A Winter Tale

A Winter Tale

by: Max

[usual disclaimer see chapter 1]


Chapter 7: Attacks and antics


By awakening Hermione found herself alone in the huge four poster she’d come to think about as “our bed in the last hours. Only an auburn hair on the deserted pillow next to her and the slight ache in her thighs as she stretched proved that the last night with the handsome stranger hadn’t been a dream.

Hermione turned and put the hair from the pillow, thoughtfully curling it around her index finger. Looking to it she thought she could smell her lover’s lemon drops and lavender fragrance and her heart jumped by remembering it.

“Albus,« she whispered, suddenly sad and feeling so lonely it hurt. Where was he? And why was he already gone? The sky outside the windows still looked pretty dark, the winter sun hadn’t rose entirely yet, so it was early - too early for her husband leaving the bed chamber already. Yet by thinking of him Hermione suddenly became aware that the man she were to meet for breakfast wouldn’t be “her” Albus - the Albus in whom arms she’d felt so right and happy. By now he was back in being the headmaster with his silver mane and the heavy robes. The thought of it made Hermione so sad she felt her eyes burn with tears. She longed for his warmth and the comfort she’d found in his embrace, she still thought she’d feel his long, firm form against which she’d snuggled the last night before falling asleep. When would she see this Albus again? And how was she to deal with the headmaster now, longing for his younger self?

Crying her eyes out wouldn’t do - so much was clear. He’d praised her courage in the night and Hermione had felt very proud by it. She wouldn’t let him down now and so she allowed herself one last little sigh before she energetic pushed herself out of the warm bed and walked to the bathroom he’d prepared for her. Being already too nervous fobathbath, she took a quick shower, brushed her teeth and tried - once again a futile attempt as the mirror told her immediately - to tame her bushy hair. Dressing herself in her school uniform which had laid neatly pressed on a shelf in her new closet - she took a long look to the mirror, searching for something new in her features. But it was still the old, plain Hermione looking back to her. Nothing had changed, though she felt as if everything had. She wasn’t a girl anymore, but a woman, a lawfully wedded wife and - Hermione felt a little tremble by the memory of it - her husband’s very own lover, the one who made him purr and moan only a few hours ago.

“Hermione?” His voice sounded from the bedroom, once again hoarse and even more cracked as she remembered it.

“Here I am!” She answered and went to the bed chamber, looking at him as he stood in the door to the stairs, the light from the window behind him shimmering in lis long hair. He was, Hermione stated with one gaze, looking even more buttoned-up as the day before in his dress robe. It was once again purple and gold this morning - a silken underrobe with a very high collar, a brocade overrobe with wide sleeves and a matching hat. Even his benevolent smile looked to Hermione as if he’d put it firmly on his face by willpower and with thinking so every idea of kissing him for getting back something of the warmth she had felt in the night was gone. Suddenly it seemed unimaginable that she really had shared the bed with this man, the thought of it even made her blush and looking to her feet.

“I hope you slept well?” he asked now and to Hermione it sounded like the polite question a stranger in a hotel would ask someone he’d just meet on the buffet by collecting breakfast.

“Yes, I did,” Hermione answered with the same politeness, still starring at her feet and fighting against tears. She wouldn’t cry - she wouldn’t allow herself to! “I hope, you slept well too?”

“Oh yes.” He was stepping in the room now, but not looking at her, but to the fire. “I’ve spoken with Professor Snape,” he said now and Hermione registered, that he now used the title again. In the night it had been “Severus” - and hadn’t he really asked her to befriend the cold man? In the morning light even the idea of it sounded odd. “He agreed,” Albus proceeded now, “to take you up with your honour project and he’d like to see you in his office after dinner.”

Hermione swallowed and noted. With more bravery as she felt by the prospect of seeing Professor Snape, she said: “I’ll be there then.”

“I hope I’ll be back then too, so I can join the two of you. And if you’re not too tired afterwards I’d like to give you a private lesson in transfiguration.”

“That would be nice”, Hermione said and thought by it, that having a schedule was nice, but having done with already would be even nicer.

The headmaster looked to his wizard’s watch and the first little smile on this morning crossed over his face. “It’s time for breakfast. Are you ready to face the world, Madame Dumbledore?”

