Much Ado about Nothing

Much Ado About Nothing


By: Max

[Disclaimer: see chapter 1]

Chapter 6: The witch and the last waltz


Here he comes again with water!
Now I’ll throw myself upon you,
and the sharpness of my axe
I will test, o spirit, on you.
Well, a perfect hit!
See how he is split!
Now there’s hope for me,
and I can breathe free!

Woe is me! Both pieces
come to life anew,
now, to do my bidding,
I have servants two!
Help me, o great powers!
Please, I’m begging you!

“The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe,
Translation by Brigitte Dubiel

“My, Hermione!” Ginevra Weasley, 23 year old girlfriend of Hermione and rising star of the British wizard’s journalists, shook her pretty red head. “You look as if you’d have to buy a robe for a funeral! And this …,” she took the dark blue robe Hermione had just held against herself, out of Hermione’s hands and put it back in the drawer, “… is something you can wear to your own funeral in 200 years! Heavens - half of Britain’s wizard population would kill for getting an invention to the Yule Ball at Hogwarts. It’s the biggest events of the season. Only Doctor Hermione Granger, spoilsport extraordinaire, is looking as if she would have to go to scaffold instead to a ball!”

Hermione sighed and wrinkled her forehead. “You know, I never was keen on such social gatherings. And at the moment I’m really not in the mood for wasting my time with standing around and chattering with people I don’t care for …”

Ginny had found a red robe. Turning around, she held it in front of Hermione. Shaking her head, she murmured: “No, definitely not your colour.” Hanging it back, she pulled another robe out - this time in the colour of honey. “I think, that’s better - try it!” she ordered her friend then.

Hermione looked sceptically at the robe. “It looks pretty expansive,” she said hesitantly. “I actually don’t intend to spend a fortune for a robe I’ll only wear for one evening.”

“For heaven’s sake, Hermione!” Ginny turned her eyes. “In a few weeks you’ll have to present yourself at the Merlin Awards. There you’ll need this robe too - or do you want to appear there in sackcl I&# I’m sure: Your master wouldn’t approve of that!”

“First,” Hermione still looked at the robe as if she’d rather buy sackcloth, “I don’t think I’ll be at the ceremony. I haven’t heard anything from the committee yet and considered they got my paper six weeks ago that can only mean that they aren’t very impressed by it. Second: If I were to go there, I wouldn’t have to present myself as the beauty queen. The Merlin Awards are about the brain, not the breasts, you know.”

“Of course!” Ginny sounded rather ironic. “And brain has to come looking as boring as possible. Besides: Albus Dumbledore who was for almost half a century a member of said committee stepped only out of it because he wanted his apprentice to get a chance to present a lousy paper with which she can’t only blame herself, but her master too. Just so.”

Hermione nervously fumbled at the robe. “Perhaps he was too much involved in the project? We talked so much about - perhaps he’d lost his professional distance and made a mistake by judging it. You know, he’s a human too. He can make mistakes.”

“Hermione …” Ginny laid a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “I understand you’re nervous. But you really should trust Professor Dumbledore’s judgement. And your own! Besides you should try this robe. As much as I like shopping with you: I start to starve. And we’ll need shoes too. So please: Try the robe!”

Hermione once again looked at the piece. “Do you really think I could wear something like that? The cleavage seems pretty deep - and you know: I don’t have much to put in it.”

“But what you have is very nice to look at!” Ginny assured her.

“Only that there’s no one who’s interested in it,” Hermione grumbled, but marched finally to the changing box and disappeared behind the curtain.

Ginny followed her and after she’d let herself fall in one of the chairs in front of the boxes, she giggled: “I think your master will enjoy seeing you in an elegant robe for a change. He always was an admirer of well dressed ladies.”

Hermione came out of the box in the honey brown robe and it actually would have looked great if she wouldn’t have worn sneakers to it. Standing in front of a mirror she grinned at Ginny: “Well dressed? I’d rather say he’s an admirer of undressed ladies - especially when they’re well equipped in the A and T departments.”

“A and T?” Ginny raised an eyebrow.

“Arse and tits, dearie.” Hermione tugged at her cleavage. “Flat as I am I could probably do the dance of the nine veils on his desk without getting more from him than a warming charm.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “About whom we are talking?”

At this moment, Madame Maulkin, the very fashionable owner of the shop, approached. “Sorry you had to wait, “she said. “But I see, you’ve already found something very suitable. Only …,” she tugged at the long skirt of the robe, “… you’ll have to wear high heels with it. Then …,” she arranged the skirt so that one of Hermione’s legs was to see through the slit at the side, “… your nice legs will look great. And perhaps …” she pulled her wand out and smiled at Hermione. “May I?”

“Of course.” Hermione actually liked what she saw in the mirror. But she trusted Madame Maulkin’s sense of style.

The elder witch waved her wand now and murmured an incantation. A broad, golden ribbon sailed through the shop and arranged itself neatly around the neckline of the robe. Madame Maulkin looked at it, and then she shook her head. “No - that’s already too much …” Another wave of her wand made the ribbon fly back to its shelf.

“Perhaps …” Ginny tugged at the wide sleeve. “A bit tighter here? You know - a little in the empire style. I think it would suit her perfectly …”

“You’re right!” The fashion witch smiled at Ginny, recognizing a fellow fashion junkie in her. “The waistline a bit higher, the sleeves tight and the shoulders free - that’s it!” She waved her wand again and the robe changed as she had described it.

Hermione’s jaw dropped as she saw herself in the mirror. The rich honey brown velvet made her skin look creamy and perfect. The high waistline and the free shoulders modelled her figure to something almost fragile and ethereal. Hermione who’d found herself always rather plain, suddenly discovered that she could see herself as pretty.

Yet Ginny and Madame Maulkin weren’t entirely convinced about the robe yet. In unison they said: “The skirt …”

“As nice as your legs are …,” Madame Maulkin directed her wand at the skirt. “This robe needs a wider skirt now.” She changed it.

“Perfect!” Ginny praised her. “How do you like it, Hermione?”

