s surprise the house elfe didn’t bring her to the gargoyle. She wandered with Hermione to the main tower, but instead of going left in the upper hall, the tiny creature went to the right side in a gallery Hermione hadn’t even seen before. By walking on it she noticed that probably not only the entrance was enchanted so that it were only to be seen by people invited, but the floor was charmed too. It looked like the granite the castle was built from, but Hermione’s steps weren’t to hear on it and it felt as if she’d walk on a summer day in a forest - pleasantly warm, soft and even a bit springy. The smell in the gallery suited the enchanted floor - a fresh and herb-sweet smell like a meadow in the middle of a wood.

The gallery ended with a wall, covered by a painting of a man in baroque costume, seating in front of a piano - or was it a hapsichord? Hermione didn’t know, but expected the musician to ask for a password. Yet he only smiled to her and began to play - a lovely tune, sounding silvern and cheerful like water jumping over stones. Then the wall suddenly began to glimmer and an arch formed. Hermione heard a “pop” through the music - Woopy was gone, without saying a word. This could only mean Hermione was supposed to step through the arch and so - after a deep breath - she did and found herself on a small stair chase which spiraled upwards. Hermione smiled - this was at least something she was already familiar with from her visit in the headmaster’s office. Only the journey upwards lasted longer as Hermione expected and so she was a bit dizzy as the stairs finally stopped in a little ante chambre in which only a huge mirror stood. Hermione saw herself in it, but only for a little moment, then the mirror vanished and in it’s place Hermione saw the headmaster, wearing a simple, but nevertheless elegant robe from dark green velvet, only the collar and the hems of the sleeves decorated with golden embroidered green silk. He smiled, but his blue eyes behind the halfmoon-spectacles didn’t twinkle and his voice sounded even hoarser then usual as he took her hand and greeted her: “Miss Granger.”

Hermione was grateful for this formality - she’d feared he’d start with their conversation on a more casual manner and wouldn’t had know how to react on it. Now it was easier - she only had to bow her head lightly, saying: “Headmaster ...”

He steeped aside and with an inviting move of his hand he said: “Please, come in.”

Hermione followed him over the threshold and almost forgot to breath by the sight welcoming her. The room she was now in seemed to be as if it would have been just made for her. Two of it high walls were covered with shelves full of books and on the first sight Hermione could already see that this wasn’t only a collection of rare and precious magical books, but of classic muggle literature too. Hermione had to stop herself for running to the shelves, stroking witr har hands over the leather backs and learning about all treasures within.

In front of the bookshelves stood chairs - little groups of them, each with a nice desk, the chairs itself upholstered in blue und golden broquade, just right for a long and cosy seat down with a good book.

On the third wall of the room was a huge fireplace in which a mighty fire burned, in front of it stood a blue and a golden sofa and a table already set for tea. Yet it was the fourth wall which took Hermione’s breath finally away - because it wasn’t a wall, but a huge window, looking over the roofs of Hogwarts and the great lake out to the mountains. Hermione, who never had cared for riding a broom, suddenly understood why Harry loved flying so much - if it gave one sights like this it surely was worth the freezing. Hermione simply couldn’t resist - she walked closer to the window, drinking in the sight

“You like what you see?” Albus asked, sounding amused.

Hermione couldn’t get her eyes away from the glory in front of her. “I’ve always knew Hogwarts is beautiful,” she said, “but this is simply ...” She couldn’t find the right word.

“Amazing?” Albus tried to help out.

“More!” Hermione said, turning her head and trying to see the greenhouses on the left corner of the window. Suddenly the sight moved, the greenhouses were now exactly in front of Hermione who jumped in surprise, bumbling almost in Albus who stood behind her. “Sorry, Professor Dumbledore,” she stammered.

“I have to apologize,” he said calmly. “I should have told you that the room is moving. It turns around 360̊ over the day - normally. But if one of its inhabitants whishes to see in a certain direction, the room moves immediately. Like that ...” Now the sight changed again, this time to the other direction, showing Hermione Gryffindor tower and the quidditch pitch behind it.