Actually Hermione didn’t feel so, but her pride forbad her to admit. Instead she braced herself and tried to smile back. “I am, sir.”

“Good,” he simply stated. “Then let’s go.”

He led her over the stairs to the gallery where he offered her his arm in a courteous gesture. Hermione laid just her fingertips on it, but she tried to smile lightly and to walk with confidence.

“I think this morning we should present ourselves as an item,” he explained by wandering down with her over the stairs to the entrance hall. “Therefore I’d like to have you next to me on the head table. For other meals you may seat on your place at Gryffindor table ou cou can have them served to our dining room if you prefer solitude - of, if I’m in the castle - my company.”

Hermione only nodded because she didn’t trust her voice. Being now in the middle of the castle, the couple was surrounded by students heading for the great hall too - and Hermione didn’t know if she should laugh or cry over the looks she got by walking on the headmaster’s arm. The two first year girls from Ravenclaw who almost run in an armour because they couldn’t take their saucer great eyes from the headmaster and his wife surely were a funny sight, but the sneer she got from a group of Slytherins wasn’t, but made her shudder. Yet her husband didn’t seem to mind - he greeted friendly back when a student managed to his mouth closed and opened again for a greeting and he actually looked as if he’d walk every morning to the hall with a young wife at his arm.

“Good morning, Headmaster. Hi, Hermione!” a familiar, firm voice sounded in Hermis eas ear and she almost cried in relief by looking in Harry’s encouraging smile. Obviously he didn’t only understand what the headmaster was up to, but knew how much Hermione needed his support by it. And then Ron, as always late, stormed through the hall to them, breathless grasping “Hello, Hermione. Good morning, Professor Dumbledore.”

“Good morning, Mister Potter, good morning, Mister Weasley,” Albus sounded amused by the boys flanking Hermione and him like body guards. By walking now in the great hall and up the aisle, he said: “I’m afraid I must divest you this morning of Hermione’s company. She’ll seat with me. But I trust you’ll deputize for me during lunch and dinner later.”

“Of course, Professor Dumbledore,” Harry answered and looked by it as if he were ready to hex everybody who dared to cast a wrong glance at Hermione just in the middle of the next week.

“You’ve got yourself two nice knights in shining armour,” Albus said quietly to Hermione as he led her up to the head table. “Only I’ve never thought of you as the damsel in distress. You’re more in the line of the amazon’s queen, aren’t you?”

Actually Hermione didn’t feel so as he made her seat down on the chair on the right side of his golden throne. By now every single student - and the teachers - in the hall looked to her and it didn’t need Minerva tipping her spoon against her goblet for getting the hall silent. It was already quieter as Hermione ever had experienced it at breakfast.

The headmaster rose, looking in to the hall - and for a moment Hermione had to fight for getting her mouth closed again and not gaping like a goldfish out of his bowl by noticing that her inpredicable new husband now really looked amused. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully.

The students, looking mostly more then only a bit bewildered, not being in used with an official greeting on a normal breakfast, mostly muttered back, only one very eagle young Hufflepuff shot loudly and at the top of his lung: “Good morning, Headmaster.”

“And an especially good morning to you, Mister Leadlefield,” Albus smiled to the boy, then looking again up to the entire hall. “I don’t want to keep you away from your breakfast too long, I only want to make a private announcement: Yesterday in the evening the lovely young lady at my side finally made me a honourable wizard and husband. So I have now the pleasure to present you my wife, Madame Hermione Granger-Dumbledore. And now tuck in!” He sat down, purring himself a cup of coffee and filling his dish as if he wouldn’ticetice how absolutely thunderstricken his students and most of the teachers were looking.

Hermione couldn’t resist to gaze through her eye lashes to the Slytherin table and what she discovered there made her almost giggle. Draco Malfoy had paled so much his face matched his white shirt while his faithful sidekicks, the messieurs Goyle and .... really looked like thick carps out of her pond. Millicent Bullstrode in the meantime watched Hermione with an almost adoring expression - greedy for power as she was she obviously couldn’t deny a girl who had caught the biggest fish in the sea her admiration. Her girlfriend and comrade in arms by the power struggle, Pansy Parkinson, was once again quicker in thinking, so instead of looking at Hermione she let her gaze wander over Professor Snape’s dark form as if she’d thought about his worth in galleons on the next cattle stock market. Blaise Zabini, Slytherin prefect and Draco Malfoy’s all time arch rival in his own house, sniggered and looked as if he’d enjoy immensely and Tiberius Lestrange, his friend next to him, was already opening his mouth for a comment in the direction of Draco.

