Much Ado about Nothing

Much Ado About Nothing


By: Max

[Disclaimer: see chapter 1]

Author’s note: The inspiration for Hermione’s animagnus form I got from Kalina Lea and her wonderful story “The buried life”. You can find it at her website or at ff.net (just look at my favourites) and if you haven’t read it yet - do so. It’s worth your while!




Chapter 4: Discoveries


Oh, the word to change him back
into what he was before!
Oh, he runs, and keeps on going!
Wish you\'d be a broom once more!
He keeps bringing water
quickly as can be,
and a hundred rivers
he pours down on me!

No, no longer
can I let him,
I must get him
with some trick!
I’m beginning to feel sick.
What a look! And what a face!

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


“Relax, Hermione!” Albus looked at his tense apprentice seating with crossed legs in front of him, nervously playing with her wand. “It’s only a question of focussing. You concentrate on entering my mind, you look in my eyes and you cast the incantation. You don’t have to be afraid of it. Or don’t you trust me? I promise: I won’t mess around in your head.”

Hermione swallowed and looked at him. He sat opposite of her, with his back leaning against the wall. “Of course I trust you, Albus, I really do. But …” Polishing the handle of her wand on her red shirt, she sounded almost desperate. “Couldn’t we do Occlumency first?”

“I don’t think so,” Albus lowered his head and looked at her over the rim of his spectacles. “Think of my innocent little soul, Hermione! You haven’t learned to close your mind yet. So I’d come upon of all the juicy memories of yours. Nights full of passion with a certain quidditch champion, hot kisses and …”

Hermione laughed, raising her hands. “Okay, Albus - yon. Bn. But only because I know how bored you’d become by my memories. Nights full of passion with a certain quidditch champion …” She turned her eyes. “You and your innocent little soul must have had a better hand in picking quidditch champions than I!” Giggling she added: “Probably the female quidditch players are better in handling the broom …” She fell silent, blushed and looked rebuking at him. “You’re rubbing off on me, you know? Four months with you - and Ginny finds that I’m becoming ‘pleasantly frivolous’. That must be your influence on me!”

“Me?” Albus grinned cheekily. “Old, harmless me? I really don’t think so. Look at Minerva. She’s worked with me for more than half a century and can you imagine her being frivolous?”

“No, actually I can’t. But she’s a lady.”

“And you? Aren’t you a lady?” Albus twinkled at her.

“My mother still hopes I’ll eventually become one,” Hermione laughed. “But being around you, I think the chances are rather small.” Looking seriously again, she said: “If I do legilemency on you - won’t it hurt? Harry always complained …”

Albus crossed his long legs at the ankles and wriggled his toes, today in canary yellow socks with red cherries. “It was unpleasant for Harry for two reasons. First: He always tried to fight our intrusions. Second: Severus and I had to teach him defence against hostile legilimens. That meant we had to use force. Combined with the rage he felt by having to defend himself against us, this made for rather unpleasant encounters. Yet in our case, it won’t be so aggressive. You won’t use force and I won’t try to keep you away with hard blocking.”

Hermione didn’t look convinced. “If only I’d knew what I’m doing! I mean my first attempts failed - and you said they did because I didn’t really wish to enter your mind. So I must use more power - whatwhat if I overdo it? I really hate the idea of hurting you!”

“You won’t hurt me,” he assured her patiently. “The worst thing what could happen would be your breaking through the protections I’ve built up and coming around a few memories I’d rather not share. Then I’d ask you afterwards to put your memories of this in my pensieve, and we’d destroy them - period.”

“But you said yourself that I would give you a headache by breaking through!” Hermione insisted.

“Considered how many headaches I give you, it would only be fair to get one back. Besides: You really can’t learn legilimency out of books. It needs practise and I’m sure you practising on me won’t be as bad as the lessons with Severus. He didn’t like me much at the time I taught him. So you can imagine how it felt to have him in my mind.” Albus put his spectacles down, set his index finger under Hermione’s chin and raised her head with it. “Don’t talk - just do it. Look in my eyes and cast the incantation.”

Hermione sighed. “Okay …”

Her chocolate brown eyes connected with his blue eyes. He sensed how she waved her wand and heard an energetic: “Legilimens!”

For a moment he thought she’d failed once again. But then he felt a soft touch inside his mind, no more than a tiny knock. He concentrated on it, thinking ‘give me your hand, little one - I’ll get you further in …’ She obviously understood him. Her presence in his mind still hadn’t got form, but there was warmth and a familiar brightness. It seemed to hesitate, staying just on the border of his consciousness. Gently he reached for it, thinking: ‘There’s nothing to fear. I won’t hurt you and I know you would never hurt me.’ Now she came closer and he could see her with his inner eye, an almost ethereal shape, surrounded by an aura of warm, golden light. It was strong, but looked vulnerable in the same time, and as it came closer he almost forgot to breathe for a moment. The presence had become Hermione now, but naturally it wasn’t Hermione as he was used to seeing her, but what his subconsciousness connected to feelings about her, and so she became an image he’d almost forgotten: The white queen out of his father’s chess set. The ivory figure, once carved by a scholar of the Renaissance painter Botticelli, had always been his favourite piece in the set and even as a small boy he’d seen her as a symbol of female strength and beauty.

He’d known that Hermione would appear as something precious, bu wou wouldn’t have thought of her becoming something so familiar and beloved by him. To look at her made him long to touch her, to embrace her and to hold her close. Feeling her was like finding something he’d missed painfully without being aware of what exactly it was, and he needed all his will power not to grab her and to envelop her with his mind.

And then, suddenly, she was gone, letting back an almost aching emptiness. Her voice came to him as if she’d spoken through a mist. “Sorry,” he heard her say. “Did I hurt you? I suddenly lost focus …”

He needed to close his eyes for a second, then, clearing his throat, he looked at her and said: “I’m fine. How are you?”

Hermione pulled her legs up and embracing her knees, she slowly answered: “I’d never thought it would be like that.”

Putting his glasses back on his nose, he leand once again back against the wall, warmed from the fnextnext to it. “Bad or good?” he asked.

Hermione swallowed. Almost awkwardly she answered: “First it was wonderful. I felt so warm and content and secure. But then …” She suddenly looked like a child and he saw that she shuddered. “I became afraid. I …” she chewed on her bottom lip. “Probably I’m sounding silly now, but …” looking down at the rug, she almost whispered: “You’ve got a beautiful mind and I was afraid I’d lose myself in it.” She pulled her legs closer. “And now I’m feeling chilly. Is that normal?”