Hermione turned around, the skirt dancing around her legs. “I think I like it very much,” she said. She could see herself already, waltzing with a tall, silver haired man, beaming up to him …

“We’ll take it!” she heard Ginny’s voice. “Or what do you think, Hermione?”

“Oh, of course.” Hermione looked once again at the mirror. The robe was perfect. And now she didn’t mind the certainly high prize of it anymore. In Hogwarts she hadn’t many chances to spend money and so she’d spared a bit. And the robe was worth a little fortune and perhaps there would be some one interested at … no, she really didn’t mind the money. Walking back into the changing box, she slipped out of the robe, stroking the smooth velvet with a little sigh before she climbed in her jeans and pulled her shirt on again.

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


One hour later Hermione and Ginny sank in the cosy chairs of the Italian wizard’s restaurant “Luigi”, both sighing in relief by stretching their legs.

“Buh!” Ginny smiled at Hermione. “I already thought we’d never find shoes looking nice and suiting you. You know, you really are a difficult customer.”

Hermione wriggled her toes. “The most shoes I tried were totally uncomfortable and I’m really not in masochism. I really don’t want to suffer through the entire ball and I don’t want to smash my toes either. Besides: I don’t have the slightest idea how one manages to walk down a stair with heels as high as the one I tried.”

“Exercise, Hermione,” Ginny only said and smiled at the waiter who came with the menu. “Anything special today?”

The waiter - a dark-haired young man - batted his eyelashes. “Yes, bella signorina - we’ve got fresh vongole and our home made pasta …”

Ginny licked with the tip of her tongue over her lips, looking seductively up to the waiter. “That sounds delicious! I’ll take it. And a glass of white wine …”

“The same for me,” Hermione said. Waiting until the waiter had disappeared, she grinned. “You can’t stop flirting, can you?”

“Why should I?” Ginny answered lightly. “I’m 23 and single …”

“That means your relationship with Harry really is over,” Hermione stated, suddenly looking serious.

“Yes, it is,” Ginny said firmly. “And please - don’t start trying to persuade me! It’s over and done and I’m glad about it- even if my family is cross with me.”

“I won’t try to talk you in again,” Hermione assured her. “It’s your life and if you don’t love him anymore …”

Ginny sighed. “You know,” she started slowly; “I sometimes ask myself if I ever really loved him. I had a crush on him as a small girl and I saw him as a kind of knight in shimmering armour. And as I became elder - everybody seemed to expect that we’d become a couple and that we’d marry and get at least six children and live happily ever after.”

“I actually didn’t,” Hermione said. “You know I like Harry very much. He’s one of my best friends. But as a man? I’d certainly run away - screaming in boredom and frustration - after only three days with him. But probably I’m really a half baked blue stocking - as your brother Ron named me after I sent Victor away.”

The waiter came with the wine and sipping at her glass, Ginny smiled. “My brother Ron - as fond as I am of him - sometimes is a moron. And Harry …” she sighed. “I’m certainly not as intellectual as you, Hermione, but even I can’t stand to talk quidditch and ministry gossip all the time. And that’s what Harry does. He probably wants to become minister of magic once and he started already to tell me that I shouldn’t write so much critical articles about so many things because I would alienate people he’d need for his career. Besides he wanted me to give up my job because a politician needs his wife at his side …”

Hermione turned her eyes. “It’s always the same with men, isn’t it? Their jobs and careers are the most important thing, but our jobs are only something we do to entertain ourselves until we find Mister Right who gives us a chance to fulfil our destiny in washing his socks, cooking his meals and bearing his children. And what’s our reward for letting our brains rot?”

“Lousy sex?” Ginny made a face. “I know its bad style to rant about the qualities - or better said: The lack of such - of one’s ex-lover. But truth is truth - and Harry’s really one out of the ‘Rham - wham - thanks, ma’am’-department.”

“Don’t think Victor was better! He obviously thinks that a woman’s nipples are something like the volume button on a cd player. If you turn them firm and far enough she automatically starts screaming in delight …” Hermione turned her eyes. “Besides: He snores. He’s hardly ready with what he calls ‘making love’ when he starts snoring already.”

“Great!” Ginny shook her head. “But he didn’t expect you to praise the lousy performances he gave? Harry always asked ‘How was I, darling?’ and he looked so smug I once couldn’t resist telling him that sex with him would indeed be better than bone melting because it wouldn’t itch so long.”

“Uh!” Hermione shuddered. “Don’t remind me of that! I once dared to criticise Victor for always being done before I’d have got the slightest chance for an orgasm. Next time he took a prolonging potion - but him banging me for half and hour didn’t help much because he never got the right angle. It was so boring I started to think about my thesis and as he was finally done, I needed a piece of paper for noting my idea.”

“And he was terribly offended?” Ginny asked.

Hermione shook her head. “No. How could he have been? He was already snoring.”

“At least he didn’t pull out and sprint into the shower as if you’d have contaminated him as Harry always did,” Ginny sighed and raised her head for looking after the waiter. “Heaven’s - I’m really starving now.” Suddenly she smiled: “Look who’s coming …”

Hermione turned around and recognized the tall frame of her master at the entrance. It made for her heart suddenly speeding up and doing a funny jump. She hadn’t seen him this morning - he’d left the school even before she gone for her trip to Diagon Alley. But he undeniably looked good in an outer robe of dark blue and silver brocade and an under robe in blue silk. The colour of it pronounced the azure blue of his eyes and the silver made his hair - on this day waving down over his shoulder in a silken wave - shimmer.

Ginny obviously found him handsome too. Smiling at him, she whispered: “The war was good for one thing: Dumbledore got rid off his ghastly beard. Since then he looks 50 years younger and …” She fell silent because Albus approached the table.

Bowing slightly, he smiled at the girls, batted in a comical imitation of the waiter his eyelashes and purred with a faked Italian accent: “Bella signorinas - didn’t we meet before?”

Hermione smiled and shook her head. “Oh, Albus …”

But Ginny played along. Crooking her head, she provided him with her best “Take me, I’m all yours” smile and gave back sweetly: “Unfortunately we haven’t. I’m sure I’d never forget a man like you …”

He bent down, braced himself with one hand on the table and looked in her eyes. “But I remember you - you are Ginevra and one would wish to become your Artus!”