Watching the Gryffindors was much less amusing. Hermione’s house mates were obviously shocked. Neville Longbottom who in the last year had grew from looking like a over-sized toddler to a tall and in a soft way handsome young man, seemed to fight against tears. He’d had ever a soft spor Her Hermione, perhaps even more as that and now he was shattered. And so were Hermione’s former dormitory mates Lavender and Parvati, both looking up to her with sympathy and pity in their wet eyes. Ginny Weasley, seating next to them, had almost paled so much as Draco Malfoy, a tear run down her cheek and Hermione became almost angry with Ginny’s display of sympathy. What, she’d have liked to ask her, was so bad in being married to the headmaster? Couldn’t Ginny, coming from a family always close to Albus Dumbledore, not imagine that there was more about him as his age? Hermione wished she could explain it to her girlfriend, but knew that she wouldn’t talk with Ginny about her feelings. To explain would mean to tell about the Albus Hermione had slept with and although the usage of an age reversing potion wasn’t by any means illegal, Hermione didn’t want anybody to know about. Besides: Hermione had always detested how Lavender and Parvati talked - with more details as Hermione ever had cared to know about one the boys at school - over their newest adventures. To her it had always felt as if the both of them were dirtying something Hermione, being a romantic at heart, thought precious. And thinking of the last night and the intimacy she’d shared with Albus - no, she’d never give her husband away with talking about, not even to Ginny.

A voice interrupted Hermione’s thought process - a firm and clear one, Harry’s voice which had only became deep and manly a few months before. He’d rose and stood now on the Gryffindor table, head erect, shoulders back, looking to his school mates as if he’d just wait for making some one the wrong gesture. “I think,” he said, “I can speak for my entire house in congratulating you, Madame and Professor Dumbledore.”

Hermione saw Snape turning his eyes and heard him quietly comment: “And once again our young hero saved the day. I think I’m going to vomit”, but even his malice didn’t spoil the pride Hermione was feeling by looking at her best friend who just sat down again.

His performance obviously had broken the tension and reminded the other students in the hall of their manners. The prefect of Ravenclaw, a thin, bony sixth year with heavy glasses, was the next raising, looking to the head table and saying: “Ravenclaw house wishes the newly wed couple all the best!”

The Hufflepuff prefect, a round seventh year with a cheerful smile, followed. Beaming at the head table, she cried: “Congratulations from Hufflepuff too, Hermione, sir!”

Hermione looked once again to the Slytherin table. Blaise Zabini actually looked as if he’d want very much to join the other prefects, but Malfoy fixed him with an icy stare while his two cronies Goyle and ... already had clenched their fists. For a few seconds a forbidding silence hung over the hall, Then Hermione heard a rustle obes bes on her left side and Professor Snape’s voice, cold and smooth like polished ice, every ‘s’ in his speed so hissed that it reminded Hermione of Harry speaking Parseltongue. “As head of Slytherin house,” he said, “I have to apologize for the lack of manners my students are showing ...” Hermione saw the Slytherins cringe and duck. Used to their head of house always favouring them, they obviously knew that he wouldn’t let them get away this time and although Hermione didn’t like Slytherins in general and detested a few of them even heartily, she felt a pang of sympathy for them. Getting on the wrong side of a crossed Snape certainly didn’t count as picnic - even if he now looked to her and the headmaster, finishing his speech with “best wishes” for them.

Once again it was now for the headmaster to raise and he did so, smiling and spreading his arms as if he’d like to hug all his students. “Thank you very much for all the good wishes. My wife and I are grateful indeed.”

And then it was at last over - everybody sat again, the tension subsided and though Hermione wasn’t really hungry she managed to eat a bit of toast and some porridge.


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

Hermione would never have expected it, but as she entered the great hall for dinner, normality seemed already back. Of course, a few of her school mates still started at her as if she’d grew a second head - or even more? - over night, but actually Hermione was in use with being starred at.