“I’ve never heard of such a charm!” she said and even somebody less attentive as Albus Dumbledore would have noticed by the sound of it, that Hermione Granger didn’t like too much coming around a charm she hadn’t the slightest glue about.

Albus chuckled. “You can’t have,” he said then. “The charm is an invention of Professor Snape and myself. We sometimes spend a little spare time in playing around with connecting legilemens with charms. This was one of our more successful attempts.”

“There were others?” As always, Hermione couldn’t keep herself back when it came to learning.

“Oh yes.” Albus laughed. “Once I persuaded Professor Snape to try a charm-legilemens connectio myo my wardrobe. I wanted it to get me the robes I wanted to wear in the morning. It worked in the evening as we tried - so fine Severus cast it later on his and Professor Sprout’s wardrobe too. By this something went wrong and so the next morning I found myself from head to toe in black - I even wore black trousers though I really never cared for something so restricting as trousers. Professor Sprout appeared to breakfast in red and silver - much to the irritation of her Hufflepuffs. Yet Severus didn’t appear at all - but the Bloody Baron told me he’d blushed and fled for the language Severus was using while he was not only busy in taking the pink and violet flowered robe, but the charm on his wardrobe off.”

Hermione joined Albus in laughter, grateful for his attempt to lose her a bit. But obviously he was as much aware as she that she wasn’t in this beautiful room for a pleasant chat. Becoming serious again he said: “Under the given circumstances I thoughu’d u’d like to see my quarters. Shall I give you the grand tour?”

Now it was for Hermione to blush and to sank her head, studying the tips of her shoes as if she’d find there the proper answer to his question. Her inborn curiosity longed to see more, but her manners forbad her - who was she to make him show her around as if she’d were to become somebody living her too? He didn’t want her t in in his rooms, he surely felt just now as if somebody would invade his privacy and she was sure, he’d only invited her because he wanted to make “the entire abysmal affair” - as Professor McGonagall had named it - easier for her.
“Hermione?”

Was it the first time he’d said her given name? Hermione wasn’t sure, but she swallowed the lump in her throat and rose her head, finally brave enough to look in his eyes. “Yes, sir?”
Albus sighed. “I know,” he started, “this is very hard and difficult for you, child. But you aren’t alone in this, Hermione. I’m with you and I give you my word of honour: I do what ever is in my might to make it at least as bearable as possible for you.”

Hermione again sank her head and looked to the floor. Her voice didn’t want to obey to her, but after an energetic clearing of her throat she managed to say: “I actually think it’s better I leave. Professor McGonagall said, you could perhaps help me to get a place on an Irish college, sir ...”

“Oh.” Albusbledbledore stepped away from her to the fireplace, turning his back to her he said: “If this is your wish I will of course help you. I will need a day or two, but then the arrangements can be made ...”

“Thank you, sir - for everything.” Hermione whispered. Tears run over her cheeks and suddenly the room didn’t seem so warm and cosy anymore. Even the cracking of the fire, now the only sound, didn’t seem to be able to drive the chill awayrmiormione shuddered and slung her arms around her body. “Headmaster,” she suddenly heard herself saying, “I never wanted to disappoint you.”

Albus didn’t turn. He looked in the fire, silently. After a time which seemed endless to Hermione, he said firmly: “You don’t disappoint me, child. I fully understand that the idea of a marriage with an old man like me is appealing to you. It’s only natural - youth calls for youth ...”

“But headmaster!” Hermione cried, blushing by it because she interrupted him.

“Yes, child?” Now at last he turned, watching her out of tired, old eyes.

