The Comedy of Errors

The Comedy of Errors

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

Chapter 4: The Thunderstorm


Standing at the window of his bedroom at the Chateau, Albus sighed, took his spectacles off and pressed his index fingers against his temples. The day had been almost unbearably hot. The sun had burnt down without mercy and the motionless sea had looked like molten lead. The heat had slowed down all life in and around the castle. No bird had sung in the garden all day long and even Fawkes, who as a phoenix actually should have been used to fire, hadn’t wanted to visit his lady friend, but had stayed inside, sleeping on the perch in Albus’ study.

Albus and Minerva hadn’t felt much like activity either. In the morning they’d strolled over to the cliffs, enjoying the little wind they got there. But then, after a light lunch, even that wind had died down. Minerva had sighed and got herself a book, sitting down in one of the deck chairs under the old gingko tree in the garden. Albus had started to answer some letters, but he’d sweated in his study, so he had joined Minerva in the garden, where he found her asleep, book and square spectacles in her lap.

He’d sat down next to her, studying her small face. In her sleep her often distant, severe expression was gone; instead she looked relaxed, young and very vulnerable.

During the last few days they’d become very close, and Albus had enjoyed it very much. He couldn’t remember when he’d ever felt so comfortable and at ease with a woman, and he couldn’t remember when he’d even met one with which he had so much in common.

A bolt of lightning flashed over the dark sky, followed by roaring thunder. Albus breathed deeply. The tension in the air had given him a headache, but now the wind was picking up, whistling around the corners of the roof and rattling at the windows. Albus felt relieved. He liked thunderstorms, even knowing that they could become heavy in Cornwall. For him the sound of the roaring sea and the creaking of the trees on the grounds were familiar. It reminded him of his childhood and how he’d sneaked out of his room on the second floor on stormy nights because he loved to feel the wind and the rain on his skin.

But Minerva – she certainly didn’t share his liking of thunderstorms. Albus suddenly remembered a thunderstorm a few years before. It had come up while the inner circle of the Order had been in a meeting. At the first flash Minerva had jumped, paled, and searched for her husband’s hand. She’d really looked frightened and the thunder rolling over the Hogwarts grounds made her shake like a leaf.

Albus put his glasses on again. His headache was almost gone, so he closed the window and grabbed his dressing gown, which hung over a chair in front of the fireplace. He’d already prepared for bed and in summer this meant he was only wearing a pair of silk boxer shorts. Slipping on the dressing gown he marched out into the corridor. Since their conversation on the beach he’d been very careful around Minerva, showing her that he wouldn’t come closer to her than she wished him to, but now he felt a need to look after her. He didn’t intend to enter her bedroom, but knocking at the door and asking her how she felt certainly wouldn’t hurt.

Yet he didn’t get that far. Upon opening his door he heard a soft “meow”. A grey tabby cat with square markings around her eyes looked up at him. Albus smiled and bent down. “Hello, Minerva!” he greeted the cat softly. “I just was on my way to look for you.”

Another flash of lightning and thunder outside made Minerva jump and cringe, and the fur on her back stood straight up. Albus couldn’t help himself. Although he knew that Minerva didn’t like to be treated like a pet, he picked her up, cradling her small cat body softly against his chest. Obviously, a thunderstorm like the one going on outside produced in Minerva a need for closeness. Albus felt how she trembled and how she pressed close to him. “Hush - don’t be afraid!” he said soothingly. “I’m here and I’m holding you and I won’t go away. The storm can’t do anything to you.”

At the next flash, Minerva twitched and dug her claws into Albus’ hand in fear. Still trembling, she licked it immediately, apologizing over the little mark she’d left, her raw little tongue making him giggle.

Walking back in his room and sitting down on the bed, Albus stroked the cat’s back softly. “You didn’t hurt me, Minerva. I’m fine.” He spoke as if he was soothing a frightened child. It worked. The fur smoothed and she pulled her claws in. Softly laying her down on the bed, he bent down to her. “I’m going to block the storm out, my dear,” he promised her and marched over to the windows, closing the heavy velvet curtains.

When he turned around to the bed again, Minerva had changed back in her human form. Looking rather pale, she smiled weakly at him. “Sorry, Albus - I know I’m silly. A thunderstorm really isn’t a reason to fret like a baby. I really should try to overcome this irrational fear of thunderstorms.”

“But your fear gave me a chance to pet you for once,” he said. “And you know I like cats.”

