The Comedy of Errors

The Comedy of Errors

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

Chapter 5: Cat’s days


Hopping up on the windowsill, a grey tabby cat looked out at the grounds and the sea glimmering in the bright light of the morning sun. A few gulls were sailing over it, their white and grey plumage almost melding with the blue of the sky. Yet on this morning the birds held no appeal for the cat. Turning around, she sat down on her hind legs, placing her front paws side by side and wrapping her striped tail with the black tip neatly around them.

Her green eyes wandered over to the bed where the man she’d spent the night with was sleeping peacefully. He lay on his side, his head with the silver mane pillowed on his hand, his other arm outstretched, his chest slightly rising and falling with his breathing.

During the night he hadn’t slept so quietly. His tossing and fidgeting had been the reason why Minerva - after he’d first stolen the blanket and then deposited not only a leg, but an arm over her - had changed into her animagus form. He hadn’t noticed it, but had instead turned until he lay with spread arms and legs all over the bed, the stolen blanket a bundle at his feet. He obviously didn’t need it. His body was radiating so much heat that its closeness had become too much for Minerva. Thus she’d escaped to the windowsill.

Stretching once again and lying down she felt a slight ache in her thighs. If she hadn’t been in her cat form it would probably have made her blush, because it was a reminder of what she’d done only a few hours before.

She had slept with Albus. She had slept with a man who wasn’t her husband and who certainly didn’t have the slightest ambition ever to become so. She had slept with a man who was not only her superior, but had quite a reputation for being a womanizer. Yet Minerva didn’t regret sleeping with him. Just on the contrary.

Of course her sister, who’d already become very tight-lipped when she’d heard that Minerva was visiting her boss without a chaperone, would probably faint if she were to learn about what had happened last night. But Minerva didn’t intend to tell. Besides, she didn’t want to make her sister burst with envy. Diana Stuart-Elperth certainly had never experienced a night like that, and about one thing Minerva was sure: With her brother-in-law, the stuffy Mister John Elperth, her sister certainly would never even come close to so much passion and joy. Just thinking of it made Minerva wish to purr again, and although she was in her cat form, she could still feel the strong hands which had held her, and the expert mouth which had pleased her, and the rock hard erection and - heavens, Albus really was full of surprises!

The first one had been the little insecurity he’d shown when she came into his bedroom. Minerva had been almost sure that he - experienced as he was with women - would expect her. And she’d harboured mixed feelings about that. His experience, the fact that she was to become a number on a rather long list of “ladies who have had the pleasure of sharing Albus Dumbledore’s bed” didn’t appeal to her. And the more she’d thought about it the more she’d intended to crawl in her solitary bed and forget all about the passionate kiss she’d shared with him.

On the other hand, Minerva was a Gryffindor, and as such chickening out wasn’t her style - especially not when she’d started the game. Even if she hadn’t felt his erection in the library, she would have known that a kiss like that made for arousal. And for a woman who played with a man’s feelings, at first arousing and then dumping him, Minerva knew a word she wouldn’t speak out loud, and certainly didn’t want to associate with herself.

So she’d showered, brushed her hair, dressed in the silken night gown Poppy had given her for her last birthday and - determined and energetically, as if she were on her way to a class - gone where a lot of women had gone before her, telling herself that the number of predecessors she had would at least mean that he would know what he was expected to do.

That he had not, that he’d been insecure and almost shy, had touched Minerva deeply, and made her feel not only aroused, but once again aware of her affection for him.

Nevertheless, she’d been surprised by his gentleness. Of course she’d known that he would never treat a woman roughly, and she’d been aware that one of the many facets of his character was softness. But she’d never expected that the man she knew as the most powerful wizard alive would be so careful, so cautious, and so gentle.

It had been - no, certainly not a disappointment. One didn’t feel disappointed in a lover who showered one with infinite tenderness and who made one feel cared for and adored and spoiled. Minerva had felt as though she was drifting on a warm wave, built from gentleness and pleasure, and her climax hadn’t come as an explosion, but like something blooming and spreading and filling her with deep satisfaction. Lying in his arms afterwards, content and a bit sleepy, like a sated baby, the only thing that had bothered her had been that Albus hadn’t found release. Clearing her throat Minerva had asked, “Why didn’t you come?”

He’d kissed her forehead. “I didn’t want to. It would have been a distraction.” He’d chuckled. “Besides, who says we’re already done? There’s still the delayed foreplay - and as my Deputy always says, ‘Don’t start what you can’t finish’. I intend to finish.”