“It is not that I would feel appealed by the idea,” said Hermione, just remembering her old trademark saying: “If you can’t trust Dumbledore, who can you trust”. To think of it calmed her to a security she’d never thought herself possible of in front of this man. “I only couldn’t stand the thought that you’d feel appealed by having me around you, in your private quarters day and ...” Oops, no, the word “night” she couldn’t speak, even not when feeling so much more confident now. Slightly blushing, she started again: “I mean, you’ve got a lot of your plate already - the school, the order, the ministry. Who am I to become another burden to you? We’re in a war, you’re the leader and you’ll need all your strength ...”

Albus smiled a little smile - but it was already enough to drive the chill in Hermione’s body away. “Well and right spoken, Hermione,” he said. “We’re in a war and I’ll need all my strength. But aren’t you and your friends, my most talented, bright and courageous pupils, not an important part of my strength? Dumbledore’s Army - and what’s a leader without his army? It’s you and your friends who give me not only a reason to fight, but the energy to do so. I grab it from you in handfuls, I get from you courage and brightness and hope. Without you I couldn’t stand against the enemy because without you my reasons to fight would be only academic, dry and papered. It’s the hopes and the ds I s I see in your eyes every time I look at you, it’s your future what makes me want to win and therefore I don’t want you to go, Hermione. If you’re able to bear with me for the time until the final battle, then please stay - and marry me.”

Hermione whipped the last tear away, then she arched her back and looked seriously in Albus’ eyes. “I will,” she said, “and whatever happens to us in this war - I will not ‘bear’ being married to you. I will be proud of it.”

“So will I, Hermione,” Albus said and with a gracious courtesy he took her hand, bowed over it and kissed it lightly.

Hermione felt his lips on her skin - dry and bit raw - and once again she smelled the fragrance which was so entirely the headmaster - lemon drops and herb lavender. The idea of becoming close to him, of sharing his privacy - it suddenly became - no, not something to look forward to, but something she was sure she could do. And this new security made her smile - for the first time since she’d entered his chambers.

“So we’re engaged,” she said shyly.

“Yes, we are - which reminds me ...” He took a dark blue box from the mantlepiece, opened and pulled a ring out. “May I?” he asked, again taking Hermione’s hand. “This ...,” he explained, while getting the white golden band which kept a white opal, surrounded by 12 glittering diamonds on her finger, “ is my mother’s engagement ring. It’s perhaps a bit old-fashioned, but so am Isidesides you’d probably like the charm my father cast on it. I changed it a bit for suiting us ...”

Hermione looked with huge eyes on the ring. The diamonds seemed to mirror the fire, but she found the shimmering of the opal even more fascinating. Silver, rose and blue sparkles sprang from it, looking as if the stone were something alive. The ring fitted her finger perfectly and the band was pleasantly warm against her skin. And there was something more - Hermione meant to feel magic in the ring. “Thank you,” she said. “It’s beautiful and I adore it. But what kind of magic does it keep?”

Albus laughed. “Nothing unusual,” he answered. “It’s only a kind of portkey charm. If you’d lose the ring or if it were taken from you, it would come back to me.” He smiled warmly. “My mother used this charm sometimes for getting my father’s attention. If he was for too long a time too deep in one of his experiments, mother used to throw the ring away. In appearing on my father’s hand it told him then that she felt neglected.”

“I don’t think, I could ever throw it away!” Hermione laid her right hand protectively over the ring.

Albus became serious again. “I hope you will not. But if you ever need me - just use the ring.” Once again he changed his expression to a smile. “On a lighter note: would you now care to see the other rooms? I spent a little time rambling around and rearranging the upper part of the apartment for getting you a bit of privacy. But not knowing your taste in furniture and decoration your new study may still need a bit of work.”

“I’d love to see it,” Hermione said - and this time she really meant it.

Albus went to one of the bookshelfs and tipped with his index finger against a rose in the carved panel. The shelf glided aside and opened to a wooden stair chase. Hermione followed Albus upwards until they reached a landing with another mirror. Albus simply stepped through it, Hermione on his heels.

“That’s our private dining-room,” Albus said with a gesture to a big round table with 12 chairs which stood in the middle of a bright room. The chairs were upholstered in creamy brocade, the same fabric covered the walls. On each wall a french door opened the sight to a balcony, running round the tower.

