As she likes it

As she likes it

Disclaimer: Please, look at chapter 1

AN: Once more: Thanks to my beta-reader Annie. You\'re such a dear!


Chapter 5: Where shall the lover rest?

“Corrieke - how nice to see you!” Albus bowed over the hand of the witch who’d just entered the little Indonesian restaurant in a small street near the wizards’ district of The Hague. He’d come just five minutes before, feeling a bit nervous about the appointment.

It was two days since the exams in Venice had finished - much to Albus’ relief. After Hermione’s visit he’d found it hard to concentrate. Despite his reputation as a womaniser he wasn’t accustomed to losing his head so entirely. The first night with Hermione he could forgive himself. Yet this morning - he didn’t understand himself. Why wasn’t he able to resist her? Why couldn’t he avoid such situations?

The answer was simple: He’d fallen for Hermione. He’d fallen so hard that even thinking of her was enough to make his heart beat faster. He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt so for a woman, but as much as he wished to be with Hermione, he knew that it was impossible. Hermione was too young for him. Yet, even if she would have been fifty years older, it would have been impossible because she didn’t love him.

She was sexually attracted to him - and about that he didn’t wonder anymore. He was experienced enough to know what the amazement in her eyes had meant. And he knew that he was a good lover. Hermione obviously wasn’t used on that. The boys she’d slept with before had probably been clumsy whelps who hadn’t had a clue about pleasing a woman. However, as much as he’d enjoyed sleeping with her, he knew only too well that even casual affairs didn’t work when one of the participants wanted more than the other. Albus was sure that their friendship wouldn’t survive that. And it wasn’t only his friendship to Hermione which was at stake. Minerva and Augustus meant a lot to him too - and he knew: Minerva certainly wouldn’t forgive him what she’d name “seducing” her foster daughter. She would feel as if he’d misused her trust - and in a way he had, hadn’t he?

No. He couldn’t have an affair with Hermione. They had to go back to their platonic friendship now. And he had to go back to his normal life and to forget all about his feelings for Hermione. It was a silly infatuation - probably one out of the “there’s no bigger fool than an old fool” department. He would overcome it. He would work on it and he would get a grip on himself. He’d even get over his jealousy of Leander von Melanchthon. If Hermione wanted him - well, it was her life and she would have to live with the prick. As long as she didn’t expect him to hold the candle when she was sleeping with Melanchthon he would manage to repress the images in his head. And he would go on with his life and he would date other women. He was tired of being alone and - well, there was something else: He’d started to think about a family again. Of course, in a few days he’d celebrate his hundred and fifty sixth birthday, but - he was a wizard, wasn’t he? And his mediwitch found that he was in a great shape for a man of his age. He would have at least forty years more to live - and why shouldn’t he enjoy this years with a wife and children? He’d suffered through two wars; he’d worked all his life. Now he had time for himself and for a family - so why shouldn’t he look for a woman to give him a child?

As he’d come so far, Albus caught himself in doing “a Hermione”. Walking through nightly Venice he’d made up a list of women he knew, thinking about their suitability as the mother of his child.

As funny as he’d found himself for following Hermione in such a planning - the outcome of his pondering had shocked him. He’d discovered that in his past he’d rarely ever followed his heart, but was mostly gone in the direction in which his various erections had been pointing. It had always been the same: He’d met a woman, he’d felt attracted to her and he’d started to flirt with her. And yes, he’d always enjoyed the little banters and the tension and the knowledge that the woman would sooner or later become his lover.

In hindsight he became aware that he’d always chosen women who couldn’t come too close to him. He hadn’t wanted one having influence on his life. And he hadn’t wanted to fall in love again. Whenever he’d met a witch who had the potential to become more to him than as a casual affair, he’d soon put some distance between them. There had only been one exception of the rule: Angharad. Her warmth and her patience had overcome his fear of commitment, but even with her he hadn’t felt able to make the last step.

Had it really been only the war which had kept him back? Albus wasn’t so sure anymore. Of course, he’d lost his wife in the war against Grindelwald. His friends believed that this was the reason he’d become so reluctant about a second marriage. Even Minerva, the always critical, used to say that he’d become “traumatized”. Yet there was something more, something no one except Augustus knew about. Albus’ marriage hadn’t been a happy one. He’d loved his wife as much as he was able to and at least at the start Constanze had loved him back. But living together had been a problem from the outset.

Albus remembered only too well their first argument. They’d known each other three months and they’d been passionately in love with each other as he’d proposed to her. Constanze had jumped in his arms as he’d asked her to marry him and she’d kissed him under tears, crying and laughing in the same time. “Of course I want to be your wife! I love you, Albus!”

Two hours later she’d lie in his arms, tenderly playing with the hair on his chest. “Albus, what do you think about a wedding in May?” And without waiting for an answer, she started to swoon: “Vienna is never lovelier as in May! Imagine the trees blooming and the sweet fragrance of spring in the garden of my parents’ house. Of course, it could become a bit crowded there with all the guests we’ll have, but perhaps father and you can do something about that. And your parents will certainly lend us a few of their house-elves, don’t you think?”

Albus - though rather tired - turned to her. “Uh - Constanze, how many guests are we talking about here? I actually thought of a small wedding - you and me, our parents and siblings, a few close friends …”

“Albus!” Constanze looked almost scandalised. “I’m not Miss Smith from the grocer’s shop and you’re not a “Mr Nobody” either. Our wedding will become the social event of the year!”

Albus sighed. “Darling - I hate social events. I want to concentrate on you on our wedding day and I want to enjoy it. How shall I with a crowd around us? And why should I want to spend this special day among people I don’t care about?”

“You care about me, don’t you? And I’ve all my life dreamed about a wonderful wedding with me wearing a lovely dress. I want to celebrate the most important day of my life with all my friends around me.”

“How many friends do you have?” Albus asked, sounding slightly ironic.

Constanze ignored his tone. Smiling sweetly she answered: “I’m a social being. I know and like a lot of people. Besides I’ll have to invite some colleagues and my agent and …” she sat up and furrowed her brow. “The longer I think about it - Albus, I think we’ll need to have two receptions. I’m working around Muggles. We can hardly invite them to a wizards’ wedding. So we’ll have to do a second party for them.” Snuggling to him she kissed his shoulder. “I know you’ll look great in a Muggle tailcoat!”

“No!” Albus shook his head energetically. “I accept you want a great reception though I don’t really understand why. But I absolutely refuse to wear a tailcoat. You know, I hate wearing trousers!”

“Well, for a few hours you’ll survive it,” Constanze said crisply. “You’re marrying an opera singer in Vienna. That means tailcoat and waltzing. And you know I’d actually like to go the entire Muggle way. I mean, how should I explain to my Muggle friends where we have married? They will expect to become invited to the church.”

“Please, one moment!” Albus raised his hands. “You won’t get me to marry in a church, Constanze.”

“Why ever not? You’re not a Catholic, so what’s your problem with that?”

Albus breathed deeply. “I’m neither a Catholic nor a member of another church, but I respect other people’s religious beliefs. Therefore I won’t make a farce out of a ceremony which means a lot to other people.”

“Albus, don’t be a prick!” Constanze scolded him. “You’ve said it yourself: It’s only a ceremony. And it’s a nice one. So why shouldn’t we have it too?”

“Well, if you ask so: Why don’t we have a Hindu ceremony too? And perhaps we could have a wedding like the old Egyptian wizards? They celebrated a fertility ritual with the happy couple having sex in a temple in front of their guests. Wouldn’t that be fun?” Albus asked sarcastic.

“Albus, I expect you to take me serious about my wishes!” Constanze fumed.

“Well - I expect you to marry me for love and not for showing off!” he fired back.

With one jump Constanze was out of the bed and slipping in her dressing gown. “You know what, Albus Dumbledore? If you don’t want to marry me properly, you can marry someone else!”

He’d left her then, fuming with rage. But a few days later they’d made up and four weeks later they’d even managed to work out a trade off. Nevertheless, the wedding - a great reception for their friends in the magical world celebrated at Palazzo Houdini in Venice, a little party for Constanze’s colleagues and friends in the Muggle world who were told that she and her new husband had married “spontaneously” in a very small ceremony - had already shown that their compromises made neither him nor her really happy.

