The Comedy of Errors

The Comedy of Errors

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

Chapter 6: Lovers such as I


The air smelled like freshly washed laundry. The night was pleasantly warm and so was the rain, falling down in thick, lazy drops. Albus, standing in bare feet on the still sun-warmed grass, felt like a part of the nature around him, and like the tree and the rose bushes he seemed to need the rain, which washed away the sweat and dust of the day. He’d worn a muggle suit all day, a tie tight around his neck, his long hair hidden under a disguise charm and although he’d used every opportunity to cast a cooling charm on himself, he felt sticky.

Visiting the Muggle parents of new Hogwarts students - a task he had on his agenda every summer - wasn’t unpleasant, but needed a lot of tact and concentration. Although Albus, as a pureblood wizard from an old family, could hardly imagine how it would feel to live without magic, he understood that the Hogwarts letters were not only a big surprise but, for some parents of Muggleborn witches and wizards, even a shock.

Although Albus well understood people’s fear of magic - he still sometimes wondered about the Muggles he had to deal with. In all the years he’d been the Hogwarts representative who had to talk to Muggle parents - and he’d taken over the task even before he became Headmaster - he’d never met a young wizard or witch whose magic hadn’t showed already. Every child he’d ever met on his visits in the Muggle world had already done things which parents and teachers had found “odd” and couldn’t explain easily. Nevertheless, Albus had rarely met parents who’d been prepared to learn that their child was magic.

Albus remembered parents who’d been proud after they’d learned - like the Evans who’d been delighted about their daughter Lily being a witch. But joy certainly wasn’t the normal reaction Albus got when he told people about their children’s magic. In the best cases he got relief, but mostly he had to deal with sheer disbelief.

However, the first parent he’d seen on this day had been a very atypical case. Carrie Smiths, mother of an 11-year-old wizard, was a lawyer and a single mother. She’d received Albus’ visit in her office where she had first told him that she and her colleagues had found the letter her son had received “very funny”. She wrote back, asking for his visit, out of sheer curiosity. “You don’t expect me to buy this wizard stuff, do you? Nevertheless, I’d like to know what’s behind your actions - as a mother and as a lawyer.” She’d looked very sharply at him.

This situation wasn’t new for Albus. On the Muggle parents tour he got to hear such lines at least once a day. So he’d smiled soothingly, “I don’t expect you to buy anything. But I want you to think about your son. Kenneth Frederic is a rather special child, isn’t he? And you certainly have noticed that some of the things that have happened to him were quite strange, weren’t they?”

The woman had become tense. “How do you know my son’s middle name? I never use it.”

“I know even more about your son. I know who and what his father is,” Albus had said quietly.

“That’s not possible!” Carrie Smiths had almost screamed. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play with me, but I don’t think it’s funny anymore. Are you trying to blackmail me?”

“No, Ms. Smiths, I certainly don’t intend any harm to you or your son,” Albus had responded. “I only want to make you aware of the fact that Kenneth Frederic is a wizard and needs education to cope with his magic.”

Two dark eyes had watched him intensely. “How do you know about his father? My son was born out of wedlock; the name of his father isn’t even on his birth record.”

“I know, Ms. Smiths,” Albus had remained calm. “But it is in the register of our school. Whenever a witch or a wizard is born in Great Britain, or of British parents, an entry shows up in our register. It tells the name of the child, the date of its birth and the name of the parents. With this data we’re able to find the child when he or she is old enough to attend Hogwarts.”

“Okay, okay.” The young woman had tried to calm herself down. “Let’s pretend I believe you - at least for the moment. You said you know not only who my son’s father is, but what he is too. Would you care to explain what you meant by that?”

“Of course,” Albus had nodded. “The father of your son is French. His name is Damian Frederic de Valery-Amiens and he is a wizard.”

Carrie Smiths swallowed, and for a long moment she looked at her trembling hands. Then she said quietly, “I met him when I was a student. I went on a summer trip to France and it was there that I encountered him. He was fascinating and kind of mysterious, and I fell head over heels in love with him. He didn’t talk much about himself - I supposed he was married. But during those summer days, I didn’t care. I was so much in love with him …”

“And you never learned about his being a wizard?” Albus asked.

“How should I have? We were together for two weeks. Then I went back to England - without even his address,” the young woman answered sadly.

“You didn’t try to contact him when you learned you were pregnant?”

“No. I hadn’t an address and besides, I honestly thought he was married. So I decided to raise the baby alone, without him,” Carrie Smiths had said. Looking up at Albus again she’d asked, her voice again sounding sharp, “But he knows, doesn’t he? If you know, he must know too.”

“No, Ms. Smiths,” Albus had responded. “The Hogwarts register is secret. Only the Headmaster of Hogwarts and his deputy can read it. They’re not supposed to tell anyone about any entries.” Digging in the pocket of his trousers, he’d taken out something that looked like a matchbox. Laying it on the table, he’d smiled at the lawyer. “The magical world is rather small and there are many connections between the English and the French wizard communities. I’ve done some discreet research on Monsieur de Valery-Amiens. He is a scientist - a rune master. At the moment he works as a curse breaker for a wizard’s bank in France. And he’s not married. He never was.” Shoving the matchbox, which she’d begun to stare at, closer to her, Albus had proceeded, “I really think a child should know its father - and a father should have a chance to get to know his child. So I’m giving you this box. Opening it will call one of our school’s owls to you. When it arrives you can give it a letter, addressed to Monsieur Damian Frederic de Valery-Amiens. The owl will carry the letter to your son’s father.”