Once again a flash lit the room, but this time the sound of the thunder was muffled through the curtains. Minerva nevertheless shuddered, bit her bottom lip, and wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m really silly,” she said, her voice shaking.

“Would you feel more comfortable in your cat form?” Albus asked softly. “You know, I wouldn’t mind.”

“It’s idiotic, really,” Minerva was annoyed with herself, but couldn’t stop shaking. “But I really feel better when I’m in my cat form. Probably it is because I’m smaller then. It would make it easier to find shelter.” Looking awkwardly at him, she asked, “You really wouldn’t mind having a cat clinging to you? I wouldn’t like to be alone during this storm.”

“You don’t have to, Minerva. But I hope you won’t mind me lying down.”

Minerva smiled sympathetically. “Your back again? It’s said that having a cat’s fur close helps against rheumatics.” She changed and staggered, a bit stiff, but determined, across the bed to give Albus space to lie down.

His back cracked as he stretched, wrapping his dressing gown tight around him. Taking off his spectacles and putting them on the nightstand, he smiled at the cat who watched him out of big green eyes. “All done - make yourself comfortable.”

As he stretched his arm out invitingly, Minerva laid down on her belly, head on his shoulder, claws in and legs tucked neatly under her. Albus grinned. “Although I never was a cat - you don’t look as if you were at ease.”

Minerva meowed and turned on her side, stretching.

“That’s better!” Albus praised and started to stroke her neck with two fingers. After a while he felt how the little tabby relaxed under his hand and he heard what he’d hoped for: A very quiet, almost shy purring. He smiled, but didn’t comment on it. He knew Minerva well enough to be aware now how strange the situation must feel to her. She was a proud and independent woman, and he was sure that even around her husband it certainly had never been easy for her to show how much she needed tenderness and warmth. With him it was probably even more difficult, and if she hadn’t been so terrified by the thunderstorm she wouldn’t have come to him.

He understood her. All his life he’d felt torn between his need to feel loved and his fear of losing his freedom. It had been the main problem in all his relationships with women. “You can’t have both - your freedom and a close relationship!” he’d heard more than once.

Yet when it came to the decision between freedom and a relationship, he’d always chosen freedom - at least in the last 58 years or so. He’d learned his lesson with his wife, and he remembered only too well how absolutely miserable he’d felt during his marriage. Octavia had said it very clearly, “You may be a brilliant wizard, but as a husband you’re an absolute failure!” Even now, so many years later, he didn’t know how he could have avoided the mistakes Octavia had accused him of - like always putting his work first, always being away when she needed him, and seeing “love as a pastime only if you haven’t anything more important to do”. He’d probably become even worse since Octavia’s death, because being Headmaster of Hogwarts made him responsible not only for the education of almost 1000 students, but also for their safety and well-being.

Minerva’s purring sounded sleepy now. Albus stopped his stroking, but let his hand rest on her soft fur. She obviously liked it. Stretching once again, she snuggled a bit closer to him. Her warmth felt nice through the silk of his dressing gown and Albus suddenly became aware that Minerva hadn’t been the only one needing some closeness on this night. He’d felt lonely too and, closing his eyes and falling asleep, his last coherent thought was, “I could get used to having this particular cat in my bed.”


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


Soft lips on his forehead awakened Albus. Someone was kissing him - very lightly and tenderly. And this someone smelled like orange blossoms and cedar, and felt warm, wonderful and womanly bending over him. But now that someone was shifting, trying to steal away. Without opening his eyes, Albus raised an arm and caught Minerva’s hand. “Don’t leave,” he said sleepily. “You just feel so nice.”

“Oh, Albus!” He heard the smile in her voice. “It’s already ten o’clock. We’ve slept in.”

“So what?” He opened one eye and looked at her. Without his glasses his sight was blurry, but he could make out that she’d let her hair down and caught one of the black curls, wrapping it around his finger. “We’re on holiday, Minerva.”

“But I’m hungry, sleepyhead,” Minerva smiled at him.

Albus stretched, let her curl go and groaned. “Well - if you’re hungry we must get up. But I certainly would find it easier to stand up if I got a good morning kiss.”

“Didn’t you just get one?” Minerva asked amused. “You’re a bit demanding, aren’t you?”

“You’ve only kissed my forehead!” he complained. “That’s not enough to get me up.”

“Oh, really?” Minerva crooked her head, mischief glimmering in her eyes.

“Minerva!” Albus laughed. “You’re becoming frivolous!”