Trade offs had become their way of dealing with their differences - and disappointment a feeling both had become familiar with. In their first years their mutual passion had helped them to overcome their frustration with each other, but Albus had soon recognized that the ongoing arguments destroyed his love. He disliked when he was yelled at; he hated to hear reproaches like “you don’t even try to understand me!” and “you’re so insensitive!” and he loathed it when she started to cry during one of their arguments. Hence he tried to avoid annoying her and in this he started to lie to her.

At first it was only small things. She’d bought a set of candlesticks for their home which he found incredibly kitschy. But asked how he liked them, he remembered how badly she’d reacted when he’d criticised a sofa of her choice and so he’d smiled and maintained he’d found the candlesticks “nice”. The evening had been saved; he’d slept not only in his own bed instead of the sofa, but had even found a willing and pliant wife there.

He’d found that a little lie - and living with candlesticks he disliked - were a small price for peace. However, the next lie had been bigger. Constanze had loved to attend social events and Albus had always detested it. Coming home one evening rather tired and with a headache, Constanze had told him - beaming and delighted about a chance to show off a new dress - that they’d received an invitation to a ball. Before really thinking about it Albus had heard himself answer: “I’m so sorry, darling, but on the seventh I have an important conference at the University.” Seeing her disappointed face, he’d immediately added: “Why don’t you ask your brother to accompany you?”

The next day he’d ordered his assistants and students to a meeting on the seventh. He’d found himself clever then. He’d got some work at the university done while his wife and her brother - who’d been delighted about the invitation - enjoyed themselves at a ball.

He’d become a master of little lies and excuses and the clever Slytherin as he was, he’d never been caught. Nevertheless, there was something in him, something he cynically used to call “my inner Gryffindor”. This part of him loathed to lie and was angry because he couldn’t be honest with his wife. It had made for a distance to grow between them and out of this distance Albus had watched like a bystander as they’d lost their love and their marriage had fallen apart, slowly, but inevitably. He’d mourned for it and in his grief he’d treated his wife as if she were fragile. Yet by doing so he’d always wished she’d notice how he really felt. She hadn’t. Just the opposite: She’d become convinced that they had managed to overcome their troubles and that they were now finally on the road for a “happily ever after”.

Grindelwald had killed Constanze. Albus still felt guilty about that - but mostly he felt guilty because he hadn’t made her happy. As a husband he’d been a complete failure. That was the reason why he had never wanted to marry again. He wasn’t a man who liked to repeat mistakes and for years he’d believed that he wouldn’t be able to do better in this certain field. But now he’d become older and - so he hoped at least - quieter and more sensible. He wouldn’t allow himself to become blinded by passion anymore. The woman he was now looking for was one who would become his friend; it would be someone who shared his interests and values and who wanted the same things as he.

That was why he was now in an Indonesian restaurant in Den Haag, smiling at a Dutch witch who wasn’t a breath taking beauty, but radiated warmth and had shown herself as someone to talk with for hours. She’d sat down on the chair he’d presented to her and was looking a bit shyly at him. “I hope you like Indonesian food. I should have asked you before I suggested this restaurant, but …”

The waiter, coming with the menu, interrupted her. Albus thanked him with a nod, but didn’t look at the menu, but at Corrieke. “I don’t have much experience with Indonesian food. But I like Chinese, Korean, Japanese and Indian food. So I think Indonesian is fine with me too. I only hope you’ll pick something for me.”

“Hmm.” She leaved through the menu, and then looked at him. “Do you like it hot?”

He couldn’t resist grinning. “Always!”

Corrieke chuckled. “And here I thought you were British.”

“Actually only one half of me is British, but it’s just this half who likes it hot,” he replied. “British men prove their manliness and bravery by ordering hot curry in Indian restaurants.”

Corrieke crooked her head. “They don’t have other ways to show their maleness?”

Albus laughed. “Don’t ask me - as I’ve said: I’m only half British.”

She closed the menu. “Then I hope your Italian half will like Satay too. That’s a typical Indonesian dish: Pieces of a chicken, marinated with peanut and spices; roast on a spit.”

“That sounds delicious,” Albus said and waved for the waiter. “And what will we drink to the dish?”

“White wine?” Corrieke asked back. As Albus nodded, she handed the menus to the waiter who’d just approached their table. In Dutch she ordered their dinner.

Albus waited until the waiter disappeared, then breathed deeply and became serious. “Corrieke, in Venice I didn’t get a chance to talk with you about it, but I’m sorry about your candidate. I didn’t like to fail him, but …”

Corrieke raised her hand and interrupted him. “Albus - you don’t have to apologize.” She blushed and painted with one finger a figure on the tablecloth. “It wasn’t yours, but my fault. I should have known that he wouldn’t be up to the exam yet. I shouldn’t have presented him.” Looking up at him she added awkwardly: “You know, it’s quite embarrassing when one’s first apprentice plods through the exam.”

Albus reached over and laid his hand over hers. “Corrieke, the boy’s biggest problem was his nervousness. And that’s something you can’t be blamed for. Besides,” he smiled encouragingly at her, “he wasn’t the only candidate who failed. Makarov’s - and you know the man is an experienced master who should know every trick in the book - made a spectacular mess out of his animal transformation. Yamagochi and I needed almost two hours before we figured out what had gone wrong with it.”

“Thank you, Albus. You’re very kind. I wish the Minister would have been as understanding,” Corrieke said.

The waiter came with the wine and a cradle with bread. Albus tried the wine and approved of it though he found it rather sweet. Then, after the waiter was gone again, he asked softly: “Did your boss give you a hard time?”

Corrieke sighed. “Albus, I don’t want to spoil our dinner with whining. So you’d better not start me with this subject!”

“But it bothers you, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Of course it does. The entire disaster with the boy gets me down. I would never have sent him to the exam if I could have had it my way.” She sipped at her wine. “The dear boy is the nephew of our Minister and said Minister is totally under the thumb of his wife and their sister. They have spoiled the boy to no end and, what’s even worse, they believe him a genius. So his failing the exam can’t be his fault - in their opinion. And considered that you were presiding it can’t be your fault either. So it must be mine.” She sounded bitter.

“Oh my,” Albus sighed too. Furrowing his brow he asked: “Would it perhaps help if I talke to your Minister? I know him and I can certainly find an opportunity to meet him.”

“Thank you, Albus, that’s nice, but actually - I think I’d rather look for another job,” she replied.

Albus leant back and examined her thoughtfully. “Corrieke, I have an idea, but at the moment it’s too early to talk about. But if you give me a little time …”

Once again the waiter approached, this time bringing the dishes. Corrieke didn’t look at him, but at Albus. “I know it would be nobler if I’d say now that I can do it all on my own, but beggars can’t be choosers. I would be happy if you’d help me. Yet,” she blushed once again, “I didn’t ask you out because of my job problem.”

“No?” he grinned at her.

Corrieke picked one of her chicken spits up. “I won’t tell you the true reason. You’re vain enough.”

“Well - you’ve made my ego grow with your invitation,” he gave back. “Admittedly you were only a bit quicker as I.” He bit in a piece of chicken. “Oh - that’s really delicious.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Corrieke sipped once again at her wine. “Would you really have asked me for a date?” she asked.

Albus washed the very hot chicken down with some wine. “I already wanted to ask you in Venice, but you were always with your apprentice.” Putting another piece of chicken in his mouth he watched how she smiled at him. Her eyes were pretty lighting up like that and her soft mouth was inviting. Actually, the longer he looked at her, the nicer he found her. This soft skin of hers and the light of the candles setting golden reflexes in her hair - he liked that. And the robe she was wearing - oyster cotton with a little lace around the collar - suited her well. She had taste - he’d already thought so in Venice.

Smiling at her he said: “You mentioned in Venice that you like to dance. Unfortunately you weren’t there for the ball, so I missed my chance to waltz with you. But perhaps you’d like to give me another one?”

Corrieke looked up at him, her brown eyes beaming. “Oh, I’d love to!”