And then she was in for the next surprise - or had it been a lesson? He’d rolled her on her back and with his hands and mouth he’d proven that the rumours about Slytherins being exceptionally talented lovers were true - at least as far as a certain Slytherin Headmaster was concerned. He’d made her pant and moan only by playing with her breasts and when he dived down between her legs, she suddenly remembered a line in one of the silly love novels she’d confiscated during a class, “He pleased her as no other man could.” She still found the line idiotic, but she now had a clue about its meaning. Albus Dumbledore certainly knew what he was doing, and the enthusiasm he’d showed for it had caused Minerva to explode in a mind-boggling orgasm.

This time he hadn’t given her a chance to recover in his arms. Before she’d known what had happened to her, he’d been over her like a predator over his prey and, entering her with one forceful stroke, he’d started to pound into her, her buttocks in his hand - and yes, he’d left marks with his strong grip and yes, she’d loved it and she’d probably feel them for days every time she sat down, and she was going to love that as much as the slight ache in her thighs and the love mark he’d left on her breast, and besides he hadn’t come away untouched either. She’d bitten him on the shoulder and he would probably need a salve for his back due to the scratches her nails had left there.

He was turning over onto his back now and if she hadn’t been a cat, Minerva would have laughed looking at him. His member - and he really was well endowed - was proudly saluting.

During the night Minerva hadn’t gotten a chance to look at it. But now she did, and found that his penis was a very nice specimen of its kind. Of course, she didn’t have much first-hand experience, but she had two very outspoken friends, and although Poppy never referred to the owners of a penis - treating victims of swelling jinxes and failed lust potions were part of her job, so she’d seen an even bigger collection of male sex organs than Hogwarts’ flying instructor Rolanda Hooch who, as a former Quidditch professional referred to herself as a “specialist in all kinds of broomsticks”. From these friends Minerva had learned that not all “broomsticks” came as straight and smooth as Albus’ and that his pale, pink tip over an ivory shaft wasn’t the only possible, but certainly a very lovely combination of colours.

And there was something else Minerva liked about Albus’ body: The amount of hair on his head stood in stark contrast to the hair on his body. Although it was definitely very male, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, he had only a few hairs on his chest. His belly was as smooth as a baby’s – which it resembled in its cute roundness - and even around his penis and balls he’d only a few white curls.

Minerva liked that very much. She’d never understood why some women liked hairy men. She certainly didn’t want to feel like she was sleeping with a gorilla, but preferred smooth, kissable skin.

Now Albus was stretching. Raising one arm over his head, he groaned, opened one eye and closed it again immediately when he became aware of the sun. Yawning, he stroked the empty pillow next to him and grumbled, “Minerva?”

Jumping down to the floor, Minerva marched over to the bed and changed back into her human form. Sitting down on the bed, she reached over and shoved a silver strand out of his face. “Good morning, Albus,” she greeted him tenderly.

One blue eye opened again and looked at her. “Morning, Minerva.” He rolled on his side, yawned and laid his arm around her waist, pulling her down to him. Snuggling his long form against her, he murmured: “That’s better.”

Turning around in his arms, Minerva got a very stubbly chin against her naked shoulder and laughed. “Albus! Don’t fall asleep again.”

“Why not?” he asked with closed eyes, but with a hand wandering over her breast. Kneading it softly, he nibbled at her neck. “There’s no need to leave the bed. We could have breakfast here and then we could make love …”

“… with me getting all the crumbs on my back!” Minerva finished the line for him. “What an exciting idea!”

Now he was suckling at her neck. “My, my,” he chuckled. “I’d have thought even Gryffindors would know more than the old reliable missionary position. Really, Minerva, a woman mustn’t always lie on her back to make love. There are a few other ways - like straddling her lover …”

He was playing with her nipple now and, sensitive as it still was after the kisses and light bites it had received during the night, Minerva felt herself becoming aroused again. Catching his marauding hand, she secured it, entwining her fingers with his. Looking down at him then, she asked, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Me on top while you’re on your back?”

“I’d like that very much,” he answered, moving his hips and pressing his erection against her thigh.

Minerva shook her head. “Ignatius Pemperbroke was right,” she said dryly.

Albus shuddered. “Why am I certain I won’t like learning in what way Pemperbroke was, for once in his life, right?”

“He said you were much too used to putting everything you’re too lazy to do on my shoulders,” Minerva told with a grin.

“I knew Pemperbroke couldn’t be right,” Albus answered. “I don’t want to put something on your shoulders. I want to put something in my lap. See the difference?”

“Of course I see. But it’s the principle that counts and in this case, it would still be me who’s doing all the work,” Minerva shot back.

“You’re talking about principles? In a Slytherin’s bed?” Albus chuckled. His fingertips were now gliding over the inside of her leg. “But I wouldn’t mind you doing some work on me,” he grinned.

“Albus Dumbledore, you’re a dirty, old man!” Minerva scolded him.