Albus felt rather cold himself. Stretching his arm invitingly he said: “It is. Entering minds is draining and costs lot of energy. So come here, Piccola.”

With one quick move she was next to him, laying her head on his shoulder. He pulled her a bit closer, turning his head and resting his chin on her short hair.

It wasn’t the first time they sat close to each other. When doing research together they often lay on the rug in front of the fireplace, looking in a book or at a parchment together, their bodies touching, their faces so close one could feel the other breathing. Both of them - so much he knew without ever talking to her about it - were well aware that this kind of closeness and the resulting tenderness was more than their master-apprentice bond demanded and made for. He couldn’t remember he’d ever touched Minerva except when he was correcting her handling of a wand. But Hermione - she was something special - and since the day she’d visited him in the hospital he’d felt that she meant more to him than just the star student and brilliant young colleague. She had become something like a daughter to him. Or hadn’t she? The tenderness he felt for her, the pride, the protectiveness - it was what a father would feel for a child, wasn’t it? Or was it what a grandfather would feel? He was certainly old enough to be her grandfather and probably that was how she saw him.

“Albus?” She sounded almost a bit drowsy now.

“Hmm, Piccola?” he asked back.

“I saw something in your mind …”

“What was it?” he demanded to know.

“A room - a beautiful bright room. It wasn’t very clear and I only got a glimpse of it, but I’m almost sure I hadn’t seen it before. Was it perhaps a memory of yours?”

“Most certainly it was.” He smiled. “Let me guess: It was an octagon with four windows in the south and east and four mirrors on the opposite sides. The ceiling was a flat cupola with a fresco - the birth of Venus …”

“Yes!” Hermione turned on her belly and looked at him. “And there was a beautiful fireplace. The mantelpiece was like a shell and on the right side was a mermaid and on the left …” She seemed to dig in her memory.

“Poseidon with a dolphin,” Albus smiled at her.

“Yes! And there was a big desk in the middle of the room with a chair on every side …” Hermione remembered. “Is it a real room, Albus? Do you know it?”

“Do you want to see it?” he gave back.

II’d love to! Where is it? Here at Hogwarts?”

“No.” Albus shook his head. “Hogwarts is pure, early Gothic. But this room is rococo - as is the entire house it is in. The room was my parents’ study - therefore the big desk and the two chairs. They used to work together there. Now it’s my study when I’m at home during the breaks. But my mother’s chair is still there and I think it will become yours if you want to join me at the hall in summer.”

“Oh, I’d love to! Only …” Hermione once again chewed on her under lip. “Albus - I mean I know an apprentice actually doesn’t get a break, but … I mean … don’t get me wrong: I love working with you and I love being at Hogwarts and I’ll certainly love to join you at your home, but …”

“… you’ll miss me terribly during the time you won’t be with me in summer.” He chuckled. “Four weeithoithout you getting a chance to argue and to rant with me, four weeks you can’ts mes me around, four weeks without you kicking me out of bed on Sunday in the morning, four weeks without searching out my glasses for me. I hope you’ll survive. I know you’ll cry in your pillows every night, but I can’t help it. You will have to bear without me in July.”

“Four weeks?” Hermione sounded amazed. “I wanted to ask you if I could spend a week with my parents in France. They’ve rented a house there. I’d have never demanded four weeks! I mean it’s terribly generous of you, but we have a lot of work to do during the summer, so I think …”

“Whatever you think, Piccola - forget about!” Albus laughed. “You wouldn’t demand four weeks off, but I do. I’ve promised to visit my godson and he’s a rather unconventional fellow who lives with his Muggle wife and five pretty lively kids on a little island in Spain. He works with mermen and he lives in a funny house right on the beach. It’s a lovely place, but it’s certainly not one where Aurelia would like to stay. You probably would - but taking you with me and leaving her behind I’d hardly survive. She was already pretty cross because I’m to disappear for this two weeks to Spain. I only could make up in promising her two weeks in Egypt afterwards. And …,” he tipped teasingly with his finger against the tip of Hermione’s nose, “… even knowing that you’d like nothing better than to push this pretty nose of youn evn every pyramid and grave available - I don’t think Aurelia would approve of your company there. She’d probably try to feed me to the first crocodile she’d meet if I’d bring you.”

Hermione sighed. “I’d wish I could get better along with Madame Willington.”

Albus rose. “I’m starving, Hermione. It’s time for dinner. And about Aurelia don’t worry. It’s not your fault she doesn’t like you much. She doesn’t like Minerva, either. It seems to be my fate that the ladies surrounding me aren’t entirely compatible. Yet I won’t complain about. If Aurelia would join your little club for bossing me around I’d never have a quiet moment anymore.”

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


With a sigh Albus switched the water on and stepped under the lukewarm spray, closing his eyes and raising his face. Relieved, he felt how the water ran over his hair and forehead, washing the unpleasant sticky feeling away. Pushing his way through the heavily crowded wizard’s district of Cairo, carrying shopping bags and sweating in his robes - spending his last day in Egypt this day surely hadn’t been his heart’s desire. And how Aurelia could have entertained herself so thoroughly by visiting every single robe and shoe shop in the entire wizarding city - and Cairo was the greatest magical community in the world! - was way beyond him. He liked a bit of shopping now and then, but Merlin’s balls - not for hours, not under a blazing sun and with a hot wind blowing sand from the desert through the streets and certainly not when wearing heavy robes. For him one of the light, silken shirts the natives used to wear would have done. But not for Aurelia Willington. She’d insisted on a blue robe over a long, white shirt, saying that she wouldn’t want to be seen with some one who looked like an “Arab just fallen down from his camel after a long ride through the desert”. And her sense of propriety had even made for him wearing socks and boots because “a gentlewizard never shows his naked feet outside his bedroom”d thd that, so she’d said, she’d actually expected him to know himself and sometimes she really wondered where he’d gotten his upbringing! “But your mother came from Italy, didn’t she?” Aurelia had said as if this would explain all shortcomings she’d found in him during the last fortnight.

Heavens, how fed up he was after this 14 days! What he’d planned as a romance under the Egyptian sun had become - no, not a night mare bee the this would have demanded he’d take it seriously. But the last daad mad made entirely clear to him that Aurelia Willington and he weren’t made for each other. Beside their mutual passion they had nothing in common - and even the passion had faded over the last days.