“Being with you rubs off on me!” she stated and stood up.

“Obviously it doesn’t in the kissing department,” he said. “If you asked me for a good morning kiss, you’d get one.”

Minerva had walked over to the windows and was opening the curtains. “You’re persistent, Albus. But if you ask nicely, I can perhaps bring myself to kiss your nose. Would that get you out of bed?”

Albus eyes twinkled in the light which was flooding into the room. “Kissing a few centimetres more to the south would probably even make me jump out of bed!” he offered.

Minerva turned. “As interesting as it could be to be the woman whose kiss made you jump out of bed, I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Walking to the door she smiled over her shoulder at him. “And all that hair!” she quoted. “You know, I was never into bearded men. If you’d like me to kiss you properly, you would have to shave first, Albus!” She swept out, closing the door behind her.

Albus groaned once again, then rolled himself out of the bed and shuffled on bare feet to his bathroom. Actually he wasn’t too unhappy that Minerva had left him. He wouldn’t have liked climbing out of bed in front of her much, displaying his morning erection. He had noticed that she’d changed back into her human form during the night, and feeling her close had certainly added to the usual morning arousal which didn’t go away even after he’d emptied his bladder. With a sigh he looked down at his member. “Well, old boy - I like the lady too. But she doesn’t want to make your acquaintance, which means cold water for you again.” Shaking his head at himself, he entered the shower. It had been some time since he’d last conversed with what a lady once had called “not so little Albus”. After some heavy fights during their youth they’d found a rather nice arrangement which mostly worked to the satisfaction of both parties involved. By now Albus had actually almost forgotten that his penis sometimes had a mind of its own. Being reminded of it twice in one week amazed him. But one didn’t get to be as old as Albus without learning to deal with unwanted erections. Cold water always helped and thus the problem was solved when Albus stepped out of the shower.

Casting a drying charm he looked in the mirror – not a talking one, because he really didn’t like his mirror to comment on his morning grumblings – and patted his long beard. He had always liked it, but Minerva wasn’t the first woman who didn’t approve of it. Until now he’d always been rather deaf on this point, but - hadn’t he once been an alchemist? The first condition for becoming one had always been for the candidate to get his master-ship in potions. And although Albus hadn’t brewed many potions during the last 100 years - he had substituted for his potion master often enough, so he certainly wouldn’t have a problem brewing something as simple as a hair growing potion. Seeing Minerva’s face when he came down to breakfast shaved - that would be worth the effort!

Besides, she’d owe him a kiss then - and Merlin, he couldn’t help it, he wanted to kiss her! Of course, she was his Deputy, but what was the problem with that? She was unattached and so was he. And he appreciated and liked her and - well, she was beautiful and desirable and weren’t they both adults?

Once again he stroked his beard. He would miss it. But he could grow it back, and Minerva was certainly worth the sacrifice.

Without further ado he concentrated, raised his hand, waved it - and the beard was gone. Touching his chin, Albus looked critically at the mirror. He felt oddly naked without what Poppy had called “your brushwork”. Had his chin always been so pronounced? And the wrinkles around his mouth had become very deep. Tipping his index finger against his nose he grumbled to himself at the mirror, “Well, one thing is certain, in a beauty contest you wouldn’t stand much of a chance, Albus Dumbledore. Not with that nose and this chin!”

Glancing down, he tried to draw in his belly. It didn’t work and so, patting it, he sighed. “Too many sweets, old boy.” But what had his mother - despite her love for her sons never an uncritical admirer of them - once said when looking at 17-year-old, bony Albus? “Luckily you’ve got not only your father’s big nose, but his beautiful eyes and charm too. It will make up for your shortcomings in the appearance department.”


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

The effect of his efforts couldn’t have been better. As he stepped on the terrace where the house elves had served breakfast, Minerva was sitting there, reading the “Daily Prophet”. She only raised her eyes from the newspaper briefly. “Hello, Albus. I was afraid you might have drowned in your ba-…” Right at this moment she obviously became aware that something about him had changed. The newspaper and her jaw dropped, and for almost 30 seconds Albus had the pleasure of seeing his eloquent Deputy not only at a loss for words, but gaping like a carp out of its pond. Then she got a grip on herself. Her face and voice were neutral, but in her eyes he could see a twinkle as she said, “Now I understand why you grew the ghastly beard in the first place. You didn’t want every witch in England after you.”

