Measure for measure

Measure for Measure


Disclaimer: see chapter 1

Chapter 4: Happy Honeymoon indeed

Albus breathed deeply, tied his dark blue robe shut once again, braced his back and knocked at the door. During the last hours he’d kept telling himself, he’d survived the confrontation with three evil enemies during his life and such experiences should actually make for some optimism and courage. Honest as he usually was with himself, he couldn’t describe his own condition other than “fretting like a first year facing a dragon with tooth ache”.

He was sure: The dragon he would have to deal with, would spit enough fire to grill him thoroughly and with this dragon knowing him for more than forty years, none of his usual tricks would work. If there was a woman completely immune to his charm, it was Minerva McGonagall. And unfortunately his “imposing Headmaster” attitude didn’t work on her either! So he told himself she wasn’t his mother and that he actually wasn’t supposed to rectify his private life in front of his deputy, yet - the main difference between the treatment he’d got once from his mother and the one he was to get now from Minerva was that Francesca Houdini-Dumbledore had nagged at him in Italian while Minerva Stuart-McGonagall would spice her dressing downs with a Scottish brogue.

“Albus - how nice to see you!”

At least in one thing Albus had luck: The door hadn’t been opened by the resident dragon, but by its experienced tamer. Looking in the blue eyes of Augustus McGonagall Albus felt for a moment tempted to use an Imperio on his old friend - he would have liked to make sure that Augustus wouldn’t allow him alone with Minerva. Messing around in other people’s mind was seen as extremely rude. Instead of: Augustus had - despite his cool logic and sharp mind - always been a sensitive man. Albus hoped fiercely that he’d recognize a fellow male soul in despair and would stay at his side.

Smiling rather weakly, Albus entered the hallway of the McGonagall flat on top of Gryffindor tower. “Augustus - I hope I didn’t disturb you. I have to tell something…” He found himself sounding like a pupil who’d come to confess something really bad to his head of house.

Augustus laid his hand on Albus’ shoulder. “I’m working at the exams for the Auror’s . He opened a door to the left. “Tabby, Albus is there. He’ll have tea with us.”

“Hello, Albus!” Minerva sat on her desk in the private study she shared with her husband. “I’ll be with you in a minute. I only want to finish this letter.”

“No problem, darling. Take your time. We’ll be on the balcony.” Augustus led Albus through the generous living room to the big balcony where a table with four comfortable looking wicker chairs were already laid for tea. He gestured toward a chair so that Albus would be seated first. “You look a bit tired, Albus,” he stated. “Aren’t you well?”

“I’m fine. I only didn’t sleep well the last few nights,” Albus answered.

A house-elf appeared with a big tray. While Augustus helped unload it, Albus studied him.

Augustus McGonagall was his oldest friend. Only two years younger than Albus, they knew each other more than on hundred thirty years. During his sixth year, Albus had been given the task of tutoring Potions to some of the younger students. It had been a detention - one of the many Albus had been suffering because he hadn’t been only a prankster, but a rather lazy student, too. That he’d been good at Potions had only come from the fact that his mother had been a Potions mistress who’d started to work with her son as soon as he’d been able to use a knife properly. Francesca Dumbledore had commented at that with: “As long as Albus is in my lab and under my eyes, he can’t do as much mischief as usual.”

Tutoring younger students actually hadn’t felt like a punishment to Albus. He’d like it - and especially he’d enjoyed it with the fourth year Ravenclaw Augustus McGonagall. He’d been very bright - Potions had been the only subjectin which he hadn’t received top grades. But Albus helped him and he’d been almost as proud as Augustus himself as the younger boy had finally managed his Potions OWL with ‘exceeding expectations”.

Leaving Hogwarts, Augustus had amazed all his class mates. Although he’d got brilliant grades, he hadn’t attended a wizard’s college, but had gone to Cambridge where he studied Muggle law. Afterwards, he worked three years as a Muggle lawyer, then he’d come back in the WizardingWorld, becoming an assistant at the Wizengamot. A few years later, he became the Wizengamot’s prosecutor. And now, since many years working as a lawyer, in the capacity of advisor to the minister and teacher at the Auror’s academy, he was seen as the leading specialist for wizarding law.

Besides, he was still a handsome man with shoulder long, soft white curls - once they’d been blond - and a long face with big, blue eyes, surrounded by black eyelashes; a perfect formed patrician nose; a generous mouth and an energetic chin. As tall as Albus, but all his life elegant and slender, he held himself with pride and confidence.

Now he’d dismissed the house-elf, poured tea and smiled at Albus. “You look at me as if you’d see me first time.”

Albus spooned sugar in his tea. Stirring it he asked: “Your mother was Muggleborn, wasn’t she?”

“No. My father was Muggleborn. My mother was a witch,” Augustus answered.

“Seems to be a good mixture,” Albus said thoughtfully.

“Of course - one of the best,” Augustus joked. “But what makes you think about my heritage?”

“Perhaps Albus wants to get himself a wife to start a family at last, now with the war being over?” Minerva had come to the balcony and sat down between the two men.

“Isn’t Albus a bit old for that?” Augustus inquired.

Albus swallowed. “Actually,” he started, “Minerva was pretty close to the reason why I’m here.”

“You want to marry?” Minerva patted his hand. “That’s a wonderful idea, Albus! Angharad really suits you. I’m sure the two of you….”

“Minerva, I won’t marry Angharad,” Albus interrupted. “She’s going back to America to become Minister of Foreign Affairs.” Once again, he breathed deeply and then he quickly proceeded: “I’mgoingtomarryHermioneandwe’llhaveababyinwinter.”

“What?” Minerva looked like hit by a bludger.

Even Augustus, normally shock proof and not easy to surprise, had eyes like saucers. “Please? Did I get this right? You will marry Hermione – Hermione as in Hermione Granger?”

“Yes,” Albus confirmed. “Hermione and I will marry in a fortnight.”

“There was something else,” Augustus said.