“One moment, please!” The woman was still looking at the box. “There’s an owl in this box?”

“No.” Albus had smiled. “An owl wouldn’t like being put in something as small as that. But opening the box will activate a spell which calls an owl to you.”

“Ah yes.” Carrie Smiths had swallowed. “And the owl will carry a letter to Frederic?”

“Yes.” Albus had nodded. “Using owls is our way of communicating.”

He’d answered many more questions, but half an hour later he’d been on his way to the next parent - once again a single mother. Only this one had been a rather typical case who simply hadn’t believed in magic. After serving him tea she’d said, “I really don’t wish to be rude and you really seem to be a very nice old man, but don’t you think you should see a therapist? You know, there is no magic. Wizard and witches aren’t real. They’re only made-up characters out of fairy tales.”

Albus had sighed inwardly. Repeating speeches really was something Hogwarts’ Headmasters needed to be good at, and so he’d smiled at the woman, “I’m certainly not a made-up character out of a fairy tale. But I am a wizard - and so is your daughter, ma’m.”

“You’re a wizard?” The woman had shaken her head. “You don’t want to show me a few tricks, do you? Like pulling a few white mice out of your sleeve?”

“If you like white mice …” Albus had said, pulling his wand out. “I don’t like them up my sleeve much, so,” he’d looked around for something to transform. Seeing her computer mouse, he’d taken it, “May I?” Holding it up by its cord, he’d tipped his wand against it, murmuring a spell. The device had changed into a fidgeting white mouse.

“Oh!” The woman’s eyes had gotten rather large, but her doubts came back immediately. “You’re good, really. Nice trick indeed! But I still don’t believe in magic.”

“How can I convince you?” Albus had asked, hoping he didn’t sound too bored. Tipping his wand against the tea cup in front of him, he’d changed into in a cage and put the mouse in it. “Now - shall I change myself too?”

“Would you?” The woman had tried to sound sarcastic.

“If I have to …” Albus had stood up and changed into his phoenix form. After trilling a few notes he’d transformed himself back into his human form, but this time not clothed in a muggle suit, but in his full wizard attire, his hair flowing down over his shoulders.

This “trick” had convinced the sceptical lady. Shaking her head she’d said, “I’d better not tell my therapist about this. He’ll probably try to have me hospitalized.”

But from there the conversation had become easier, and one half hour later the woman had agreed to send her daughter to Hogwarts.

Number Three on his list had been an address near Manchester, in a little workers’ town. Albus had apparated there into a dirty backyard. Inside the messy house he’d found a sloppy looking woman in a rather dirty dressing gown, smelling of cheap gin. Her eyes had been blank, and she hadn’t even bothered to switch her TV off to listen to Albus. He did it instead, getting her attention at least for a minute - just to tell him that she didn’t care about the education of “the gal” as long as she didn’t have to pay for it. Asked about the father of her daughter, she’d shrugged her shoulders, “The bastard’s gone. He won’t pay for this school of yours either.”

She’d switched her TV on again. For her the conversation was obviously finished. Albus, rising up, had asked if he could talk to the daughter. “If you find her - don’t know where she’s slumming around. Don’t care either. She’s a weird one – always has been.”

He’d found the girl waiting for him when he left the house. She’d been delighted about attending Hogwarts. Yet Albus was sure that she’d have been delighted if he’d offered her a place in a school for ant egg collectors, and he couldn’t blame her. The girl simply wanted to get away from the depressing house and her drinking mother. So he’d made a note to put her on the list for free tuition, and to send Hagrid to do the shopping at Diagon Alley with her - courtesy of Hogwarts, of course.

This visit had made him sad - and the next hadn’t done much to brighten his mood, although this time he met a woman who had been delighted to learn that her daughter was a witch. “You know, I’ve always felt that there is magic!” she’d screamed in a voice so high-pitched that Albus felt as if it had gone through him like a hot needle. “Magic is all around us - in the air, in the trees, and don’t you feel the trees are our brothers and sisters? And Magic is in the sea and the little rivers and in everything that breathes …” Albus actually hadn’t known that rivers breathed, but even if he had wanted to say something about that, he wouldn’t have gotten a chance. The woman - who’d introduced herself as “Siân Liliane Phellps - with two ‘l’s of course” although she was in the Hogwarts register as “Jane Phelps” - had been in full swing. “Oh, magic! I’m so fond of it, you know? And I’m convinced I’m magical myself. I’ve Irish ancestors and I feel connected to the earth, the living, breathing soil of my beloved Ireland …” At this point Albus had cringed. It had been hard enough to swallow the breathing rivers - breathing soil really was a bit much for him. But Siân Liliane Phellps - with two “l”s of course - hadn’t been finished yet, “You know, my little one got her magic from me. When I learned that I was pregnant with her, I got her a magical amulet - one of these strong, Celtic things. I got it from a wonderful Druid I met at Stonehenge when we celebrated the Beltane feast there. You know, I like being around magical people and magical places and Stonehenge - these stones are so impressive and they breathe and …”

Albus had felt slightly dizzy at this point. He’d heard a lot of nonsense about the magical world in the years he’d dealt with Muggle parents, but he’d rarely ever been treated to this amount of hogwash. The only thing that kept him from fainting was the thought of what Minerva would say when he told her about the breathing rivers, soil and stones of Stonehenge. And Celtic Druids! Minerva would like that! Albus had stopped her more than once when she wanted to hex divination teacher Sybil Trelawney for being “a useless, stupid, silly charlatan”. A Celtic Druid, selling amulets at Stonehenge, Minerva would probably have wanted for breakfast - without mustard.