Albus knew it was his fault - and he even knew that his keeping back or even refusing advances had made for the growing animosity between the blonde witch and himself. Aurelia Willington was a proud woman and she didn’t take it with a smile when her lover refused to share her bed. But he couldn’t help it. He regretted hurting her, he even was sad about their relationship falling apart more and more, but he simply couldn’t stop it.

Perhaps he really was becoming too old now, but during the last nights with Aurelia he’d always felt as if he was acting in a play about love and passion. And he definitely felt too old for the role of the stormy lover. He didn’t want to pretend to feel burning passion when he actually longed for some tenderness; he didn’t want to pretend feeling a need for her only because she demanded that as a tribute to her beauty. He was used to respecting women, he was willing to admire and to appreciate a woman who was with him, but he definitely didn’t like to play day and night the role of the adorer, laying at her lily white feet and kissing the floor they were trotting on. He never needed to bed a goddess to prove his manhood to himself. What he wanted and longed for was a partner, some one who wasn’t only his mistress, but his friend; someone who didn’t want him on his knees, but on the same level, eye to eye. He didn’t need some one who dwelled on him being the war hero and the mightzardzard, but wanted to be appreciated as the man; the living, breathing man with all his fault and follies; as a man who needed comfort when the nightmares were disturbing his sleep and when the thought of all the mistakes he’d made during his life made him feel depressed. Over the last few days he’d learned something: He didn’t want some one to touch his skin. He needed some one who’d be able to get under it and he didn’t want to rest on breasts anymore, but on a heart again.

“Albus?” Aurelia’s voice broke in his thought. She sounded cross once again and even a bit shrill.

With a sigh he switched the shower off. Couldn’t she leave him his peace for at least a few minutes?

“ALBUS!” Now she sounded infuriated. But her voice wasn&#;t t;t the only sound he heard. There was something else - a rustle of wings and a crackling.

“Fawkes?” Albus was out of the shower in an instant andhouthout bothering to dry he sprinted in the living room of the suite. Aurelia was standing in the middle, wand out and looking furious at the phoenix who circled over her head.

“Why did you let this terrible bird come here? You promised me you wouldn’t bother me with him anymore!” Aurelia yel

Albus didn’t answer her. Seeing Fawkes he felt his stomach cramp. He’d left the phoenix with Minerva because Aurelia couldn’t stand him. Minerva sending Fawkes now could only mean that something bad had happened. So he stretched his arm and commanded: “Down, Fawkes!”

The bird looked at Aurelia, crackled once again - and even Albus couldn’t have denied: Fawkes sounded malicious. Settling down on Albus’ arm, he presented him his leg on which a letter was tied. With trembling fingers Albus untied the little roll of parchment and, marching back to the bedroom to get his spectacles, unrolled it.

Recognizing Minerva’s neat handwriting, he started to read: “Dear Albus,” his deputy had written, “I’m sorry to bother you during your holidays, but I’ve just got an owl from Mrs Granger, telling me that her husband and Hermione had an accident with his car. While Mr Granger only suffered minor injuries, Hermione seems to be worse. Her mother tells me, that she was transported to a Muggle hospital. Not knowing Hermione’s parents I didn’t want to do anything without your advice, but you certainly can imagine how worried Augustus and I are. Yours - Minerva.”

Albus closed for a second his eyes. Hermione injured - and in a Muggle hospital! He had to help her - as soon as possible. Turning around he marched back in the living room where Aurelia sat, pretending to read a magazine.

“Aurelia, I’m afraid I have to go back to England immediately,” he said. “Hermione was injured in a car accident …”

Aurelia threw the magazine on the table. “And why shall this be your concern?” she asked. “Can’t the girl look after herself? Or can’t your deputy …”

Albus raised his hand. “Hermione is my entientice. I’m supposed to look after her. And so I will. I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“Perhaps you should dress before,” Aurelia said sarcastic. “I know your relationship to your apprentice 30;&30;” she spoke the word with venom, “… is very close, but appearing to her in this state - one could find it inappropriate, you know?”

Albus didn’t answer. He was already on his way back in the bedroom. Taking his wand from the nightstand, he directed it at the wardrobe and cast a spell. While the door of the wardrobe opened and his clothes started to jump in a trunk, he slipped in a fresh robe. As he closed the last button on it, his belongings were packed and the trunk had just closed with a cheerful clunk. Albus shrank it to the size of a matchbox, put it in an inner pocket of his robe and looked at the phoenix, who sat on the window sill. “Ready, Fawkes - let’s go. You know where Hermione is, don’t you?”

The phoenix chirped and came to him. Albus gripped his tail feathers, a flame burst out and then he was whirling through time and space, landing only a few seconds afterwards in a backyard between dustbins. Looking around, Albus sighed. “Sometimes you’ve funny ideasut gut getting close to a destination, Fawkes!” Looking around he discovered that the backyard belonged to a Victorian building - obviously the Muggle hospital Hermione was in. Albus wrinkled his forehead, concentrated and crooked his finger. His dark red robe changed and became a light grey Muggle suit with a white shirt and a blue tie. Feeling presentable now, he left the backyard and, marching along a dark little alley, made his way to the entrance of the building where a lit sign told him that he was to enter the Royal Free Hospital.

At the counter in the hall a man sat behind a computer monitor. Albus approached him and asked for Hermione. Bored the porter nodded, then he looked at his monitor: “Fifth floor, room 526.”

“Thank you very much.” Albus bowed his head and rushed to the lift.

Two minutes later he knocked at the door of room 526. An older woman with short, grey hair and honey brown eyes opened it. She obviously recognized him at once. “Headmaster - how good of you to come. We thought you were iypt!ypt!”

“I was in Egypt. But now I’m here. Good evening, Doctor Granger.”

“Albus!” A familiar, but weak voice sounded out of the room. “I’m so glad you’re here!” Hermione braced herself on her elbows, smiling at him. Her father, a bald headed man with nice, brown eyes, stood next to her, holding her hand and looking miserable.

Albus felt a wave of relief. Hermione was pale, but obviously not too badly injured. Smiling at her father, he greeted him: “Good evening, Doctor Granger.” He made a beeline to the bed. “What, pray tell me, are you doing here? Can’t I turn my back without you getting yourself in trouble?” he teased her.