“Yes.” Albus braced himself and looked at his old friends. “Hermione is pregnant.”

“And you’re the father?” Augustus asked.

“She probably wouldn’t marry me if I weren’t,” Albus gave back.

Now Minerva had found her voice again. “I can’t believe it!” she slowly said. “I really can’t believe it! You’ve gotten Hermione pregnant?” She looked at Albus, her green eyes blazing.

Albus cautiously put his cup back at the table. “Yes, Minerva,” he said. “I’m the father of the child Hermione is expecting.”

“That’s rich - even for you.” Minerva shook her head. “Albus, the girl was your apprentice! She was your student! And you slept with her? Albus!”

“Minerva, the keyword is ‘was’,” Augustus stepped in. “And considering that Hogwarts is the only wizard’s school in England, Albus could hardly find a woman in the fertile range who wasn’t his student once.”

“But Augustus! The girl is….”

“…a young woman, a Transfiguration mistress and of age,” Augustus calmly finished his wife’s comment. “And as far as I remember, you were a bit younger when you married me.”

“But you were younger, too, and I wasn’t pregnant.” Minerva stated.

Augustus looked at her with his head cocked and a slight grin.

Minerva blushed, swallowed, and directed her gaze back at Albus. “How could this happen? Don’t you know how to use a Contraceptus Charm? For heaven’s sake, Albus - you’re teaching sexual education! If you can’t keep your hands away from young women, you should at least use your brain and wand before!”

Albus looked at the table. “Minerva, I don’t like the plural. I don’t usually sleep with young women. I slept with Hermione. And I know she’s too young for me. I can’t change what happened ….”

“But why did it happen?” Minerva hissed. “Wasn’t one woman enough for you? Had you really a need to seduce Hermione? The youngest member of the staff - Albus! The Daily Prophet will have a field day when they’ll learn about that! I can already see the headline ‘Headmaster of Hogwarts impregnates young teacher!’ Hermione’s reputation will be shattered. You’re not setting such a wonderful example to our students! At your age, one should have learned to keep his robe down! The poor girl!”

“Minerva,” Augustus tried to stop his wife, “If memory doesn’t fail me, it takes two in order to produce a child. Besides I really don’t believe Albus did something Hermione didn’t want him to.”

Minerva was too furious to listen to her husband. Standing up, she started to pace over the balcony. “You’re the older one, Albus. You’re supposed to be the sensible one! But instead you’ve seduced a girl!”

“Actually,” Albus started, “I don’t want to go into the details, but….”

He didn’t get a chance to finish. Minerva turned around, her robe sweeping around her. “Albus, I don’t care how you got Hermione in your bed! Fact is that you did and that the poor darling is pregnant now and probably feels miserable and lonely!”

“Minerva, now you’re sounding like someone out of a Victorian novel. I’m not the rascal who got the innocent heroine pregnant and left her then,” Albus defended himself. “As I’ve said before, I’m going to marry Hermione. She won’t be alone with the baby.”

“Marrying her is the least you can do!” Minerva snorted. “If you wouldn’t, I’d hex you back under the stone you crawled up from! Now you’ll have to excuse me. I’m going to look after Hermione. The darling girl needs female support and solidarity now.”

Even if Albus would have wanted, he wouldn’t have had a chance to stop her. Minerva was already on her way out of the flat, her dark red robe billowing behind her.

“Uff.” Albus lent back and closed his eyes.

“Well, well.” Augustus rose up. “That could have been worse.” He entered the living room where he opened a closet. “I guess you’d like a brandy, too?”

“Certainly!” Albus crossed his legs. “At least Minerva didn’t hex me. Thanks for your support!”

Augustus came back, carrying a bottle and two glasses. “You know, Hermione is something like a daughter for Minerva. You couldn’t expect her to jump in joy by learning that you got the girl pregnant.” He poured brandy in the glasses, gave one to Albus and sat down again.

Albus sipped at the brandy. “Poor baby,” he said then. “No one jumps in joy about it.”

“You didn’t either, hmm?” Augustus studied Albus’ face. “Honestly, how do you feel about?”

Albus shrugged his shoulders. “Guilty, Augustus,” he sadly responded then. “Two nights, Augustus - for two nights I’ve made myself believe that one mustn’t always act sensible. And now I’ve ruined Hermione’s youth. The war is finally over, but Hermione won’t get what she missed during these years. Changing nappies instead of going out for dancing; dealing with an old man instead of falling in love with a young one….”

“Albus, you didn’t cause this situation alone,” Augustus said after Albus had fallen silent. “Hermione was always a very mature young woman. She wouldn’t have been with you if you didn’t mean something to her.”

Slowly, Albus shook his head. “Augustus, you hide a romantic under your cool lawyer attitude. But unfortunately, there isn’t any romance. Hermione was in our lab as I came back from the battle. She was relieved to see me alive. And I…well, I was glad to be alive and we were both pretty excited. So it happened.” He sunk his head and looked down in his lap. Quietly, he proceeded: “I practically jumped on her, Augustus. I didn’t give her much of a chance to think or to refuse. I made love to her on the rug in front of the fireplace.”

“Oh, my.” Augustus gulped the content of his glass down. “What happened afterwards?”

“She stayed with me that night,” Albus told. “We slept together once more. She probably felt that I needed her. I really did at the time.”

“Oh, my,” Augustus repeated. ”You’ve really managed to get yourself in a spot. I don’t envy you for it.” He filled their glasses again. “One night - and no one who’d ever been in a battle will blame you for what happened afterwards. It’s really bad luck that you’ve got the girl pregnant by only once sleeping with her.”

“Actually …” Albus felt very awkward. “I didn’t only sleep once with her. Four days later, I met her for a dinner. I wanted to talk with her for getting this affair, or however you’ll name it, to a clean end. Yet,” he sighed, “we landed in bed again.”

Augustus furrowed his brow. “Really, Albus! She’s a lovely young woman, but laying her again wasn’t a good idea.”