He made a deep, throaty sound. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t support you. You know I always do.”

“Albus, you’re impossible!”

“Yes, I’ve been told so now and then.”

“Ah - and who told you?” Minerva demanded to know.

“My Deputy - and she’s a clever woman.” His hand snaked between her legs. “I mean, she’s a Gryffindor, but despite that she’s an unbelievable kisser and a wonderful, very passionate mistress.”

“Despite being a Gryffindor?” Minerva tried to sound infuriated. “You arrogant Slytherin brat! I’ll show you ‘despite being a Gryffindor’!” Jumping on him, she pushed him on his back and looked down at him. “For one thing you can be certain, Albus Dumbledore: When I’m done with you, you’ll never ever again say ‘despite being a Gryffindor’!” Bending down she took his left nipple in her mouth and started to suck on it while at the same time gripping his erection firmly around the base and slowly stroking it.

“Minerva!”

He obviously hadn’t been prepared for her direct approach. He bucked and twisted, but she didn’t let him go. Instead she let her teeth scrape over his nipple and then, after turning, she used her free hand to play with his testicles.

“Minerva - oh sweet Merlin, Minerva!” He was already panting and moaning and his voice was very hoarse. “Keep that - uuuh - up and -- aaah - you’ll have me ejaculating - uh - in the next minute!”

“You wouldn’t like that?” she asked amused.

“No! Certainly not!” he protested.

“Really, no?” Minerva’s fingers had found the pulsing vein at the underside of his member and played upon it as if it were a keyboard.

Albus jumped. “Yes - no - oh, my - Minerva! No!”

“Well - it seems we’re not at our usual level of eloquence this morning, Headmaster,” Minerva stated. Teasing him, making him pant and moan - it wasn’t only fun, but sheer, pure, ego-boosting. Her insecurity and her doubts were blown away, bringing back the powerful awareness of being a woman. She hadn’t planned it at first, but now she was moving down, her hair sliding over his belly. With her mouth hovering over the wet glimmering tip of his penis, she announced, “And now we’ll see how long a Slytherin is able to stand up against a Gryffindor.”

“Mi- …” He didn’t manage her entire name. As her lips closed around his shaft, he ended with a moan and with all his muscles tensing.

Minerva closed her eyes and concentrated entirely on the fascinating mixture of sensual impressions she was getting. The taste of him - fresh, salty, a bit bitter - reminded her of the sea. She enjoyed feeling the texture of the skin at his tip - warm and firm and smooth - and in contrast to it the soft velvet of the skin covering his testicles, rolling in her palm like two heavy marbles. And there was his lemon and lavender smell, mixed with the fragrance of a healthy human male and the sound of his ragged, irregular breathing; the rustle of the sheets between his fingers; the whimpers and moans he was making when she let her tongue flick over his slit or sucked at him. He still tried to fight against the arousal, but at the same time Minerva felt that he was getting closer to the point where his discipline would fail him. All this and the knowledge that she had the power to make him lose control were affecting her like a drug. She felt dizzy and incredibly strong. He was the mightiest wizard alive, but now he gave himself over to her in total abandon, showing her his vulnerability, trust, and need for love and closeness.

“Mi- … Minerva - oh, Minerva! Please!” he pleaded.

She felt how his member twisted in her mouth, hard and hot and endearing. He was close - and she couldn’t resist letting her tongue play over his sensitive glans.

“No! Don’t! I’m coming!” he warned her.

If her mouth hadn’t been occupied with another task, Minerva probably would have giggled. What did he think this was about? She wanted him to come and she certainly wouldn’t mind tasting him. So she raised her hand and put it once again around the base of his shaft, squeezing lightly while in the same time sucking hard.

Her reward was a scream and salty, hot seed shooting down her throat. “Minerva, my Minerva …” he whispered and finally his muscles relaxed and his penis began to soften. But now he was pulling at her shoulders. “Come up, please!”

Almost reluctantly she let his spent member go and moved up into his inviting arms, looking down at his face. His forehead was covered with sweat; his cheeks were flushed and there was an expression in his eyes which touched her deeply: Wonder. He looked as if he couldn’t believe what just had happened to him, and Minerva didn’t need legilimency to understand the meaning behind that look: Albus, her almost over-experienced lover; the man who’d pleased so many women obviously wasn’t used to one pleasing him.

Stroking his hair out of his face, she smiled at him. “Dear Albus.”

Suddenly his eyes twinkled again and he pulled her close, cradling her head at his shoulder. For a moment they were silent then he chuckled, “Too bad.”

“What is bad?” Minerva asked.

“That I can’t reward the points to Gryffindor you deserve. I’d love to see Severus’ face if he came back from his summer break to find that Gryffindor already had 200 points.”