But at least the visit at Siân Liliane Phellps’ - with two “l”s of course - place had been the last of the day, and Albus had been more than glad about that. He’d urgently needed to talk with some one “normal” after that - someone who thought logically, clearly, and who was down to earth and sensible. In short, he’d needed a healthy dose of Minerva.

She’d been sitting in her favourite place under the Gingko tree, and once again Albus had felt awkward as he approached her. She’d been rather distant in the three days since Ingar’s visit, spending most of her time working on the timetables for the new term. He’d let her be - although he’d missed her touches and kisses. Yet knowing Minerva as long as he had, he was aware that pushing her would only make the situation worse. Then she’d probably go back to Hogwarts and he would lose his chance to make up with her entirely.

Changing his muggle suit once again into a wizard’s robe, he’d let himself fall into the chair next to her, sighing heavily. “Hello, Minerva,” he’d greeted her then. “How was your day?”

She’d put her quill down and smiled at him. “Certainly not as draining as yours. You look rather groggy.”

“I am,” he’d responded. “Today’s parents’ collection was a rather strange one.”

“Poor Albus!” She’d sounded amused. “Spending a day pulling bunnies out of thin air is tiresome.”

“Today I only had to do a white mouse, but,” he’d closed his eyes and crossed his legs, “the amount of hogwash I had to listen to was a new record.”

“Do you want some tea?” Minerva had asked. “It will restore you in no time, and while you drink it you can tell me all about the Muggles.”

“As long as it isn’t herbal tea …” Albus had said. “My last host was a Muggle woman who believes she is magical too. She served me tea made from herbs she collected herself.” He’d shuddered at the memory of it. “I was tempted to ask for a sample. Severus would probably have loved it. It would spare him a lot of work improving the vile taste of his potions. That tea tasted worse than his famous skelegrow!”

Minerva had laughed. “But who knows? Perhaps it has a strong effect?”

“Oh yes!” Albus had commented ironically. “It’s probably good for shrinking haemorrhoids when used as a hip bath.”

“Albus!” Minerva had scolded him as she rose and rang a little bell. “Sometimes you’re really impossible!”

A few minutes later he had tea and cake, and while eating he’d told Minerva about the single mother who would now probably get in contact with the father of her son - and Minerva had smiled at him, “One could believe that there’s a romantic hidden in you, Albus Dumbledore!”

He hadn’t commented on that, but told her about the depressing visit near Manchester, which had made her sigh too. But the story about the lady with the therapist she’d found funny.

“Poppy once attended a course in psychotherapy,” she’d said. “She told me all about it - and now I can’t help thinking about you on a therapist’s couch. The poor soul! Just imagine!” She’d bent over his chair and looked at him like a therapist would probably do. “Did your mother ever punish you corporally, Mister Dumbledore?”

He’d played along of course. “Why should she? When I misbehaved she simply hexed me.”

“Well, well, Mister Dumbledore. And what was your favourite pastime while you were a child?”

“As a young child I loved to make things explode. Later I was mostly busy lusting after every beautiful woman I saw,” he’d told her with a grin.

Minerva had shaken her head. “Sometimes I really wonder how your poor mother managed to become 211 years old. With a son like you she must have felt trampled over by an entire herd of hippogriffs at least once a week!”


Had Minerva felt trampled over by hippogriffs too? He’d asked her for a chess game after dinner, but she’d refused. “I was working at the time tables all day. I’m pretty tired now,” she’d said.

A few days before, he would have offered her a massage. But today he hadn’t dared. Instead he’d given her a peck on the cheek and wished her sweet dreams.

Only Albus couldn’t sleep. He’d written a few letters; he’d played a bit on the harpsichord - after casting a silencing charm because he didn’t want to disturb Minerva; he’d gotten himself a snack from the kitchen; he’d scanned through a few magazines, but although he’d felt drained, he’d been sure he wouldn’t sleep, but toss in bed.

Then the rain had started and Albus had spontaneously decided to go out into the garden. And in fact, slipping out of his shirt and enjoying the water on his skin had made him feel better. Closing his eyes, he let the rain run over his naked body, the drops feeling like tiny fingers touching him.

The tingle he’d sensed in his back he would have known under any circumstances. He didn’t need to turn around. For him a person’s magic was something tangible, and as individual and unmistakable as a voice. So he only said quietly, “Minerva …”

Slender, but strong arms hugged him from behind and a mouth kissed the wet skin between his shoulder blades. “You’re a sybarite, Albus,” she whispered. “I watched you from the window. You looked as if you were enjoying yourself to the fullest.”

He caught her hand, pulled it up to his lips and kissed her palm. “Now I am,” he said. Turning around he took her in his arms, burying his mouth in her wet, silken hair. “I missed you, Minerva,” he continued.

Leaning against him, she wrapped her arms around his middle. “I needed to think, Albus.”

“I like the result.” He tugged tenderly at one of the spaghetti straps which held her dark red nightgown. “You’d feel better without this,” he whispered.

“Myself or to you?” she asked, sounding once again a little amused.

He loved this particular tone in her voice. “Both, I believe,” he answered and, bending down, he started to nibble on her ear, his hands sliding down her back until they once again cupped her buttocks. As he pulled her closer, she rose on her tiptoes.

“Kiss me, Albus.”