Albus was vain enough to enjoy the compliment. Sitting down in a chair opposite to her - and yes, he had chosen the blue robe because he knew that the colour suited him and yes, he had spent some time brushing his hair until it fell like silver waves over his shoulders - he stretched his long legs and smiled at his companion. “I take it you approve?”

Minerva looked almost guilty. “Of course I like you better without the beard. Nevertheless, you shouldn’t have done that. I know you liked your beard. You will miss it.”

He bent forward, took the pot and poured tea in his cup. “If I miss it too much I can brew a hair growing potion,” he said simply, spooning a generous amount of sugar into his tea and stirring it. “But before I do, I want to be kissed.”

Minerva’s cheeks showed a little pink. “If you insist,” she answered hesitantly. “I promised, so I must keep my word.”

Albus sighed. “Minerva, I won’t press you. Let’s simply forget about it.” Pointing with his chin - which felt still very odd, naked as it was - to her newspaper he asked, “Anything of interest in the Prophet?”

Minerva seemed grateful for the change of subject. Picking the newspaper up, she smiled. “Quidditch doesn’t interest you; the announcement of the Ministry about the new standards for apparition probably isn’t what you want to hear at breakfast either, so we can come immediately to the gossip column where your special friend Rita Skeeter once again speculates about which of ‘Great Britain’s most eligible bachelors’ will marry whom and when.”

“Let me guess,” Albus said cheerfully. “Harry Potter, the young man who Skeeter can’t write about without mentioning at least twice that he defeated Voldemort, is still not willing to do the press the favour of getting himself a steady girlfriend while his faithful sidekick, Mister Ronald Weasley, son of our Minister for Magic, still tries to forget the not-so-faithful Muggleborn Miss Hermione Granger, who wasn’t interested in him, and therefore flirts with every blonde he can get his rather clumsy hands on?”

“Right along those lines,” Minerva answered. “It seems you’re the first out of the list of eligible bachelors who will marry.”

“I?” Albus, buttering his toast, looked up. “And whom will I marry if I may ask?”

Minerva rustled the paper. “Here we go,” she announced and read for him, “Hogwarts’ Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, as the last descendant of a family famous for wealth, eccentricity and, as far as the male members are concerned, a liking for blondes, despite his age still counting as a big catch -,” she shook her head, “Really, this woman writes in a lousy style! One always wishes for a machete to hack through the jungle of words she creates!”

“Minerva - I want to know who my bride is!” Albus reminded her.

“Yes, yes.” She looked at the paper again. “Where were we? Ah, here, ‘…big catch won’t be on the market any longer. Now the ‘Daily Prophet’ has learned from a reliable source that the hero of two wars got hooked by none other than society beauty Narcissa Black.”

“Ha!” Albus was amused. “Skeeter’s reliable source knows more than I!”

Minerva couldn’t suppress a grin. “You don’t want to marry the former Lady Malfoy?”

Albus shuddered. “No, I certainly don’t. The idea of using defrosting charms in the bedroom doesn’t appeal to me. But without them one probably gets chilblains on delicate parts when getting close to her.”

“Well - she certainly is a beauty,” Minerva said, stirring cream in her porridge.

“If one likes blondes,” Albus said. “But I wouldn’t say the male Dumbledores show a preference there. My mother was a beautiful Irish redhead; my grandmother was a brunette French witch and my great-grandmother came from Egypt and was proud of her family line reaching back to Nefertiti. She certainly wasn’t blonde either.”

“But you like blondes, don’t you?” Minerva asked. “Madame Willington and Madame Freyasdottir are blondes.”

“My wife was a Roman,” Albus reminded her. “And she looked it with black hair, dark eyes and skin like honey.”

“So, no preferences in the hair department?” Minerva wanted to know.

“Let’s say that the colour of the hair certainly isn’t of major interest to me,” Albus replied.

Minerva laughed. “I just remembered how the girls in my dormitory at Hogwarts used to talk about their ideal of a man. Hair colour was always important then.”

“And? How did the man you were dreaming about look?” Albus asked.

Minerva laughed awkwardly. “I’m afraid I was very much in the cliché. I loved the Nordic sagas at this time and so my ideal man looked like young Siegfried: Blond, blue-eyed, very tall, broad shouldered.”

“Well - Augustus was close, wasn’t he?” Albus smiled. “When I first met him I couldn’t stand him. I found him much too pretty for a man - pure envy, I’d say today.”

