A Winter Tale

For disclaimer see chapter 1

Chapter 5: To wed or not to wed isn’t a question

Everything felt like farewell, Hermione thought as she made back her way from dinner to her room. She had been late for the meal and so it had almost been as in her little vision only that she’d answered Ron’s “Where you’ve been” with a question herself: “Harry, Ron - could you come to my room later? I’ve something to tell you.” Ron, not exactly Mister Sensitivity 2006, first hadn’t reckoned that the matter was serious. He’d babbled about the f****** potion essay he’d to write - but then he’d at least noticed Hermione didn’t lecture him about his language and he’d seen Harry’s gaze, grave and seriously laying on Hermione’s.

“Oh blimey!” he’s said then. “It’s about the ma ...”

“... tter we shouldn’t discuss in public!” Harry had finished the line for him.

Afterwards the trio at in silence - if one could name Hermione and Harry only picking on their food “eating”. Hermione had lost her appetite, instead of eating she’d let her eyes wander in the hall. Would she seat here again for dinner? Tomorrow at this time she’d be already Hermione Dumbledore - or could she perhaps keep her name? She didn’t know - and this probably was a pretty good description of her condition in general: She did not know - not how her name would be tomorrow, not how the headmaster (“Albus!” she corrected herself for probably the 143th times) intended her to keep up with her education, not how he would or would not inform the teachers and/or students of their marriage, she didn’t know how and when she’d move from Gryffindor tower to the main tower and she even wasn’t entirely sure what would become to her headgirl-badge. The year before as she’d got it she’d been very proud of it. But certainly she wasn’t to keep it as the headmaster’s wife - it would smell like nepotism. So as she now polished it - as she’d done a thousand times before - it felt like another farewell.

Now, by arriving in her chamber, she got the next. Looking around she knew, she’d only sleep one night more in this bed. And what was to become from the evenings she liked to share here with Ron, Harry and a cup of hot chocolate? Probably it was farewell to them too - or could she invite the both to the study in the main tower? Another point of Hermione’s “I don’t know”-list - and actually not worth crying about, but she couldn’t stop the tears now.

*****

“Actually,” Hermione told her cat, meowing around her feet, “it wasn’t so bad.” She stood in her pyjamas at the window in her room, but this time she couldn’t see the main tower. The night had fallen, he main tower lay entirely in the dark, not a single gloom made it even possible to see the gray form in the stormy darkness. Hermione actually felt very tired, but her mind worked in overdrive, running through the events of the evening. As she had said: It wasn’t been bad. Good, Ron first hadn’t got it. He’d been pretty insulted as she’d told him that marriage with him or with one of his brothers was entirely out of question. Grumbling something like “A Weasley’s obviously not good enough - okay, okay, I got it, I got it.” He’d treated to leave, but Harry had stopped him, telling him “Doesn’t it get in this tick head of yours, that this isn’t about you, your family or your silly pride? Hermione didn’t choice Dumbledore because she prefers him over you or one of your brothers!”

Admittedly Hermione had to admit - at least to herself - that this wasn’t entirely true. Comparing Dumbledore’s calm and the courtesy he treated her with to Ron’s rambling, grumbling and nagging Hermione wasn’t so sure she wouldn’t have chose the old headmaster over Ron when asked - but she hadn’t been asked. Instead Ron had showed once again his outstanding talent in hitting the wrong nail exactly on the head - he’d cried: “But Harry, don’t you get it? Hermione will have to shag the old dodderer!”

This had lead to a row even exceptional in the row-filled history of Hermione, Harry and Ron.
Hermione had - on the top of her lung and furious as rarely before - probably because she’d just managed to push the thought of Dumbledore as an old man away? - thundered: “Don’t you ever dare to name my soon-to-be husband an ‘old dodderer’ again!”, only spoiling the effect a bit in lecturing Ron about all dodderers being old and this being the reason why one should never use “old” and “dodderer” in one line.

Rod hadn’t taken her lecture well - he’d shouted back, that he’d always knew Hermione being “mental”, but he’d never before seen her as so kinky as dabbling around with necrophilia.

For this Hermione gave him a good and very loud piece of her mind - in fact so loud that even one of Molly Weasley’s famous howlers would have been paled to a soft humming in comparison.

Then Harry had got enough, asking his friends with a coldness Snape would have been proud of, if they couldn’t roar a bit louder. “You know, the Slytherins down in their dungeons probably couldn’t understand every single word. Perhaps you should repeat the part about shagging the headmaster - I’m sure this would give them a few nice dreams!”