He willingly obeyed, once again amazed by how soft her lips felt under his. He’d always thought that her fine mouth suited her classical beauty, but he would never have imagined it would feel so warm and gentle. And her body - the round breasts with the stiff peaks pressing against his chest; the flat belly and the firm buttocks under his hands - was incredibly womanly and arousing. His penis was already becoming stiff and he couldn’t help but press it against her. She seemed to like it. She deepened the kiss, lightly sucking at his tongue, one hand playing with his hair. The other one was on his back, fingers sliding down along his spine to his buttocks.

The rain had stopped and the clouds were gone. Now the stars came out, glittering like jewels in the night sky. Albus broke the kiss, but didn’t let Minerva go. Rubbing his palm over her erect nipple, he asked, “Have you ever made love on a beach?”

“No,” Minerva answered, kissing his shoulder. “But as romantic as it may sound - I don’t know if I’d like getting sand on and in certain parts of my body.”

“I wouldn’t like that either. But,” Albus swept her up in his arms, “you seem to have forgotten something. I’m a wizard.”

“Oh really?” Minerva obviously liked to be carried by him. She laid her arm around his neck. “And what does your therapist say about that, Mister Dumbledore?”

Albus, walking down the stairs to the cove, moved his hand a bit closer to her breast. “He found me rather stiff in certain places. Therefore, he advised me to find myself a beautiful witch and found a self help group for relaxation.”

“Hmm. I should ask my therapist if he approves of that,” Minerva chuckled.

“Too late, my dear.” Albus had arrived at the beach. “I’ve got you and I don’t intend to let you go until I’ve had my wicked way with you.” Putting her down on her feet, he crooked his finger. Minerva’s night gown slipped away from her body. Albus caught it before it hit the sand, and with another wave of his finger he transfigured it into a blanket which he let slowly fall down.

Minerva shook her head. “You’re such a show off, Albus! Wandless transfiguration! Really!”

“What shall I do? I don’t carry a wand at night.”

Minerva got down on her knees gracefully. Looking at his erection, she smiled, “Really, Albus?” Bending forward she placed a kiss on the tip of his stiff penis.

He swallowed and sank down next to her, pulling her into his arms again. “Minerva,” he whispered, his mouth gliding over her temple down to her cheek while his hands began to claim her body again. “Beautiful, passionate, lovely, exciting, Minerva.” He kissed the corner of her mouth, while stroking her breast. “If I weren’t afraid of you laughing at me, I’d call you a ‘goddess’ now. You look like one in the moonlight. Or rather like a fairy? Titania? I can almost imagine her with raven hair like yours and this porcelain skin and …”

Minerva laughed and pulled his head down to her chest, stroking his hair aside and tugging softly at his ear. “Definitely human,” she said. “That means you must be Oberon, my lord and king.”

“Yes - but after you forgave him for the donkey, your majesty.” Albus kissed her breast. “I’d hate it if you forswore my bed and company this night.”

“Perhaps I will,” she said, still combing her fingers through his hair.

“You will?” he looked at her.

“I will,” Minerva confirmed and pulled him down again. “If you don’t stop talking, I will. You always talk too much.”

Albus couldn’t resist. With his mouth almost on hers he giggled. “You always say that!” He didn’t give her a chance to respond, but kissed her, his tongue plundering her while his hand wandered over her body down between her legs. She was no less aroused than he was; her centre was wet and hot and the little knob his finger found was trembling. She arched her back as he began to play with it, spread her legs and then, breaking the kiss, she whispered, “Please - please! I feel so empty!”

Something deep in him felt touched by her pleading and the trust it showed. He was filled with tenderness for her and he wanted nothing more than to please her and to make her feel as good as possible. Moving down he gently pushed two fingers in her tight channel and started to suck gently at her clitoris.

“Albus - oh heavens, Albus!”

She began to wriggle and he needed his free hand to steady her while he sucked and kissed and licked and stroked her.

“Albus, you - oh, Merlin, Albus!”

She came. He felt her throbbing and twisting, her entire body shaking with the force of her climax; her hands were clamped around his head. And then she suddenly went limp. He kissed her little pearl once again before he moved up, taking her in his arms and holding her close.

He was so hard it almost hurt. But he didn’t want to give into his need. At the moment only Minerva mattered - Minerva and the wonderful feeling of her warm, still slightly trembling body against his.

“My dear Minerva,” he whispered in her hair.

She pressed closer to him, wrapping one of his curls around a finger. “Albus, you’re really a marvel of a man!” Breathing deeply she laid her hands on his shoulders and rolled him on his back. Kissing him, she straddled him, hovering for a moment over him. He raised his hand to guide her erection into her heat, but she stopped him, gripping his wrist. “No. You keep quiet. It’s my turn.”

He laid both his hands behind his head. “I’m all yours. Do with me whatever you wish.”

Her hand closing around the base of his shaft made him moan - and then he couldn’t even moan anymore because he felt her slowly sinking down on him, her silken wetness surrounding him and taking him in until he was buried in her completely. For a few seconds she didn’t move, but just kept him inside her, her hands on his chest, her long hair falling down over him.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her. The moonlight made her hair shine like the night sky above her, and her body looked like a precious silver statue. He couldn’t remember when he’d ever seen anything more enchanting and arousing. And as she started to move, with the feline elegance which was so typical of her - he suddenly felt very young again; young and overwhelmed by what was happening to him. He’d never been bored and overfed, but in the last few years he had always felt as if there could no longer be any surprises. Whatever had happened in his bed or wherever he’d made love to a woman - after 130 years of an active love life it had always felt like “been there, done that”.

He hadn’t minded the lack of surprises. Even without them, sex had been pleasant and satisfying and, being as familiar with his body and its reactions as he was, made for something he rather enjoyed: Self-confidence in the knowledge that he would be able to please his lover.