“My, Albus! You aren’t exactly ghastly looking either,” Minerva said. She was finished with her porridge. Pushing the empty bowl aside she studied Albus for a moment, then breathed deeply. “Albus, I was thinking. You’ve kindly invited me for a ‘few days’. I don’t want to overstay my welcome. Besides, it’s time to write the letters to the first years and I should visit my sister. She’s a pain in the neck, but I’d like to see my nieces and nephews. So I think I’ll leave you today.”

Bending forward, Albus took her hand. “Don’t go, Minerva!” he pleaded. “I’d feel lonely without you. And you know you can do the letters here - there’s enough space in the study. Please - don’t leave!”

Minerva looked down on their entwined hands. “Aye,” she said after a moment. “But I shall see my sister. And I have to go to Hogwarts to collect a few things.”

“But you’ll come back?” Albus really didn’t want her to go. He disliked the idea of being alone once again in the big, quiet house. And he was sure he’d miss Minerva.

Minerva pulled her hand out of his. “Yes - I’ll come back. I’ll go to Hogwarts to get my things and afterwards I’ll see my sister for tea, then I’ll come back here. And,” now she looked mischievously at him, “if you feel bored while I’m away, I have an idea of what you could do until I come back.”

“Hmm?”

She pointed with her chin to the window of the library where his harpsichord stood. “The Italian Concerto, Albus!”

“Ugh!” He shuddered. “Which movement?”

“All three of them! It always was my favourite piece.”

“But you said you like the Andante best. So why don’t we start with just that movement?” Albus asked.

“Because I adore how Bach surrounded it by the two quick movements,” Minerva replied. “Besides - who was it who grumbled about the wizard broadcast always playing only the most popular pieces, placing them out of context? Who named their ‘classic hour’ a ‘famous collection of blooming mixed pickles?”

Albus chuckled. “As I recall, I was so angry about their cutting even a Bruckner symphony, I used a little language.”

“I remember very well, Albus Dumbledore!” Minerva said severely. “But in contrast to you I also remember what my mother told me about the use of certain words, therefore I won’t repeat what you said, not even for the sake of correct quotation.”

Albus grinned, once again looking like a cheeky boy. “That reminds me of my great aunt Victoire. She was a rather eccentric old lady…”

“Why don’t I wonder about you having an eccentric aunt?” Minerva laughed. “But let’s hear what Aunt Victoire told you about language.”

Albus’ grin grew broader. “Auntie didn’t tell me, but my mother. One day she came in the lab where Mother just had cut herself on a finger. Being a true Irish woman, she cursed a bit and was promptly rebuked by Aunt Victoire, ‘Rhianon! A fucking lady never uses bloody language!”

Minerva rolled her eyes. “Sweet Merlin, what have I done to deserve that?” Putting her napkin on the table, she rose up. “I’m leaving, but I’m looking forward to the concerto you’ll play for me in the evening.”

Albus had stood up too. Moving his fingers and looking at them, he asked, “Do you know a spell to unknot fingers? After practising the Italian concerto I’ll need one.”

Minerva laid her hand on his shoulder and gave him a peek on the cheek. “I really don’t know why you’re whining. Just consider, I could have demanded the French Overture - with all eight movements!”


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

Albus lifted his hands from the keyboard and looked at Minerva who sat in the chair at the fireplace. When she came back two hours before, she’d looked annoyed and her mouth had been only a thin line. At dinner she told him that she’d once again argued with her sister. “It’s not nice to say something like that about one’s sister, but I can’t help myself, Diana is just the type of woman I can’t stand,” she’d ranted. “She had the cheek to tell me that she’s worried about Susan - my nephew Edward’s youngest - coming to Hogwarts next year because Susan is already such a bookworm. Getting close to me could - so my dear sister actually said - increase Susan’s tendency to become an unwomanly bluestocking. And if this weren’t outrageous enough, my idiotic brother-in-law told me Diana and he only wish for their granddaughter to become a happy woman - and even I should know that too much academic knowledge and the ‘wrong ambitions’ spoil the motherly instincts of women!”

Albus, who knew that Minerva once had suffered terribly because she couldn’t have a child of her own, had taken her hand and looked seriously at her. “Minerva, you’ve got hundred of children! All your little lions! And you’re certainly not lacking womanly instincts. I’ve always found you very feminine, and I’m certainly a better judge in this particular field than your brother-in-law.”