“A climax counts for 200 points?” Minerva asked amused.

“No, 100,” he answered. “You gave me two in only a few hours - that would make 200 points.”

“Hmm.” She kissed his shoulder. “Under those circumstances Slytherin would get …” she used her fingers for counting. “…380 points.”

“Huh?” Albus lifted her chin with one finger and looked in her eyes. “I obviously have lost 20 points along the way. What did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t lose them all at once, Mister Dumbledore,” Minerva said with her best teacher voice. “You lost 10 points for being late to breakfast …”

“Hey!” he interrupted her. “You’re not playing fair! Being late to a meal counts for five points!”

“Yes, I know. But you were late for breakfast twice - that makes 10 points.”

He sighed. “And how did I get them doubled?”

“You kept me away from breakfast. That counts for 10,” Minerva told him, kissing the tip of his nose. “And because you wouldn’t want to lose your noble house more points, you’ll get up now, out of bed, under the shower and then down to breakfast.”

“And what will your obedient slave do after breakfast, Missus?” he asked grinning.

“He’ll go outside and play a bit while I’ll write the letters to the new students.”

“That doesn’t sound like fun,” he protested. “I’d like to spend the day with you.”

“Really?” Minerva smiled at him.

“Really and truly!” he assured her.

“Well,” she kissed him once again, and then raised herself up. “You may help me. You can seal the letters and send them away. Wouldn’t that be fun?”


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


Chewing on her quill, Minerva looked down at the parchment that lay in front of her on the little desk one of the house elves had set up for her under her favourite tree in the garden. She was answering the owl Poppy - who was back from Greece and now enjoying the rest of the summer at Alastor’s place - had sent her.

Until now it had been easy. Poppy had asked about the weather in Cornwall - still exceptionally nice although the sun hadn’t been as bright during the last several days and the sky was a bit more clouded - and Fawkes’ wellbeing, a subject which had taken Minerva over two paragraphs because Albus’ lovely companion had just the other day brought his lady friend home for the first time. Although the female phoenix had been quite shy, and therefore hadn’t come down from the branch in the Gingko tree she’d landed on, Albus and Minerva had found her rather nice. She’d taken the apple slices Minerva had offered her and, after gracefully eating them, she’d trilled her beautiful phoenix song as a reward for the humans. And Fawkes was obviously head over claws in love with her. He’d hovered all the time around her, and he’d done an impressive flight show.

Writing about Fawkes and his love life had been fun. But there had been another question in Poppy’s owl, “How do you get along with our charming Headmaster? I think being with him will mean that you have some fun at last.”

Knowing Poppy, and her talent for hearing the grass grow, Minerva didn’t dare ignore this question. But how, for Merlin’s sake, should she answer it? Truthfully? That would probably mean something like, “In the last few days I’ve learned that our charming Headmaster is indeed in great shape for a man of his age. And yes, we have a lot of fun. We’re rutting like rabbits, and so I can assure you now that the rumours about Albus’ outstanding abilities as a lover aren’t exaggerated. Although I don’t have the slightest clue where this change in our relationship will lead us, I must admit that at the moment I can’t bring myself to care.”

She couldn’t write that, could she? It was the truth, but nevertheless she wouldn’t write it down. She certainly wasn’t ashamed of her … what should she call it? Relationship? The word sounded wrong. She’d always thought of a “relationship” as of something that was supposed to last or even to develop. A relationship was something which was defined by all parties involved, wasn’t it? Yet Albus and she hadn’t talked about their whatever-it-was-called. He had tried – only last night, after playing for her, he’d taken her in his arms and, holding her close, he’d asked, “What will become of us, Minerva? What do you expect?”

She hadn’t felt like discussing this subject. So she’d risen on her tiptoes and, instead of giving him an answer, she’d kissed him. He’d responded eagerly and again it had been as if the kiss was fuel, added to the fire of their mutual passion. It had flared up like a darting flame and in an instant neither was interested in a debate, but rather in getting as quickly as possible out of their clothes and close to each other.

Even now, in the bright light of the afternoon and alone for the first time in three days - Albus had left after lunch to attend a meeting at the Ministry - she didn’t want to think about it.

She often felt as if all her life she’d done what other people expected of her. Barely five years old, she’d become the “sensible older sister” of little Diana; a few years later she’d made her parents proud - as they’d expected - by becoming Hogwarts’ Head Girl. As such, her NEWT scores were supposed to be outstanding, so she’d achieved one of the best results ever in Hogwarts history.

Her transfiguration doctorate and apprenticeship she’d accomplished with flying colours and in record time; she’d married a man even her ambitious grandmother had called “quite a catch”; she’d made a career as a teacher, Head of Gryffindor, and finally Deputy Headmistress of the most renowned wizard’s school, and she’d never been anything less than a lady.