But now, with Minerva in his arms, he felt something new and surprising. There was a closeness which didn’t only reach to the skin, but deeper. She was his friend and confidant, she was someone he cared for very much and with her it wasn’t simply pleasant, satisfying sex, but more.

“Albus …” Minerva moved her hips a bit quicker. “I’m so full of you and it feels so wonderful.”

He needed his hands now to pull her close to him, once again cupping her buttocks and kneading them softly. She obviously liked it because her breathing became harder and her dancing on him sped up once again. “Minerva!” He’d started to sweat and his heart hammered in his chest. “You’re incredible, Minerva.”

She didn’t answer in words, but by raising her hips and sinking down on him again. Their bodies had once again found a rhythm now, not soft and tender anymore, but raw and wild. He couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, red sparks were dancing in his vision and he felt as if he was being consumed by the fire her ministrations had enflamed in him.

“Albus!”

Her hoarse scream was followed by a hard pushing down on him, then her muscles tensed. He felt how waves of pleasure rolled through her and the heat of it pushed him over the edge. For a second he seemed to be out of himself, as if the twitching of his rock hard penis and the almost painful tension in his testicles was far away, but then the intensity of his release, the lust and joy of it, hit him like a slap and he almost fainted.

Returning to conscious thought, he felt the weight of Minerva’s now relaxed body on him. It was an effort to lift his head, but he did so to kiss her forehead, tasting the sweat on it. His spent penis slid out of her and she sighed, content, but nevertheless sounding a bit disappointed.

“Albus …” She rolled on her side, stretching her legs and snuggling up against him.

He still didn’t feel up to speaking, so he laid his arm around her, his mouth on her hair. She obviously understood that he wanted to enjoy this precious moment of closeness and contentment in silence.


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


As much as Albus had enjoyed the peaceful moment in the night, he knew that his relationship with Minerva had reached a point where he had to talk with her. He didn’t like that much. Like most men, just the thought of what frequently started with a woman saying “We need to talk”, made him shudder. He usually would have been perfectly comfortable with a “just let’s enjoy what we have and deal with the future when it comes up”, but during his life he’d learned a bit about women. And one of the most important lessons had been: Don’t wait until she reaches the boiling point and orders you to talk.

Besides, he couldn’t take a risk with Minerva - and not only because she was his Deputy and not only because of the affection he felt for her, but because he knew her Gryffindor temper, pride and exceptional stubbornness. At the point she would demand “the talk” she would already be so fed up with him that he certainly would get a not-too-small dose of her temper - and heavens, he was the hero of two wars, but he was a man of flesh and blood too and as such the idea of a furious Minerva McGonagall made his knees go weak. He’d seen her in full fury a few times and he’d always found her breathtaking and very exciting then, but he was sure that if she ever directed her rage against him, he wouldn’t think about her beauty anymore and he certainly wouldn’t enjoy the display of passion, but run for cover instead.

And as twisted as his humour sometimes seemed - the idea of ducking under his desk pleading “Don’t hex me, Minerva!” didn’t make him laugh. The fact that she was a Gryffindor didn’t mean she didn’t know how to use really nasty jinxes when she felt like it.

He’d once made the mistake of annoying her during a practise duel. Since then he’d known from whom Hermione Granger had learned her famous boil jinx - only her mistress hadn’t hexed the boils onto his forehead but his backside. Lying face down and naked on his bed while charms master Filius Flitwick removed - letter for letter - the boil-written inscription “Slytherin brat” from his butt wasn’t Albus’ idea of a pleasantly spent afternoon.

Sighing deeply, he raised his head and looked over the breakfast table at Minerva, who was just spreading jam on her toast. “Minerva, I - hmm,” he cleared his throat, “I think we need to talk.” He realized that he sounded like an idiot, and he obviously wasn’t the only one who thought so.

Minerva - the same Minerva who only a few hours before had panted and moaned in his arms; the same Minerva who’d pillowed his head on her bosom as tenderly as a mother would do with her baby when they’d finally made it to bed last night - had now a glimmer in her eyes which made him feel like the canary who’d fallen in the cream bowl in front of the cat. And did she really have to lick the drop of jam from her finger that way? It really looked like the claw cleaning of the cat that had just discovered the canary a la crème.

Women! Albus was certain that even if he managed to become as old as Methuselah - he’d never understand the so called “gentle gender”. Once again he cleared his throat. She obviously didn’t intend to make this easier for him. So he would have to start. “In a few days,” he said, “I will have to go back to Hogwarts. There are a lot of things to be done before the start of term, and there is this secretary business I’ll have to attend to as well.” He couldn’t avoid his voice sounding a bit sulky at this announcement. He’d heartily agreed with Minerva about hiring a secretary for school business during the next term because he was aware that having - for the first time in Hogwarts’ history - more than 800 students would make for a terrible amount of administrative work. Since it had always been Minerva who dealt with the paper work, he’d figured hiring the secretary would be one of her obligations. Only Minerva hadn’t seen it that way. She’d immediately played the ball back in his court, “You’re the headmaster; you’re responsible for all Hogwarts staff, so you hire her.”

Now she was looking amused. “How many offers did you get from the announcement in the ‘Prophet’?” she wanted to know.

“Filius’,” he’d asked charms teacher Filius Flitwick to look after the mail while he was away, “informs me that at last count there were 78 owls and around 20 floo calls.”

“Aye,” Minerva sipped at her tea, “it seems employment at Hogwarts looks tempting to a lot of people. Or should I say, working for and with you do?”