Almost seven years as the best friend to the boy-who-lived-through-some-really-dangerous-adventures had made for that and although she’d never liked too much attention on herself, she even felt a big light-headed by now. The day had been easier as she’d expected. The teachers had all acted very tactfully, treating her in class as if nothing would have changed and no one had dared to ask her stupid tiontions. Hermione wasn’t entirely sure if she’d been spared because of Ron and Harry who only had left her side when she had disappeared in a girl’s bathroom (and even then they’d loitered in front of the door) or if the students avoided bothering her in respect of the headmaster. Only in one case it was clear: The pleasure of seeing the Slytherins wandering around on their tiptoes, not even daring to grand her one of their trademark smirks, Hermione hadn’t to thank her friends or her husband for. Their unusual quietness was obviously caused by the dressing down they’ve received by their head of house - and to think of it made Hermione only regret that she hand’t got a ticket for this performance.

Even the after waves of it, experienced during potions with the Slytherins, had shown that Snape had been in the form of his life. His pupils hadn’t even dared to look at him as he’d swept in his class room and Snape still had been so furious that his hands had trembled as he’d wrote down the day’s potion on the board. The rage in his eyes hadn’t vanished even during lunch in the great hall. Yet as much as Hermione thought the Slytherins deserved to be at least once the victims of Snape’s anger, the thought of being his after dinner appointment made Hermione’s stomach cramp. And even the thought of Albus coming and joining her at Snape’s office didn’t help much. It rather heightened Hermione’s tension because over the day she’d felt becoming more and more distant to the man she was married to. The optimism she’d dwelled on in the night before was entirely gone - so much it seemed by now even hard to believe that she’d really hoped this marriage could work. The Albus Dumbledore from the morning had felt like a complete stranger to her - a polite one, one who showed her respect, but nevertheless a stranger who reminded Hermione on a sphinx - absolutely unfathomable, nothing she could ever understand or get an influence - and if only the slight one of feeling noticed as more as another task to perform - to. Dealing with Snape - even with a furious Snape - was something Hermione didn’t look forward to, but was sure she could handle. Yet dealing with Snape and the unknown quantity who was her husband seemed like a bite Hermione would need a long, hard chewing on.

So she was grateful for the reprieve dinner gave her though she once again wasn’t hungry and picked on her plate - much to Ginny’s dismay. The younger girl once again showed herself as the true daughter of her formidable mother in urging Hermione to eat “because you’ll need your strength with Snape, won’t you?” and fussed so much about her that Ron finally started bickering with her about “not behaving towards Hermione as if she were a baby”. As always when the siblings were arguing with each other - meaning at least twice a day also - Hermione sprung to Ginny’s defence which made - this something usual too - Ron grumble with and and Harry turning her eyes, but at this evening Hermione was even grateful for Ron’s stubbornness. It was like a good, healthy dose of normality and with that more calming as the protectiveness the boys had shown her all over the day.

Yet Ron, the knight, was immediately back as at the end of dinner Professor Snape marched to the Gryffindor table, his black robes billowing around him as if he’d charmed it to the most bat like fashion possible. He stopped in front of Hermione, glancing at her as if she were one of the ugly potion ingredients he kept pickled in jars on his office and snarled: “You come with me, Mistress Granger.”

Without waiting for an answer, he stalked to the door, so Hermione sprang on her legs, throw her heavy satchel over her shoulder and ran after him through the hall and down the stair which led to the dungeons and his office. With an incantation spoken so quietly she couldn’t understand a word of it, he opened the heavy door and invited her in with another sneer. Seating himself behind his paper laden desk, he offered her the chair in front of it. Hermione sat down, pulling her robe closer around her. It was chilly in the dungeons and she looked longingly to the cold and empty fireplace, wondering once again how Snape could bear the damp and tristesse of this room. Probably Lavender and Parvati’s favourite question “briefs or boxers?” could in the case of the potion master been answered with “neither - it’s knee length knickers”. Hermione almost grinned by the image of Snape in baggy knickers which now formed in her mind, but knowing that a grin at him wouldn’t do her any good, she tried to show a neutral face.


“The headmaster informed me,” Snape started now, his tone harsh and his eyes penetrating her, “that you want to take up a honour project in potions for your NEWTs. I don’t approve of this silly idea.”

“I told the headmaster you wouldn’t ...” Hermione heard herself bursting out and bit her tongue, blushing. This certainly hadn’t been a good start. “I mean ... I wanted to say ...” she stammered in the futile attempt to save what wasn’t to save anymore.