Now, for the first time in her life she was involved in something that most of her acquaintances would find “inappropriate”. Yet she refused to justify her actions to anyone. She refused to even begin to justify this whatever-it-was-called to herself! She was a widow, free and unattached. And Albus was free too, and so their sleeping together was no one’s business but their own. It hurt no one; it took nothing away from anyone. Instead it made her feel - no, not happy, at least not in the way she’d been happy with her husband. But she felt good - womanly, cared for, desired. And there was something else: Although her marital love life had been absolutely satisfying; although she’d been comfortable and at ease with her husband - the playfulness and joy she’d experienced during the last days with Albus she hadn’t known before. He made her laugh and play with him and she couldn’t remember ever having enjoyed life so much as in these last few days.

With a sigh Minerva looked down once again at the parchment in front of her. Dipping her quill in the ink she wrote, “Albus and I get along quite nicely. At the moment he’s away for a meeting at the Ministry - although Arthur Weasley as the Minister doesn’t seek Albus’ advice as often as Fudge did, he obviously can’t do without him either. But yesterday we went sailing and I must say I quite enjoyed it. The sea was wonderful. The wind I found pleasant, and Albus showed himself to quite able in handling the boat …”

Well - these were a few lines already and didn’t they sound perfectly harmless? There was nothing between the lines, or better said, nothing Poppy would read there. She probably would imagine her friends in a boat under full sail, laughing and working together. That they’d spent the biggest part of their tour with the boat riding at anchor while Minerva had … oops, what was that?

Minerva looked up from her letter. Had she heard the soft “pop” of an apparition? But Albus couldn’t be back already - Ministry meetings always needed some time. Looking over at the apparition point Minerva felt as if she’d just been punched in the stomach. There stood a tall figure in a magnificent, light blue robe, looking around as if she actually expected a red carpet, and at least five or six house elves bowing to her and spreading rose leaves on her way up to the terrace.

The house elves didn’t show up, so the figure climbed up to the terrace on her own. Standing there, chin erect and the wind rippling her blonde hair, Ingar Freyasdottir looked once again like a Nordic Goddess.

Minerva breathed deeply. For a moment she felt like hiding under the Gingko tree - and Merlin, why shouldn’t she? There were enough elves in the house who were certainly used to dealing with Albus’ female visitors. And right on cue, Akki, the old elf in charge of the Dumbledore household, appeared on the terrace, as always wearing a pristine white and perfectly ironed tea towel with the family crest on his small chest. Bowing in front of the visitor he looked over to Minerva, obviously expecting her to take over the duties of the mistress of the house.

Minerva nodded, sighed, and forced a smile on her face before she marched to the terrace where Akki waited patiently next to Ingar Freyasdottir. Minerva felt trapped as she climbed up the stairs. The Nordic witch was the last person she wanted to talk with. And Merlin, the timing of the lady was sorely lacking! Couldn’t she have appeared when Albus was home?

On the other hand, perhaps it was good that she’d come just now. Minerva didn’t want to imagine how she’d have felt being caught in flagrante delicto by Albus’ ex-lover. Or wasn’t the blonde beauty his ex? Minerva actually wasn’t sure. “Almost done” Albus had referred to the state of the affair when she’d asked him a few weeks before at Hogwarts. Since then they hadn’t talked about Ingar Freyasdottir anymore, so Minerva hadn’t the slightest clue if “almost done” had become “finished” or “reunited”.

By now Ingar Freyasdottir had seen Minerva and turned to her. Was she surprised to see Albus’ Deputy at his home and obviously very comfortable there? Her face didn’t betray her and her smile was polite as she greeted, “Good day, Professor McGonagall. I actually wanted to surprise Albus, but the house elf told me he unfortunately wouldn’t be here.”

Minerva, standing now in front of the blonde, slightly bowed her head. “Good day, Professor Freyasdottir. The Headmaster,” she didn’t want to sound too familiar, “is gone to a meeting at the Ministry. But as far as I’m informed he’d be back soon. And I’m certain he wouldn’t want to miss you. So,” Minerva made an inviting gesture to the table and the chairs standing in front of the library, “why don’t you make yourself comfortable while you wait for him?”

“Akki would like to serve the ladies tea!” the house elf offered.

Ingar Freyasdottir obviously wasn’t delighted. Out of rather cool blue eyes she looked as if she would very much like to ask Minerva what she was doing at the Chateau. Yet Minerva hadn’t had nearly 45 years experience in taming students for nothing. The gaze that kept 20 Slytherin seventh years at bay didn’t fail to have its effect on Madame Freyasdottir. Swallowing the question which lay upon on her tongue, she sat down in one of the chairs, gracefully folding her elegant robe over her knees. “I hope you’ll keep me company, Professor McGonagall,” she said. “Albus always praises you very highly.”