The secretary was not the subject he wanted to talk about - and he knew that Minerva was aware of that too. She was just playing with him like a cat with a mouse. Leaning back, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I wanted to talk about us, Minerva,” he announced clearly.

“I won’t hold you back.” A little smile played around her lips, still red from last night’s kisses. “Just talk away.”

“Minerva,” he breathed deeply, “I don’t think you expect the announcement of a commitment from me. I’m very fond of you, I care deeply for you, but I’m 80 years your senior, I’ve lost almost every illusion about what’s commonly called ‘love’, and therefore I’m certainly not a man from whom a woman can expect something like a ‘happily ever after’. As much as I enjoy being with you - I can’t imagine a commitment of the usual kind between the two of us. Yet I’m aware that a woman like you expects and deserves more than an affair, and so it’s up to you to decide what will become of us. If you say you want more from life than someone to share a sweet hour with now and then, I’ll of course accept and stay out of your way. But if you find it in your heart to proceed with what one could call our ‘intimate friendship’, you’ll get a willing and grateful partner in me.” So - he’d said his say, now he was looking expectantly at her.

Her small face didn’t betray her emotions as she studied him for a moment, and her voice was factual and almost cold as she asked, “You’re offering me a casual affair, Albus?”

He cringed. “I wouldn’t have put it like that. You know you mean much more to me than someone to share a bed with.”

“I never doubted it.” She sounded once again almost amused. “I know you and I know myself. I’m certainly not the type you’d pick for a casual roll in the hay - not as long as you get 78 owls and around 20 floo calls when offering a job with the possibility of working closely with you.”

“Minerva! I don’t think the women answering the announcement …”

She didn’t give him a chance to finish. “Modesty doesn’t become you, Albus - not in this field,” she interrupted politely, but firmly. “We both know that at least half of Britain’s witches between 50 and 150 would laughingly sacrifice a finger to have you.”

“Minerva …” Now he sounded a bit weak. “You know I don’t enjoy women chasing me.”

“Did I say I’d blame you for their actions?” Minerva raised an eyebrow. “However, under these circumstances a woman should probably feel flattered to get such an offer from you.”

“Or she should slap me for suggesting it,” he answered quietly. “I think I’ve gotten the message. And I apologize, Minerva.”

“I think you didn’t get it, Albus.” Minerva laid her napkin on her dish and leaned back. “I know very well how most of our students and even some members of the staff see me, Albus. I’ve got a cat’s hearing, so I know that they find me ‘an uptight Victorian prude’ and a ‘highly frigid ice cube no man ever could get satisfaction from’. I thought you knew me better.”

Reaching over the table he laid his hand on hers. “I do, Minerva, I certainly do. And I wouldn’t have even needed the last several days to have it proved.”

Smiling down at his hand, Minerva said quietly, “One of the things I’ve learned from you, Albus Dumbledore - probably even the most important one - is to be very careful whom you allow to have an influence over your life and personality. I’ve learned - by your example - that I would never be able to live up to all people’s expectations of me. So it’s for me to decide who really counts and, after that, about whose opinions I don’t care.” Squeezing his hand, she proceeded, “I’ve found that I don’t care about my mother wanting me to be a perfect lady anymore. And I don’t care about the society goats who make up rules to justify their useless, boring lives. They would probably pretend to be insulted by your offer. I won’t. I would never have wished to get my freedom back for the price of losing my husband. But Augustus is dead and I’m a single woman once again. That means I can decide for myself how and with whom I spend my nights, and the more I think about it, the more I like the idea of having my life as it is - free and independent - but having a lover too. So it’s yes, Albus - I’d like to proceed with what you call our ‘intimate friendship’.”

For a moment Albus was silent. Then he bent down and kissed her hand. “I just thought of your NEWTs,” he stated.

“Of my NEWTs?” Minerva smiled. “And how did you arrive there?”

“When you were finished with your exam, I told old Dinglewitt that you wouldn’t have exceeded my expectations. He obviously thought I wanted to grade you under ‘E’ and was all over me in an instant, telling me that even an ‘E’ wouldn’t be good enough because you’d have done outstanding. I needed a few minutes to calm him down in order to tell him that I simply didn’t expect less than an outstanding performance from you.” He smiled tenderly at her. “You’re a formidable woman, Minerva Stuart-McGonagall. If I were 50 years younger I would probably propose to you.”

Minerva laughed and stroked a strand of hair away from his forehead. “I don’t think you’d get a ‘yes’. Even now I sometimes feel as if you were too young for me.” She took the pot and poured tea in his and her cup. “Are we finished talking? I’d like to proceed with breakfast.”

“Actually …” Albus looked a bit uncomfortable. “There’s the question of how we handle our ‘intimate friendship’ when we’re back at Hogwarts. I …,” he once again breathed deeply, “… don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or to be doing something you don’t like.”

Once again Minerva understood what bothered him. And Gryffindor as she was, she came directly to the point, “Albus, I’m certainly not ashamed of sleeping with you. But our love life is private. I certainly don’t feel the need to announce it to our dear colleagues from the rooftop. On the other hand, I don’t intend to use an invisibility cloak or to hide you in my closet when someone enters my chambers.”

“There’s no need to hide me,” Albus chuckled. “As you know, I can make myself invisible. Besides, I’m able to apparate in the castle when in my animagus form.”

“And Slytherin as you are you’ll probably have fun fooling all our colleagues and students!” Minerva laughed. “Actually – I’ve always found it funny how inattentive of cats they all are. Considering they all know about my animagus form, one would think they’d watch what they’re doing around cats. But no - no one is cautious around me.”