Albus didn’t give Hermione much time to look around. “I don’t care much for meals in solitude, therefore the dining room was never much used by me,” he said and went ady ady back through the mirror and he she stairs. This time Hermione came with him to a landing with two plain wooden doors. Albus smiled a bit awkward. “I haven’t had time to charm the doors. Besides I’d thought you’d perhaps like to do it yourself.” He opened the first door and led Hermione in a room with a fire place and an oriel, looking out to the lake. In it stood, just fitting from wall to wall, a big desk with a comfortable chair in front of it.

But what Hermione liked most in the room were once again the book shelves on the wall opposite the fireplace. They were already half-filled and she went there, curiously looking to the tiles of the books. She couldn’t almost believe what she saw there: Almost all her favourites from the library were there, starting with “Ars Alchemia”, going over “Charms for the advanced wizards” and “Moste potente potions” to “The zest for magical knowledge.”

“All for myself?” Hermione wondered aloud, looking like a child under the christmas tree.

“Yes, I think so. It’s your study, isn’t it?” Albus seemed amused.

“How did you do that? This are all my favourites!” Hermione tenderly stroked the backs of the books. “How did you know?”

“In this case omniscience was quite simple. I only had to ask Madame Pince for a list.”

Hermione felt very moved by Albus’ thoughtfulness and had once again to swallow on something in her throat. “Thank you very much, sir,” she managed finally.

“Albus,” her corrected her. “I think you should start to come in use with my given name.”

“Ouuh ...” Hermione made. “This will ...”

“...need some time?” he finished for her.

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Hermione looked around, avoiding his eyes. The sofa in front of the fire place - creamy white - and the two matching chairs looked nice, but perhaps a bit pale ...

Albus had followed her glance. “I thought you may like to make the colouring yourself,” he said.

“Actually cream is nice, but - I’ve got a cat and he likes to sleep in my room,” explained Hermione, pulling her wand out of her sleeve. “May I?”

“Of course - it’s your room after all.” Albus waited patiently until Hermione had changed sofa and chairs to black leather.

“Hmm ...” she made, not entirely satisfied with it. “I’ve always wanted something like a Chesterfield, but they’re hard to do ...”

“May I help out?” Albus offered.

“I’d be delighted,” Hermione ed aed and watched in awe, how he - with a simple wave of his hand - changed the furniture again. Not it was just as she’d wished it: A rich, chocolate brown, cosily upholstered. She clapped happily. “That’s wonderful!”

“Hmm.” Now Albus wasn’t entirely satisfied. “Don’t you think it’s a bit austere? How about that?” Another wave of his hand - a few red pillows appeared on the sofas, a red carpet covered the floor in front of the fire place. “Hmm ...” murmured Albus once again. “Now it looike ike Minerva’s living room ..” It didn’t sound as if he were a big fan of Minerva McGonagall as interior designer.

“Perhaps ...” Hermione liked decorating, so she raised her wand now and murmured an incantation. The pillows and the carpet jumped - and changed their colour to a rich honey ton.

“That’s nice!” Albus praised and sat down on one of the chairs. “Shall we have our tea here?”

“I’d like that.” Hermione said and sank on the sofa.

Albus waved once again, the table in front of the fire filled with china, silver pots and dishes with stones, crumpets and cakes. “Considered that we’re in your room - would you purr tea?” he asked.

Hermione nodded and purred tea in a cup. “Sugar? Cream?” she asked.

“Three lumps of sugar, a lot of cream please.” Albus answered.

Hermione obeyed with a smile, gave him the cup and purred herself one, watching under half-closed lids how he drank a sip and leaned back, stretching his long legs and crossing them at the ankles. He looked entirely at ease, as if he’d all time of the world for cosily drinking tea, but Hermione felt nevertheless a certain tension approaching.