“Who are you telling that?” Albus traded the brandy glass against the tea cup and took one of the cucumber sandwiches. He actually didn’t like them, but he didn’t feel the need for sweets.

While he nibbled at the sandwich, Augustus took a piece of fruitcake. Chewing at it he said, “Albus - this second night…” He swallowed the cake. “If Hermione wouldn’t have wanted you, it wouldn’t have happened - or would it?”

“Well,” Albus laid the half-eaten cucumber sandwich on the dish. It had tasted as boring as he remembered it. “Don’t get me wrong, Augustus - but I’m not entirely without talent in the bedroom and she’s a passionate young woman who didn’t get much fun during the last years. Besides she’d drunken some wine - probably more as she’s used to.” He sighed. “Augustus, I’m really not proud of it, but I’ve developed something like a crush on her. She’s all I’ve ever looked for in a woman - highly intelligent, warm hearted, charming, kind, loyal, witty, and passionate. As she came close to me that second night - I couldn’t resist her. I knew she was intoxicated, I knew I shouldn’t sleep with her, but could you stop yourself when an endearing young woman - and one you desire - starts to play footsy with you under the table?”

“She seduced you?” Augustus asked.

“One could say so,” Albus confessed. “And you don’t have to blame me for not resisting. I blame myself enough for that.”

“If you think you must be blamed,” Augustus smiled, “you’ll have to do that yourself. I won’t help you with that. I’d become a hypocrite if I’d do because I’m the one who was never able to resist a certain woman. And I learned something by it: When a Gryffindor sets her mind to get you laid; you don’t stand much of a chance, Albus.”

“Minerva seduced you once?” Albus looked at his friend. He’d never asked him for details about his marriage, but now he’d become curious.

“What did you think?” Augustus laughed out loud. “I had the same problem as you. I was in love with her - terribly. However I found her much too young. I was around ninety and she was just a wee bit over twenty. But she wanted me - and she got me. By the way: It was your birthday party at Palazzo Houdini - in her first year as your apprentice - where she caught me.”

“Gryffindors in Palazzo Houdini seem to be dangerous,” Albus laughed. “Sleeping with one there leads to…”

“…a life sentence?” Augustus grinned. Patting Albus’ arm he added, “I hope yours will become as happy as mine. Minerva is the best thing what ever happened to me. As severe as she acts around her students, and you - she’s got a heart of gold and she’s…”

He didn’t finish because just at this moment the door opened and Minerva, followed by an awkward looking Hermione, marched in. “Albus, you’re really impossible!” she ranted. “You won’t make Hermione marry without her friends and family in a dirty, stuffy Muggle registry! I won’t allow it! She deserves at least to have a proper wedding.”

“Minerva, Albus and I agreed…,” Hermione started.

“Nonsense!” Minerva interrupted her. “You will marry properly!”

Now Albus tried to explain. “Minerva, Hermione and I really don’t want a big wedding.”

Hermione nodded and stepped closer to him. “Really, Minerva - I never wanted such an uber-romantic wedding with the bride looking like something out of a silly fairy tale and hundreds of people and weeks of preparation and argument about the colour of the flowers before! I’d hate it!”

Albus patted on the free chair next to him. “Sit down, Hermione. As I know Minerva, this will need some time.”

Minerva ignored him. Sitting down, she said, “There’s something between a big wedding and running off to a registry office like silly teenagers. Why don’t you marry here? The students will be gone in a few days, then you can have a nice, little wedding with your friends and Hermione’s parents. Augustus is a member of the Wizengamot too, that means, he can perform a binding. He’d like that, I’m sure.”

Augustus took her hand. “My Tabby always knows what I like. But she’s right, here I’d love to perform your binding.”

Albus looked at Hermione. “Would you like that?”

“Well,” Hermione hesitated. “If you would?”

“Hermione, I want to marry you. I don’t care how. As long as you don’t want me to do it on a broomstick fifty feet over the ground, I’ll be with you in what you wish.”

“Certainly not on a broomstick! I hate flying!” Hermione took the cup Minerva had poured for her.

Augustus laughed. “Minerva, you shouldn’t hope Hermione will provide your Quidditch team with a new player. This baby certainly won’t become a champion on a broomstick. Not with parents like us!”

Hermione pouted. “Why are you so sure about that? Perhaps our little one inherited Albus’ talent for flying?”

Augustus almost chocked on his tea. “Albus has got talent for flying? Since when?”

“His Animagus form is a bird, so he must have some talent for flying.” Hermione said.

Augustus laid his arm around Minerva’s shoulder. “Tabby, what do you think? Shouldn’t I tell Hermione that truth about Albus?”

Minerva smiled. “Don’t shock the poor girl! She’s pregnant.”

“Nevertheless - she will have to learn a few gruesome facts about the man she will marry,” Augustus announced.

Albus shook his head. “Thank you, Augustus. With a friend like you, who needs enemies?

Hermione sipped at her tea. “I’d like to learn something about you, Albus.”

“Well, then let’s start with flying,” Augustus looked very amused. “That’s such a good subject when connected to Albus. Him on a broomstick always was a sight the entire school liked during our days at Hogwarts.”

Albus had hid his face in his hands. His voice sounded muffled as he asked: “Do you really need to tell that, Augustus?”

“Yes, I do,” Augustus grinned. “Hermione, you should have seen him! When he managed to get off the ground what never happened on his first attempt - he hung on his broom like a wet sock. And Hoscin, our flying instructor, was always running along, wand at the ready and casting cushions charms because Albus was never for more than five minutes on his broomstick. His falls were mostly spectacular! I remember how he once got down just over the frozen lake. Albus wouldn’t have been Albus if he wouldn’t have become rescued by a lovely, bare-breasted mermaid.”

Hermione laughed - and Albus felt his heart doing a funny, little jump. She was so lovely when she laughed and her eyes beamed. Now she bent a bit forward. “Augustus - how did Albus look like as a boy?”