At least her struggling seemed to amuse Snape. The left corner of his mouth twitched once and almost smiling he said: “Don’t play coy, Mess ess Granger. We both know it wasn’t your idea, but the headmaster’s.”

“I tried to talk him out ...” Hermione said lam

This time Snape really smiled. “One thing I’ve learned over the years I’ve been here, Mistress Granger, is the fact that stopping the Hogwarts express barehanded probably is an easy task compared of stopping the headmaster when he had set his mind to something. And if it’s something he thinks you’d benefit from every attempt to get him out of it is a mere waste of time and energy. So I reckon we resign - with as much grace as you can muster - in our mutual fate named Albus Dumbledore and talk about a way we can handle your project without bothering each other too much at it. Do you have any idea what you’d like to do?”

Hermione was entirely flabbergasted - she’d expected almost everything, but surely not so much civility by Snape. Perhaps Albus was right in suggesting that his potion master was in dire need of - no, not a friend because Hermione still couldn’t imagine she’d ever think of Snape as of somebody able to friendship - but a normal human contact? This, Hermione, was sure, she could provide him with, even if it would use some time to come at ease enough in being around him. But she’d try - and was there a better time to start with it as now? “I actually did a bit of reading about polyjuice potion ...,” she started, her eyes fixed on the leg of his desk in front of her. Probably it wasn’t too good an idea to talk about polyjuice potion with him - not with still suffering from a bad conscience because she’d once stolen the ingredients for it from his store. Yet she couldn’t think of another subject and now she’d already started with it. So she braced herself with a deep breath and proceeded. “I wanted to know something about the basics of it - why it works in the way it does - but couldn’t find much on it ...”

“That’s the biggest problem you’ll get when going deeper in the subjects which is potions,” Snape said, still sounding more civil as she’d ever heard him. “Most potion masters in the past - even such great ones as the famous Nicolas Flamel or Paracelsus - weren’t much interested in the ‘whys’, but always sticking to the ‘hows’.”

“But that’s not the academic way!” Hermione once again almost bursted.

Snape sneered. “After almost seven years in our world even a muggleborn suc you you should have learned, that wizards set other values as muggles ...”

Hermione didn’t like how he pronounced “our world”, excluding her from it. This dislike made her probably answer sharper as she actually had intended to. “I can’t see much value in dabbling around with substances one doesn’t know exactly. Besides I remember very well a speech I’ve heard at my first potion class ever. The potion master in presence spoke about potion making as an ‘exact science’. You don’t want to disagree with him, sir, do you?”

Snape leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest and looking to her with an unreadable expression. “You’re still highly convinced about being the gods gift to wizardry, aren’t you, Mistress Granger? And I find myself wondering how Merlin managed to live through centuries without being lectured by you!” Now his tone was hostile again and he almost spat the next words at her feet. “This Gryffindor arrogance of yours is why I dislike the lot of you!”

Hermione found herself fuming. Without thinking about she fired back: “I’ve always wondered how a Slytherin could be so wrong in matters of arrogance. Actually you’re the masters of it, believing in yourselves as the salt of the earth. So you should be able to recognize it in others, shouldn’t you? You know, your being arrogant, stubborn and biassed is why I dislike the lot of you!”

To her complete puzzlement Snape looked as if he’d amuse himself immensely. But his voice was laden with malice as he said: “Your dislike of all what is Slytherin is something you probably should talk with your husband about.” He looked to the watch on the mantlepiece, then he stroke one of his black strands out of palepale face. “By mentioning him: Didn’t he want to join us?”

Hermione was still angry, so she answered crisply: “He said so, but haven’t him seen all day, I don’t know about his whereabouts.”

She expected him to rebuke her for her tone, but once again the potion master surprised her. He rose and stepped around his desk, wandering nervously through his office. “I don’t like this,” he said after a while. “I didn’t liked him going on his own this morning and I don’t like it better by now. Damn Albus’ stubbornness!”

Hermione felt as if just a cold hand had gripped her heart, squeezing it. Swallowing hard, she whispered: “You don’t think something bad could have happened to him? I mean, Voldemort fears him. He’d never attack him, wouldn’t he?”