She’d smiled gratefully at him and changed the subject. For the rest of dinner they talked about other things. Afterwards he led her into the library, where he lit a fire and some candles before sitting down at the harpsichord. Stretching his fingers he said, “Actually I thought about making up a sign that says ‘Don’t hex the player. He’s doing his best.’”

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy your best, Albus,” Minerva answered.

“Well, then let’s begin.” He did so with Bach’s French Overture (1) - all eight movements. It had always been a favourite of his and so it had become his showpiece.

Minerva had obviously liked it. During the first movement she’d still been a bit stiff, but as he played the soft melody of the Courante, she began to relax. Starting - “under full sails” as his father would have said - with the Gavotte, he had gotten a little smile from Minerva. The smile had broadened when he stumbled over one of the rather tricky trills and then, when he finally arrived at the last movement, Minerva had closed her eyes, her face relaxed and soft.

Now she opened her eyes again. “I could get used to listening to your music, Albus,” she said. “It was very lovely. I think I’ll release you from the Italian Concerto (2) after that.”

“Hey!” he protested. “Don’t! I’ve practised all day! I want to show off now. Admittedly, for the third movement I’ll need your help. I haven’t learned it by heart yet.”

“Shall I turn the pages for you?” Minerva asked.

“If you’d be so good?” He put the music on the harpsichord and moved a bit to make room for her at the bench in front of it.

Minerva came over and gracefully sat down. Once again he inhaled her unique fragrance and had to fight against the wish to take her in his arms. Concentrating on Bach, he began with the Allegro, as always forgetting everything around him while playing. The silver sound of the harpsichord, the clarity of Bach’s melodies - he saw pictures in his mind; the sun over the sea, making it glimmer; the cliffs when the waves hit them in cascades of foam and light. And then the Andante - it was like the oldest part of Hogwarts, the gothic cloister with the fountain in its middle, radiating peace and beauty. The Presto was a challenge for every player, but now his hands were warm and gliding over the keyboards almost on their own accord. Once, as Minerva was leaning forward to turn over a page, her sleeve touched his naked arm and she smiled at him.

He was ready. Lifting his hands and arms he looked at Minerva. In the light of the candles her face had become soft and young and her green eyes were shimmering. He saw how she swallowed, and then her hand came up to rest against his cheek.

“I certainly won’t hex the player,” she whispered. “Thank you, Albus.”

He didn’t even think. Following a sudden impulse, he leaned forwards, his lips gliding over her cheek to her mouth while he slid his arms around her small waist. For a moment she tensed, her entire body becoming stiff, but then she not only relaxed, but leaned closer to him, her firm breast touching his chest. He closed his eyes, savouring the wonderful feeling. He wouldn’t have wanted more in this precious moment, but she was kissing him, softly nibbling at his bottom lip. He responded, pulling her a bit closer, one hand now on her head, marvelling in the silkiness of her hair. It was she who opened her mouth, deepening the kiss; he felt how his body responded, and needed all his willpower not to crush her to him. He felt almost dizzy and needy and filled with desire for the woman in his arms who was kissing him so passionately.

It was she who broke the kiss. Leaning back, she looked at him as if she’d just seen him for the first time.

“Mi -…” He wanted to say something, but she laid a finger on his mouth and shook her head. Rising up, she went away, closing the door quietly after her. He listened to her light steps on the stairs, then sighed, closed the lid of the harpsichord, and stood up. He’d wanted a kiss and he’d gotten one - not more, not less. Minerva McGonagall was a woman who always paid her debts.

Looking down at the bulge in his lap, he breathed deeply. He really didn’t want to take another cold shower, but now he needed one. Blowing out the candles and closing the French windows, he turned to the door. Just as he got there he heard a familiar voice, “Albus?”

“Yes, Mother?” He sighed inwardly. As much as he’d loved his mother, he felt he was now old enough to live without her advice and criticism. But he couldn’t bring himself to imprison her in her portrait in the study, so he had to bear with her moving throughout the castle.

Another voice answered, sounding slightly amused. “Nothing, son. Just go to bed. I’ll try to explain to your mother that adult sons - and yes, Rhianon, even you can’t deny that Albus is an adult! - are allowed to kiss women without asking their mothers beforehand.”

“Thank you, Father,” Albus answered relieved.

“Sweet Circe! Why can’t you for once give me a chance to say what I have to before you come to odd conclusions and tell me off?” Rhianon Dumbledore complained now.

“Because you tend to comment on things which really aren’t your business!” her husband replied promptly, sounding as if he’d said that a hundred times before and was prepared to repeat it 100 times more.