Augustus shortly gazed at Albus, then smiled at Hermione. “His appearance has improved a lot since he became older. He learned to dress properly. As a student, he was always told off because he was so sloppy. Besides - he was very tall and all bones. I remember: Around my third or fourth year a change of the school’s uniforms were discussed. The boys were allowed to wear trousers and short robes if they wanted to. Yet Albus stayed with his long robes. It became discussed at the Ravenclaw table by our girls and I will never forget Amanda Bones - yes, the same lady who’s now the very dignified Minister of Education - stating dryly, ‘Albus can’t wear trouser. He hasn’t got a bottom to keep them up.’”

Hermione and Minerva laughed, but Albus had his head still in his hand. “Don’t bother with me, Augustus. I’m not here!” he cried.

“Did you know that your soon-to-be husband was a redhead?” Augustus asked.

“Yes, he already confessed that,” Hermione said.

“His auburn hair actually looked rather nice,” Minerva added.

“Yes, as he was a bit older,” Augustus chuckled. “In hiyounger years, it was very red and always tussled. And his robes looked as if he’d have slept in them. When he appeared to breakfast - mostly too late - the usual question was, ‘Under which hedge did you spend the night, Dumbledore?”

“Well - I twice slept in the library,” Hermione remembered. “As I was Head Girl, I hadn’t to care about curfew anymore. I always used the late hours because it was so peaceful and quiet in the library at this time.”

Albus grinned. “That couldn’t have happened to me.”

“Of course not - you only came to the library for getting the very special books out of the restricted section!” Augustus chuckled.

“Well - at least I proved I’m able to read. I had teachers who doubted that,” Albus grinned.

Hermione looked at him. “You know, as a young girl, I was convinced you’d have been Head Boy once. I mean you became the headmaster, so….”

“Albus Head Boy?” Augustus broke almost down with laughter. “Dear Hermione - Albus held the record not only in getting detention, but Howlers from his parents. He was at least once threatened with expulsion. I remember his father storming down from the Main tower to the dungeons like a raging bull after a talk with the Headmistress. And what he had to tell his son half of the castle heard, because he was yelling like mad.”

Hermione tipped with her index finger against Albus’ arm. “What did you do to make your father so angry?”

“I got caught. At this time the rules were pretty strong. I kissed a girl….”

“This was a reason for becoming threatened with expulsion?” Hermione wondered.

“Well….” Albus started.

“The girl - as Albus named her was the twenty-three-year-old Arithmancy apprentice who actually was supposed to tutor him,” Augustus chuckled. “The grapevine said that he wasn’t kissing her mouth.”

“Oh.” Hermione almost let her cup drop. “How old were you then, Albus?”

“Seventeen,” he answered. “I was in love with her - very much so. Besides, at age seventeen, most boys only think about one thing.”

Hermione laid her hand protectively over her belly. “I start to hope it is a girl.”

“I hope so, too!” Minerva said energetically. “I don’t think the world is ready for a second version of Albus!”

“Don’t be afraid, Tabby. The little one has got Hermione’s genes, too,” Augustus comforted his wife.

“Well - I hope they make up for Albus’.” Minerva put her cup down. “But back to the wedding. Will you do it at Hogwarts with Augustus performing the binding?”

Once again Hermione and Albus looked at each other, then Hermione spoke, “Yes. I think that would be nice.”

“Then you need witnesses - one for each of you,” Augustus said.

Hermione looked at Minerva. “Would you?” she asked shyly.

“Oh, of course!” Minerva patted Hermione’s hand. “I feel flattered!” She looked at Albus. “Who will be your witness?”

“I think I’ll ask Alastor,” Albus said.

Hermione looked at her watch. “I’m sorry, but I actually should go. I have an appointment with my parents and later, I’ll see Ginny. I’ll stay at her flat the night, so please don’t worry about me.”

Albus saw this as an opportunity to leave. Standing up, he announced he would accompany Hermione to the gates. “After that, I’ll go see Alastor to inquire if he would like to be my best man.”


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


“If you ask me: I sometimes really regret that I’m not a lesbian,” Ginevra Weasley tugged at the hem of her skirt. It didn’t lengthen, but showed still a generous amount of her long legs.

Hermione, who sat opposite to her girlfriend, looking up to the bright sun over the Isola Magico, sighed. “Not all men are idiots, Ginny.”

“Really? Then why do we know only men who are? My dear brother Ron, his best friend Harry, your charming husband - you won’t deny that they’re idiots! I really don’t understand why you don’t allow me to hex them.”

Hermione smiled at the waiter who just served two cups with ice cream and fell almost over his own feet by it because he was so fascinated by Ginny’s legs. Hermione saved the ice cream from tumbling down, thanked the waiter und shoved one cup over to Ginny. “Dearie, your brother and Harry are Aurors. If you try to hex them, they use shields and the jinx will fire back at you.”

Ginny dug her spoon in the ice cream. “I’d hex them when they snore on the sofa. A few nice boils on their private parts would perhaps get them to think, at least for once. Not coming to your wedding only because you slept with someone they can’t talk Quidditch with!”

Hermione stirred her vanilla ice cream until it melted. “Harry has a few other reasons to dislike Albus,” she said. “Now he probably thinks he’s got a new one. I tried to convince him that Albus didn’t do anything I didn’t agree with, but you know how stubborn Harry can be.”

“Besides my stupid brother can’t cope with the fact that you found the headmaster more interesting as him,” Ginny ranted. “I really find them impossible! My mother agrees with them! It’s great. If you don’t act as my family wants, they stop talking with you. Nice, really nice.”

Hermione sighed. “At the moment, I’m not too unhappy about the boys not talking with me. I’m so furious with them, I’d probably only yell at them. But,” she patted Ginny’s arm, “I’m really glad you didn’t desert me.”

“You know I never would,” Ginny smiled back. “Besides, who would want to lose the chance to be with you at a honeymoon in Venice? I mean except your husband….”