“You’re extremely good at sneaking through the shadows!” Albus said. “You sometimes even catch Slytherins.”

Minerva shuddered. “You mustn’t remind me of that! I only get our little snakes when they’re extremely distracted - and I wouldn’t say I enjoy catching them in the middle of intercourse much!”

“You wouldn’t have to,” Albus said amused.

“Albus! I don’t interfere when the students are of age, but you know Slytherins are precocious. I once caught a 13 year old Malfoy with one of my charges. She was 16, but it nevertheless was clear that the Slytherin had seduced her.” Albus grinned and Minerva shook her head. “I refuse to think about the fact that you are a Slytherin too.”

As usual, he couldn’t resist baiting her. “Slytherins are sexy, Minerva. You have to admit it.”

“Do I?” Minerva sounded sceptical. “Thinking of Severus - no, Albus. I don’t admit it.”

“And what about Lucius Malfoy?” Albus teased her. “In his last year he developed a mighty crush on you.”

“Bah!” Minerva spat. “Crush on me! The arrogant slimeball thought he was irresistible. He simply wanted to prove it by shagging the hardest-to-get teacher.” She rose up, went to the sideboard, and got herself an apple out of the basket standing there.

Albus waited until she was close to him, then caught her and pulled her into his lap. Nibbling at her ear, he said, “Don’t underestimate yourself. Malfoy was a vain bastard, but he certainly didn’t want you only to prove something.”

“Albus!” Minerva didn’t struggle to get out of his embrace, but leaned back to look severely at him. “He was 17 and I was in my mid-forties!”

“So what?” His hand wandered up to her breast. “Do you remember Charlotte Dancy?”

“The transfiguration mistress? Of course I remember her,” Minerva answered. “She was at the university in Dublin and member of the committee which examined me for my master-ship.”

“Before she went to Dublin she was transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts,” Albus told. “She taught me and during my fourth year I developed a crush on her. She was around 60 at this time, but heavens - she was dead sexy! And she used to wear skirts with little slits in the side - actually very decent. They didn’t show more than her ankles, but sometimes I got a glimpse of her leg. And there was that bum of hers, and whenever she turned her back to the class I slobbered over it.”

Minerva caught his hand and held it on her lap. “I take it that looking at your teacher’s backside was something you enjoyed?”

“And how!” His hand escaped her grip and started to wander up over her belly. “I used to sit in her class, daydreaming about what I’d like to do with her.”

“In your fourth year? You were only 14 years old!” Minerva laid her arm around his neck.

“I obviously was a precocious Slytherin,” he grinned and pulled the pins out of her hair.

Minerva looked at him. “Albus, I actually intended to apparate to Diagon Alley to buy some parchment and ink. I’m pretty certain,” she once again held his hand and entwined her fingers with his, “I’ll meet a few students there. I wouldn’t want to be seen by them looking like Medusa with a migraine.”

“Medusa would probably like to look like you, but you certainly don’t look like her.” Albus buried his nose in her hair. “Nevertheless, I wouldn’t want the students to see you with your hair down. I’d hate to fight for your attention against all the older students of my house. But,” he pushed one hand under her knees and stood up, lifting her with him, “I don’t think I’ll let you go before lunch. You’re looking much too appetizing.”

“Aren’t we a bit insatiable, Headmaster?” Minerva giggled.

“It depends on whom we are with,” he shot back, marching out to the hall, where he started to climb up the stairs. “The question is now, your bed or mine?”

“Bed? Did you just say bed?” Minerva snuggled closer to him, playfully catching a strand of his hair and wrapping it around her hand. “How boring! I always thought Slytherins liked variety.”

“Do you wish to provoke me, Minerva?” he grumbled, his blue eyes twinkling.

“I never would!” Minerva’s grin grew. “I only wondered - am I losing my appeal for you already? Are we already in a routine?”

“Wench!” He stopped in the middle of the corridor, looking down at her. “I think I know what I’ll do with you.”

Albus concentrated. Holding Minerva in his arms, apparating with her and casting a shielding charm at the moment they reached their destination wasn’t an easy task, not even for him. But he managed and while he was at it, he put a cushioning charm on the copper before he gently laid Minerva down on it. Settling down next to her on the sun warmed, just slightly sloping roof, he smiled at her and asked casually, “Nice here, isn’t it?”

Minerva looked around. They were on top of a big building, surrounded by gothic towers, cupolas, and roofs with battlements and artfully carved pillars. “That’s …” Minerva had grown huge, and she was pointing at a building which glimmered like a gem in the golden sun. “The Radcliffe Camera! And the Magdalenen Tower! And there,” she turned, “are the Ivory Towers of All Souls!”

Albus stroked over her back. “It seems we’re in Oxford,” he said amused.

She turned to him. “We’re on the roof of the Merlin College, aren’t we?”

“Five points to Gryffindor!” He pulled her down on his chest. “Isn’t it a nice place for making love?”

“Albus, you’re impossible!” Minerva shook her head. “I thought I mentioned something about not announcing our affair from the top of a roof.”

“I wasn’t planning to announce anything, Minerva.” Albus had seen in her eyes that she found the idea of sleeping with him at this place exciting. Being the strong witch she was she’d of course noticed the shielding charm he’d cast, and so she knew that even a herd of aurors trampling over the roof wouldn’t have stood a chance of finding them there.