Minerva settled herself in the chair opposite the blonde witch, and nodded to the house elf who looked expectantly at her. “Would you get us some tea, Akki? And perhaps some of the fruitcake and cucumber sandwiches?” Smiling - though also with cold eyes - at Ingar Freyasdottir, she added, “I hope you like English tea.”

“Oh, of course! It’s a nice custom,” Ingar Freyasdottir responded. “And after a year at Oxford I’m quite used to it.”

“Oxford is quite nice,” Minerva said. “I studied there. But don’t you miss Iceland? I’ve heard it’s beautiful there.”

“Oh yes, it is.” Ingar Freyasdottir’s eyes looked like the glaciers in her home country. “Actually I intended to go back to Reykjavik after my year at Oxford. But now I’m thinking about prolonging my contract for another year. That’s the reason why I’m here. I want to talk with Albus about it.”

Minerva cringed inwardly, but of course she didn’t show it. Instead she smiled politely. “I can imagine the Merlin College would like to keep you. But wouldn’t your home university miss you?”

“Oh, I hope they do. How is it said in your language? Absence makes the heart grow fonder. And you know, at universities one must develop some strategies for making a career. Being away for a while - while in demand by another renowned university - certainly can’t hurt.” Ingar Freyasdottir had spoken lightly, but nevertheless sounded as if she were talking to someone who didn’t have a clue about academic life.

Minerva immediately played the ball back. “Oh, I know. After my apprenticeship I started my professional career by taking over the Bellini chair at Merlin College.” So - the lady had obviously needed to be reminded of the fact that Minerva didn’t teach reading for beginners, but was a fully qualified transfiguration mistress. “But,” now Minerva smiled again, looking perfectly innocent, “I’m really glad I don’t have to waste time with career strategies anymore.” Hadn’t that been a nice way to tell the other witch that Minerva was over the little fights at the university?

“Do you really think you’ll become Albus’ successor one day?” Ingar Freyasdottir promptly shot back.

Minerva raised an eyebrow. “Considering the fact that most Hogwarts Headmasters didn’t leave their office by resigning but by dying, I don’t want to think about that,” she replied, her voice icy.

Luckily for Ingar Freyasdottir, Akki appeared just at that moment with a tray laden with a teapot, china, cake, and sandwiches. Minerva was glad for this chance to change the subject. She’d grown up with a mother who’d enjoyed nothing more than entertaining “important people” and who’d always expected her daughters to present themselves as perfect little ladies. So Minerva didn’t have a problem keeping a conversation out of dangerous depths by talking about tea for one hour if necessary.

It didn’t become necessary for that amount of time. Just as Minerva had started on the difference between Scottish, British and Irish customs for teatime, Albus appeared. Minerva couldn’t make out whether or not he was surprised to see Ingar Freyasdottir, because while climbing up the stairs he looked perfectly calm. His greeting of the ladies was as charming as always - both of them got their hands kissed, both of them were praised for looking gorgeous and yes, of course he would like to have tea too and wasn’t it delightful he had such lovely company for it?

Only he wouldn’t enjoy it for long. Minerva had had enough. Rising, she smiled coolly at the blonde witch and Albus. “If you’ll excuse me? I have some letters to write.”

Albus immediately stood up too, and as he looked at Minerva, she thought she saw something like awkwardness in his eyes. “I’ll see you later, Minerva,” he said and his voice was a bit hoarser than usual.

For a few seconds Minerva fought against a rush of possessiveness which tempted her to touch him, and to show the other witch that she wouldn’t give him up without a fight. But making a scene wasn’t Minerva’s style, and so she only smiled briefly at him. “Of course, Albus. We’ll see each other later.” Turning, she nodded at Ingar Freyasdottir. “It was a pleasure to meet you again, Madame Freyasdottir!”

“Oh yes, Madame McGonagall. I hope we’ll meet again soon to continue our little talk.”

Shoulders back and chin up, Minerva marched through the French windows to the library. Upon entering it she heard Ingar Freyasdottir’s voice, “Albus! Where’s your beard? Why did you shave?”

For a second Minerva felt like eavesdropping. She would so have liked to know how Albus answered that question! But her pride and manners didn’t allow her to listen to a private conversation - not even when one of the participants was the man she’d spent the last few nights with.