“Well, my dear husband is famous for being eccentric,” Hermione said, sounding bitter by it. “Perhaps he finds spending his honeymoon with his wife too priggish.”

“Disappearing in the wedding night - that’s really rich!” Ginny shook her head. “I don’t think I’d have accepted it.”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “What should I have done, hex him?”

“It’s a week now since he’s been gone! You could reach him!” Ginny said energetically.

Hermione looked at the ring on her hand - two golden bands, entwined with each other. Albus had given it to her three days after their conversation at the lake. He’d explained her that the ring wasn’t only nice to look at, but would serve a purpose: Twisting the bands three times activated two spells. The first made the pendant of the ring Albus was wearing glow, the second was a location spell, which told him were Hermione was. “If you ever need me, just use the ring to call me,” he’d said.

Directing her eyes back at Ginny, Hermione licked at her spoon with the melted ice cream. “What should I tell him? ‘Hello Albus - I called you because I just wanted to have a look at my husband’? I don’t think he would like that.”

“You could tell him that husbands are supposed to spend the honeymoon with their wives,” Ginny responded.

Hermione took another spoonful of her ice cream. “If he would want to be with me, he would be there. Alas, he isn’t. That’s a pretty clear statement, isn’t it?”

Ginny put her spoon with a bang down on the table. “Hermione, I don’t like that! I don’t like it all. You’ve given up! You accept what he does to you without even fighting! Are you a Gryffindor or aren’t you?”

“I’m a Gryffindor who’s married to a Slytherin - and this Slytherin is the master of manipulating people to do just what pleases him. I don’t like it, but at the moment, I simply don’t see a way to change it,” Hermione answered sadly. “I can’t risk anything with him because this farce of a marriage doesn’t only concern him and me, but our child, too.”

“Oh, hell!” Ginny looked furious. “I hate it! I hate to see you like that, I hate that I’m helpless, I ha…” Suddenly she stopped, looked around and jumped on her feet. “Colin!” she called and ran over the place to the fountain, dragging a short man with mousy hair and a camera out from behind it. “What the hell are you doing here?” She reached for his camera, but the young man kept it away from her. “Did you take pictures of Hermione?”

Hermione had risen, too. Looking at Colin Creevey, her former house mate, who worked now as a photographer for Witch Weekly, she felt her stomach clench. At school she’d already hated that he was always taking pictures, but now she found it even worse. The way the Daily Prophet, the Dribbler and Witch Weekly had written about her wedding, well, she’d detested it. They had made her look like someone who’d spent half her life in chasing a rich pureblood wizard to marry. By reading it, her only comfort had been that she would be away from England for the next weeks and that she therefore wouldn’t become the subject of more articles.

“Hey, Ginny, don’t make a fuss!” Colin Creevey kept his camera still, carefully out of Ginny’s reach. “You know, I’m only doing my job.”

“Stalking Hermione?” Ginny hissed and pulled him at his arm to guide him to the table. “Sit down - and give me the film!” she demanded.

Colin Creevey looked apologetically at Hermione. “Hi, Hermione. Can’t you stop Ginny? I’m not doing this for fun, really. I promise I won’t give away any pictures you look ugly in.”

“I actually don’t want you to give away any pictures of me!” Hermione stated emphatically.

Creevey waved to the waiter, who looked curiously at the table. “Uno espresso!” he ordered before he looked at Hermione again. “Let’s make a deal, Hermione - between old house mates. I’ll get a few nice pics from you and I will ask our editor-in-chief to print a statement from you.”

“One moment,” Ginny interrupted. “What you’re talking about, Colin? What kind of statement shall Hermione give?”

Now the young photographer looked awkward. He fumbled at his jacket und pulled an envelope out. “You don’t know already, do you?”

“What don’t we know?” Ginny asked impatiently.

“Puuh - I hate to be the one to show you this. Tomorrow these photographs will be in the Daily Prophet. And the Quibbler has them, and probably some other magazines in Europe have bought them, too.” He let the contents of the envelope - a pile of photographs - drop on the table. “Ginny, you’re a professional. You know, Witch Weekly can’t stay away from this story. However, we can give Hermione the chance to make a statement to it….”

Hermione took the photographs as if they would bite. Looking at the first, she swallowed and forced herself to present a neutral face, although she just felt as being kicked in the stomach. The picture showed Albus. He was just marching to the door of a building Hermione recognized as the American embassy in London. He wasn’t alone. Next to him, her hand on his arm, her eyes up on him, walked a pretty redhead - Angharad Wilkes, the American ambassador.

The next picture Hermione found even worse. It had been taken as Albus had just bent down to kiss Angharad Wilkes, his hand stroking her hair by it. The photographer hadn’t only managed to get Albus’ hand, but the wedding ring on it.

Ginny, who stood behind Hermione, and looked over her shoulder, snorted. “What shall these pictures say? Everyone knows that Dumbledore had once an affair with the American ambassador. The photographs were probably taken months before.…”

“No, they aren’t,” Creevey disagreed. “They’re only a few days old. Look at them - Dumbledore is shaved. That’s pretty new.” He pointed at the photograph. “And look there - his wedding ring.” He looked up and at Hermione. “I’m sorry. I can imagine how lousy you feel.”

Hermione scanned through the pictures. The collection showed clearly that her husband had spent a night in the embassy. The first photograph was of Angharad Wilkes and him walking through the garden to the door were taken in the evening with the ambassador wearing a white robe. The rest had been made taken in the morning - Angharad Wilkes in blue, letting Albus out, being kissed by him.

Seeing these pictures hurt. It hurt like hell. However, for one thing Hermione was sure, she wouldn’t show Colin Creevey how much the photographs had gotten to her. Becoming humiliated by Albus was the one thing, humiliating herself by breaking down in front of a paparazzo was another one. Breathing deeply, she forced herself to say icily, “You can have your statement, Colin, but I expect you to print it just how I’ve said it – not one word more, not one word less. If I don’t get to read it like I’ve said it, your editor-in-chief will have to deal with Augustus McGonagall as my lawyer.”