And then the headmaster began to speak again. “Before I did this room I’ve had a conversation with Augustus McGonagall - Professor McGonagall’s husband.” Hermione hadn’t knew that her favourite teacher was married, so she looked pretty amazed. Albus smiled, drank another sip from his cup and put the china back on the table. Laying the tips of his long fingers together and looking to Hermione over the rim of his spectacles, he continued: “Augustus isn’t only an old and trustworthy friend of mine, but a member of the wizengamot and one of the less real good lawyers our world is possessing. So I asked him for studying the marriage law and giving me his professional advice. He did .. “Albus used one finger for pushing his glasses up on his crooked nose. “Augustus thinks we shouldn’t wait until your 18. birthday. His words were exactly: ‘The sooner you’ve got the wedding done, the smaller the chance for Lucius Malfoy to prevent it.’” His voice sounded calm and distant, almost as if he’d discuss normal school business. “You know how a binding is done in the magical world?” he asked.

Hermione shook her head, a bit awkward. Being muggle-born she’d never seen a binding before and with wishing for a future as a scholar she’d never had a reason to look it up.

Albus nodded, his blue eyes grave. “Then let me explain. The law for normal wizard bindings demands not much more as both parties involved at least 16 years old - a condition we fulfill easily - and that at least one of them owns a home fit for a couple to live in. This I do. With the conditions fulfilled, the couple needs a qualified sorcerer - for example a member of the wizengamot - and two witnesses to perform the binding charm. After the couple consumes the marriage an entry appears magically in the ministry’s register - with that the marriage is sealed and neither the involved witch nor the wizard are available for a marriage under the new law anymore. Admittedly there’s one thing in which the new law still gets an influence on couples married under the old one: If some one doubts this marriage is meant as such, the ministry can claim that the couple must perform their marital duties after the standards of the new law.”

“But in our case ...” Hermione nibbled on her under lip, thoughtfully, “I mean if Lucius Malfoy doubts our marriage, we aren’t worse as if we’d marry under the new law - right?”

“Indeed.” Albus nodded. “And a wedding before your 18. birthday would even give us the advantage of surprise.”

Hermione was fully aware how grave the situation was, but she was still a 17 year old and so she couldn’t resist giggling - she just imagined Lucius Malfoy’s face when he learned that his cunning and scheming didn’t get him anywhere. But - there was one problem except of the “consuming the marriage”-matter of which Hermione still refused to think.

“But, Head ...” she stopped and corrected herself, “Albus, there’s one problem: If were marry before we get Malfoy’s offer, he’d know that his plan was betrayed. Wouldn’t it endanger Professor Snape?”

“No, it wouldn’t.” Now it was for Albus to grin. “The blame will stay with the Malfoy family. Young master Malfoy was stupid enough to celebrate his one-sided engagement already and by doing so he boasted around in the Slytherin common room that his father would give him - I spare you the entire quote in all it’s gory deta The The important thing about was: Young Malfoy’s announcements weren’t only heard by his Slytherin housemates, but by an house elve too. So Professor Snape will have the honour to inform Mister Malfoy senior not only about certain rumours concerning you and me, but about where the loyality of Hogwarts house elves reside.”

“Oh, oh!” Hermione chuckled. “Mister Malfoy won’t like that.”

“For this I’m certain.” Albus confirmed. “What leads us right in the middle of the matter: When, you think, will you be ready to perform the binding?”

Hermione swallowed. She’d thought she’d still eight days left and this had looked like half an eternity to her - or at least like enough time to come in use with the thought. But now her time obviously was running out. She braced herself, tried a brave smile and said: “I’ll be ready when you are.”

“Good girl!” Albus pulled on a golden chain at his robe and looked to his wizard’s watch. “What about tomorrow at this time? This evening I can’t - I have to go to a gathering in the ministry. Trow row in the morning I’d be to oversee an auror’s examination - I think I’ll be back at two o’ clock p.m. - just right for lunch, a little change of dress and a nice wedding.”