Hermione laughed out loud. “Are you sure you wouldn’t want to become her Lancelot?”

Albus twinkled at her over the rims of his spectacles. “No. Certainly Artus. And with me as a husband Ginevra wouldn’t want for a Lancelot.”

“Absolutely not,” Ginny said. “Besides I was never fond of men in armour. Needing a can opener and a pair of pincers before you can touch your man - I think I’d find that rather unromantic.”

“And marrying a knight probably means that he expects you to polish him once a month!” Hermione laughed.

“Only once a month?” Albus grinned and as ever when did so, looked like a cheeky boy. “I actually need more polishing for not getting rusty.”

“You are a special case!” Hermione said and pointed with her chin on the empty chair between Ginny and her. “Don’t you want to seat down and have dinner with us?”

Albus sighed. “I’d love to, but unfortunately I’ll have to eat in less charming company. The Messieurs Cracklebell and Jellington from the boards of governors expect me - probably for telling me once again that our budget is running as low as the morale standards nowadays. And then we’ll have nice argument about the necessary of sexual education at Hogwarts again. I probably would miss something if I couldn’t have that twice a year.”

Ginny sighed in sympathy. “Poor Headmaster! I had last year the misfortune on getting picked by my editor-in-chief for writing the portrait to Cracklebell’s 200. Birthday. I called him, he invited me to dinner - and then he talked two hours without a break for breathing about the low moral of the youths nowadays …”

“Oh yes!” Albus rolled his eyes. “And as he once was a student in Hogwarts, boys didn’t even think about girls, but were totally and entirely concentrated on their studies.” He looked to the entrance where just two very ancient wizards stepped in. “And here they come - and bravely I will go to face my fate. Wish me luck, ladies. And if I shall die from boredom - don’t mourn too much! Just think of the wonderful times you enjoyed in my company!”

Hermione grinned at him. “You won’t die. You’re my hero - strong and brave and always coming back after fighting the dragons.”

“Of course. And you’ll tend to my injuries and heal my wounds with wet kisses and dry towels - or was it the other way round?” With a wave of his hand he went away, passing the waiter who just brought the girls their pasta.

Both had really been hungry and so it was only after her fourth or fifth mouthful of spaghetti vongole that Ginny - first looking around and seeing Albus with his two companions on the opposite side of the restaurant - amused stated: “I’d never thought I’d live up to the day you’d start flirting.”

“Me?” Hermione almost choked on her pasta. “I thought you were flirting with my boss who’s your former headmaster, Ginevra!”

“So what?” Ginny giggled. “I don’t intend to marry him. But considered how lousy lovers most young men are and …”

Hermione put her glass back on the table with a “clunk”, and then she looked at her girlfriend. “Ginevra Weasley!” she said sharply. “You’re obviously out of your mind! The man is 100 years your senior. He could easily be your grandfather.”

Ginny laughed out loud. “Yours too, Hermione, yours too!”

“I know!” Hermione said crisply. “Therefore I don’t flirt with him!”

“You don’t?” Ginny looked even more amused. “Then I’d like to know how you’d name the kind of conversation you was just having with him.”

“We teased each other a bit. We often do,” Hermione defended herself. She suddenly felt nervous; therefore she played with her fork and didn’t look at Ginny. “We work together - and it wouldn’t be this productive if we would only talk shop. Some of our best ideas came up during our mutual teasing.”

“Indeed? And that’s - of course - the only reason for you smiling at him like that and for him looking as if he’d just want to kiss you? You’re only having professional reasons.” Ginny raised her glass. “To your productive working relationship, Hermione! May it get you better shags than your last attempt with a loving relationship?”

Hermione suddenly felt like blushing and screaming at once. But she did neither, but simply asked her friend: “Did it really look like flirting to you? I mean, we’re mostly baiting each other. None of us pays the other ever a real compliment - it’s always more in the line of …” she searched for a suiting word.

Ginny had become seriously too. Patting Hermione’s hand she quietly said: “It looks very much like flirting, Hermione. And knowing you as well as I do, I’d say: You’re developing feelings for your master.”

Now Hermione did blush. She felt how her entire face became hot and her mouth dry. Her appetite was suddenly gone and she pushed her dish away. Slowly she said, looking down at her hands: “I like him, Ginny. He’s got a brilliant mind and working with him is fascinating. I never met some one who thinks so quickly and knows so much and he isn’t only a genius in transfiguration, but unbelievably good in charms and potions too. He’s even well read in muggle science and he’s able to connect all his knowledge. In the last months with him I’ve learned more than in all my time at the university. It’s sometimes exhausting - when he concentrates on work I need every single brain cell to follow him. But I enjoy it. I can’t say how much I enjoy it …”

Ginny breathed deeply. “I’d say you’ve met your match, Hermione. The only man who can cope with you.”

“He easily can,” Hermione nodded. “If only I could cope with him in the same way. He always seems to be at least two or three steps ahead of me.”

“He’s almost 100 years ahead, Hermione,” Ginny smiled. “That’s why he’s the master and you’re the apprentice. But you’ve always been a very quick learner. And … except of your fascination with his brain - you obviously don’t find him repulsive as a man either …”

“How could I?” Hermione looked almost awkward and blushed again. “He’s charming, well-mannered, and still rather handsome and ...,” for a moment she chewed on her bottom lip, the she asked, almost whispering: “Did you ever notice his smell? Perhaps it gets to me more than to other people because of my animagnus form, but …”

After a few seconds of silence Ginny said, sounding almost conspiratorially: “It isn’t your animagnus sense of smell, Hermione. I’ve known him almost all my life - he always was a friend of my parents - and I remember that as a small child I loved to sit on his lap because I loved his smell so much. And I even once told him I’d marry him because he smells so lovely.”

“He really does,” Hermione said. Slowly she added: “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I’ve really developed a little crush on him. But what shall a girl do in Hogwarts? There aren’t much eligible men.”

“I’ve heard Titus Ollivander has taken over for Vector?” Ginny asked. “He’s quite handsome.”