Hermione obviously wasn’t too unwell. She batted her eyelids. “I didn’t do anything, master!”

“What happened?” he demanded to know, now sounding serious.

“A drunken idiot drove into Daddy’r,&#r,” Hermione sighed. “And I broke my leg. Albus …?”

“Hmm?” He smiled at her.

“Can you get me out of here?” She whispered. “They want to do an operation on my leg tomorrow! I don’t think I’d like that.”

He twinkled at her. “Not keen for having such an interesting experience?”

20;W20;Would you like somebody cutting off your leg?” she asked back.

Her father who’d followed the dialogue broke in. “Hermione said a mediwitch …” he almost stumbled about the strange word, “could probably help her without an operation. We only didn’t know how to get her one. And I could hardly tell the policemen who picked us up that my daughter is a witch and needs to go to a hospital for magical people.”

“Don’t worry, Mister Granger. We’ll get Hermione back in shape in no time. I just don’t know how we are to get her out of here without my having to Obliviate a hundred people. Any suggestions, Hermione?” Albus asked.

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip - as always when thinking hard. “Hmm - if we’d say I’m to go to a private hospital? Then they would have to release me.”

“That sounds like an idea,” Albus praised her.

“But not a very good one.” Dorothy Granger had closed the door and was now coming to the bed. “With her broken leg Hermione can’t simply walk away. We’d need an ambulance and ambulance men - and then we’d have Hermione out of here, but how would we get her out of the ambulance and into a magical hospital?”

“The broken leg isn’t a problem,” Albus said. “But how many ambulance men we would need?”

“Two,” Simon Granger said.

“Hmm. That can be done …” Albus took his spectacles down and massaged his nose. “To alter two people’s memories isn’t a problem. But where does one get an ambulance car with two ambulance men?”

Hermione smiled at him. “Never been sick at the Muggle world, great master? It’s actually not a problem. You only have to wait for a moment next to a hospital. Then you’ll get your ambulance car with the drivers in it.”

“Sounds good.” Albus thought for a moment, then he looked at Hermione’s father. “Mister Granger - I’ll probably need your help. And yours, Mistress Granger. If you would tell the healer or who ever is competent in such a case that we’re taking Hermione to another hospital, your husband and I would organise an ambulance …” He walked to the window and opened it. “And in the meantime Hermione will get healed.”

“Fawkes?” Her eyes were beaming. “You think he’ll heal me?”

“Certainly!” Albus looked out in the dark. He hadn’t to wait for long - it only took a few seconds, then he heard a rustle of wings and felt the familiar weight of his phoenix on his arm. Fawkes had made himself invisible, but as Albus took him in, the phoenix appeared with a flame, flew immediately to Hermione’s bed, sat down neo heo her and nibbled affectionately on her ear. Albus smiled. “He’s completely besotted with you. I could become jealous. He never nibbles so nicely at my ear.”

“That’s only because you’re too lazy to walk him.” Hermione stroked tenderly Fawkes neck.

“Whatever!” Albus looked at Hermione’s father. “Shall we, Mister Granger?”


Walking out of the hospital and into the little alley next to the back yard, Albus had to suppress a chuckle. Hermione had told him that her parents found magic still “a bit overwhelming”. When it came to her father this was obviously an understatement. The Muggle dentist Simon Granger looked as if he couldn’t believe what happened to him. And his mind was obviously working in overdrive because as soon as he found himself alone with Albus, he showered him with questions about why he wanted to get an ambulance, and where he’d take Hermione, and if he really could alter memories, and “ … this magnificent bird of yours - how can it help my girl?”

Albus smiled. Granger senior with his eagerness and curiosity reminded him of Hermione. “That bird of mine is a phoenix,” he started to answer. “He’s got magic of his own. Part of it is his tears. They have healing powers.”

“So you can heal every injury and sickness with using a phoenix?” the Muggle dentist asked.

“No.” Albus lent against the wall of a garden, watching the deserted street. He hoped Hermione was right and that sooner or later an ambulance would drive through. “We can’t use phoenixes to heal everything because they don’t obey orders. They decide for themselves who they heal. And they can’t heal everything. If the injuries are too great or too deep, Phoenix’ tears aren’t enough.”

“Ah so. But this phoenix - it belongs to you, doesn’t it?” Simon Granger wanted to know.

“Only because he wants to,” Albus explained. “Phoenixes like to be with wizards, but they chose their wizards themselves. If Fawkes would want to leave me, I couldn’t keep him back.” He chuckled. “He picked me up when I was 19 - and my mother always said then I’d be his pet and she’d only wait for the day Fawkes would provide me with a dog tag stating ‘Albus is mine’.”

“And here I always thought Hermione’s cat was strange!” Simon Granger said. “But what about this ambu ….”

He couldn’t finish because just at this moment an ambulance appeared at the end of the alley. “You wait here, please!” Albus ordered the Muggle. Pulling his wand out, he waited until the white and red car just passed him. incaincantation and the engine went off. “Let’s hope they don’t have a patient inside,” Albus murmured, marched to the ambulance and opened its backdoor. Relieved he saw that it was empty. He climbed in and found himself eye in eye with a round ambulance man who cried: “What do you think you were doing?”

“Sorry, gentlemen, but I need to borrow your car for a moment …” Albus directed his wand at the man and sent him into a deep sleep. His colleague, who sat behind the wheel and looked, terrified, at the wizard, joined him only a few seconds later. Directing his wand once again at the sleeping men, Albus commanded “mobilicorpus!” Both ambulance men slowly floated out of the vehicle. Albus propped them neatly against the wall he’d leaned against before, cast a warming and a shielding charm over them, making them vanish - at least to Muggle eyes - with it.

“Mister Granger - may I change your appearance now?”

“Uh …” Simon Granger looked a bit frightened.

“It won’t hurt,” Albus promised him, directed his wand at Hermione’s father and changed his clothes into an ambulance man’s attire. Casting the same charm on himself, he made an inviting gesture to the car. “Do you want to drive or shall I?”

“Ah …” Simon Granger was obviously on a loss for words.