Hermione appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood up, but felt nevertheless a flattering in her stomach. Although she’d never joined in when the other girls in her dormitory had dwelled on their dreams about the meringue wedding they once wanted to have, she’d never thought she’d get hers so business-like as a task to be done just between class and dinner. And she suddenly saw a vision of herself, coming a bit late to dinner in the great hall and Ron asking: “He - where you’ve been all afternoon?” What would she get in answering: “Oh, I’ve only just married the headmaster - and could you please handle me the potatoes, Harry?” If this weren’t enough to make her friends and house mates fall under the table, she could perhaps add: “And by the way, I’m afraid I can’t help you with your potions essay this evening. I’ll have to consummate the marriage, you know? And no, Lavender, Padma - I won’t tell you in the morning what he does with his hair! I probably won’t know because I surely won’t dare to open my eyes to look at him!”

“Hermione?” Albus’ voice interrupted her vision. “Do you need more time?”

“No, sir - Albus.” Hermione shook her head with so much energy, that her bushy hair floated all over her face. Shoving a strand aside, she tried so smile. “I’ll be there.”

“Good. Then to the question where you’ll be - I thought of the room of requirement. Any objections?”

Hermione once again shook her head, this time with less force.

“Good,” Albus repeated. “The sorcerer performing will be Augustus McGonagall. Whom do you want as your witness?”

Hermione couldn’t think of anybody else as “Professor McGonagall” as she said loudly.

This time she didn’t get a “good”, but a raised eye brow. “I thought you’d like your friends at your side.”

“Oh, ah ...” Hermione stammered. She hadn’t thought of Harry and Ron. To her it still felt as if this marriage was something she’d to do on her own. Besides: She couldn’t get the two of them for holding her hand during the “consummation”, could she?

“If you want me to inform the two of them, I’ll gladly oblige,” offered Albus now.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary, sir - ah, Albus,” Hermione murmured. Actually she thought: “Better not!” Considered Ron’s glorious talent for always finding the most tactless thing to say Hermione really didn’t like the headmaster telling him. And besides: It didn’t seemed to her that starting her marriage with letting him do all her dirty deeds would do any good. Ron and Harry were her friends. Therefore she had to tell them. Period.

Just as she got her third “good” from Albus, something began to chirp. Albus wrinkled his forehead and pulled this time a silvern chain out of his robe. A tine glass globe was attached to it. “Just a moment,” Albus said and laid the globe in his palm where it swelled until it was almost as big as a coconut. In the same time it filled with blue mist. Albus looked in the mist and sighed. “Minister Fudge and the inevitable Mister Percy Weasley are just climbing up to the castle.” He rose. “I actually had it coming.” With a weary smile to Hermione he said: “I’m sorry, but I should be going. Will you find your way back to Gryffindor tower or shall I call Woopy?”

“Of course, hea... sir ... Albus.” Hermione hose ose too and already walked with him to the door.

“Good girl!” Albus opened the door for her. “The minister’s timing really couldn’t be worse,” he said by standing on the landing.

“Actually we’re through for today, aren’t we?” Hermione answered. Still she disliked the idea of becoming a burden for the obviously busy man in front of her.

“I don’t think so - I know a big deal of things I’d like to talk with you about,” he sighed. “But - as my mother used to say: What can’t be cured, must be endured. I wonder how she know about minister Fudge, him being born 60 years after her death.” He took Hermione’s hand and once again his blue eyes dived in her brown. “You’re a very brave and intelligent young witch. I’m sure the two of us will find a way to get along for the time we have to. I’ll do my best ...” He slightly bent his head, his blue eyes twinkled and suddenly he looked like the boy he was ages ago, “... and me doing my best means something.”

Probably it was his sudden boyishness which gave Hermione courage. Without thinking about, she rose on her tiptoes, laid one hand lightly on his shoulder and kissed his wrinkled cheek. “Thank you, Albus,” she said and this time she didn’t stumble by using his given name. “Thank you for everything.”