“Oh yes!” Hermione turned her eyes. “But as Minerva said the other day: After this year with Ollivander we’ll kiss Vector’s feet as soon as he is back. And we’ll even promise him we’ll never rant at him for making a mess in the common room again if only he promises us that he’ll never go away for a sabbatical again, leaving us back with such an idiot.”

“So bad?” Ginny asked. “You make it sound as if he were a second Lockhart.”

“He is in a way.” Hermione looked at her now cold pasta and pushed it even farer away. “I think I’ll have a desert. And you?”

“I can’t allow myself one. I haven’t your luck in the shape sector,” Ginny said. “If I’d eat like you I’d look as my mother in only a few weeks.”

“I wish I could gain a bit weight,” Hermione sighed.

Ginny promptly grinned. “For getting better chances with a certain very nice smelling wizard?”

“Oh, Ginny …” Hermione suddenly looked sad. “This certain wizard isn’t in the slightest interested in me. Just the other week he almost kicked me out of our lab for getting me to a date with Hogwarts resident Prince Charming, the abdominal Mister Olliver. Albus had heard that Titus had asked me twice for a drink in the Three Broomsticks. I always refused saying I’d have too much work to do. Now Albus told me I shouldn’t be so antisocial and I’d be almost as bad as Snape and it wouldn’t hurt if I’d spend an evening in the company of a young man. You see: He doesn’t care about me.”

Ginny slowly shook her head. “I saw how he looked at you before. He likes you, Hermione - I’d even say he likes you very much. And he wants you happy …”

“With a moron like Ollivander?” Hermione shuddered. “If all men were like him I’d start looking for nice, quiet nunnery to spend the rest of my life in. The evening with him was ghastly! We hadn’t even reached Hogsmeade when I felt already like throttling and hexing him. He told me the only magical discipline which would really held some ‘true academic value’ would be arithmancy - and wouldn’t it be sad that most wizards wouldn’t have the intellectual capacity for getting a grasp for it? And with witches it would be even worse. Women simply would lack the logical thinking which is needed to deal with arithmancy.”

“Oh, oh!” Ginny grinned. “He hardly could have found a quicker way to get on your wrong side.”

“You know, I’ve always thought your brother Ron would be the absolute master in putting both his feet in his mouth. But Ollivander is better. After his speech about arithmancy - and he even didn’t notice that I was fuming! - He started to make malicious comments about our new charms teacher who is in fact a dearie. Ollivander especially amused himself with making feeble jokes about Sebastian’s - that’s our new charm teacher - accent. You know, our new colleague is German, but actually his English is great. I boiled - and while I still did, Ollivander expressed his pity for me because I have to work with Albus who always was known for being mental and now would be senile too. And if I’d know the stories about Albus’ brother and the goats and Aberforth Dumbledore would have been even crazier than his younger brother and Ollivander actually doesn’t understand how a man as gaga as Albus could ever have become headmaster of Hogwarts …”

“What an idiot!” Ginny said. “Did you tell Albus?”

“Of course I did! I was so furious!” Hermione sounded almost infuriated again. “But you know how he is. He laughed and said Titus Ollivander would be very young and I shouldn’t take him too serious.”

“Sometimes one could envy him for his calmness,” Ginny said. “But you mentioned your new charm teacher. How is he - except of being a German dearie?”

“Basti is great.” Hermione smiled. “We all like him very much. He’s very good at his subject, a great duellist - at the duel club he got Albus sweating for a few moments and managed to win against Tonks - and he’s very straight, some one who speaks his mind and knows what he wants.”

“And how does he look?” Ginny wanted to know.

“You’ll see him at the ball - we’ll go together,” Hermione answered. “And actually: He looks quite nice - not as dashing as Ollivander, but pleasant. He’s broad shouldered and very tall - even taller than Albus, the only man in Hogwarts who can look down on him - and a bit baroque. Sproutie says he reminds her of a teddy bear - but one with blue eyes. And he’s blond - long, blond hair, always very well groomed - and got a cute little nose.”

“And you’ll go with him to the ball?” Ginny’s eyes twinkled. “A rival for Albus?”

“Ginny! How often must I say it? Albus isn’t interested - and even if he were: I’m his apprentice,” Hermione said. “And what concerns Sebastian: He’s engaged. His fiancée - a very nice girl - only needs to finish her thesis as a historian, then she’ll come to England and the both will get married. And we hope Minerva can convince Albus to hire Alex - Sebastian’s fiancé - for teaching history. Binns always complains about having too much students - though he hadn’t had a NEWTs class in centuries. So a second historian wouldn’t hurt …”

“Certainly not. I remember I always fell asleep in Binn’s classes. As soon as he started to talk, I felt tired,” Ginny said.

“You’re not the only one.” Hermione giggled. “He even manages to get Minerva sleepy. Last week in the staff conference he started to nag about his students. Only one minute later Dee Sprout’s head sank on Sebastian’s shoulder and she started snoring. Three minutes later Minerva was out. I only stood awake because Albus tried all the time to tickle with using legilemency. As soon as I would have let slip my concentration, he would have succeeded - and starting to laugh like mad in the middle of a speech by Binns probably would have irritated the entire staff.”



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


A mouth glided over her neck, the lips a bit raw and just therefore sending shivers down her spine. Her entire body awakened under this touch, humming with desire and need. She felt how her nipples hardened and longed for this skilled lips. Hearing herself moan, she gripped to the broad shoulders over her, marvelling in their strength. And now the mouth had reached her left breast and a tongue teased the stiff peek while a tender hand with long fingers stroked over her thigh upwards where she felt an almost aching emptiness. Spreading her legs, she arched her back to get closer to this hand and slowly - much to slow for her need - it came closer. Hermione concentrated on it - and at the same time she studied her lover’s shoulder, the structure of the bone, the sinews and muscles over it, the creamy skin with a few freckles on it. But then he touched her centre and she moaned and heard a familiar, smoky voice: “Hermione? Are you well?”