Concentrating once again, Albus stroked one finger slowly over Minerva’s collarbone down the valley between her breasts and over her belly to her mound. Where his finger touched the fabric her robe opened, revealing milk white flesh. Turning Minerva on her back, he bent over her and laid his mouth on her skin, slowly licking a path down from the base of her throat to her breast. Her nipple - the dark chocolate brown of it a stark contrast again the marble skin surrounding it - was already erect and as he let his teeth lightly scrape over it, she made a sound which reminded him of her purring. Tenderly he sucked at the bud while at the same time rolling the other nipple between his thumb and index finger. Her purring became stronger and she pulled at the light summer shirt he was wearing. “I want to feel your skin, Albus!”

He heard her whisper and for a moment he raised his head, and with a wave of his hand he made his shirt fall in bundle next to him, pressing his naked flesh and his erect member against her before he bent down again. But now her hand was on his chest and she played with his nipple, teasing and twisting it. And her other hand - Albus choked as it landed on his thigh, only the fingertips touching and slowly, much too slowly for the need he felt - going up where he wanted it. And even then, reaching his testicles, she didn’t give him what he longed for. Her fingers were teasing - one of them drawing a line from his left to his right thigh, so close to his sensitive skin that he could sense the warmth of it, but not really touching.

“Oooh …” Had this been his voice? Albus wasn’t sure. His mind seemed fogged with lust. He bucked his hips, longing for her touch and close to pleading, but not able to form words.

She was still playing with him, her hand now between his legs. He felt her finger on the skin beneath his testicles and then her nail gliding up, over his balls to the base of his penis. Following the throbbing vein at the underside up to the foreskin, she made him wriggle and moan again.

Albus struggled for breath. His penis was so hard it almost hurt and he couldn’t keep himself back any longer. “Please, Minerva …” He managed to catch her hand and to put it on his erection.

“Please?” Her eyes, the green now so dark it almost looked black, glimmered with mischief and arousal. “What shall I do, my dear?”

“Wench!” He managed to utter between clenched teeth.

“Oh?” She bit lightly in the tip of his nose. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Albus!”

“Just you wait, you tease!” She’d made the mistake of giving him a little break - just long enough for him to return to coherent thinking and coordinated moving. He turned and rolled over her, pinning her down with his weight. Pulling her hands over her head and holding her small wrists with his left, he used his knees to spread her legs and got his member in position. But instead of entering her he moved it a bit upwards, parting her folds and rubbing his tip over her knub.

Now she was bucking and wriggling under him. “Albus …”

“What shall I do, my dear?” He managed to imitate her tone perfectly, once again moving his hips and teasing her clitoris.

“Albus!” She wrapped a leg around him. “I warn you, if you don’t stop teasing immediately, my revenge will be horrible!”

“What a nice invitation!” He bent down and kissed her, slowly entering her at the same time.

How long had it been since he’d last slept with her? He knew it had been only a few hours ago, but it nevertheless felt new and exciting and at the same time wonderfully familiar, like coming home. He knew now it wasn’t only tenderness that she needed, but powerful strokes and deep penetration too.

She was what he had always searched for in a woman, although they were so different. Perhaps because she was so different? Or was she really? Most people would say so, only seeing severe, serious, ladylike Minerva McGonagall, always controlled, punctual and perfectly organized. But Albus knew that this was only what he’d called her “teacher personality”. The true Minerva was more, much more. As a friend she was warm-hearted, caring and loyal. How often had she supported and comforted him during the war? And how often had it been her dry humour which had cheered him up and made it possible for him to carry on? Then there was Minerva the lover - passionate and vulnerable, tender and strong. He’d come to adore her.

But sleeping with her once again, feeling her close and almost like a part of him, he suddenly became aware that there was a part of herself she would never share with him. The loving woman - he’d got glimpses of this part of Minerva. He remembered how she’d looked at her husband; how her eyes had shone when Augustus entered the room; how she’d smiled when his name was mentioned.

She would never look at Albus like that. A love like the one she’d felt for her husband could only bloom out of the knowledge that it was returned in the same depth and without any doubts and questions. And that was why Minerva would never really belong to him. Despite all her friendship, despite the mutual attraction and affection - she would never love him like she’d loved her husband because he would never be able to love her as Augustus had loved her. He wasn’t able to feel this kind of love anymore. He was too old, too tired, and too cynical. He’d failed too often; he’d disappointed too many people. He didn’t trust himself anymore.

His arousal was gone and as much as he scolded himself for this attack of self pity - it didn’t help. Minerva had of course noticed that he’d lost his erection.

A gentle hand stroked over his cheek and she didn’t sound annoyed, but only worried and gentle, “What’s the matter, Albus? What happened?”

Albus rolled on his back, looking up at the sky. “I’m sorry, Minerva.” He felt like a fool and couldn’t look at her. Closing his eyes and fighting against tears, he sighed.

“Dear Albus!” She kissed his forehead. “There’s no need to apologize and no need to feel ashamed.”

“Well …” He turned his head and kissed her palm. “Thank you for understanding. You’re a wonderful woman.”

“And you, Albus, are a wonderful man and lover and,” she bent down and kissed him once again, “I’m actually glad this happened.”

“Please?” He raised his eyebrows and opened his eyes, looking at her. “You like coitus interruptus?” He sounded bitter and angry with himself.

“Oh, Albus!” She shook her head. “You know I didn’t mean that. But being human myself I don’t think I could cope with a superhuman, always potent Slytherin hero.” Taking his face in both her hands she smiled at him. “I know you’re vulnerable, Albus. It’s one of the many reasons I like you as much as I do.”


To be continued …