“The welfare and the happiness of my son is business of mine!” the female voice in the painting over the mantelpiece insisted now. “Besides, I only wanted to say that I approve. And that I hope you’re for once showing intelligence in your dealings with women, Albus. This girl is one to keep!”

“Rhianon!” Artus Dumbledore sighed. “Our son really is old enough to know for himself!”

“Artus, I don’t care how old Albus becomes! He’ll always be my baby.”

“But that’s nonsense, Rhianon! Look at him - white hair, wrinkles all over - he doesn’t look like a baby!”

Albus smiled to himself and sneaked out of the library. The banter between his parents had probably started on the day he was born, and he was almost certain it wouldn’t end until that day in the distant future when someone destroyed the by then ancient, paled portraits.

Slowly he climbed upstairs. The erection was gone now, but he could still feel Minerva’s soft lips on his. He suddenly remembered a day in his sixth year at Hogwarts. One of his dormitory mates had come back from his second date with the girl he’d fallen in love with. Closing the door and leaning against it, the boy had laid his fingertips against his lips and then, with a dreamy smile, he’d whispered, “She’s such an incredible kisser!”

Today Albus doubted that his 16 year old mate had been any kind of judge. It had probably been the first kiss of his life. But Albus was able to judge kisses - and if he hadn’t learned that a gentleman didn’t kiss and tell, he would have liked to announce from the rooftop, “She’s an incredible kisser!”

But what had he once told a student? “It doesn’t do to dwell on dreams.” Minerva had clearly showed that she wasn’t interested in proceeding after this kiss. Period.

Entering his bedroom, Albus slipped out of his light robe and let it fall. The house elves would take care of it in the morning. Naked - he’d never liked the restriction of undergarments - he marched into the bathroom. A quick glance at the mirror made him aware of why he’d liked his beard so much. It had spared him having to shave twice a day. But now he would have to do it because sleeping with such a stubbly chin - no, he really wouldn’t like that. Yet he was a wizard, and as such he could do the shaving with one wave of his hand.

Stroking his now smooth chin he stepped under the shower, quickly washing his hair and his body. Back in his bedroom he picked up a magazine from the pile on the desk in front of the fireplace. At Hogwarts he didn’t always find the time to keep up with the new developments in potions and transfiguration, so he used his spare time during the holidays for such reading.

Slipping under the light blanket on his bed, he scanned through the table of contents of “Transfiguration Today”. There was an article about the combination of arithmancy and transfiguration with an interesting headline. The authors were Professor Eugenie Myers, Transfiguration Mistress of Merlin University Oxford, Doctor Titus Ollivander, MUO, and Hermione Granger, MUO. Albus smiled when he read the names. All three of them were Hogwarts alumni and both of the females had even been Head girls. Hermione Granger - Minerva would have denied it fiercely, because she found favouritism unprofessional, but Albus knew that she was very fond of the girl. And he knew too that Minerva hoped that the young witch would come back to Hogwarts someday to become her successor as Transfiguration teacher and Head of Gryffindor.

He started to read the article and it really was fascinating. Obviously the trio had found a really original way to connect transfiguration and arithmancy and while working on it they’d come down to the origins of some spells. Albus made a mental note to talk with Minerva about it - perhaps this new discovery should become part of the syllabus for the seventh years?

Had there been a knock on the door? Albus furrowed his brows. Expecting one of the house elves he called “Come in!” and looked at the door. It opened slowly and Minerva walked in, smiling a bit awkwardly.

Albus didn’t notice that he’d dropped the magazine. He was too occupied with staring at his Deputy and friend. She was wearing only a deep green, silken nightgown with spaghetti straps. It didn’t reveal anything, but nevertheless showed a slender figure with well rounded breasts. And she’d let her hair down. The black waves were flowing over her white shoulders and her back to her waist. She was very lovely as she came slowly toward the bed, looking down at him with an almost amused expression in her dark green eyes.

Albus cleared his throat. He didn’t want to get his hopes up too high. Perhaps she’d only come to borrow a book or because the window in her bedroom was rattling again. So he asked, “Minerva - how can I help you?”

Now she was definitely amused. “You could - for a start - move over to give me some room,” she said and without further ado slipped out of her nightgown.

Albus - who had obediently moved - got only a glimpse of her naked body before she was under his blanket. Taking her spectacles off and putting them on the nightstand, she smiled at him. “Didn’t you expect me?” she asked.