“Oh yes …” she answered - and became awake in a flash and with her heart beating like mad. Blushing deeply she looked up at Albus, who stood in front of the sofa, a letter in his hand and smiling down at her.

“Sorry - I didn’t want to wake you …”

She sat up, feeling hot, sweaty and pretty much embarrassed. “I must have fallen asleep. I was teaching all morning and the fifth years were a bit out of themselves about the ball …” she stammered.

He raised his hands. “No need to apologize, Piccola. I’m glad you’ve had a nap - you looked tired the last days. I only thought you’d want to read this letter as soon as possible.” He gave her the parchment he was holding.

Hermione unrolled it, read it, twinkled - and read again. Swallowing, she looked up at Albus. “Merlin Junior Award for outstanding achievement - oh, Albus! We really did it!”

“You did it,” he corrected her softly. “It was your idea and your paper.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you!” Hermione read the letter for a third time. “I can’t believe it! I’ve really given up hope because we didn’t hear from them in weeks.”

“I told you that’s a good sign. They always take their time for checking the real good papers.” He laid his hand on her shoulder. “Congratulations, Doctor Granger! I’m terribly proud of you. As far as I know you’re the first apprentice ever who won this prize.”

“But it is the junior award for young scientists,” Hermione said.

Albus laughed. “Oh, Hermione - we’re talking about a wizard’s award! Minerva won it as she was 42 and since over 10 years a fully fledged mistress. Nevertheless: She was seen as a ‘junior’ in our field.”

“Getting the award means that our paper will be published in ‘Transfiguration International’,” Hermione said beaming.

“Yes, it will.” Albus suddenly became serious. “And afterwards you’ll get offers from every university round the planet …”

“No way!” Hermione laughed. “I’m an apprentice in the first year. And after becoming a mistress I hope very much to get an offer from Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft. The Headmaster promised me a job, you know?”

Albus breathed deeply. “Yes, he did,” he said then. “But under given circumstances …”

Hermione suddenly felt her joy ebbing away. “You don’t want me at Hogwarts when I’ll be ready?” she asked, sounding like a terrified child. “Do you doubt my abilities as a teacher?”

“Certainly not, Hermione.” Albus took her hand and gave it a little squeeze. Looking at it, he proceeded: “But I’ve had a long talk with Minerva a few days before. She read your paper too and she was very impressed. Besides she agreed with me about shortening your apprenticeship to two and a half year instead of three years. That will be enough to get you the approval for the master exam. So you won’t waste too much time …”

“I don’t think I waste time here!” Hermione said, swallowing by it. Did he see it like that? Was he telling her that he didn’t want to waste more of his time with her? Fighting hard against tears she said quietly: “I actually hoped I could stay at Hogwarts when I’m ready and I … I would have liked working with you ….”

Albus smiled at her. “I still hope very much that Hogwarts will get Transfiguration Mistress Professor Hermione Granger as the successor for Min one one day. And for me personally I hope that said Professor will become my partner. Yet …” He fell silent for a moment, looking at her hand he was still holding. “I want you to take one of the offers you’re getting - for the time after your apprenticeship, I mean.”

“Why?” Hermione almost cried. “Why do you want to get rid off me?”

“Hi!” He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you hear what I was saying? I don’t want to get rid off you. Just the opposite.” Kissing her hand he let it lose and sat down on the chair next to her. “I want you - one day - as Hogwarts Transfiguration teacher and my partner in research. But I think for taken serious in our field you need experience outside Hogwarts. A few years - I think three or four - as a professor at a University and without standing in my shadow will show that you’re not my puppet, but a scientist on your own right. You’ll need at least one project on your own - without my name on it - for colleagues registering that you can stand on your own.”

“Three years away from home …” Hermione said quietly. “You know, Hogwarts is my home. I feel I belong here …”

“Hermione!” Albus laid a finger under her chin and raised it so that she had to look in his eyes. “Since when let you come sentiments in your way? We both know that you belong to Hogwarts. And I wouldn’t let you go without a promise to come back. Hogwarts needs you, but Hogwarts needs you as strong and great as you can become.”

Hermione tried to smile. “But ...,” she had to swallow again, “I will miss you terribly!”

Albus twinkled at her. “Do you intend to make the magic of the Eskimos your project, therefore disappearing to Antarctica for three years? Getting a floo in an igloo could be a problem and sending owls there too. Besides: I’d hate to apparate on an ice floe. With my luck I’d probably find myself eye in eye with an ice bear which didn’t have breakfast yet.”

It was as always: Hermione couldn’t resist his smile. Smiling back she said: “He probably spites you out after the first bite. You’re certainly not as delicious as a fat seal.”

“Who knows?” Albus grinned. “Perhaps I’d meet an ice bear which is fond on air dried bacon?”

“Oh Albus!” Hermione laughed. “I certainly don’t intend to live in an igloo. Hogwarts is cold enough, thank you very much. More to the north I wouldn’t want to move.”

“Let’s wait what offers you get - or is there a University yo217;217;d like to go to?”

Hermione became a bit awkward. “You won’t laugh, will you? I mean, you know - I’ve always been fascinated by wizard’s history and therefore …” She stopped, chewing on her bottom lip. With an insecure smile she started new: “The eldest of all wizard’s universities, founded only one century after Hogwarts, in the city which once was ruled by wizards … only they wouldn’t take up a muggleborn as a professor …”

“La Serenissima?” Albus smiled. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. The Cagliostro University in Venice is the eldest, but certainly not the stuffiest university in our world. They were always proud on being the first in certain things like …”

“… Having a female professor,” Hermione took over. “I’ve read so - and in this time it was quite a sensation.”

“Especially because this professora was quite young - only 36 years old - unmarried and a beauty,” told Albus.

“Did you know her? I mean you taught at the Cagliostro too, didn’t you?” Hermione asked eagerly.

“Hermione!” Albus laughed. “I’m old, but certainly not so old. I was born in 1880 and came at the Cagliostro in 1917. Professora Houdini wasn’t there anymore. But I nevertheless knew her very well - one could even say I knew her intimidate.”

Hermione turned her eyes. “Sometimes I think Rolanda Hooch is right. She says ‘Who’s not on a tree at the count of three, ends in Albus’ bed.”