Nevertheless, she felt oddly left out as she climbed up the stairs and walked down the corridor to her room. Changing into her cat form there, she jumped up on the windowsill, lay down on the pillow, and looked out at the sea. The sky was quite cloudy now and the wind had picked up. Albus would have to lead his guest inside soon - and what would happen then? Minerva suddenly had a vision of the blonde witch in Albus’ arms. She was almost as tall as he and - as little as Minerva liked it - one couldn’t deny that she was a beauty with her golden blonde hair, porcelain skin and blue eyes. And her figure! Her robe was perfectly ladylike - in fact it was a robe Minerva would have picked herself. But although it didn’t reveal anything - Minerva hadn’t overlooked the fact that her rival had just the kind of perfectly shaped breasts Minerva’s younger self would have killed for. Even now, as an experienced and rather confident woman - whenever Minerva stood in front of a mirror, she wished she had a bit more in this department.

Well - Albus hadn’t complained about her figure. He had even praised her, called her “beautiful”, and he’d given her breasts a lot of attention and tenderness in the last few days. But what did that mean? About one thing Minerva was absolutely certain: Even if Albus had found her lacking, he would rather have swallowed his tongue than tell her. He was not only a gentleman but - as Poppy once had stated - “the master of making women feel great.”

Did he compare her to the blonde? Right now, at this moment? Or during the last few nights? Did he perhaps even wish she wasn’t here because he’d like to sleep with Ingar?

Oh heavens - how had she gotten herself into a situation like this? She should have known that sooner or later she’d be confronted with another woman laying a claim on Albus. The question now was how to deal with it. Running away - and yes, Minerva couldn’t deny that a part of her wished to do just that - wasn’t an option. What had Albus said? “We’re adults”. That meant he’d expect her to behave like one - sensible, reasonable, appropriate, and considering that, whatever had happened and whatever would happen, they would have to work with each other afterwards.

Besides, the fact that she’d slept with him didn’t give her a right to feel possessive about him. He hadn’t promised her anything and he hadn’t asked anything of her. But why did the thought of him kissing Ingar Freyasdottir hurt so much now? Minerva didn’t love Albus - or did she?

For a moment she realized that she needed to think and to check her feelings. But then she shook her head. No, she didn’t love him. Not in the way she’d once loved Augustus. She liked Albus very much, she was fond of him, she cared deeply for him and she desired him. But love? No. No. No. Certainly not. Her feelings for Albus weren’t to compare with the emotions she’d had for her husband. Augustus and she had been a pair, two halves who needed each other to feel complete, two people not doubting their love for each other because it belonged to them like one of their limbs.

That wasn’t the way Minerva felt about Albus. She couldn’t even imagine that any woman would ever love him like that. He was too much his own man to become that close to someone. And as much as Minerva had learned to trust him - she was sure that she didn’t really understand him. There was - even in the moments she felt close to him - something mysterious about him, something he wasn’t willing to share.

He didn’t even deny it. Minerva remembered a conversation with him, now 20 years ago, during the first rise of Voldemort. He’d been away for days and when he came back looking tired, drained, and as if he hadn’t changed his robes in a week, he’d told her that he had hired Severus Snape as potion master and new Head of Slytherin.

Minerva had swallowed - not only once, but at least three times. She had known the young potion master during his time as a Hogwarts student and she had never liked him much. The dark-haired boy with the impenetrable eyes, the last descendant from a family notorious for its connection to the Dark Arts, had in his first year already known more curses and hexes than an average Slytherin seventh year. Upon leaving Hogwarts he’d become the apprentice of a potion master who was known for brilliance but suspected of having been in league with Grindelwald. So Minerva hadn’t been surprised when Alastor Moody had told her one day that one of his sources had informed him that Snape had joined Voldemort’s ranks. Rather, she would have wondered if Snape had stayed away.

And then Albus had told her that the young man had changed sides.

“And you trust him?” Minerva had asked.

“Yes, Minerva, I do,” Albus had answered, but hadn’t offered any explanation for his reasons.

After a little silence Minerva had said, “You don’t expect me to trust him, do you?”

He’d smiled wearily. “I hope you trust me.”

For a few seconds Minerva had studied his pale face. “Sometimes I think I’ll never be able to understand you, Albus Dumbledore,” she’d stated then.

“But you trust me nevertheless, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Minerva had responded. “I nevertheless trust you.”

“And that is why I appreciate and value your trust so much,” Albus had said. “What would it be worth if you could see through me, down to the bottom of my black Slytherin soul? Then it wouldn’t be trust anymore, but knowledge. And I probably wouldn’t feel so obliged not to disappoint you.”

A knock at the door roused her from her musing. She really didn’t feel like changing back into her human form - and why should she? It was probably only one of the house elves who wanted to change the towels in the bathroom or look after the flowers. So she answered with a “meow” to the knock and stayed on her pillow.