Albus found the situation by now rather amusing. 20;B20;Borrowing” an ambulance to save a damsel in distress certainly was more fun than to sit through another boring evening with Aurelia and the friends she’d met in Cairo. Besides, Albus really had missed his apprentice. He looked forward for having her back - only he had to get her out of the hospital first. So he climbed behind the wheel - Simon Granger obviously didn’t want to drive - started the engine and drove, happily humming - he’d always liked driving - back to the entrance of the hospital. Casting a disguise charm over the still gaping Simon Granger - he only altered the form of his nose and gave him a mop of blonde hair - and making himself looking a few decades younger he gave his Muggle companion a little push. “Let’s move on!” Shoving the stretcher in the hall, he didn’t this time bother with the porter, but marched straight to the lift.

As they got to the fifth floor he heard Hermione’s mother’s voice. She was just thanking a nurse. Albus grinned inwardly, but made a serious face as he rolled the stretcher into room 526.

Fawkes had already disappeared, but Hermione was waiting. She looked much better already, but wrinkled her forehead when she saw the two strangers. Cautiously she asked: “Albus? Dad?”

“Yes, Hermione!” Her father had found his voice again. “How are you?”

“Wonderful! I could do a waltz!” Hermione jumped out of the bed.

“He - don’t overdo!” warned her father.

“Don’t forget: You have to act the patient. So up on the stretcher with you!” Albus commanded.

Hermione hopped on the stretcher. “Let’s go!” she said cheerfully.

Back on the floor her mother approached the procession. In the contrast to Hermione who obviously fought against a need to laugh loudly, Dorothy Granger produced the appropriate worried expression and her voice sounded grave as she asked: “May I accompany my daughter?”

“Of course!” Albus smiled at her.

Shoving the stretcher in the lift and then through the hall, packing it in the ambulance and driving away was children’s play. As the car rolled around the corner and into the little alley, Albus smiled over his shoulder at Hermione who sat on the stretcher, grinning like the famous Cheshire cat. “ke bke being a witch!” she said beaming.

Albus laughed. “Really?” Stopping the car and switching off the engine, he turned around. “I wouldn’t have thought of that.” Pulling out a handkerchief - this time a bright red one - he said: “I think it’s best I conjure a portkey back to your place for all of you. And I’ll look after the ambulance …” Directing his wand at the handkerchief, he commanded: “Portus!”

Hermione chewed once again at her bottom lip. “You’ll come too when you’re done with the ambulance?” she asked.

“If you want me to …” Albus liked the idea. He didn’t want to separate from Hermione already.

“Fine.” She smiled at him, and then she looked at her parents. “Mummy, Daddy? I think it’s best we’ll get out of here. We have all to touch the portkey to activate it.”

“Ahem …” Simon Granger sounded a bit awkward. “Headmaster, you’re sure you don’t need my help anymore?”

“No, thank you, Mister Granger. I’ll just look after our two sleeping friends and then I’ll join you at your place.” Albus was already in the back of the car, lending Dorothy Granger a hand for climbing out, while Simon Granger helped Hermione.

Dorothy Granger smiled at Albus. “I’m so glad you came, Professor. Thank you very much for helping Hermione! And I look forward to see you at our place.”

“I look forward for getting there.” Albus directed his wand at Simon Granger. “Just a moment - I have to change you back.” Murmuring an incantation, he took the disguise away.

Simon Granger starred at him out of huge eyes. “You know, I still find it unbelievable.” He tugged at his shirt. “This magic …”

“Dad!” Herm sou sounded a bit impatient. “Let’s go. You’ll see Albus again in a few minutes, then you can ask questions to your heart’s content.”

Albus grinned. “I’m used to answering a thousand of questions. I’m working with Hermione after all …”

“Yes, of course …” Simon Granger gripped a bit hesitantly the handkerchief Hermione and his wife were holding.

“One, two …” Hermione started the count down and by doing so, her smile became a broad grin. “By the way, Albus: You’re making a nice Weasley!” Not waiting for an answer, she cried: “Three!” The portkey became active and with a “swish” the three Grangers were gone.

Albus laughed. This exit was so typical for Hermione! Still smiling, he put the both sleeping beauties back in their ambulance. Starting the engine he woke them, altered their memories - they’d think they’d been blocked by a car and therefore had to wait - and apparated into the garden of the Granger residence.

Hermione opened immediately the door. She obviously had waited to hear the “pop” of his apparition. He grinned at her and stroking his spread fingers through his still-auburn hair, he wiped the disguise away, saying: “You were wrong, young lady. I don’t make a nice Weasley, but a handsome Dumbledore.”

“You were a redhead, too?” Hermione was amazed. “I’ve always thought of you as a blonde, blue-eyed Nordic hero.” Letting him in the house, she suddenly became serious. “I’m sorry you were bothered about me. I didn’t want to disturb your holiday in Egypt.”

Albus smiled at her. “I’m glad I’m back …” he stated.

Hermione blushed slightly. “So am I. I … I missed you …. a bit,” she said awkwardly.

“Hermione?” Dorothy Granger looked out of a door. “Ask your master in!” She smiled at Albus. “Did you have dinner already, Headmaster?”

“Please, Doctor Granger - call me Albus! And no, I haven’t had dinner.”

“Then you must be starving, Albus. Please, stay with us for dinner. My husband is cooking - and we’d like so much to have you as our guest. Hermione has talked so much about you, it feels already as if you were a member of our family,” Dorothy Granger said.

Albus bent his head. “I feel honoured - by your invitation and by feeling like a member of such a nice family …”


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


With a soft “pop” Hermione apparated under a tree only a few steps away from the terrace of a beautiful, sun-yellow painted Chateau. Looking up to the terrace where pots with palms and flowers moved in the soft wind and deck chairs with bright, blue cushions waited for some one to lounge in, she smiled. Just as - so beautiful and bright - she had imagined Dumbledore Hall would be. And it was as if just looking at the house would give her a sense of peace and calmness.

The last four weeks Hermione had spent with her parents hadn’t been easy for her. Although she loved her mother and fat father dearly and although she knew she was beloved by them too - the Grangers and their daughter lived in different worlds. However they tried to connand and to share as much as possible, and as much as Hermione’s parents tried to accept their daughter’s decision to spend her life in the magical world - Hermione felt sometimes guilty. She was well aware that she hadn’t become the daughter her parents had dreamed of. Although they’d never uttered a word of complaint – the sensitive girl Hermione was sensed that the Grangers sometimes felt as if the magical world had taken from them the joys other parents were having with their children. While their friends had attended parent’s days at their children’s schools and sat in concerts and theatre plays and sport events, the Grangers had never seen Hogwarts. And even worse: They always had to tell lies to their friends - like Hermione attending an “International school” in France for learning languages. Even close relatives like Hermione’s grandmother didn’t know that she was a witch and so her parents had probably often felt isolated by keeping their daughter’s secret.