“I’m not as bad as that!” Albus protested. “Besides: My relationship with Professor Houdini was perfectly innocent. She was married …”

Hermione giggled. “Since when was this a reason to stop you?”

“In this case it did.” Albus grinned broadly. “Her husband was a very powerful wizard and he was extremely quick with his wand. Yet he was generous. He always accepted when his wife cuddled me and he even allowed me to spend some nights between him and her in their bed.”

“You’re pulling my leg, don’t you?” Hermione looked sceptically at him.

He chuckled. “No, I don’t. I’m telling the truth. I swear it. And I really liked it in their bed - probably because it was the place where my life started. I think I was conceived there and I know that I was born there.”

“Huh?” Hermione needed a moment to get it.

“Professor Eleonara Houdini left Cagliostro University because she fell in love with the English minister of magic - a certain Artus Dumbledore,” Albus explained. “And so she became my mother.”

“Ah!” Hermione patted her flat hand against her forehead. “Sorry - I didn’t know the given name of the first female Professor at Cagliostro. So I couldn’t see the connection between her and your mother.” Her eyes became huge. “She must have been a genius - I mean, as the first potion mistress who became a female professor …”

“She was very good - and she never stopped working, even not as she had to look after three children. We grew up in her lab and that’s probably why my sister became a potion mistress too and why I started with alchemy.”

“Yet at Cagliostro you were transfiguration professor, weren’t you?” Hermione asked.

“Yes. And that makes for still having a few connections to the transfiguration department of the University. Besides …,” he looked at his watch and raised, “I’ll go down now to welcome Cagliostro’s this time potion professor Francesca de Santis-Valerio. She is an old friend of mine and I think with her support it isn’t entirely unlikely that we’ll get the transfiguration department at Cagliostro University to think about taking up a very talented young English witch.” He blew a kiss on her forehead. “Close your jaw, Piccola! This carp-out-of-pond-look doesn’t become you.”

“Albus …” Hermione felt once again like over rolled by a train - an effect Albus was often having on her.

He was already on the door, but looked back over his shoulder. Twinkling at her, he said cheerful: “See you at the ball, puppy - and don’t forget to reserve a waltz for me!”

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


The Yule Ball at Hogwarts had always been one of the big events in the schedule of the Britain’s wizard’s community and Hogwarts had always - even in the year after the war as half of the castle had lain in shambles - looked glorious. But this year, Hermione found, the teachers and students involved in the preparations for the feast, had outdone their selves. Dee Sprout had already months before made up one of her greenhouses for breeding flowers and she and her Hufflepuffs had spent three entire days in decorating.

The effort was showing: The big marble stair chase in the entrance hall, every pillar in the great hall, the stage, the dance floor, the round tables looked glorious with arrangements from ivy, lilac and the most beautiful white lilies. The smell of the lilac mixed with the honey fragrance of the thousands of candles hovering under the enchanted ceiling which was mirrored in the polished marble floor.

For Hermione the ball had started with her new friend and colleague Sebastian von Melanchthon knocking on her door. His fiancé couldn’t have made it for the evening because she was deeply in her work, so he’d asked Hermione who’d happily agreed. Independent woman as she was - the idea of going to the ball alone, looking like a wallflower who hadn’t found a partner, hadn’t appealed to her.

Besides: Being with Basti was fun. They had a lot in common, he was easy going and they even shared the same sense of ur. ur.

Nevertheless: By walking down the stairs to the entrance hall Hermione had sighed. Social gatherings had never been her cup of tea and besides: She’d have rather liked to take a hot, long bath and to seat then down in front of the fireplace in her chamber for a little thinking. The day had provided her with a lot to think about: First this erotic dream - though it actually hadn’t been a “first” because in the last days she’d rather often dreamed about making love to this broad shouldered man.

She didn’t mind the fact that she was having erotic dreams. She lived since almost one year in involuntary celibacy, so she found her longing for a man’s embrace quite normal. She would have probably bothered more if her sub consciousness hadn’t shown the need for sex. Yet there was something about this certain dreams what drove her almost crazy: While having them she knew exactly who her dream lover was. But as soon as she became awake it was as if her mind would want to trick her in hiding his identity. She always knew that she’d been familiar with him in the dreams, she even remembered using his name and studying his face and touching it, but awaken she couldn’t for the world remember who he was and how he looked. Instead her mind mocked her with small details about him - like an imagine of a firm, rosy nipple which was very responsive to her touch or his knee - and just over his knee on his thigh was on odd formed, silvery scar, obviously very old. And then his shoulder - and this image drove her almost up the walls: She remembered freckles! Creamy, smooth skin with freckles!

Hermione was absolutely sure: Her dream lover was some one she knew in reality. He was existent and probably even some one she would see on the ball this evening, but … and to think of that made her shudder: Freckles like the freckles she’d seen in her dream belonged to a red head, didn’t they? But the only male red heads Hermione knew where Ginny’s brothers what meant: Hermione’s dream lover had to be a Weasley. But which of them?

Hermione was sure: Ron it wasn’t. He’d have a little crush on her in their sixth year and liking him very much she’d felt so insecure about the nature of her feelings that she’d tried a little snogging with him. The result had made it perfectly clear: Snogging Ron felt as erotic as scrubbing cauldrons during one of the detentions Snape loved to give her.

So Ron was out of the game. And the Weasley twins, George and Fred, two year elder than “Ronnikins” as they loved to call their younger brother - no, they surely weren’t the men of her dreams either. She liked them, but for one thing she was certain: Her lover was some one she took serious. George and Fred - Hermione wouldn’t have betted for their wives - former Gryffindor quidditch captain Angelina Johnson and the pretty Hufflepuff Susan Bones - for taking them serious.

Three Weasleys out, two - after Charlie’s death - remaining: Percy and Bill.

Percy - once Gryffindor Prefect - Hermione had never liked much. He was pompous, a sticker to the rules and all too ambitious. Therefore he’d once even abandoned his family in the hope to climb up the career ladder as former minister’s Fudge assistant and self-proclaimed door mat. Hermione knew for sure: Even when stranded on a lonely island with no chance for ever getting away and Percy Weasley the only male around, she’d rather feed herself to a shark than to sleep with him.