“We always quote correctly!” The young man had taken a piece of parchment and a pen out of his jacket. “So - what are we to print?”

“I find it disgusting - did you get this? Disgusting,” Hermione pronounced, “that people dare to spy on my husband. Our private life is of no concern to the public. My husband is an honourable man who risked, on more than one occasion, his life to save the Wizarding World. I think this world owes him to respect his privacy. As far as I am concerned, I will not discuss my marriage in public. I trust my husband. I do not have anything else to say.” Standing up, she glared at her former house mate. “Do you have that?”

“Yes,” Colin Creevey had blushed. “Hermione, you must understand, I really don’t like doing that. But it’s my job and if I don’t do it, other people will do it for me and they may not make the effort to quote you in an exact manner I would.”

“You’ll have to excuse me now,” Hermione interrupted him. “Ginny - I want to go.”

“Of course.” Ginny looked at the photographer. “Colin, I warn you, one lousy pic, one malicious comment about Hermione - and you will wish you would never have met us!” She put a few coins on the table and followed Hermione who was already a few steps away. Running after her, she smiled at her and whispered, “Wow! You were great. How do you feel?”

Hermione braced her back and swallowed. “Lousy is an understatement, Ginny. However, I should have been prepared for that. He said he would let me have my freedom. That means of course that he feels free, too.” Her voice was breaking and she bit hard on her bottom lip to keep the tears back.

“Anyway, cheating on you in the week after the wedding is rich!” Ginny balled her fists. “And to think, I once adored this man!”

Hermione would have liked to take Ginny’s hand, but she wasn’t sure if Creevey was following and she didn’t want him to get a picture from her searching comfort from her girlfriend. With the press, one couldn’t know what they would make out of that. She only smiled wearily at Ginny. “Cheating - I don’t know if it can be named ‘cheating’. He didn’t promise me to be faithful.”

“Didn’t you expect him to?” Ginny asked.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, Ginny. I expected him to be discreet - but obviously that was too much.”

“Oh, darling!” Ginny was almost crying now. “I’d so like to hex him and this person - this woman he was with! Sleeping with a married man - great, really great. You’re pregnant with his child and she - it’s unbelievable!”

“Probably he didn’t tell her that I’m pregnant,” Hermione said weakly. She was glad that they had now arrived at Palazzo Houdini so she could disappear behind the door. Inside no reporter or photographer could get her and she could let her façade of bravado drop. Entering the hall and closing the door behind her, she hugged Ginny and started to cry.

Ginny held her, stroking soothingly over her back. “Hermione, I’m so terribly sorry. You don’t deserve that.”

Hermione allowed herself one sob more, but then she swallowed and braced her back again. “I’ve heard that Angharad Wilkes goes back to America soon,” she said thoughtfully. “The night was probably their farewell.”

Ginny looked at her, shaking her head. “You don’t excuse him, Hermione! He’s married to you. Whatever this Wilkes woman does or where she goes - he belongs to you.”

“You know, he only married me because I’m pregnant,” Hermione whispered. “As it happened he belonged to Angharad Wilkes. She could say I’d have nicked him away from her. He was with her for three or four years and probably she’s the one he really loves.”

“Then he shouldn’t have slept with you, for heaven’s sake!” Ginny ranted. “I think it’s time now you talk to Augustus.”

“Why?” Hermione didn’t understand. Walking through the hall, she entered the library, a room she’d fallen in love with on the first sight and used as her living room since she was in the Palazzo.

“You will divorce him, won’t you?” Ginny followed Hermione and sat down in one of the cozy chairs in front of the fireplace.

Hermione closed her eyes, breathing deeply. “I can’t, Ginny. The law is clear, as long as a witch is pregnant with a child fathered by her husband; she can’t divorce him or become divorced by him. Whatever Albus does or will do - for the next several months, I’m stuck with him.” Walking over to the window, she looked out on the street. “Oh hell - guess who’s coming!”

“Skeeter!” Ginny ran to the window.

“Yes.” Hermione nodded. She’d expected her old enemy, Rita Skeeter, reporter from the Daily Prophet to show up, but she nevertheless didn’t like how she headed to the house.

Ginny was already on her way to the hall. “I’ll send her away.”

“Thanks, Ginny.” Hermione sat down behind the desk she’d used the last three days. For a moment, she massaged her temples, then she took the little bell standing there and rang it.

It took only a few seconds before an older house-elf in a white tea towel with the phoenix crest appeared. “Signora Dumbledore is calling?” he asked. “Do Signora need to get some milk? Or fruits? We’ve got peaches from the market - very fine! Signora will like them.”

“No, Fuffy, I don’t need any food,” Hermione smiled at the house-elf.

“But Maestro said Signora needs a lot of healthy food and milk and rest.…”

“Thank you, Fuffy. I will have a few fruits later. In the moment I’d need something else. Could you get a letter to the post office in a few minutes?”

The house-elf looked confused. “If Signora wants Fuffy to get a letter to the post office, Fuffy gets it to the post office. However, Fuffy could Signora get an owl from the owlery.”

“Oh - we have owls here?” Hermione asked.

“Of course!” Fuffy sounded almost insulted. “When the maestro is here, he always needs a lot of owls. We have four - two big and two small for all kind of letters.”

“Hmm - I actually need a strong one. It probably will have to fly to England,” Hermione said.

“No problem, Signora. Fuffy will get you Aramis, the maestro’s eagle owl. Aramis is used to flying to England,” the house-elf said. “May I go and get him?”