Snape stopped his wandering in front of the fireplace. He braced himself with both hands against the mantlepiece, then he said: “Contrary to popular belief I don’t like making people unhappy. But I won’t belittle you in telling comforting lies. The dark lord’s greatest weakness - which I believe will cause his downfall - was and is, that he always liked to overestimate himself and his power. He always wanted to see himself as the greatest and mightiest wizard alive. This disposition - grown despite all the fullbacks over the last years - makes him prone to illusions and to people supporting him in them by telling him what he wants to hear. One of the peoples doing greatly in this section is Lucius Malfoy.” He turned and took up his wandering again. “I don’t have to tell you how Lucius likes to think and talk about the headmaster. So you probably can figure out what he’s harping at with his lord and master for the last years. It made for the dark lord not being in fear of Albus anymore. Instead he believes in himself as the greatest wizard alive and of our headmaster as a senile fool who’d long lost his power. Actually ...” Snape once again stood still, now facing Hermione, “this could work in our advantage, but only as long as Dumbledore isn’t exposed to ...”

He didn’t finish his line because suddenly his fireplace became lighted. A mighty, golden flame shot high in it, filling the entire room with light so strong Hermione was for a few seconds blinded. As soon as it had come it was gone again, but now a sound emerged from the grate - a crackling like an infant’s cry, so helpless and desperate Hermione felt as if her heart would break by hearing it. Immediately she was on her feet and running to the fireplace, almost bumbling in Snape who already bent to the grate and took something out of it, holding it in his hand with a tenderness Hermione wouldn’t had believed him capable of. He turned to Hermione, his face paler as she’d ever seen it before, horror and fear in his yes. “I loathe being right,” he whispered with a broken voice and then he showed Hermione what he’d taken out of the fireplace.

First she couldn’t sort out why this ugly little thing meant such horror to him. But then she looked closer to the thing which reminded her of the plucked rooster’s she’d seen as a child when she was in a super market with her mother. Only the object in Snape’s hand was smaller and trembled and its beak was sharper as a rooster’s and the sound it made was again like a human’s cry and the black eyes looking out to Hermione were familiar.

“Fawkes!” she heard herself saying and felt in the same time as if she’d faint.

“Accio cloak!” Snape’s voice came to her as if he’d stand behind a wall of thick mist. His heavy gray cloak, sailing through the room hit her in her back and she stumbled forwards, bracing herself with one hand against the cold stone wall. Severus Snape gripped his cloak, threw it over his shoulder and stormed to the door. He seemed to have forgotten Hermione, but she ran after him out of the office and through a small hall she’d never seen before until they reached a small, withered door in a wall. Snape opened it with one impatient flick of his wand, stormed through it and suddenly remembered Hermione, turning around to her. “You stay!” he bellowed.

“No!” She was already outside.

“You stay!” he repeated.

“Be sensible, girl! I don’t know where he is. Perhaps st ast apparate to find him. I can’t look after you by it,” he snarled.

“You won’t have to,” Hermione said firmly.

“Oh, how I hate Gryffindors!” he screamed, but then he shot “come at last” and started to sprint down a narrow path which led to the forbidden forest.

Hermione, never much in exercises, had difficulties to keep up with his speed, but she ignored the stitch in her sides and the pain as her feet collided with a stone. Her eyes fixed on Snape’s back, she tried to concentrate only on breathing and running and to awa away the panic filling her. But the image of the ugly chicken Fawkes didn’t get away. She’d seen the glorious phoenix like this once before - after the battle in the ministry in her fifth year. By then he’d been hit by a killing curse, dying in a flame, being reborn from the ashes and carried home tenderly by Albus. So Fawkes coming alone to Snape’s office could only mean that Albus was injured - so bad he couldn’t help Fawkes.

Through the sound of their steps and the roar of the icy winter wind Hermione suddenly heard Fawkes’ cry again. They were close to the dark forest by now and Snape stopped, pulled his wand out and cried: “Lumos!” A ghostly lightang ang from the wand’s tip and Hermione recognized the place they were - she’d often sat there on one of the big stones on hot summer days, looking up to the castle. By then she’d always thought of it as one of the nicest places at Hogwarts, but now it had lost its charm entirely. Now the stones reminded Hermione of a grave yard and she shuddered.