This led straight to the last Weasley on the list - Bill. He worked as a curse breaker for the Gringott’s bank in Egypt. In his tent there one would freeze one’s butt off during the cold nights and sweat like a swine during the days and in addition to the mosquitoes swarming all over the place one would have to fear scorpions and snakes too. For dreaming about hot love nights in the company of Egypt’s fauna Hermione wasn’t adventurous enough. Besides: Bill Weasley was the model of a macho wizard, a type of man Hermione never had been fond of. While other girls found the lion’s fang he was wearing for an earring probably found sexy, she found it rather silly. And the high heeled dragon leather boots he was wearing! They made him walk like a cowboy with a furuncle on his privates!

So the thought of one of the Weasleys being her dream lover made Hermione consider jumping on the next available unattached man for forgetting all about the dreams. But considered that the only candidate close her age was Titus Ollivander made Ron look even better.

So actually Hermione had got enough on her plate to consider. But there was this other problem: Albus’ wish to send her away. As much as her logic mind understood the reasons behind - she nevertheless couldn’t help feeling dumped. Didn’t he feel how much she belonged to Hogwarts? Didn’t he care about? Was it really so easy for him to let her go? She had thought he’d enjoy their working together as much as she did, that he’d come to see her and him as a team already. But he obviously didn’t mind the thought of her being away for years. Of course, he’d promised to visit her, but she knew his schedule and she knew, that even old and dear friends of him often complained about seeing him so rarely. Going away would feel like losing him and even to think of it hurt. And to think that he wanted her to go, that it was him who was sending her away - it made for doubting his friendship and affection and by doing so Hermione had found herself crying.

This didn’t make for the right ball mood and by entering the entrance hall and seeing Albus she considered for a moment lying about a migraine and running back to her rooms. Yet Hermione wasn’t a Gryffindor for nothing. Fleeing wasn’t her way to deal with hurt and so she put up her chin, plastered a polite smile in her face and took the arm Sebastian was offering her for gathering with the other teachers behind Albus who stood on the upper landing, doing the honours.

Yet for her luck Sebastian von Melanchthon wasn’t one for showing off. He led her to the left where a big Christmas tree flanked the doors to the great hall - a nice place where they could watch the scenery without being in the focus their self.

Hermione couldn’t resist using this position for a long look at Albus. Although she was angry with him, she had to admit: He was perfect in acting his role as Hogwarts imposing Headmaster. His robe make had once again outdone himself in his newest creation: Pale, lilac silk with high collar for a long under robe, heavy silver-lilac brocade for the outer robe, flooding in generous folds from Albus’ shoulders down to the floor. His hair was now over shoulder length again, falling down on his back as a silver wave. He looked like the very model of the powerful wizard, radiating power, pride and self-confidence.

Hermione suddenly felt very small and young again, almost like the schoolgirl she’d once been. And obviously she wasn’t the only one feeling so - Basti who’d looked at Albus too, just murmured: “Da muss man maechtig viel Spaetzle essen bis man so wirkt!”

“Hmm?” Hermione hadn’t understood him.

“Sorry - I’ve just quoted my father,” Basti smiled. “As I told him that I find our headmaster very impressing he said: ‘One has to eat a lot of pasta if one makes an impression like him.”

Hermione giggled. “Albus’ mother was an Italian potion mistress. Probably she always mixed an ego-boasting potion in the spaghetti sauce for her son.”

“I would have liked to get the recipe!” Inaudible as always Hogwarts potion master Severus Snape had sneaked behind the tree too. He wore black as usual, but in honour of the occasion it wasn’t his normal teaching robe, but black velvet with silver trimmings and tiny, silver snakes embroidered on the collar. And once again he showed Hermione that he wasn’t as antisocial as she’ thought during her years at school. Since she was a member of the staff, she’d learned that he didn’t mind a little gossiping - as long as he wasn’t the subject of it. Now he pointed with his chin to Minerva - this evening not in her usual emerald green, but in Gryffindor red with the Stuart tartan over one shoulder - and Augustus - one of the few males who didn’t wear dress robes, but kilt, sporran, velvet jacket and a shirt with lace - who stood only a few steps away, chattering with an elder witch in blue. Hermione could only see her small back and white hair, falling down over her back to her buttocks.

“By talking about Italian potion mistresses,” Snape said, “Hogwarts is this night honoured with prespresence of Professor Francesca de Santis-Valerio from the Cagliostro University Venice - and as I know our dear Minerva - romantic as she is, she probably hears once again wedding bells.”

Hermione wrinkled her forehead. “I thought Professor de Santis-Valerio is an old friend of the headmaster.”

“Indeed, she is,̶napenape chuckled. “Besides she’s our superior’s off-on-relationship since more than 20 years. Minerva still hopes the both will once make up their minds and marry, but I actually doubt it. Our headmaster is the master of avoiding commitment and I don’t believe he’s going to change that ever.”

Just this moment the lady in question turned around and Hermione almost forgot to breathe. The white hair had made her think of an old woman, but the face she was now looking at, wasn’t old. It was beautiful with the dark smooth skin of some one born in the South, the features delicate and classical, the huge dark eyes sparkling with intelligence and wits. Hermione felt reminded to the statue of a Roman Goddess - only this woman looked warm and very much alive.

Now Augustus offered Minerva and the Roman Goddess his arms and by walking his ladies to the door, Minerva saw her young colleagues. Waving with her free hand, she called: “Hermione, Sebastian, and Severus - don’t you want to come in with us?”

Severus sneered. “Sorry, I’m …” he seemed to search for words and looked unusually sheepish by it, “… waiting,” he finally said, his silken voice not more then a whisper. “I’ll join later.”

Hermione could hardly suppress a grin. Obviously Tonks still hadn’t mastered punctuality. “We’re coming, Minerva!” Hermione answered and took Sebastian’s arm for entering the hall and approaching the round table where Minerva, Augustus and their guest had stood.