At the same time, Hermione had needed to grow up quicker than other children. Most of the decisions she’d made since she’d come to Hogwarts she’d made without seeking her parent’s advice. She had known that they couldn’t help her with deciding which classes she should take hichhich books she should buy. And Hermione hadn’t spoken much with her parents about the war. She didn’t want to worry them.

Even in minor things, her parent’s hadn’t been a big part of her life. Other girls asked their mothers which dress they should wear to their first dance, they even went shopping together. But what would Muggle dentist Dorothy Granger have known about robes? She didn’t even get the chance to buy her daughter the first lipstick or to tell her off for using too much make up - Hermione never used lipstick, and for the rare times she wanted to show off, she cast make-up charms and used potions.

So the time in the house her parents had rented over the summer at the sea had been difficult for Hermione. She had wanted to feel close to her parents, but there had hardly been a conversation without awkward pauses. The Grangers talking about politics - Hermione’s mother had always been an observant and opinionated woman - had always sooner or later led to a dead end because Hermione didn’t know much about Muggle politics. Talking about sports produced the same problem - Hermione’s father loved golf and soccer. The only sport Hermione knew at least a bit about was quidditch, but her parents had never seen a quidditch match. Even the subject “TV” hadn’t helped much - though Hermione liked to watch Muggle television now and then, her parents rarely did. And her little sister wasn’t much help either. She was 17 now - and the first days of the holidays she’d spent sulking because she missed her boyfriend. Then she’d met a nice French boy and from then on she was rarely seen during the day for the rest of their stay.

Hermione and her parents had tried to chat over harmless things, they’d tried to show closeness in talking about the memories of the years before Hermione had gone to Hogwarts - but this had shown Hermione even more clearly how unhappy her mother and her father were still about the fact that their daughter was a witch.

So Hermione had spent a lot of time with reading and walking on the beach for herself. But she’d felt lonely doing so. And thinking about whom she missed most, she’d discovered that while she missed her friends - Ron, Harry and especially Ginny - she longed even more to be back at her master’s side. The laughter they shared, the cheerfulness he brought into her life, the warmth, the acceptance, and the affection he showed her - he’d become more than just her master. Despite their difference in age, experience and upbringing - Hermione had come to see him as a friend. And in a way, he even was closer to her than her other friends because he shared not only her love for their work, but seemed to understand her in a way no one else ever had done. With Ron and Harry she’d gotten used to explaining in clear and direct words when she needed to be understood. With Ginny she didn’t need to talk so much, but nevertheless, Ginny was the offspring of a wizard and a witch who felt entirely at home in the magical world, who didn’t know the other one. She’d probably never understood how difficult it was for Hermione that she wasn’t only an outsider in the magical, but in the Muggle world, too.

Albus seemed to understand it. She never had to explain anything to him. A hint - and sometimes not even spoken, but only given through a gaze - was usually enough. Yet the best thing about this understanding was that it worked the other way round, too. On some days the sound of his steps on the stairs in front of the lab were enough to tell her what mood he was in, and in staff conferences she only had to look at him for a moment to know how he felt about something.

“Miss Hermione?” In front of her a house elf, wearing a light blue tea towel with the Dumbledore family crest on it, hopped excited from one leg to the other. “I is Jemy and master said I is to be Miss Hermione’s personal servant.”

“Oh …” Hermione was a bit surprised. She’d gotten used to house elves and she’d even learned that the tiny creatures liked nothing better than serving witches and wizards. And of course, she had known that Albus as the last descendant of a noble and wealthy wizard’s family owned house elves, but nevertheless she hadn’t thought of getting one as a personal servant. “That’s nice,” she said therefore a bit awkwardly. “I’m sure we’ll get along …”

“Yes!” The elf clapped in her little hands. “Jemy will be a good servant to Miss Hermione. I is good with clothes and running bathes and serving meals …”

“I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully,” Hermione said politely. “And I’ve already an order for you. Could you tell the master that I’m here?”

The long ears of the elf flapped down and the big, round eyes suddenly looked sad. “Oh!” whined the creature. “Jemy can’t! Master didn’t think Miss Hermione would come so early. Master’s gone to the cove. Jemy can’t go there. Jemy is afraid of the wild water and the merpeople …”

“Then you don’t have to go there,” Hermione assured the elf. She considered for a moment. She really was early - she’d always hated prolonged farewells, therefore she’d left her parents’ house directly after breakfast. “Could you tell me where I can find the cove?” she asked the elf.

“Oh yes, Miss Hermione!” Now Jemy’s ears were up again. “You only must follow thth tth through the rose garden until you come to the little terrace over the sea. Then you’ll sit on the bench there and it will get you to the cove where master is.”

“Thanks. I’ll go there. See you later, Jemy!”

On her way through the beautiful rose garden Hermione could already hear and smell the sea. Its salty fragrance mixed with the sweet smell from the roses and Hermione breathed deeply, smiling at it. She’d never been in Cornwall before, but what she’d seen until now made her like this part of England very much.

At the end of the rose garden on a little terrace Hermione found a stone bench, looking out over the sea, which gleamed silvery in the morning sun, almost blinding in its brightness. Yet the terrace was high over the water on a cliff. Hermione looked around. No path or stairs lead down to the waterfront. Yet Jemy had said she’d have to sit down on the bench and so Hermione did, waiting to see what would happen next.

It only took a few seconds. Then the ground in front of the bench opened and Hermione looked down in a shaft so deep she couldn’t see the bottom. The bench started hovering, moved over thaft aft and then sank slowly down into it until it landed softly in a cave that opened to a platform. Hermione moved outside onto it, and found three stone steps leading to a cove which was surrounded by high cliffs, but very inviting with its fine, white sand. Near the rocks at the left a group of grey granite stones reached to the water line. On one lay a bright blue wizard’s robe. Hermione smiled at it and climbing up on the sun-warmed stone, she looked out at the sea. It rolled slightly, the waves foaming over the sand of the cove, every now and then a veil of water splashed up against the stone Hermione was sitting on. She didn’t see Albus, but she felt he was nearby. So she took off her shoes and socks, rolled her jeans up, and let her feet dangle down in the pleasantly warm water.