“Well, then - what about this Saturday in the afternoon?” he asked. “That wouldn’t only give me a chance to dance with you, but to show you something typical British. It’s called ‘Stomping at the Savoy’ - and it isn’t as bad as it sounds, just on the contrary. It’s having tea and dancing at a rather nice Muggle hotel in London.”

Corrieke softly started to sing: “Savoy, the house of sweet romance, Savoy, it wins you with a glance …” [1]

Albus joined in: “Savoy, gives happy feet a chance to dance.” Both laughed and he said cheerfully: “I see - I can’t surprise you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can.” Corrieke rose her glass. “You actually just did. I wouldn’t have thought you’d know such Muggle songs.”

“Why not?” asked Albus. “Did you think I’m too ancient to know anything else as Gilbert and Sullivan?”

Corrieke obviously heard the little bitterness in his voice. Once again she blushed, but then said firmly: “I’ve done my homework. I’ve looked up your biography and was amazed to learn that you were born in 1848. You look younger. Besides - for a wizard a hundred and fifty six isn’t ancient. Yet I’ve read you’re a pure-blood and they’re mostly not so much in Muggle things.”

Albus swallowed another piece of chicken. “It seems I’m atypical. Or better said: I spent half my life in the company of teenagers.”

Corrieke nodded. “I should have thought of that. It was actually something I liked about the job in Beauxbatons.”

Albus watched her attentively. “Really? Most people find teenager rather tiresome. During my time at Hogwarts I often thought that some of our teenagers’ parents were rather happy they had only to deal with them during the holidays.”

Corrieke chewed thoughtfully. After swallowing she said: “Teenagers seem to live in a world of their own. I always found that interesting. Besides,” she became awkward and shook her head. “You’ll probably find me terribly sentimental, but at Beauxbatons I sometimes wished that some of the teenagers wouldn’t change their view of the world by becoming older. Some of these kids - around fifteen years old - were so idealistic, so determined to better the world and so full of dreams and energy. It probably sounds silly to you, but I adored their idealism and the passion they showed about their goals.”

Albus suddenly remembered a bushy haired fourteen year old girl who’d come to him about the rights of the house-elves and he meant to hear her voice: “But Headmaster, the house-elves are treated like slaves! No being with feelings should become bound to someone or something!” Hermione - she’d given up fighting for the freedom of the house-elves long before, but she hadn’t grown out of her idealism. She still stood up for things she found important and she still wanted to better the world.

He missed her. He missed her so much he needed all of his self-discipline to suppress the impulse to excuse himself for Apparating straight to Oxford.

Breathing deeply, he pushed the longing for Hermione away and smiled at the woman next to him. “It absolutely doesn’t sound silly to me, Corrieke. After over eighty years with children I certainly don’t tend to romanticise teenagers, but I like their idealism too.”

“And you don’t miss the children since you’ve retired?” Corrieke asked.

Albus mused a moment over the question. “Yes and no,” he replied then with a little smile. “Dealing with young people I sometimes miss, but being Headmaster - no, absolutely not. The problem with this job is that one actually isn’t close to the students anymore. Hogwarts has a system with four houses. As soon as a student attends the school, he becomes sorted into one of the four houses. And with that he becomes the responsibility of not only the head of his house, but of the house community, represented through the prefects too.” He shoved his empty dish away and poured himself another glass of wine. Sipping at it he proceeded: “With the head of houses holding even the power to expel a pupil, it’s rare that the Headmaster is needed to deal with a single student. I only was to interfere when a head of house was at his wits end. Considered how qualified the staff at Hogwarts are, that happened rarely during my time. Sometimes I spent weeks without talking more than a few lines to a student.” He laughed. “You know, I was sometimes glad when the Potions master or the Transfiguration mistress caught the flu and I had a chance to teach their classes. Yet afterwards they always whined about my messing with their students.”

Corrieke laughed with him, but became quickly serious again. “As a teacher one has a schedule for the class. I know how proud I was of the first class I had and how jealously I watched that no one was interfering.”

Albus filled her empty glass again and decided to change the subject. He was convinced that Corrieke was just what Hogwarts needed. However, Hogwarts was Minerva’s business now and therefore he would talk to her, and not to Corrieke. Instead he looked at the counter where the host was polishing glasses. “Is there anything like a dessert in Indonesian cooking?”

“Of course!” Corrieke exclaimed. “There are a few typical Indonesian things with fruits and honey - very nice. But what I like most here is something international: Ice cream. They make the most delicious cinnamon ice cream here.”

Albus swallowed - and not because the thought of cinnamon ice cream made his mouth water. Cinnamon ice cream was Hermione’s favourite and he remembered how often they’d Apparated to Oxford after an evening at the opera to get some of it from her favourite Italian ice maker.

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

“Albus!” Minerva McGonagall rose on her tiptoes and gave her old friend a peek on the cheek. Examining him then she furrowed her brow. “You’re looking exhausted and rather pale. What have you done with yourself?” she asked while leading him into her office.

“The examinations in Venice were tiresome. Besides I didn’t sleep well in the last days,” he answered, sitting down at the chair she’d offered him. Looking around the office he wondered once again, how much the room had changed. Although Minerva hadn’t got new furniture and the paintings on the walls were - except for his portrait hanging over the fireplace - still the same as in the days the office had been his, the entire atmosphere had altered. What once had been a rather untidy, but cosy room looked now neat, organized and a little cool. But Albus, knowing Minerva for years, didn’t let himself be fooled by the severity of her surroundings. He’d seen through her years before, learning that Minerva needed to keep herself on distance to her pupils for not becoming overwhelmed by her feelings for them. She cared for every one of them as if they were a child of her own, but intelligent woman as she was she knew that living with magical powers and developing them needed discipline. That was what she taught her students - mostly through her example.

She’d sat down on the chair opposite to him, smoothing her burgundy robe over her knees and reaching for the little bell standing on the table. Ringing it, she said: “I take it we’ll drink tea together? I’ve ordered lemon meringues for you.”

“You spoil me, Minerva!” he smiled at her.

“The house-elves wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t give them a chance to serve you your favourites,” she gave back.

Just at this moment a house-elf, wearing a white tea towel with the Hogwarts crest, appeared with a “plop”. His big ears flopped with excitement as it bowed in front of Albus and Minerva. “Here is Dixy at your service, ma’am, sir.”

“Hello, Dixy!” Albus greeted the elf. “I hope down at the kitchen everyone’s well?”

“Oh yes, sir!” The house-elf jumped in delight. “Dixy and his friends were so happy to learn professor-sir is coming today. We was preparing lemon meringues and fruit cake for professor-sir.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Albus said. “You know I miss your lemon meringues and the fruit cake often.”

“Shall Dixy get your house-elves the recipes, professor-sir?”

“Thank you, but no - I don’t think they could make it taste as delicious as it always is here,” Albus replied.

Minerva folded her hands in her lap. “Dixy, would you get us tea?”

“With pleasure, Headmistress-ma’am!” the house-elf bowed once again and disappeared.

Minerva sighed. “They still adore you and would so like to have you back.”

Albus smiled. “Of course. I was always a glutton,” he stroked over his belly, “while you’re an ascetic.”

“Aye - I don’t like sweets as much as you do,” Minerva replied. “But you know I enjoy good English food.”

“And Scottish food - haggis!” remembered Albus with a little shudder.

Minerva laughed. “Don’t worry, Albus - I don’t bother the students with it. But actually they tantalise me with their wishes for food. You know we’ve invented something new: For Saturday’s the students are to suggest something for dinner. Since then we have eaten Italian food - pizza and spaghetti and lasagne,” she spoke the names as if they would mean something nasty. “I know, you’re fond of Italian food, but I could easily live without it. I’ll never understand why the children prefer that stuff over good, healthy English dishes.”

The house-elf had appeared again, balancing a huge tray with cakes and lemon meringues, a silver tea pot and fine china. Minerva helped to unload it and poured tea for Albus while the elf disappeared after another bow. “Albus, you know, I’m always happy to see you, but I wondered a bit about your owl,” she started. “It sounded so businesslike.”