Minerva did the introduction. Smiling at her two young colleagues and the Italian potion mistress, she said: “Francesca, may I present you two youngest members of our staff? Doctor Hermione Granger, assistant instructor and our headmaster’s apprentice and Professor Sebastian von Melanchthon, charms master. Dears, meet Professor Francesca de Santis-Valerio from the Cagliostro University Venice.”

Hermione smiled, but felt odd by doing so because the beautiful Venetian studied her very interested. But then Professor de Santis-Valerio smiled and offered Hermione a delicate hand: “Doctor Granger - or May I call you Hermione? Albus told me so much about you - I feel as I’ve we knew each other already.” Her English was almost perfect, but her smoky alto made it nevertheless sound strangely melodious.

Hermione suddenly felt curtseying. “I’d feel honoured, Professor de Santis-Valerio,” she answered almost shyly.

“Oh please - do call me Francesca. All my friends do and I hope we’ll become friends, Hermione.” Turing to Sebastian she offered him her hand. The young German bowed over it, kissing formally just the air over the skin of the back. Francesca smiled. “Professor Melanchthon - I think I know your father.”

Sebastian smiled back, his blue eyes beaming. “I’m almost sure you do. He’s a colleague of yours …”

“Leander von Melanchthon - not only a colleague of mine, but one I hold in high esteem. So it’s very nice to meet his son.”

“Let’s sit down, children!” Augustus offered Minerva and Francesca chairs while Basti showed once again his impeccable manners in holding a chair for Hermione.

Hermione had hardly made herself comfortable as Francesca looked at her again. “I must admit I was terribly curious about you. Albus sings your praise in the highest tone.”

“He isn’t the only one,” Augustus said. “The credit for the discovery of our resident junior genius belongs to Minerva. Hermione was hardly two weeks at Hogwarts when Minerva already started to see her as the rising star.”

“Which proves once again that Minerva is a wonderful teacher,” Francesca smiled at Minerva. “And for your idea to make this lovely young lady Albus’ apprentice you’d deserve an award too. It’s good to see him back in academic work - and he admits himself that he missed it more than he was aware of.”

Hermione swallowed. Once again she felt a wave of fury. Why was Albus telling such things to friends and nevertheless sending her away?

The object of her anger was now just appearing on the stage. The noise and the chatter immediately stopped, everybody looked up at him. Spreading his arms as if he’d like to hug the entire crowd in the hall, he said: “Once again: Welcome to Hogwarts. And because I know that all of you rather want to dance than to listen to a boring speech, I’ll keep mine as short as possible: Let the feast begin - and enjoy yourself!”

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

Three hours later Hermione fell on her chair, sighing by it. “Uh!” She drank a glass with punch standing at her place and wriggled her toes in her tight shoes.

Minerva, who sat opposite of her and had chatted animatedly with Molly Weasley, smiled at her. “What’s the matter, dear? Why you’re sighing?”

Hermione beamed at her. “My feet - I think since I came here they grew two sizes. Unfortunately my shoes didn’t. And my ribs are probably black because I got Tonks’ elbow in them as she taught Severus Rock17;n17;n Roll. But I feel great.”

“As it should be at a ball,” Molly said and patted Hermione’s hand. “And you look lovely in this gown of yours. The colour suits your skin and your eyes.”

“Thank you, Molly.” Hermione smiled at the mother of her friends. “You know, Molly, you look wonderful yourself. That robe is really great.”

Molly blushed and tugged at the hem of her generous cleavage. “Arthur insisted on me buying a new dress robe though I found it actually not necessary. I had a perfectly fine robe - you know the green one I’ve bought for his installation.”

“Molly, if there’s a woman who deserves spoiling, it’s you!” Albus had appeared at the table. “And if I wouldn’t be afraid of Arthur’s wrath, I’d just kiss you. You look very kissable in those robes, you know?”

Molly Weasley, though mother of seven and famous for her bossiness, blushed, suddenly looking very young. “Albus, you old flatterer!” Giggling she looked up at him. “I think I wouldn’t mind being kissed by you. You look dashing yourself.”

“And you name me a flatterer?” He bent down and blew a kiss on Molly’s cheek. “Arthur is a lucky man.” Stretching to his full length again he smiled down at Hermione. “Will you make me a lucky man for a few minutes too in dancing with me? After all this modern dances I’ve just asked for a round of old-fashioned waltz. So what about a little mummy shoving, Piccola?”

Hermione who’d felt angry with him all evening discovered once again that she simply couldn’t resist his smile. It made her anger melt like butter in the sun. Rising she laid her hand on the arm he was offering and smiled up at him. “I’ve had a classmate who’s boggart became a moving mummy,” she teased him.

“And she made it waltz for laughing about?” Albus raised an eyebrow. “Is that how you just see me?”

Having arrived at the dance floor now, Hermione laid a hand on his shoulder and the other in his, grinning: “Fishing for compliments, master? I thought you’ve got enough of them this evening already with so much ladies drooling over you.”

He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “You were very much in demand yourself, Hermione. I tried all evening to get you, but you were always in the arms of a man.” Expertly he led her through the first turns of a waltz. “I understood their delight about you very much. You really look ravishing this night.”

Hermione was glad that the light over the dance floor was dim because she felt herself blush. Nevertheless she said in a tone Minerva would have been proud off: “How often you’ve said this tonight, Albus?”

“Approximately 78 times,” he answered promptly and with his famous cheeky grin. But then he became serious: “Only this time I really mean it.”

Hermione laid her head back and looked in his eyes. She found that she actually didn’t care much about his routine in matters of charm. In his eyes she found warmth and - yes, this was affection and tenderness. And the way they moved together - her body seemed to know his and to sense what his turn would be. His arm around her made her feel secure and content and the world around her seemed to disappear. She wished the dance would never end and she enjoyed how he pulled her closer, turning quicker, making her skirt whirl around her legs. She felt slightly dizzy and very happy and for a few seconds she allowed her head to fall on his shoulder. He once again smelled wonderfully and his mouth in her hair sent shivers down her spine. And then she heard him whisper: “Hermione - tesoro …”


to be continued