It wasn’t a house elf, but Albus. He’d already slipped out of the formal robe he’d worn for his appointment at the Ministry. In a long, light, blue shirt, falling down to his bare feet and emphasizing the colour of his eyes, he walked through the room to the windowsill, looking down at Minerva. He obviously expected her to change, but Minerva found her cat form wonderfully comfortable. Besides, she hadn’t anything to say - so why should she change?

Albus watched her for a moment in silence. Then he sighed and laid his hand on the windowsill, just touching her pillow. Looking out at the troubled sea, he said, “She’s gone. And I don’t think she’ll come back.”

Minerva, sitting motionless on her hind legs, her tail wrapped around her front paws, just looked at him.

He sighed again and put his spectacles down. Massaging the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger, he spoke, “She told me that Oxford offered her a prolongation of her contract for another year and wanted to know what I thought about it. I answered that I don’t see myself as a factor in her planning anymore. I actually thought I’d made myself pretty clear on this point before, but - alas! Some women are hard of hearing.”

Still Minerva only looked at him out of her green cat eyes.

He obviously didn’t like this gaze much. Shaking his head and putting his glasses on again, he said, “Besides, I sometimes think women have a tendency to make things more complicated than they need to be.”

Minerva felt like hissing at him. She certainly wasn’t making things complicated - just on the contrary! Staying in her cat form had actually been her way of showing him that she didn’t need to discuss Madame’s appearance in all its details. But well - if he needed to talk about it, she would give him his chance.

Jumping up from the windowsill, she moved three steps away from him. At the moment she didn’t feel like touching him, therefore she wanted to keep a little distance. Changing back into her human form, she had to shove up her spectacles - they tended to slide during the transformation - then she said crisply, “I don’t like generalisations about women. I don’t believe we’re all alike.”

He breathed deeply. Turning around and leaning with his back against the windowsill, he bowed his head. “I apologize, Minerva - for the inappropriate generalisation and for the rather unpleasant situation I got you into.”

“For the last issue you don’t need to apologize,” Minerva shot back. “You obviously didn’t invite Madame Freyasdottir to tea.”

“No, I didn’t.” He closed for a moment his eyes. “Nevertheless I’m not happy about you being confronted with her.”

Minerva shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve always known that you have a rather interesting love life which involves a lot of people. So I could hardly complain about meeting someone who was or is involved with you now and then. And as you surely noticed, Madame Freyasdottir and I got along. We’re both adults and well mannered enough not to start a cat fight.”

“But,” he came one step closer, “I’m aware that the situation as it was didn’t hold much appeal for you.”

“Well,” Minerva tried a smile, but knew herself that it looked rather chilly, “I’m certainly not up to founding the Dumbledore Admirers Association with Ingar Freyasdottir as the president and me as the treasurer. You know I’ve always preferred rather small, exclusive clubs …”

He cringed and then sighed again. “Well - I probably deserved that.” Closing the distance between them he took her hand, bowed over it and kissed it lightly. “Once again, I’m sorry, Minerva. What can I do to make up for this rather ghastly afternoon?”

For a moment Minerva studied his face. Finally she answered quietly, “I want to ask you for a promise, Albus.”

“Yes, Minerva?” His eyes were on alert now and he let her hand go.

Minerva almost laughed. Wasn’t it ironic how much the hero of two wars started to fidget when he thought a woman would ask him to commit himself to her? How had Poppy once put it? “A woman who wants to get rid of Albus must only use the line ‘Albus, we have to talk about our future’. He’d probably rather face evil wizards than women who want promises about a shared future.”

Minerva couldn’t resist a rather malicious smile. “Don’t be afraid, Albus. You’re not in for a second debate about stipulations today.” Becoming serious again, she proceeded. “I only want you to promise that we’ll - whatever happens - stay honest with each other.”

Once again he bowed, looking relieved. “I promise,” he said. “And there’s something else I want you to know. I’m well aware of my shortcomings as a man, Minerva. I know that I’m far from what most women dream of. But at least you can be certain of two things with me: I’d never toy with a woman’s feelings on purpose. And I’m certainly not in the habit of keeping more than one lover at a time. I believe intimacy is something that needs a certain amount of exclusivity and concentration.” He took her hand and kissed it once again.

Minerva looked down at his hand still holding hers. Slowly she repeated: “Shortcomings as a man …” Smiling softly she sat down on the sofa in front of the fireplace, pulling him down next to her. “It’s a question of expectations, Albus. You probably wouldn’t make a good husband, but you’re a wonderful friend and a marvellous lover.” Leaning over to him, she combed with spread fingers through his hair. “Don’t belittle what I’m fond of, Albus!”

He didn’t take up her light tone. Still looking very serious, he kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Minerva - for your generosity and your affection. You’re a formidable woman, and knowing that you’re fond of me makes me proud.”


To be continued …