“Well,” Albus put three lumps of sugar in his tea and leant back, the cup in his hand, “I indeed want to talk shop with you.” He sipped at the hot tea, and then looked at the headmistress. “Minerva,” he started cautiously, “you know, I don’t want to meddle …”

“I indeed know,” Minerva interrupted him. “I sometimes wish you would.”

“Please?” He raised an eyebrow. “Minerva, you’re more than able to lead this school without my interference. I even believe you do better as I ever did. You’re better organized, you’re …”

“… obviously lacking in knowledge of human nature,” Minerva finished the line for him, sounding angry at herself. “The last few weeks I’ve often thought I owe you an apology.” She stood up and started to pace through the room.

Albus got himself a lemon meringue and chewing at a piece of it, he waited patiently until she started to speak again.

“You know, I often nagged and ranted at you about the teachers you hired. Snape as Potions master and head of Slytherin - I really thought you’d be out of your mind! Sybil Trelawney,” she shuddered, “is a fraud of the worse kind …”

“And don’t forget my odd collection of DADA teachers!” Albus said cheerfully.

“Yes,” Minerva nodded. “I thought of them too. And you know I believed once that I could do better as you in this department. I always oversaw that the number of your successes was much higher. You hired Filius Flitwick, Stella Sinistra, Valeria Vector, Pomona Sprout and even Snape. You know, I found working with him difficult, but he was a brilliant Potions master and did well as head of Slytherin.”

Albus swallowed a piece of the delicious lemon meringue. “Besides I hired you - my best catch for Hogwarts.”

Minerva granted him a little smile before she sat down again, folding her hands in her lap. “Albus, I’m in trouble with three positions. Hermione probably told you that my successor in Transfiguration don’t do as well as I would wish. But that’s not the only problem here. In Potions the grades at the NEWTs and OWLs are going down too and in Ancient Runes - well, the grades aren’t the problem, but of Lester’s methods I don’t approve. He treats his students worse than Snape and he’s spreading trouble amongst the staff. Albus, I’m at my wits end and I need your help.”

Albus put his empty dish on the table and reached for Minerva’s hand. “Minerva, one of the first things I learned in this job was that perfectionism doesn’t work. You have to deal here with human beings and even if you would be able to have only the best on your staff - you would still have to deal with things like the chemistry between some teachers and their classes not working and staff members not liking each other and with some you don’t like.”

“But Albus - I want the best for the students!” Minerva sounded tired and sad.

“Of course you do. And I don’t think that’s wrong,” Albus answered. “But if you don’t want to go nuts in this job, you must learn that there will always be a difference between what you wish and what you can achieve. And,” he looked down at her small hand, then pulled it up and kissed it, “my dear Minerva, there’s something else: You tend to be too critical with yourself. You shouldn’t always look on the things that don’t work, but sometimes at the successes too. Hogwarts did have nice achievements in the last years. It won once again the Triwizards’ Tournament and Filius’ seventh years receiving the Junior Merlin Award was wonderful too. You know in my time they never even came in shooting range of it.”

“There was a war, Albus!” Minerva reminded him.

“Nevertheless - you’ve shown in the last years that you’re doing great as my successor,” Albus said.

“Albus, I can’t lean back resting on our laurels - not as long as I haven’t solved the problem with the Transfiguration and the Potions teacher,” Minerva said unhappily.

Albus stretched his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. “For your Transfiguration problem I perhaps know a salvation. In Venice I’ve met a colleague who - in my opinion - suits the description for the job perfectly. She’s Dutch, but studied at the MCO what means her English is great. After her doctorate she went to Beauxbatons for her apprenticeship, so she’s even got experience as a teacher. Besides she likes teaching and would probably dance with joy if you offered her a position here.” Noticing how she examined him, he laughed. “Minerva, you don’t have to rummage in your mind for a tactful way to ask me if and in which way I’m interested in the lady. I’ll tell you unasked: Yes, I like her very much. And yes, I find her attractive. And for the nature of my interest in her only so much: I find myself considering if she could perhaps be a candidate for the vacant position of a Madam Dumbledore.”

“What?” Minerva almost let her cup drop. Her eyes became as big as saucers as she swallowed and slowly asked: “Did I understand you right? You’ve fallen in love so much you think about marriage?”

Albus got himself a piece of fruit cake, then answered calmly: “You understood right that I’m thinking about marriage, but I didn’t say I’m in love.” He sighed and, fixing a point over Minerva’s shoulder, proceeded: “I’ve thought a lot about my life lately. You may laugh, but I’ve grown tired of affairs. I feel lonely, Minerva. I have great friends and I enjoy their company very much, but I’ve come to a point in my life where I want to belong to someone. Having a woman in my bed from time to time isn’t enough anymore. I want to have one in my home and in my heart.”

“I certainly won’t laugh about that, Albus.” Minerva smiled warmly at him. “Just the opposite. I like that very much - and I’m becoming very curious about this Dutch lady who makes you think about settling down at last. She must be very special.”

Albus was well aware that it hadn’t been Corrieke, but Hermione who’d made for that, but what had been going on between him and her was over and he certainly would never talk with Minerva about. So he looked in his tea cup and answered: “Yes, Corrieke - that’s her name - is very special. She was with her first apprentice in Venice. We’ve spent two nights there - and another one in Den Haag just two days ago. And no,” he couldn’t help grinning at Minerva who looked sceptically on him, “I didn’t do anything you’d find naughty. We only talked - but I’ve rarely met someone I enjoyed talking to so much. She’s a fine woman - warm-hearted and intelligent, deep feeling and honest. And she’s got wit and a broad mind.”

“That sounds like someone I’ll enjoy to meet,” Minerva said. “But,” she searched for words, “if you only talked to her until know - does she know about your intentions towards her?”

He shook his head. “No - and I won’t tell her yet. I want to take this slowly.”

Minerva laughed. “Albus, you sound as if you’ve finally become an adult! It suits you - very much so. But now tell me: When can I meet this very special witch? And do you really think she’d be interested in a position at Hogwarts?”

“About that I’m sure,” Albus replied. “At the moment she’s working at the Dutch Ministry, but she’s rather unhappy there.”

“Well then - will you tell her or shall I contact her?” Minerva asked.

“I’d rather have you contact her,” Albus said. “You’re the Headmistress of Hogwarts.”

“Fine.” Minerva rose up and went to her desk. Taking a quill and a piece of parchment she asked: “What’s her full name and how can I reach her?”

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


Corrieke van Eycken was in a blue mood as she entered her little flat under the roof of an old house in the wizards’ district of Den Haag. In the morning she’d have a little run-in with the Head of the Aurors’ department who’d flatly refused the suggestions she’d made for the education of young Aurors. Even telling him that the spells she wanted them to learn were taught at the English Aurors’ Academy hadn’t convinced him. He’d sneered at her that he didn’t like her “dabbling” around with things she didn’t have a “clue” about - and if it wouldn’t be better for her if she’d work with her apprentice? “It was embarrassing enough that you couldn’t get him through the exam,” the Auror had said.

This hadn’t been the worst moment of her day. After lunch Corrieke had received an owl from the University of Oslo where she’d applied for an open position as a junior professor. The letter had been polite and brief: They’d taken another candidate with “more experience in the academic field”, but they wished her all the best for her future.

Sitting down on her old sofa - one of the few things she’d inherited from her Muggle parents - she sighed deeply. As she’d left Beauxbatons she’d been full of hope. She’d thought that good grades - she’d made her master exam with summa cum laude - and her enthusiasm for teaching would sooner or later get her a job at one of the European wizards’ schools. But now, seven years later and with a pile of rejection letters in her drawer, she didn’t believe in herself anymore. Yet the thought of being stuck at the ministry depressed her no end. She was sure she wouldn’t be able to stand another seven years there.

Her eyes fell on a bunch of flowers - dahlias in the colours of autumn - standing on the table. The luxury of them was almost too much for her little flat, but yesterday, as two eagle owls had brought them, Corrieke had almost cried in joy. She hadn’t needed to look at the card attached to them for knowing who’d sent her the dahlias. Except for Albus Dumbledore she’d never known a man to spoil her with flowers.