“He must be here!” Snape murmured. “Albus?” he said louder. “Albus, can you hear me?” He turned around, his wand over his head. “Damn!” he cursed. “We’ll have to search for him.”

Hermione pulled her wand out and lightened it too. By walking to a group of stones, looking to the frozen ground, she expected to fall at any moment over her husband’s body.

“Well, well, isn’t that a nice sight?” The cruel voice of Lucius Malfoy made Hermione jump and turn around. The light of her wand jumped with her and suddenly she saw it: Two dark red spots on the white snow and, only one step away from her feet, half hidden by one of the stones, a wing with black feathers, surrounded by white. Hermione didn’t dare to breathe or to look again to the stone. With her eyes fixed on the dark form which was Lucius Malfoy - in full death eater attire, only without the silver mask - she slowly rose her hand and opened the clasp of her robe. The fabric immediately glided down her shoulder. Hermione moved her arm - only a bit, in a move Malfoy hopefully wouldn’t notice - and the robe fell down over the stone, covering it and what laid next to him.

“Lucius - what the hell are you doing here?” Snape asked now and Hermione could only admire how calm and cool he sounded by it.

“Probably the same as you, old friend,” Malfoy answered. “We’re searching for a cadaver, aren’t we? Only it seems that the old fool tricked us for a last time. However - he can’t have come far. Our lord got him with a nice ripping curse as he tried to flee ...” Lucius sounded proud.

“What happened?” Snape demanded to know. “Why did our lord attack Dumbledore?”

“Without informing you, you mean?” Malfoy sat down one a stone, stretching his legs as if he’d just made himself comfortable in the drawing room of his mansion. “It was a kind of a spontaneous idea, you know? We were just having a drink as we learned that Dumbledore was on his way back to Hogwarts - this time without his usual little stop for a roll in the hay with Rosmerta. You know ...” his easy chatting tone was sewing on Hermione’s nerves so much she needed all her strength for not hexing him with the strongest tongue-swelling jinx she knew about, “I’ve always wondered what the old idiot did there. But obviously he’s still to get it up - as he proved this night with the lady in your company, much to my dismay as I must admit. A Malfoy actually doesn’t like his bitch being fucked by another dog first ...”

Hermione thought she couldn’t stand it one minute more. Her fingers clutched so tightly around her wand it almost hurt and she was just to fire a jinx as she heard Snape’s snarl.

“Spare me your antics, Lucius!” He sounded almost bored. “Just tell me how you and our lord got him.”

“Dear Severus - always keen on the juicy bits, aren’t you?” Malfoy crossed his legs, playing easily with his wand. “Actually the old fool sold his barmy life not too bad. He even could have got our lord if he hadn’t been too weak for casting a nice and clean Avadra Kevadra. Instead he only did a Reducio tempore - though I must admit he did it with style and more force as if I’d thought him able to. Yet our lord will survive and probably he’ll even be able to grow our friend, his pet rat, back to his normal ugly form too - in a few weeks. Until then we’ll get a bit of holidays.” He rose up and now his wand pointed directly at Hermione. “I think we’ll get some pleasant entertainment provided by no one other as Madame Dumbledore herself. Severus, you don’t mind if I first obliviate her? You know, it’s probably in her favour if she forgets all about fucking with Dumbledore. Besides - as much as I look forward to get her, I don’t think her telling of this meeting would do any good.”

Hermione heard how Snape started to say something, but she couldn’t wait one second longer or she’d explode! Fuming wiage age she waved her wand, screaming on the top of her lung: “Expelliarmus!”

Lucius Malfoy was quick. Before the spell hit him, he blocked and fired a “stupefy” back at her. Yet Hermione hadn’t trained with Harry for nothing. A quick “protecto” made golden sparks shooting from the tip of her wand, catching his spell and firing back. He was for a few seconds taken aback and this moment Hermione used for raising her wand and thundering “Cru ...”

Only she couldn’t finish the curse. In the same second as she heard Snape roaring another “expelliarmus!” her wand broke lose, sailing through the air and she was hit by a “stupefy” and fell down on the ground next to her robe.

Panting and crying in frustration she looked up to Snape who towered over her. His own dark wand in his left and two others - hers and Malfoy’s - in his right hand he snarled “silly girl!”, pointed his wand at her and whispered: “Finite incantatum.”

Hermione rose on her knees, looking furiously up to him. “Why did you stop me? He deserves it!”