She didn’t have to wait long. Her feet were just getting wet when she’d heard a splash and a cheerful, familiar voice: “Come in - or can’t you swim?”

Albus was only a few feet away from her and now he came closer, gliding through the water as if it were his element. When he’d almost reached the rock where Hermione sat, he turned on his back, kicked his legs and showered her with water.

“Albus!” Hermione cried82208220;Now I’m all wet and so is your robe!”

“Then come in and join me! It’s lovely!”

Hermione shook her head. “I can’t. My swimsuit is in my trunk and it’s still shrunk.”

“Oh sweet Merlin!” Albus roared, raised his hands and then disappeared diving. For a moment he was completely under the water, then his head came out again and he looked at Hermione. “I’m going to drown myself!” he announced.

Hermione grinned. “Only because I don’t want to join you? Don’t you think you’re overdoing it a bit?”

“Never!” Once again he dived and came up again. “I’m drowing myself because my reputation will be ruined when people learn that I’ve got an apprentice who can’t change a shirt to a swimsuit! And here I’ve always thought you’re clever!”

Hermione slapped her hand against her forehead. The four weeks in the Muggle world really had spoiled her. She hadn’t even thought of changing her shirt! But now she slipped out of her jeans and directed her wand against herself. Murmuring a quick spell, she changed her shirt to a top and her knickers in matching shorts. “You don’t must drown yourself, master,” she called then. “I’m not without any talent.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.” Albus came closer, looking at her. “How’s with your leg?” he asked.

“It’s fine.” Hermione glided in the water and swam a few strokes. Turning on her back, she looked up at the sky where one single, white cloud sailed. “Fawkes was wonderful. By the way, where is he?”

“When I last saw him, he was sitting on a tree in the garden and sulking,” Albus answered. “He always does for a few days when I dare to travel without him. He only was with me yesterday because of you. But since you’re safe he never spoke a single word to me since.”

“Ah?” Hermione laughed. “You speak with each other? I didn’t know.”

“We only do in secret.” Albus grinned. “Man to phoenix talks, you know? He tells me everything about the birds he meets, I tell him everything about …”

“And then you travel without him? Albus, Albus - you mustn’t wonder he feels neglected. You hurt him!”

Albus, who had turned on his back, too, and was floating next to Hermione, sighed. “Don’t talk to me about neglect and being hurt! I’ve got daily lectures on these subjects over the last two weeks. Following them I learned that I’m as insensitive as a brick wall, have the emotional depth of a flabberworm - though I wonder how Madame knows about their finer feelings - and manners like a drunken mountain troll.”

Hermione laughed out loud. “I’d say Madame forgot to add: You’ve got a funny taste when it comes to your travelling company. You really should have taken Fawkes with you instead of Madame Willington.”

Albus twinkled at her. “Would you have stood up to me if I’d have been charged for having an inappropriate relationship with a magical bird?”

“What?” Hermione shook her head. “Who ever could come to such an idiotic idea?”

Albus chuckled, cheerfully splattering water. “You remember Dolores Umbridge?”

“Icks!” Hermione remembered the former minister’s under secretary who’d once tried to take over the Hogwarts headmastership only too well. The toad like witch ranked still lather high on her list of people she would never want to meet again. “Did she really try to accuse you of that?” she asked.

Albus nodded and kicked his legs again. “Yes, she did. One point on her rather long list of accusations against me was my inappropriate relationship with Fawkes. She’d found a pretty obscure book which maintained that phoenixes were in fact no birds, but fire demons in disguise. As such they like nothing better than to seduce wizards …”

“Huuh!” Hermione looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “Is that why you don’t like trousers? You need a healthy breeze around your privates for cooling them off after your hot nights with your pet fire demon?”

“Damn!” Albus grinned - and with one quick move he was next to her, gripping her ankle and pulling her to him. “I’m terribly sorry, Hermione and I’m really going to miss you. But after you’ve discovered my dirty secret, I don’t have another choice. I have to drown you.”

He tried to get her under water, but Hermione had been prepared. She used her free leg to get him under his arm, tickling his armpit with her toes. He immediately started giggling and let her ankle lose.

Hermione fled. Swimming as quickly as she could, she called: “Catch me if you can!”

Albus tried in jumping after her, but Hermione managed to dive away as he tried to match her angle. Changing direction under water, she came in at his back and tickled him with her fingers on the neck. “You’re not quick enough!”

He turned around. “One could almost think you’d want to provoke me. But you’re a clever girl, aren’t you? You wouldn’t try.”

“Never!” Hermione grinned, turned on her back and used her toes for tickling his side.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk - the children nowadays! No respect for ripe age anymore! But I’ll teach you!” He crooked his fingers and suddenly Hermione felt as if an invisible rope would pull her to him. She tried to fight against, swimming away, but his spell was stronger and drove her in his arms. Lifting her out of the water, he grinned down at her, his eyes as blue as the sky over him. “What am I to do with you? Ah - I think I’ve got an idea …”

“Spoilsport!” Hermione sulked. “Using wandless magic is unfair!”

“Jealous because you can’t?” He pulled her a bit closer and before Hermione got a chance to do anything against, she felt the familiar tug of a joined apparition around her navel, and then, only for a second, a spin and a whirl. With a soft “plop” he apparated with her on the beach of the cove and, bending his knees, almost tenderly laid her down in the sand. But then he was over her and rolled her over and she felt how the sand stuck all over her wet body.

“Uuuh!” she cried.

Albus laughed. “Coated Hermione - you look nice as a sand worm, really.”

“Albus, you’re impossible!” Hermione jumped on her feet and in the water to get rid off the sand. Turning around she looked at him how he stood on the cove, his bluek shk shorts clinging to his hips.

Except for her visit in the hospital she’d never seen him other than covered from neck to toe in rather heavy fabric and she’d never thought about the man under the clothes. But now she registered, almost amazed, that his body didn’t look old. The skin over his strong shoulders and arms was smooth and creamy with a few cute freckles, which showed that he’d been a true redhead once. The muscles underneath were well-defined and his chest was broad. Although he’d got only a few silver hairs on his chest he looked manly with still firm and obviously well-trained pectoral muscles. Since the war’s end he’d gained weight again, but Hermione found that the rather round belly suited him. She’d never liked bony men and Victor, small and gaunt as he had to be as a quidditch seeker, had never met her ideal of a man.