“Of course - and thank you, Fuffy!” Hermione bent down and pulled a piece of parchment out of a drawer. Taking a quill, she dipped it in the ink bottle, looking down at the parchment in front of her. She suddenly was so terribly tired! Yet before she could rest, she had to write the letter. Pulling her wand out, she concentrated and murmured the incantation which would later direct the owl to deliver it, then she wrote, “Albus, you were photographed during your visit to the American embassy. The photographs will be in the Daily Prophet, the Quibbler and in Witch Weekly, and probably in same other papers, too. Now Creevey from Witch Weekly and Skeeter are in Venice. Creevey got pictures of Ginny and me and a statement. I’d appreciate if you’d be more discreet in your further dealings with your love interests. H.”

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

“Hermione …”

A soft warm hand stroked over her arm and the fragrance of lemon drops and rosemary soap wafted into her nose. For a few seconds, Hermione wasn’t sure if she was awake. Remembering that dreams rarely came with smells, she opened her eyes, but closed them immediately again. She was neither willing nor prepared to face her husband - not after the last three days she’d spent imprisoned in the Palazzo because it had been besieged by reporters and photographers.

The first day after she’d sent the owl, she’d hoped Albus would come - at least for freeing her from the press. However, she hadn’t heard from him - no firecall, no owl, nothing. Now, he was kneeling next to the deck chair she’d napped in, his hand still on her arm.

Without opening her arms, Hermione pulled her arm away and asked, “What are you doing here, Albus?”

“If memory doesn’t fail me this is my house, and you’re my wife.”

“Your memory is amazing,” Hermione said bitterly. She didn’t want to argue with him - she actually only wanted to be left alone. On the other hand, she was too furious to keep her temper in check. “I actually thought the last fact is one you’ve forgotten. Or shall I say you repressed it successfully?”

“Hermione.…” His voice wasn’t only weary, but trembled. “I am…”

“…sorry?” Hermione interrupted. “Please, Albus - spare me that! You’re always sorry after you’ve hurt me. It doesn’t keep you away from hurting me, so I don’t want to hear your shabby excuses anymore.”

“Hermione, I’m really sorry.” He sat down on the chair next to hers, folding his hands in his lap. “I didn’t want to cause you pain.”

“Too late, Albus.” Hermione closed her eyes again and laid her arm over them. She feared she’d start to cry and she didn’t want to show him how weak she felt. “Perhaps I’m a bit touchy, but I don’t like it much to become named ‘a woman of dubious moral’. You know, I’m obviously not as ‘advanced’ in my ideas about marriage as Rita Skeeter described me. As odd and old-fashioned and Gryffindor priggish as it may sound to you, I actually hoped you’d be at least discreet.”

“Hermione, I wish I could explain.…” Albus started.

“No!” Hermione interrupted him again. “I don’t want to hear any explanations. Spare us further embarrassment! I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t want to hear how sorry you are. The only thing I want is to be left alone. Could you please grant me that?”

“Yes, of course,” he said slowly. “This house is big enough we mustn’t see each other if we don’t want to.”

“You will stay here?” Hermione asked sharply. Without giving him a chance to answer, she proceeded, “Well, it’s your house. You can of course stay. I’ll leave.”

She wanted to rise up, but Albus took her hand and held her back. “Please, Hermione - be sensible!”

It was the worse thing he could have said. Hermione exploded like a fireball. “Don’t tell me ever again to be sensible! Being sensible - when you order me to, it means I have to do what pleases you!” she yelled. “It’s always all about you and about you having it your way. Oh, hell - if I only could divorce you! I’ve had enough from you!” Turning on him, she gripped his shoulders and shook him. “I loved you, you bastard! I was idiotic and naïve enough to think we could make this work. Only you don’t care a single damn about me!” She pulled her hands back and wiped the tears away, which were running down her face. “I’ll be sensible, but not in your way, but in my sense! I can’t get a divorce at the moment and I can’t get another job while I’m pregnant. At Hogwarts, I’ll deal with you. In my free time, I don’t want to see you!”

“Hermione,” he’d risen too and reached once again for her hand. “Please, Hermione - I understand you’re terribly upset. I even understand that you don’t want me around you. However, at the moment, you can’t go away. There’s no safe place for you. Hogwarts is not warded because of some urgently needed repairs.”

“The war is over, Albus,” Hermione said tiredly. “I don’t need to hide behind wards anymore.”

“I’m afraid you still need them,” Albus sighed. “Draco Malfoy was seen three days ago. You know, he’s after you.”

“So what?” Hermione glared at Albus. “I’m not afraid of him. He’s such a sorry excuse for a wizard. He won’t get me. He never did in the past, so why should he be able to succeed now?”

“Because you’re pregnant, Hermione,” Albus said calmly. “Even a weak jinx hitting you could get you and the baby in trouble.”

Hermione sat down again. She knew he was right. She couldn’t afford becoming jinxed in a duel. Besides she was sure Draco Malfoy would try to get her. She had been the one who’d killed his mother during the battle against Voldemort. Draco himself had managed to escape, but he’d sworn to take revenge on Hermione.

Looking down at her lap, Hermione whispered, “It will never end.”

Once again, Albus got in his knees in front of her. “Hermione, he doesn’t stand a chance. Almost all Death Eaters are caught. The Aurors will concentrate now on him and in a few days they’ll have him. Then you’re finally safe and you can go where ever you want. Only at the moment, you really shouldn’t leave, Hermione. It would be too dangerous.”

Hermione took a deep breath. “It seems I have no choice.” Standing slowly up, she looked at him. “I’ll get my stuff out of your bedroom.”

“No, please don’t! I’ll sleep in one of the guest rooms.” He took his spectacles down. “Hermione, I will try to stay out of your way as much as possible. Only we’ve got a guest who will remain for a few days. Under these circumstances, I can hardly avoid appearing to the meals.”

“As long as you don’t expect me to act the loving wife, I’ll survive for a few days, I believe,” Hermione said.

“Thank you for that and for the statement you gave Witch Weekly. I was very touched by it.”

Hermione looked up at him with cold eyes. “You were touched by a lie? It was a lie, Albus. I trusted you once, but now I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll never trust you again and I never want you to come close to me again. You’re a Slytherin and your house can be proud of you. Now please leave me alone! I can’t bear your sight anymore!”