After this Hermione and Ron had calmed down a bit - but to Harry’s dismay still not for talking sense, but for sulking and snapping. Hermione, seating on the window sill, had grumbled about “being mental” and Ron had moaned about don’t feeling understood by his best friends. Harry, always the martyr between the two, had need almost one hour to get both of them back to the fireplace and to normal tone. But in the end the boys - even Ron - had promised to support Hermione and to be there by the wedding and the meeting of the trio had ended with hugs and tears by all parties involved.

So at least this was settled - but this didn’t change the fact that by now Hermione felt lonely. So it was relief to hear a soft scraping at the door. Hermione, thinking that Harry had come back under his invisibility cloak, rushed to the door, opened it and whispered: “Come in!” Yet it wasn’t an invisible Harry stepping over the threshold, but a pretty severe looking, gray tabby cat which, as she was in the room, stretched, grew and became Professor Minerva McGonagall who said: “Sorry for bothering you at such a late hour. But the headmaster, seeing the light in your windows, insisted. Actually he wanted to look after your himself, but I told him this wouldn’t be appropriate.”

Hermione couldn’t resist a smile at her stern professor. To think about appropriate behaviour under such circumstances - Hermione was sure: No one except Minerva McGonagall would be able to do so. “May I offer you tea or chocolate? Or at least a chair?” Hermione asked.

“No, no, child - I won’t stay long,” the professor refused. “I only wanted to see if you’re well and ...” She hesitated and one of her rare smiles softened her gaunt face.”I wanted to say that I’m honoured - indeed, honoured and touched - by your wish to get me as your witness for the marriage.” And now she took Hermione’s hand and a tear shimmered in her green eyes. “You know, a teacher actually shouldn’t have any favourites. But teachers are human beings too and so it sometimes happens, that we get a student who means more to us as other pupils, who becomes almost something like a beloved child to one. Such a student you are to me, Hermione ...”

Hermione couldn’t do otherwise - she laid her arms around Minerva McGonagall and sank in the embrace the elder woman offered her. She began to cry quietly, feeling like a small child now. Minerva seemed to understand. She led Hermione to her bed and sat down with her on the bedside, not releasing the girl of her embrace.

“Yes, dear - cry. It is a lot what lays on you. So it’s quite all right when you cry,” comforted the professor, gently stroking Hermione’s hair. “But you don’t have to be afraid. Albus Dumbledore is a good and kind man - and you know, you impressed him today.”

Hermione rose her head, whipping a tear from her cheek and asked with big eyes: “I impressed him? But how?”

“Yes, you did.” Minerva pulled Hermione’s blanket open and padded on the mattress. “Hop in - you’re cold.”

Since she had left her parent’s home for Hogwarts, being eleven years old, Hermione hadn’t been tucked in and she could never had imagined that Minerva McGonagall would do it to her. But as she did, Hermione enjoyed it, feeling warmed and cared for.

“I want you to promise me something, Hermione,” Minerva said now, still holding the girl’s hand.

“Yes, Professor?” Hermione asked.

“You know,” Minerva started, “our headmaster is a busy man. Therefore you’ll probably feel sometimes a bit lonely as his wife. Please - come to me whenever you feel so. My husband and I will ever be there for you. Promise me not to forget that, will you?”

“I promise.” Hermione said, fighting again against tears.

“And there’s something else, “Minerva McGonagall looked almost awkward. “I mean with the wedding coming so abrupt you don’t have time for getting yourself a dress - perhaps you’d like to get mine? You know, as I married I dreamed of having a daughter once and for her I kept the wedding dress. Having no daughter ...”

“I’d love toe war your dress!” Hermione said, beaming. “But will it fit me? You’re much taller as I am ...”

Minerva McGonagall laughed. “Dear child - we’re witches, aren’t we? So we’ll make the dress fit - and every thing else too if we have to.”

****

Hermione was sure: If she were to have a daughter once and she’d ask about her mother’s wedding the first thing coming to Hermione’s mind would be the colours - the rich honey gold of the silken robe she wore, the dark purple velvet of the robe Minerva McGonagall had transfigured for Ron and Harry, the burgundy both McGonagalls had dressed with and - Hermione first almost hadn’t believed her eyes - the vivid, dark green of forest, showed by Severus Snape who stood, his black hair on a tail on his back, next to the bridegroom.