Yet Albus came close. His long, amazingly straight legs, in contrast to his smooth arms and the almost hairless chest were covered with auburn down, the narrow hips - despite his advanced age he was still handsome man and Hermione suddenly understood that his lady friends certainly didn’t just like his wits, manners, charm and intelligence, but his strong body, too. And considered his empathy, his gentleness, his sensitivity, his temper and the fact that he liked women - Hermione was sure: This mixture made for a great lover.

Thinking about it made her suddenly feeling sad. Why was he so old? And why was she so terribly young? She would never have thought it, but now she almost envied Aurelia Willington - not for the relationship she was having with Albus, but for the fact that she could have it. Thinking of the men of her own generation, Hermione always wanted to sigh. She simply couldn’t imagine that Ron, clumsy Ron, who had as much empathy as a dragon with a toothache, would ever become a man like Albus. And Harry - as much as she liked him and as much as she always admired his bravery - who’s biggest ambition was now to people the world with as much little Potters as his beautiful, but silly, wife Padma could provide him with, wasn’t one for greatness either. He had had his biggest moment at the age of 17 as he’d defeated Voldemort. Since then he’d embraced mediocrity with more passion as he’d ever shown to his wife.

Thinking of Victor then made Hermione sigh even more. He certainly didn’t lack intelligeand and he was, as he’d proven more then once, a powerful wizard. The problem with him was that his outstanding talent for quidditch had always stood in his way. As child of very poor Bulgarian wizards it had been his skills as a quidditch seeker who’d made him famous at the age of 13. At 15 he’d became the seeker of the Bulgarian national team and only two years later he’d quit his magical education and started his career as a professional quidditch player. Since then he’d earned a lot of money and fame. Hermione knew he would never do anything else but quidditch. The day he would have to quit playing actively, he’d become a coach. An interest in books he’d never develop, he would never understand why Hermione was so fascinated by science and he’d certainly never become a great wizard.

But it probably was unfair for Hermione to compare her friends with Albus. He was unique - not only as a wizard, but as a character too.

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

The house was like a Mozart symphony. Hermione, who’d always connected buildings to music - which made for Hogwarts becoming an organ sonata by Bach, majestic and beautiful in its clearness - had immediately fallen in love with brigbrightness, elegance and cheerfulness. Albus had given her the grand tour, including the big library where thousand of books on white and golden shelves waited for some one who’d sit down on the cosy chairs in front of the fire place, reading some of them. And the huge ballroom with its polished floor and the gleaming mirrors on the walls only seemed to wait for guests and Hermione thought she could see dancers in rococo costumes with white powdered hair movthrothrough the complicated figures of a minuet, bowing to each other and holding hands. And although she’d never been much into dancing - she suddenly felt herself longing to wearing a robe with a wide, flowing skirt and waltzing through this beautiful room.

And then the salons - the first one, decorated in yellow and blue, reminded Hermione of the cove - sea and sun. And it had a feminine touch with the country scenes painted on the ceiling and the fragile chairs and sofa on blue and yellow cts. ts. Albus had explained: “This was my mother’s room. She used it to entertain here while father mostly saw guests in the library or the green salon.”

The green salon was next - French green and silver, the Slytherin colours. Hermione had wondered about that. Slytherin was the Hogwarts house that had produced not only Voldemort, but a lot of wizards who’d followed him in his evil ways, too. The Dumbledores and Slytherin looked like an odd connection to her. Saying so, she’d earned a sigh from Albus: “Slytherin, my dear Gryffindor, isn’t only the house of the dark wizards and biased purebloods. Its name stood once for noblesse and pride too. And when you think of Slytherin, then please - think of the head of Slytherin, too. To me Severus is the incorporation of Slytherin virtues. And these virtues made a few Dumbledores Slytherins, too.”

With these words he led her through the double door in to the dinner room where a long table with 12 chairs on each side stood. Hermione looked a bit sceptically at it - and once again Albus proved how well he understood her. Laying his hand on her shoulder, he said: “Don’t worry - I prefer a more intimate atmosphere myself. Therefore, we’ll have our meals on the terrace or in the blue salon.”

Hermione had felt relieved. The idea of sharing the great table with him she hadn’t liked much. But she liked the next room he showed her: The study which she’d already seen in his memory. Only there was something new in it: In the corner near the fireplace laid a big mattress. Seeing it, Hermione sighed. She knew what the mattress was for: She would have to lay down on it during her animagus transformation.

It had become a bit sore subject. After almost two years of preparing, she had with Albus’ help now reached the point were her mind should be strong enough to change her body into the animal form. Yet by coming this far she’d learned which kind of animal she was to become - and this had been a heavy disappointment. Although she’d never hoped for something spectacular - even Minerva McGonagall who certainly was one of the strongest witches in her generation, wasn’t a lioness, but a simple tabby cat - or imposing as Albus’ big white falcon, she didn’t like her form. To think of herself as …. no, she couldn’t do it. It was embarrassing just to think about! And Albus - no, in this case his famous empathy and sensitivity had deserted him. Being connected with her through a legilimens spell, he’d seen her form clearer than she. He was the bystander, she was the one who was in this form - and while she’d still struggled to make out what made her vision of the world so strange, Albus had laughed. Looking at the paws she’d got she’d asked him angrily what he’d found so amusing. He’ugheughed once again - and this had made absolutely clear for her, that she wasn’t something as lovely as a swan or as dignified as Minerva’s cat because Minerva’s form Albus certainly hadn’t commented with: “How cute!”

Asking him - still annoyed - what he found “cute”, he’d shown her how he saw her - and Hermione had almost fainted and for a moment she’d thought he’d played a very elaborate prank on her. It wasn’t possible that she were to become a puppy! And even worse: Her animagus dog obviously didn’t belong to one of the large varieties. She didn’t in the slightest look like Harry’s godfather Sirius whose animagus form had been a big, black, shaggy dog. And Hermione neither a collie nor a wolf hound, but - it really was embarrassing - a very petite Jacsselssell Terrier. And what was even worse: She really looked “cute” with having big red brown and black spots on her white fur and a really funny face: One ear auburn, the other black, the face itself white, but from the black ear a patch of red brown fur reached over her right eye which made her look like a pirate with an eye patch.

Hermione was sure: To like this kind of animagus form immediately one needed something like Albus’ sense of humour. Unfortunately she hadn’t got it and therefore she was sure she’d need a long time get used to being a “cute” puppy.

To be continued …