Of course, being forty four years old meant that she’d been around the block. She’d even been married once. Yet thinking of her short-lived marriage made her cringe now. How could she have been so silly?

Probably she could take her youth as an excuse. She’d been only twenty years old, in her second year at Oxford and although she’d made a few really nice friends there, she’d often felt homesick. She’d longed for someone to talk with in her mother tongue and to chat about the things she found strange about the English people.

And then, one evening in the pub, she’d heard someone talk behind her and the accent had been so typically Dutch she’d immediately turned around. Behind her had stood a sturdy blond with freckles, holding a pint of lager and telling an English friend how much he missed the Dutch beer. Corrieke had laughed and told him she’d miss the brew of her home country too. So her relationship with Frieso Rijkmans had started.

He’d studied Potions and was seen as a big talent by his professors. Being very creative he had an instinctive feeling of what could work and so he had already in his first year at Oxford developed a beauty potion which he’d sold for a good prize to one of the big labs.

Yet this early success had spoilt him. Since then he thought himself above the “boring” daily work in a lab, but spent most of his time in pubs, drinking and, how he used to say, “developing his next stroke of genius”.

Blinded by his charm and her loneliness Corrieke had fallen in love with him and she’d married him after only three months. She actually hadn’t wanted to marry so quickly, but there had been this endearing little house Frieso had liked so much and the landlord had insisted on only renting it to a married couple.

Corrieke had quickly come to regret that she’d let Frieso persuade her into the marriage. Only half a year after their wedding he’d come back from the university, fuming and stomping his feet like a defiant three year old. His professor had told him off for missing too many lessons and Frieso had felt insulted. “What does that old fart think? What could I learn from his boring lessons? What I would need would be some support to develop something new, but this he refused, saying I would need to do some basic research first. Well, I’ve told him where he can put his basic research! And now I’m going to get myself a master who will give me a real chance.”

He’d found a master - the lab he’d sold his first invention to had been happy to have him. Yet three months later he’d become sacked - he hadn’t managed another invention, but only complained about not getting enough support.

From there on he’d loitered on the sofa, whining about the world not appreciating him enough. He hadn’t even got off his butt as they’d run out of money and so it had been Corrieke who’d provided the rent and everything else by working as a waitress in the evenings.

One night, only a few days before Christmas, she’d come home a bit earlier as her husband had thought. She’d found him in bed with another woman and had been informed by him that she couldn’t have expected him to stay faithful to such a “prissy, fat bore” like her. That had been the end of her marriage. Corrieke had left the house in the same hour and on the next day she’d gotten herself a little flat and a lawyer for divorcing Frieso.

Four years later Corrieke had fallen in love again. Keith had been the brother of a friend of hers at Oxford and although he’d been forty years her senior she’d been very happy with him. They’d planed to marry, but - Keith had been an English Auror and England had been at war. Keith had fallen in a fight against Voldemort and so Corrieke had been alone again.

Since then - well, she wasn’t a saint. She’d had the one or other little affair, but nothing serious. And she’d even given up hope for love by now. She’d come in use with the thought of becoming an old spinster and actually she didn’t mind much - if only she would become an old spinster with an interesting job.

As Albus had approached her in Venice, she’d inwardly cringed, thinking he’d only come out of pity for a pathetic, little wallflower. If she wouldn’t have been so hungry and so lost in Venice, she wouldn’t have taken up his invitation for dinner. But then it had become such a wonderful night! He wasn’t only charming, but had perfect manners and a humour she loved. To talk with him - it felt as if she’d have known him for years.

Nevertheless - by looking at the flowers she wondered. Albus Dumbledore, the hero of two wars, the mightiest sorcerer alive and still a very attractive man - what did he want with her, the plain, boring Corrieke? And what should become from this? Corrieke felt that she was falling for him and it terrified her. He couldn’t be really interested in her, could he? Falling in love with him could only mean that she would have got her heart broken again.

An owl was tapping at her window. Corrieke stood up and opened, hoping it would be one of the eagle owls Albus was using. Yet it was a barn owl which looked as if it would have flied a long way. Corrieke reached for a treat, and then untied the parchment at the owl’s leg. The roll was sealed with red wax, showing a big “H”.

Corrieke raised an eyebrow. She knew neither the seal nor the neat handwriting, but the address “Miss Corrieke van Eycken, T.M.” showed her that the owl probably came from England. Unrolling the parchment Corrieke’s jaw dropped. There was the big “H” again, this time surrounded by four animals - badger, raven, lion and snake. Below it she read: “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, Merlin Award First Class, Member of the Wizengamot.”

And then the neat, elegant hand again: “Hogwarts, November 3 - Dear Miss van Eycken, my predecessor Professor Dumbledore mentioned that you may be interested in a position as Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts. Having an opening I’d very much like to talk to you. I’d be grateful if you’d let me know if and when we could meet for a talk. Yours sincerely - Minerva McGonagall.”

Corrieke read the letter twice - and then once again. It sounded rather brisk, but - a position at Hogwarts! It would be a dream coming true.

Looking at the owl she said: “You’re waiting for an answer, aren’t you? Well - at the moment I feel rather overwhelmed.”

Hogwarts - her mind was spinning by the thought of it. Could it really be true that she would get a chance there?

Rising up, she went over to her desk, pulled a piece of parchment out of a drawer and sat down. Her hand trembled as she dipped her quill in the ink, but she managed to calm down before she wrote: “Den Haag, November 3 - Dear Headmistress, thank you for your kind letter. Professor Dumbledore was right. I’m indeed interested in a position at Hogwarts; hence I’d like to present myself to you. Would it be convenient for you if I came to Hogwarts …” She stopped and looked at the calendar hanging over her desk. It was Wednesday now. Perhaps she could go to Hogwarts on Friday? The ministry closed at twelve then, so she would have time in the afternoon.

Taking the quill up again, she wrote: “… on Friday, November 5, around three p.m.? Yours sincerely - C. van Eycken, T.M.”

Rolling the parchment up, she sealed it, tied it onto the owl’s leg, gave the bird another treat and opened the window for it. With a sigh she watched how it descended into the night sky. She didn’t want to get her hopes up yet, but there was a flutter in her stomach and a little voice in the back of her head, whispering: “Corrieke, this time you’ll be the lucky one! You’ve been recommended to the Hogwarts Headmistress by no one else as Albus Dumbledore.”

Thinking of Albus made for her stomach doing a little flip and her palms becoming sweaty. What if she couldn’t live up to his expectations? What if Minerva McGonagall didn’t think her good enough for Hogwarts?

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


Leaning at the stone balustrade of the cathedral’s tower, Hermione wrapped her cloak tighter around her and looked over the city to the dark mountains surrounding it. In the cold light of the November Sunday they looked repellent and forbidding. Hermione had never been in the Black Forest before, but she knew that deep within these woods a lot of ancient, magical places were hidden. Giants and dragons had once lived there; one of the vales had been the place where the first community of magical people had been founded. Today most wizards and witches shuddered when they heard of the Black Forest. They connected it to the dark lord Grindelwald who’d been born there in an old castle, standing over a small, inapproachable vale called “Wolf’s canyon”.

Leander obviously had noticed her shuddering by the thought of the dark lord and, stepping closer to her, he laid an arm around her shoulder. “What is it, Hermione?” he asked. “Don’t you like the sight?”

Hermione leant a bit back, grateful for the warmth his strong body was radiating. “The sight is glorious,” she replied, “but I couldn’t help thinking of Grindelwald.”

“Most people do when they come here for the first time,” Leander said and pointed with his hand to a mountain in the North. “Behind there is the Wolf’s canyon.”

Hermione shuddered once again. “You know the place?”

“Of course I do,” Leander answered promptly. “My family’s home is the castle Wolfenberg. It’s only a few minutes away from the Wolf’s canyon. As a child I often played there. I knew Albrecht Grindelwald before he cracked and attempted to rule the world.”

“You knew him?” Hermione looked up at the German wizard. “But you weren’t …” She didn’t finish the line.