But the colour Hermione was sure she’d remember until her last day was blue - the azure blue of Albus Dumbledore’s gorgeous, with silver embroidered robe and the pure blue of his eyes. This eyes connected with hers as she stepped, lead by Minerva, into the room of requirement which looked on this day as a chapel. Hermione clung to this old and wise and warm eyes until she stood next to him, getting strength and courage from them. Only for a moment she looked to Augustus McGonagall - a tall gaunt man with a bald head and a warm smile. He stood in front of Albus and her and waited patiently until the little group of people in the room became entirely silent. Then he started to speak and Hermione searched once again for Albus’ eyes and lost herself in them, hardly hearing what the wizard in front of her said. He spoke about love and its different forms, about its power and magic and Hermione heard his words, but couldn’t take them to understand already - she still felt as if ths all would happen to a stranger and is if the only thing real were the blue eyes which looked to her with warmth and tenderness.

“Amor vincit omnia,” the old wizard finished his speech. Albus’ eyes led Hermione’s gaze with one little move to Augustus McGonagall. He smiled encouragingly and said: “Hermione Dorothy Granger, are you willing to bind your wand, your heart and your soul to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore? Will you live with him, love, respect and protect him until death parts you?”

“Yes,” Hermione answered, her voice almost a whisper. She breathed deeply, then she looked once again in Albus’ eyes and repeated, firmer and louder as before: “Yes, I will.”

Augustus McGonagall looked to Albus now. “Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, are you willing to bind your wand, your heart and your soul to Hermione Dorothy Granger? Will you live with her, love, respect and protect her until death parts you?”

“Yes, I will,” answered Albus without any hesitation.

“Who’s the witness the bond?” Augustus McGonagall asked.

Minerva and Severus Snape stepped forward. Minerva, head up, back proudly erect, spoke first: “I, Minerva Melusine McGonagall-Stuart, will be the bride’s witness to the bond.”

Hermione looked to Professor Snape. His face was as neutral as ever, but his voice sounded warm and kindlier as she’d ever heard it before as he said: “I, Severus Aurelius Snape, will be the bridegroom’s witness to the bond.”

“Your wands, please,” the old wizard ordered. Hermione, having learned by Minerva, what was expected, pulled her wand out of her sleeve and raised it so that the tip touched the wand Albus presented. Snape’s ebony wand and Minerva’s oak hovered over the joined tips.

Hermione kept her breath, waiting for the incantation, surely a long and complicated one. But it was only one word: “Confundo!” In joy and amazement Hermione saw how a golden stream floated from the tip of her wand and mingled with the silvern from Albus, klinkling and glittering, forming an orb out of pure, white light. Through the light Hermione saw the faces of the witnesses - Minerva looking almost puzzled, but delighted and Snape - Hermione fist couldn’t believe her eyes - smiling a smile which softened the hard angles of his pale face and made him look handsomer as Hermione couldn’t have imagined.

Behind her back Hermione heard Ron saying: “Whow!”, then he whispered something to Harry while the orb slowly vanished.

“The bond is closed!” announced Augustus McGonagall. He pushed his wand back in his sleeve, took Hermione’s hand and - much to her surprise - bowed over it, not touching, but kissing in a perfect old-fashioned courtesy the air above it. “Congratulations, Madame Dumbledore,” he said.

Hermione stammered - and found herself already in a hug from Minerva McGonagall. “Dearest child - you’re the loveliest bride I ever saw!” Minerva was in tears and her husband smiled tenderly, laying his hand on her back. “Weddings almost get her!” he commented.

Minerva let Hermione free. “Every human being with art art is touched by a bonding so strong!” she rebuked her husband. “Even Severus is.”

“Uh!” Professor Snape sneered, but Hermione could see that he wasn’t really in it. His dark eyes even looked amused as he said: “If I’d knew I’d become insulted by Minerva again, I wouldn’t have came to this event.”

“So I take you won’t insist in the best man’s right to kiss the bride?” Albus asked.

“You want me to toughen her up for you?” Snape promptly fired back, but didn’t wait for an answer, but took Hermione’s hand and - like Augustus McGonagall had done before - kissed the air over it. Raising his head and looking Hermione in the eyes, he said, his voice soft and velvety: “I wish you all the best, Mrs Dumbledore.”

Hermione couldn’t answer - she was too amazed. Never before she’d heard the cold potion master sound like that, never before she’d seen his onyx eyes so open and honest.