Albus had hardly left when Ginny knocked and slipped into the bedroom where Hermione sat on the bed, her head in her hands, quietly crying. Walking over to her, Ginny laid her arms around Hermione’s shoulders and said softly, “It seems you’re in luck, from here it can’t become worse.”

Hermione inhaled deeply and wiped the tears away. “I’m not so sure about that, Ginny. Considered my dear husband’s creativity, I wouldn’t wonder if the next catastrophe would happen soon.”

Ginny tenderly stroked her fingers over Hermione’s cheek. “You look dreadful, darling. Wouldn’t you like to take a little nap?”

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t think I could sleep now.” Standing up she started to pace through the room. “Do you already know that Draco Malfoy was seen?”

“Yes - the headmaster told me. I’d wager my last galleon that he’s after you again,” Ginny sighed.

“That means I can’t leave this house until Malfoy is caught.” Hermione tugged a faded leaf from the hibiscus at the windowsill. “My father always warned me about being careful with what I wish. He was so right. I wished for spending my honeymoon with my husband - and see what I’ve gotten, Albus is here and we’ll spend the next days together.”

“At least he won’t enjoy it much, either,” Ginny said. “Staying under one roof with two women who’re furious with him certainly isn’t to his liking. Besides, you’ve got the master bedroom. I’m in the best guest room and the second best is occupied by his guest. He stays now in the room he was in as a child, sharing it with stuffed teddy bears and other stuff.”

“He probably likes it. His teddy bear certainly doesn’t rant at him,” Hermione said. “This guest of his - did you see him?”

“Hmm,” Ginny nodded. “He’s a good addition to this household. Rather handsome, obviously not stupid. I talked a bit with him while you were giving your husband a piece of your mind.”

“Who’s this man?” Hermione wanted to learn.

“Your new colleague - Monsieur le Professeur Yves de Beauregard, P.M.,” Ginny said. “A charming French man with black curls - very inviting to rummage in - and black eyes, dark skin, a classical nose and a great body. His accent is cute.”

“How old?” Hermione asked.

Ginny shrugged her shoulders. “It’s always hard to say with wizards - but I’d guess he’s around fifty.”

Hermione smiled. “Wouldn’t that be too old for you?”

“You’re one to talk!” Ginny grinned, but became immediately serious again. “Hermione, what do you intend to do about your marriage?”

“What do you think I should do?” Hermione came back to the bed and sat down again. “At the moment, I can’t get a divorce and I can’t get another job. My hands are bound.”

“At Hogwarts, you will have to share a flat with him,” Ginny said.

“I’ve got my own rooms there. I don’t have to be with him,” Hermione said firmly. “You know, of one thing I’m certain, I will never share a bedroom or a bed with him. I’m so done with him!” She let herself sink down backwards in the pillows, looking up at the ceiling.

Ginny crawled up to her, stroking softly over her arm. “Poor Hermione.” After a long silence she said, “You know what I find odd? I’ve heard you yelling at him - and I understand you did. I would probably have hexed or throttled him. I’m furious at him, too, for what he did to you. However, as he came down in the hall,” she almost whispered, “I almost pitied him. He looked so sad and tired and as if he were close to tears.”

Hermione didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she played with the hem of her shirt. Finally she said, “I still find it so difficult to believe.”

“What?” Ginny turned around on her side, bracing her head in her hand.

“Albus,” Hermione explained. “I thought I’d know him. Besides,” now a tear was rolling down her cheek, “I was sure he’d care about me. We were friends, Ginny, and as a lover - I can’t believe he only used me. Even in the night after the battle…” she blushed and proceeded in a whisper. “He’s very well endowed and at the moment he entered me, he was a bit too much for me. I twitched and although he was almost mad with need, he noticed it and kept himself back. I know he really would have stopped if I would have asked him to. He was so gentle and caring and he made me feel beloved and looked after.…”

Ginny pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and handed it to Hermione. “That’s it. I don’t know him as a lover, but I’ve known him all my life. As a child, I used to call him ‘Uncle Albus’ and was always delighted when he visited the Burrow, because he always played with me. I’ve adored him and although I’ve heard rumours about him being a bit of a womanizer - I still can’t believe that he’s playing around with the feelings of two women!”

“Perhaps he loves Angharad Wilkes,” Hermione said sadly. “It’s the only explanation I can think of. However, why didn’t he tell me? In the night we were here in Venice he wanted to finish our affair. He told me he’d be too old for me, he couldn’t give me a future and I’d need a younger man. Why didn’t he simply say that he’s in love with another woman? Our first night - I know, too, that it only happened because he’d almost died. If he would have told me in Venice that he is in love with Angharad Wilkes, I would have understood and accepted it and I would have walked away from him.”

“He’s a Slytherin,” Ginny sighed. “They only confess what you’ve found already out. Perhaps he thought it would sound odd telling you that he actually is with another woman. Yet the problem with Madame Wilkes is actually solved. Yesterday, there was a notice in the Prophet that she’s gone back to America. Your husband in the meantime is here and he obviously doesn’t intend to go after her.”

“Hmm,” Hermione nodded. Standing up, she walked to the bathroom where she looked at the mirror. “Brrr - what a sight!” Turning around she asked, “Ginny - would you help me with one of your famous make-up charms?”

“Of course. What are you up to, Hermione?” Ginny came into the bathroom. “A flirt with the new Potions Master to make your husband jealous?”

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “I won’t play silly games. I intend to show Albus that I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m not to get down so easily. I’m a Gryffindor - and now I’m going to show him what that means. Head up, shoulders back - I’m hurt, but I’m not broken!”

“That’s the spirit!” Ginny hugged Hermione briefly. Looking at the clock, she proceeded, “It’s five o’clock now. Dinner is at eight. That means we’ve got three hours to make you look like a princess. Your husband will be amazed!”

To be continued …