Leander understood nevertheless and shook his head. “My father and my brother were with him. I wasn’t. I’m not the man to become another one’s minion.” He laughed bitterly. “Nevertheless I went through a lot of trouble after the war. My father and my brother had died - not much mourned by me because I thought both of them idiots for joining Grindelwald. However, I had a hard time until I could convince our government that I wasn’t involved and got my heritage back.”

Hermione sighed. “I hope very much I won’t see a second dark lord rise during my life time. I’ve had more than enough with the war against Voldemort. I never want to fight again.”

“And here I thought Dumbledore taught you and your friends to be true heroes,” Leander replied rather ironically. “I actually wonder why none of you became an Auror.”

Hermione turned around, looking at him. Slowly shaking her head, she replied then: “First, Leander: Dumbledore certainly didn’t want us to become ‘heroes’. I think he would have been happy if we could have grown up as normal teenagers with our dates for the Yule Ball the biggest problems in our lives. Yet there was a war and a prophecy which said that Harry would be the one to defeat Voldemort.” She breathed deeply and proceeded: “Second: I never wanted to become an Auror. The boys did at one time, but as the war was over, they were fed up with fighting too. So, Harry decided to become a healer while Ron happily accepted an offer to become a professional Quidditch player.”

Leander smiled at her and stroke tenderly over her cheek. “I like very much that you’re so loyal to your friends. Although - as far as Dumbledore is concerned, I’d wish you’d become a bit more,” he searched for a word and decided then for “adult”.

“’Adult’ as in critical?” Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow, but didn’t wait for an answer. “Don’t underestimate me, Leander. I certainly don’t tend to glorify Albus Dumbledore. I was a member of the Order of the Phoenix. I know how Dumbledore manipulated people, how he tricked and lied when he had to and I remember only too well the effects of his pragmatism.” She sighed. “Does the name ‘Severus Snape’ ring a bell with you?”

Leander furrowed his brow. “A pretty dubious character, wasn’t he? Dumbledore’s Potions master, former Death Eater …”

“… and bastard extraordinaire,” Hermione finished for him. Walking to the iron door, she asked: “Can we go down? It’s rather cold here.”

“Of course.” Leander opened the door for her.

Hermione stepped through and on the stair case. “Back to Snape,” she said. “I suffered through seven years of his classes and I can assure you: It wasn’t a picnic. Snape was a bully, who enjoyed making his students feel miserable. He humiliated us on a regular basis; he loved showing us as being as stupid as possible. It was so bad that the boggart of one of my classmates became Snape.”

“Really? During the war against Voldemort he feared Snape more than Voldemort?” Leander sounded as if he couldn’t believe it.

“Yes, he did,” Hermione nodded. “And I understood why. Snape was really bad and with my friends and I being his favourite targets, I was on the receiving end of a good portion of his malice. You know, Harry’s father and godfather had been Snape’s arch enemies during their school years. Snape pampered the old grudge against them in bullying Harry, Ron and me. It was horrible and I could never understand why Dumbledore tolerated it.”

Leander, who was in front of her, looked over his shoulder. “And? Did you ever ask Dumbledore about that?”

“Of course I did,” Hermione replied. “His answer was short and cool: Snape was his spy in Voldemort’s rank. He risked his life there and he’d become crucioed more than once. Dumbledore explained that to me and then he said: ‘Under those circumstances I didn’t want to debate his teaching methods with him too often. I know it was rather uncomfortable for the students, but alas - we were at war’.”

“And you forgave him that?” Leander asked.

Hermione, a little panting because they were still climbing down, shrugged her shoulders. “Honestly, Leander - what could he have done otherwise? He needed Snape. If he would have heightened the pressure on him he would have risked Snape going back to Voldemort. Dumbledore had to balance between his students suffering in Snape’s classes and losing Snape. I actually understand that he saw Snape’s bullying us as the lesser of two evils.” They’d reached the place in front of the cathedral now and Leander laid his arm around Hermione’s shoulder again. Looking at him she said: “Let’s change the subject, shall we? You know, the cathedral is really beautiful.”

“I think it’s the most beautiful in Germany,” Leander gave back, stroking over a pillar. “Of course, Cologne and Ulm are bigger, but the cathedral in Freiburg was completed during the middle ages.”

Hermione laid her head back and looked up at the façade. “It shows. It’s all well rounded.”

“That’s what I like so much about it,” Leander gave back. “But now I would like to show you the university. You know it’s even older than Merlin College though most English wizards don’t like to hear that.”

Hermione laughed. “I don’t have a problem with that. I like the Merlin College very much and I’m proud to be a fellow there, but I know that the Paracelsus and the Cagliostro University were there before.”

“I know I’m objective, but I like our university even better as the Cagliostro. You know, the building my rooms are in is in the finest, purest Romanesque style. Come - I’ll show it to you.”

He took her hand for walking to the magical part of the city, but Hermione stopped him. “Just a moment, Leander.” She bit on her bottom lip. “Do you think it wise to appear with me at the university?” She blushed. “I mean your wife is teaching there too, isn’t she?”

Leander pushed his blue cap back and scraped himself behind his left ear. “Well, my wife teaches Arithmancy. She’s in another building - pretty far away from the Transfiguration department. We certainly won’t meet her.”

“But people will see us and perhaps tell her,” Hermione said.

“So what?” Leander smiled at her. “We’re separated. So it’s no business of hers anymore with whom I spend my time. Besides I don’t intend to snog you in the yard. Although,” with one quick step he pulled her in a niche at the cathedral and embraced her, “you look very snoggable.” He bent down, his lips landing on her temple and gliding down over her cheek to her mouth. “Hermione, you’re so sweet!” he whispered.

Hermione closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his waist. His body felt warm and firm against hers and she liked his smell - leather and sandalwood, an austere, very male fragrance. And he knew how to kiss. He nibbled at her bottom lip and then his tongue sneaked in her mouth, tenderly and cautiously. Hermione leant against him, opening her lips and responding to him.


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


“Sssst!” The snitch was zooming around the two phoenixes, his golden wings almost touching Albus’ beak before it went down, hovering for a moment over the ground as if it would want to bait the birds hunting it. Fawkes promptly followed. Skipping over his head, he pressed his wings closely to his body while he let himself fall down like an arrow to the spot where the snitch was. Yet the golden ball was quicker. Just in the second Fawkes stopped his fall and stretched his claws to catch it, the snitch jumped aside, spiralled around him and descended in little circles. Fawkes hooted in disappointment, but Albus watched the ball. It came closer to him, but he could see that it already prepared to slip to the North again. Turning too, he rose up, hoping he could get under the snitch and blocking it. Yet as he was almost there, he saw a female figure in a blue cloak stepping down the path from the castle to the lake.

Thrilling a cheerful note to Fawkes, Albus let himself fall down to the ground, intending to land in front of the witch who was now standing at the beach, looking thoughtfully up to the castle. Yet watching her distracted him from landing properly. As his claws touched the rocky ground, he stumbled over a stone and promptly fell on his butt.

Fawkes obviously found the sight funny. Hovering over Albus, he made a cackling sound, then came down, landed graciously next to him and watched how his wizard struggled to come on his feet again. In the phoenix form it was difficult and therefore he gave up and changed back to his human shape. He knew he didn’t look very dignified as he stood up, but Corrieke was tactful enough not to laugh at him, but stretched out a hand to help him.

Her brown eyes were beaming and her cheeks were slightly flushed as she greeted him: “Albus! How wonderful to see you! What were you doing?”

“Well - I was waiting for you,” he answered. “And while loitering around here, Fawkes saw the snitch. It probably got lost during training. We decided to have a bit of fun chasing it.” He bent down and kissed her cheek. “But tell me: How was your talk with Minerva?”

“Oh, Albus!” Corrieke threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek. “How can I ever thank you? You’ve made my dream come true! The Headmistress offered me the position and I’ve of course taken it. Albus, I’ll soon become the Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts!”

“”That’s great.” Albus stepped back, holding her at arms length. “Don’t you think that makes for a celebration? What are you doing this evening?”

“Celebrating my new job with you?” she asked back. “Albus - I’m so happy! I could sing and dance and embrace the entire world!”

She was endearing in her joy and with her shining eyes she looked almost beautiful. Albus felt a wave of affection and tenderness for her and took her in his arms again. “If you embrace the entire world I’ll become jealous.”