Albus swallowed. She was so close! Her leg was touching his and her skin was warm. “Actually - no,” he answered. “I’m afraid I’ll never understand women.”

Minerva turned on her side and took his spectacles off. Putting them next to hers on the nightstand, she said, “At the moment, women in general shouldn’t be your concern, dear Albus.”

“Yes, of course.” Albus felt awkward. Despite all his experience, he’d never been in a situation like this. Minerva expected him to do - what? Kiss her? Talk to her? Touch her?

She solved the problem for him. Once again, laying her hand against his cheek, she turned his head to her. “Don’t you want to kiss me, Albus?” she whispered.

Turning to her, he took her in his arms, pulling her body close to him. His mouth landed on her temple and he slowly let it glide down over her cheekbone to her lips. Closing his eyes, he kissed her, once again burying his hand in her hair and enjoying the pleasure of feeling her against him. Her breasts pressed against his chest and he could feel two hard nipples. And she really was an incredible kisser; he couldn’t remember when he’d become so instantly and completely aroused. Letting his hand wander down over her back he found her buttocks and cupped one of them. It fitted perfectly in his hand and it was perfect in its round firmness. But kneading it and kissing her wasn’t enough. He wanted to touch her breasts, he wanted to discover her entire body, to cover it with kisses and he wanted to please her, to make her moan and pant in his arms.

Breaking the kiss, he rolled her on her back, looking down at her. “I don’t know if I deserve this - but it’s wonderful to have you in my arms. You’re very beautiful, Minerva,” he said. She really was, with her lips swollen and deep red from their kisses and her eyes dark and filled with lust.

“Albus.” Her hand was in his hair, stroking a strand out of his face. “Dear Albus.”

He bent down and kissed her neck and over her collarbone down to her chest. Just over her breast he saw a fine, pink scar – a reminder of the stunners which had hit her.

Minerva held her breath as his lips glided over the scar and her body tensed. Stroking the scar with one finger he looked at her. “I loathe the fact that you got injured,” he said. “But I adore this scar. It’s a reminder of your courage and loyalty.”

She didn’t answer with words, but closed her eyes and let her hand roam over his chest, cupping his nipple with her palm.

His hand had arrived at her breast too, the tip of his index finger painting a circle around the stiff, rosy peek he found there. It made her moan and arch her back.

“Albus!” It sounded like a plea and he knew what she wanted. Bending his head he took the nipple between his lips, sucking softly at it. “Oh yes!” Minerva moaned, and now her hand went down over his belly and found his aching erection, closing her fingers firmly around it.

“Oh!” Albus twitched, struggling for air. She wasn’t only an incredible kisser, but the way she stroked him now - it was simply perfect and for a moment he allowed himself to close his eyes, lay his head against her chest and enjoy her ministrations. But then he kicked himself out of his stupor and pushed his hand down over her flat belly, marvelling in the smoothness of her skin. His fingertips found her mound, covered by soft curls and radiating heat. She reacted immediately, spreading her legs, inviting him to touch her centre. His finger found her knub, round and firm like a pearl in its shell. Wanting to taste her, he moved down, licking a wet trail over her belly while his fingers still played with her.

“Albus!” She was bucking. “Albus!”

“Yes, my darling?”

She pulled him up. “Albus - can we perhaps delay the foreplay?” she asked, her voice not much more than a whisper. “I need you so much.”

“Yes.” He’d wanted to say something charming or clever, but he couldn’t think of anything but entering her. He was so aroused and needy his penis was almost hurting and he wanted her, wanted her more than he could ever remember wanting a woman.

Moving between her thighs, he used his knees to spread her legs a bit more, then directed his erection to her entrance. Biting on his bottom lip, he slowly entered her, savouring the feeling of the hot, silken wetness surrounding him. “Minerva - Darling Minerva,” he heard himself moan. For an answer she wrapped her arms and legs around him and pressed closer to him. The motion of her hips made him moan again and he suddenly felt as if he’d found something he’d missed, something he’d longed for without knowing exactly what it was. Then she pulled his head down, her lips searching for his and together they found a perfect rhythm.


To be continued.




(1) French Overture (Partita) in B-minor, BWV 831
If you want to hear a little from it: http://www.baroquecds.com/745FluteSa.mp3

(2) Italian Concerto in F-major, BWV 971
Here I only could get a midi sample from a pianist: http://people.nnu.edu'WDHughes/Bach%20Italian%20Concerto%20finale.mid