Albus answered for her. Hugging the younger wizard, he said: “Thank you, my boy.”

Hermione heard Ron swallowing hard and turned around to him and Harry. Both looked a bit shaken and Hermione wasn’t sure if it was for watching the ceremony or for Snape being kind.
Harry was the first to find words. He embraced Hermione and said: “Congratulation. I hope you’ll become so happy as you deserve.”

“Oh, Harry ...” Hermione fought against tears - not from fear, but from feeling touched.

Ron was the next to hug Hermione, asking her: “Must I call you Mrs Dumbledore now?”

Once again it was Albus who answered.”Nobody must. For the ministry’s register it will be Hermione Granger-Dumbledore. But because it’s quite a mouthful, I think Hermione Granger will do nicely for daily use.” He smiled. “A wedding - even under this circumstances - demands for celebration, at least a little one. So may we - my wife and I - invite you to a glass of champagne and dinner at our rooms?”

*****

With a flick of his finger Albus got himself rid of the heavy dressrobe and the silken underrobe he’d wore. Both garments floated to the big hanger, full with robes in all colours and arranged it selves neatly. Albus sighed and looked to the mirror covering the entrance of his bathroom. He knew what he saw there, but this knowledge didn’t keep him away from stock-taking - starting with his white, long feet over the pale, thin legs with the knobbly knees. Once, a long time ago, a soft hand had stroked his legs and a warm voice had said:” Runner’s legs - quite nice to look at. Actually it’s a shame you’re always hiding them under your robes.” Now his legs wouldn’t get praise anymore - now probably it was a mercy to hide them.

His gaze wandered over this thighs - at least they were still firm and even a bit muscled - to his soft member in its nest from white curls. Once again he remembered a female voice: “Oh - and that’s probably not so little Albus. He’s quite a gentleman, isn’t he? Always raising up when a lady approaches ...” The memory made Albus smile sadly and he whispered: “Don’t let us down this night, old boy. I’ll get you a little help, so don’t disappoint me.”

He shook his head - talking with his cock wasn’t something he’d done in years. His eyes wandered higher - over a round belly to his almost hairless, old chest to his shoulders. Once they had been broad and strong, but now the years had bent them and weakened the muscles. The once firm and silken skin was soft and wrinkled now, brown spots from age contrasted sharply against the white.

Actually Albus didn’t dislike his body, even aged. It had always served him and even now, in his advanced age, he rarely felt let down from it. But for this special night this withered, bony body wouldn’t do.

So Albus took the little vial, standing on a board, in his hand and opened the stopper. Severus’s voice sounded in his memory: “Be careful with it, Albus. Don’t take more then three drops - or Miss Granger will have to change nappies during her wedding night.”

The potion in the vial smelled sharply and the slimy green of it didn’t make it look very appetizing. Once again Albus remembered Severus’ voice: “I don’t have to tell you that this potion isn’t what a healer would order you for a healthy age? If taken more then once in a week it would do incurable damage to the entire system. The aging of the cells would speed up and the lifespan of the wizard in question would become shortened.”

Albus sighed. At least this wasn’t something he had to worry about. The potion wouldn’t get a chance to shorten his lifespan. For the time he had left he wouldn’t suffer from after effects.
She he used the stopper for putting exactly three drops on his tongue, making a face as the bitter substance hit his taste cells. Really - couldn’t Severus had done anything against that? Yet the potion worked. Albus registered immediately a rush of energy running through his entire body - so strong it made him a bit dizzy. He closed his eyes and braced himself with one arm against the wall and by doing so he felt how his arm became stronger and his head clear again. Only his sight was blurry as he opened his eyes again. He blinkedt tht the mist around the figure in the mirror didn’t go away. Albus only saw a dark red head and a darker, heavier body as before. Once again he blinked - and then he thought of his glasses and took them up. Now the sight was clear and sharp and Albus looked in wonder to the young man in the mirror. It was him - unmistakably and truly him. Only the long scar on his left thigh wasn’t there, what told Albus: This him was the body he had possessed before his 31. birthday and the fight with a dragon in which he’d almost lost his leg.

Albus looked again to his younger self and smiled. Yes, he’d wore his hair and beard - dark auburn at this time - shorter. So he’d able to keep his promise to Rosmerta: The charm for getting “all hair out of the way” would stay their secret.


Author\'s Note: And yes, I\'m still looking for a beta-reader ...