For a few seconds Corrieke looked at him, then snuggled her head against his shoulder. With her mouth so close to his neck he could feel her warm breath as she whispered: “Hugging you will be enough.”

Albus laid his mouth in her soft hair. “Actually I’d like to kiss you now. Only I’m afraid Minerva would want my head if her new Transfiguration teacher would become seen snogging me by passing students.” He let her go and smiled down at her.

Corrieke looked around, mischief in her eyes. “I can’t see a student here,” she said.

Albus laughed and took her hand. “First lesson as a teacher at Hogwarts: A student is something which is never there when you would need it, but certainly appears if you don’t want to see it. But you have an advantage: In the contrast to them you’re always allowed to leave Hogwarts grounds. That gives you a fair chance to have a little privacy.” Turning around, he stretched his free arm. “Fawkes - don’t you want to present yourself to Professor van Eycken?”

Fawkes hopped up on his wizard’s arm, looking curiously at Corrieke. She smiled. “He’s beautiful, your phoenix.”

Albus petted Fawkes’ neck. “Wait a few days. Then he’ll look even more beautiful. He just had his burning day and his plumage is still not up to its best form.”

Corrieke obviously couldn’t tear her eyes away from the bird. “For me he’s breath taking enough. What do you think - may I touch him?”

“You have to ask him. Fawkes isn’t mine, but very much a being of his own.” Albus laughed and tugged lightly at one of Fawkes’ tail feathers. “If he would wear a tag, it certainly would read ‘Albus is mine’.”

“Ah - and you look properly after your property, Fawkes?” Corrieke asked the bird.

He crooked his head and nibbled at Albus’ finger. “He does,” he answered and, becoming serious, he added: “Without Fawkes I wouldn’t be here anymore. He’s saved my life three times.”

Corrieke swallowed and cautiously stroked with one finger over Fawkes’ head. “So you aren’t only beautiful, but brave and helpful.”

Fawkes lifted a claw and started cleaning it. Albus smiled. “Now he feels awkward - a rare sight. Normally he’s pretty cheeky.” Taking Corrieke’s hand again, he said: “Let’s go down to Hogsmeade, shall we? There’s a nice pub there and we can celebrate your new job.”

Two hours later Corrieke was definitely tipsy. Albus had presented her to Rosmerta, the landlady of the “Three Broomsticks” and as she’d heard that Corrieke was to become a Hogwarts teacher soon, she’d insisted on inviting her to partake in a glass of Firewhisky. A bottle of champagne had followed then with the dinner and now Corrieke was very cheerful and pliant. Leaning against Albus she closed her eyes and sighed contently. “Sometimes I wish one could bottle happiness. I could fill three or four bottles now and I’d like to keep them on a shelf for bad days.” Opening her eyes again she looked up at Albus. “A teacher at Hogwarts - I still can’t believe it. It’s everything I ever wished and even more. As the Headmistress started to talk about the payment I almost fell from my chair.” She blushed a bit. “I know one doesn’t talk about money, but - well, I’ve never had much. My parents were simple people. My father worked as an accounting clerk and if my mother hadn’t of earned a little with doing the laundry for other people they couldn’t have afforded my education. And now - do you know how much they pay at Hogwarts?” She didn’t wait for him answering, but proceeded in a whisper: “It’s almost double as much as I get from the ministry! And it even comes with bed and board. You know, I would have wanted the position even if it would have been poorly paid, but so - Albus, I feel rich! For the first time in my life I won’t have to worry about money anymore. And you know what? I want to celebrate that too. I will pay for this dinner and the champagne. I’ve always thought the greatest delight about having money is that one has something to give.”

Albus smiled at her. Her joy and happiness was infectious and with every minute he spent with her he became more convinced that he’d finally found a woman to be with for the rest of his life. Her generosity and her kindness warmed his heart. “Who am I to refuse such a charming invitation?” he said. “Thank you, Corrieke.”

Suddenly her face became serious. She watched him, a slight blush rising up in her cheeks. Clearing her throat she asked: “Albus, what would you say if a woman would ask you to spend the night with her?”

Albus took her hand. Pulling it up to his mouth, he kissed the inside of her wrist. “It depends on the woman, Corrieke,” he replied then. “If it were a certain, very loveable Dutch witch I’d feel honoured and flattered. There’s only one point I want to mention: You don’t have to do that. I’m willing and prepared to wait until …”

Corrieke stopped him with putting her forefinger on his mouth. “Albus, I’m not intoxicated - or at least I haven’t drunk so much I wouldn’t know what I’m doing.” With a shy smile she placed her hand on his knee. “I actually intended to ask you tomorrow,” she whispered. “But now we’re here and I really would hate to sleep alone this night.”

Albus bent down and kissed her temple. “Well, then - your place or mine, darling?” He smiled at her, but actually he felt sad. He’d said he’d wait until she was ready, but in fact - he probably would have needed a bit more time. He felt like sitting on a fence. On the one hand he longed for the warmth and comfort he would find in her arms, but on the other hand he was well aware that Corrieke wasn’t the woman he really wanted to be with. As much as he cared for her, as loveable she was - he longed for Hermione and he knew at this moment that he’d crawl over broken glass if she would ask him to. Yet she wouldn’t. She didn’t love him and therefore he had to overcome his feelings for her. She would never be his, but there was Corrieke and she was a wonderful woman and he was determined to make her happy.

She was giggling now and this time it wasn’t the champagne, but awkwardness. Nevertheless she sounded firmly as she said: “Mine. My invitation, my place. Or,” she blushed deeper, “do you mind that my flat is rather small?”

“Corrieke, I actually intend to be pretty close to you,” Albus announced. “Therefore I don’t think I’ll need much space.”

She crooked her head. “Well, then - let me just pay.” She waved her hand and Rosmerta rushed to the table. Corrieke paid and then took Albus’ hand again. “Do you trust me with a joined Apparition?” she asked.

“Of course I do.” He rose up and offered her his arm. “Let’s go, darling.” ´

Together they marched out of the pub and down the street to the little park where the Apparition point was. Stepping on it, Corrieke looked around. “Where’s your phoenix? Won’t he come with us?”

Albus laughed. “I hope not. Fawkes is a bit of an attention seeker - and I don’t think I want you to become distracted from me.” Bending down he embraced her. “You know, he’s much older then me. He doesn’t need someone looking after him.”

“And you do?” Corrieke asked.

“Sometimes.” Albus laid his forefinger under his chin and lifted her face up to him. Kissing the corner of her soft mouth, he nuzzled at her bottom lip. It was like a question and Corrieke answered it with opening her mouth and pressing herself against him, one of her small hands sneaking under his long hair and touching his neck.

Albus felt how his body started to respond to her closeness. There was the familiar stirring in his groin and a little prickle in his nipples and he broke the kiss, looking down at her. His voice was hoarse as he asked: “Don’t you want us to Apparate?”

“Okay, Albus - hold on! I hope I won’t splinch us,” Corrieke answered, sounding a bit nervously.

Albus stood still, his hands on her shoulders. It only needed a moment, and then he felt the tugging around the navel which was so typical for magical transportation. For a few seconds he seemed to whirl through the darkness. Landing on firm ground he heard Corrieke’s worried voice: “Are you there, Albus?”

Her hands tasted over his body, tickling him at the waist and he laughed. “I’m all there, Corrieke - in one piece and at your disposal.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Corrieke pulled her wand out. “Lumos!” she commanded.

A few candles sprang alight and Albus looked around. They were standing in the living room of a little flat. The walls around him were covered with bookshelves and under the window stood a desk, loaded with papers. A worn sofa and a round table with four chairs completed the furniture.

However, Albus wasn’t much interested in the room. He pulled Corrieke in his arms, her hands gliding down her side to her waist while he kissed her once again. Corrieke responded with opening her mouth and letting her hands wander over his back.

As much as Albus liked kissing and as arousing he found Corrieke reacting so eagerly and passionately - a longer snogging session while standing wasn’t his idea of fun. Although Corrieke wasn’t small, she only reached to his shoulders what meant that he had to bend down. His neck started already to cramp and besides he wanted to feel her skin. So he broke the kiss, picked her up and carried her to the door at the left side of the room.

Corrieke laughed. “I once heard that you Brits were inclined to a bit of kinkiness. Yet you don’t want to do it on the kitchen table, do you?”

“Well - I’d prefer a bed, but if I can’t get one …” Albus grinned.

“My bedroom is on the right side of the room!” Corrieke chuckled.

“Thanks for the tip!” Albus turned around and marched to the other door. Opening it with his elbow, he entered a small bedroom with a broad bed in one of its corner. Its pristine white sheets looked inviting and so he let Corrieke down on it and looked at her with a smile. “Yes - that looks much better as a kitchen’s table.”

Corrieke patted the mattress next to her. “I’d find it even nicer here if I’d have you at my side.”

“Well, there’s a little problem,” he grinned. “My mother told me one shouldn’t get in bed with one’s clothes on.”

“Oh! I reckon this problem I can solve.” Corrieke smiled and pulled her wand out. “May I?”

“Just a moment, please.” Albus pulled his wand out of his sleeve, took his spectacles off and laid both on the little shelf over the headboard of the bed. Then he spread his arms, smiled at Corrieke and stated: “Now I’m entirely yours.”

“What an exciting thought!” Corrieke waved her wand and murmured an undressing charm.

Albus watched how his clothes fell from his body and folded themselves to a bundle at the foot of the bed. Nodding, he praised her: “Well done! I never get my robes so neatly arranged.”

Corrieke obviously wasn’t interested in his clothing, but at what they’d contained. Her eyes glided over his shoulders and his chest down to his belly and then to his groin. Although he couldn’t present her a full erection yet, she seemed impressed. Swallowing and blushing she looked up at him. “Uuuh!”

Albus smiled. “Taking stock, Corrieke?” He sat himself down upon the bed, turning to his side and looking at her. “May I undress you?”

Suddenly her shyness seemed to be back. “If you want to, but,” her voice became small, “I’m not beautiful.”

It wasn’t the first time that Albus was confronted with a woman who was insecure about her body. In fact, most of the women he’d been with had shown some doubt about herself at one point or another in their relationship. Despite this experience Albus couldn’t understand why even breath taking beauties were so critical about themselves. What did they expect from their bodies? Sheer perfection? He would have betted his butt - and he really was fond of it - that hardly any man searched for that in his partner. Just on the opposite! He knew a lot of men who felt rather shy around very beautiful women. And he knew from his own reflections that he certainly wasn’t looking for flaws in his partner when bedding her.

Kissing Corrieke’s forehead he softly said: “Darling, if I didn’t find you very lovely, I wouldn’t be here.” Cautiously he opened a few of the tiny buttons of her robe, kissing the skin he revealed. Smelling her fragrance - she used a perfume with peony and bergamot which mixed nicely with the smell of her body - he had to keep himself back from using his magic for undressing her with one flick of his hand. Through the velvet of her robe he could already feel the swell of her breasts and he longed to see and to touch them. However, for him it was clear that she would need some time and tenderness before she would enjoy their being together. Her kisses had shown passion and even need, but now she was tense and looking almost frightened. Albus cursed inwardly. Who ever had been his predecessor in her bed - he obviously had been an insensitive prick!

Raising his head Albus ordered her softly: “Look at me, Corrieke. I want to see your beautiful eyes.”

She opened them and tried a weak smile. “It’s a long time since I’ve been with a man, Albus. I don’t know if I can live up to your expectations.”

“You will!” he said. “And I feel honoured that you’ve chosen me to be with you.” He let his hand wander down on her breast, cupping it softly. It felt perfect - round and firm. And there was so much of it that he really had his hand full - something he always enjoyed.

Obviously Corrieke liked the soft touch too. Breaking the kiss she whispered “I want to be naked too,” and reached for her wand.

Albus was quicker. He undressed her and looking down at her, he swallowed. He’d been a breasts man all his life and hers were boobs to become addicted to: Perfect rounded with chocolate brown nipples which showed already that she was aroused. He couldn’t help imagine how it would feel to put his cock between the two smooth hemispheres, holding and rubbing them against him. The thought of it made his penis rise up and his testicles becoming tighter. “You’ve got beautiful breasts, Corrieke,” he said and kissed the nipple of the left one, stroking the right and kneading it softly.

Corrieke obviously liked what he did. One of her hands landed in his hair, rummaging in it while the other landed on his shoulder. She didn’t speak, but he felt how her nipple reacted to his ministrations, becoming a hard button under his tongue. He sucked gently at it while playing with the other. Corrieke moaned quietly and shifted closer, her thigh touching his erection.

“Oh!” She breathed deeply. “You are already …” She didn’t finish her line.

Albus raised his head and smiled at her. “I’m old, but not dead yet. And I’m holding a lovely, naked woman in my arms.” Shifting down he licked a wet trail over her collarbone to her belly. As he laid his hand on her thigh, she moaned again and immediately spread her legs. Yet Albus wasn’t in a hurry. He stroked down to her knee, the tips of his fingers touching the soft inside of her legs. “Corrieke, you feel great!” he told her. “Warm and soft and very womanly. Your skin feels like a peach - and you know, I’m very fond of peaches.”

Now she relaxed and laughed. “Do you want to have me for dessert?” she asked.

“That sounds like a great idea,” he gave back and bit her belly lightly.

Corrieke chuckled. “Your hair tickles!”

“Shall I bind it back?”

“No!” she protested, wrapping a strand around her hand. “When I first saw you in Venice, standing in the cloister, talking with colleagues, I was so fascinated by your hair. The light was on it and it shimmered like silver and I mused about how it would feel when falling on my naked skin. Naughty, aren’t I?”

“Sweet you are!” he said. “But when we’re at confessions: I had to keep myself back from staring too much at your breasts.” His hand stroked up her thigh again, his forefinger touching her centre. She was wet and as he found her clitoris, she moaned again. Albus liked to hear that and he wanted more of it. Shifting between her legs he took her buttocks in his hands and lifted her a bit so that he could kiss her centre.

“Albus!” She buckled and her grip on his hair became firmer.

Albus’ tongue found her lust knob, smooth and round like a pearl in its shell. As he licked around it, she sighed quietly and spread her legs wider for giving him better access. Albus used it for softly sucking at her and slowly pushing one finger in her channel.

It didn’t need much more. Corrieke was already so aroused that she came almost immediately, her entire body trembling with the force of it.

Albus gave her a moment to recover, then rose up, bracing himself on his elbows and looking down at her flushed face. In her eyes shimmered tears and he kissed them away. “Corrieke - I want to be inside you.”

“Yes, Albus!” She laid her arms around him, her mouth searching once again for his.

He kissed her back and then reached down, guiding his erection to her entrance. As he entered her he had to close his eyes and to breathe deeply. The smooth warmth surrounding him made him almost dizzy and he wanted nothing more as to pound into her quickly and deeply. Yet she deserved better than that and so he kept himself back, starting slowly and tenderly until he felt how she reacted to him, taking up his rhythm. It was her who quickened the pace, her hands clinging to his shoulders, her breasts rubbing against his chest.

He closed his eyes, concentrating on the feeling of her soft body beneath him and of the pleasure he got from her moving. It was just what he’d needed and as he heard her scream his name, he felt how she became even tighter around him; he forgot for the first time in weeks his sadness. His body took over and he started to pound in her hard and fast until his climax rolled over him and switched off his conscious thinking.

A tender hand stroking a strand of hair out of his sweaty forehead brought him back to the present. Opening his eyes, he braced himself on his elbows and smiled down at her. “Hello darling.”

“Albus - oh, Albus!” She raised her head and kissed him.

Albus rolled on his side and pulled her in his arms, cradling her head against his shoulder. Yet as she snuggled against him, he suddenly felt an almost aching emptiness and as exhausted as his body was - his mind was clear and he became aware that his heart wouldn’t follow the orders from his brain. As much as he wanted to fall in love with Corrieke and as much as he cared for her - he missed Hermione so much that he felt like crying.


To be continued …




[1] “Stomping at the Savoy” by Benny Goodman