“There’s no doubt he does,” Snape stated cold. “I only doubt Albus would have wanted you in Azkaban. And he’s having such a way in always blaming me if something happens to his beloved Gryffindors ...”

“Albus!” Hermione cried, feeling totally ashamed. In her rage she’d really forgotten him for a few seconds. She jumped on her feet, snatched her wand out of Snape’s hand, cried “lumos!” and dropped again, pulling her robe away by it. Right under it the white falcon laid on his side, one wing spreaded in an odd ankle, his chest covered with thick, almost black looking blood. Hermione sank down over him, braced on her elbows and sobbed, laying her head against the bird’s body.

It felt warm. And more: The chest moved - a very little move, not more as a flutter, but a move nevertheless.

“He lives!” Hermione cried, shoving her hands carefully under the bird and cradling it trly rly to her breast. “Albus lives! He’s injured, but ...”

“I got it.” Snape sank on one knee next to her. “Can you take him to the infirmary? In the meantime I’ll take care of Malfoy.”

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


Never before the way to the castle and up to the hospital wing had seemed this long to Hermione. Keeping the falccovecovered and warmed by her robe, to her breast, she finally arrived, calling loudly for Madame Pomfrey, the mediwitch, as she opened the door with the symbol of a wand with an aeskulap serpent twirled around. Standing in the office of the mediwitch, Hermione panted hard and was just to cal again as Poppy Pomfrey entered through a door in the back, just slipping a light blue dressing gown over her nighty, her hair lose on her shoulders.

Seeing the bird Hermione held in her arms, she shook her head. “Oh sweet Merlin - how did you acquire this? I’m not a vet, you kno.”
.”

“It’s not a bird!” Hermione cried. “It’s the headmaster.”

“I should have known.” The mediwitch opened a cabinet and took a vial out of it. “It’s always Albus or Severus who get me up at night, confronting me with something I even wouldn’t like when it would come on a most boring afternoon.” She held the vial against the light of the chandelier and shook it lightly. Then she opened a door and waved Hermione to go through it. “Get him down there on the bed. I hardly can tend to him while he’s in his animagnus form.”

Hermione carefully laid the falcon down on the middle of the mattress and hesitantly stepped back as Poppy Pomfrey pushed her energetic aside. “Wait outside!” she ordered.

“No,” Hermione said firmly. “I want to stay.”

“Heavens! I’m to change him back, but I have to do it with a potion what means: He won’t wear any robes. I don’t think it’s appropriate ...”

“... for Madame Dumbledore to see her husband naked?” Ses Sns Snape had arrived, leaning in the doorframe, sneering his usual sneer. “Don’t be ridiculous, Poppy!”

“Severus! Don’t say you got yourself injured too,” the mediwitch moaned, bending over the falcon and cautiously opened his beak.

“I didn’t,” Snape answered. “I’ve only got a bite by one of Hagrid’s pet spiders as I put my friend Lucius in the dark forest.”

“What did you do?” Poppy Pomfrey sounded shocked. “He can die there!”

“I don’t think so,” Snape answered lightly, wandering in the room and seating down on a chair next to the bed. “There’s no creature in the forest viler as Malfoy himself. So he’ll get away - and he’ll even have to tell a nice story to his master.”

Poppy dropped something from the vial in the falcon’s beak and sighed. “So - this will change him. What did you do to Malfoy, Severus? I mean except of putting him in the forest?”

“He wanted to obliviate Miss Granger.” For the first time since Hermione’s marriage he made the slip of using her old name what showed her that he was very exhausted. Yet he managed a grin. “I gave him a dose of his own medicine - I obliviated him and then I gave him another memory.” Severus looked at the falcon who just seemed to grow. His feathers vanished, skin appeared, the black and white on his head shimmered silvern, the claws thickened and then it was done - instead of the falcon a pale, long body laid on the bed sidewards, his shoulder still bend in an odd angle, his silver mane hiding his face.

Hermione fell on her knees next to him. “Albus ...” she whispered and rose her hand to stroke the hair away from his face.

“Please - stay away!” the mediwitch ordered. “I have to do a diagnosis spell first.” She let her wand hover over Albus’s body, slowly moving it from the toes to his head, looking worried by it. “Hmm ...”

Hermione couldn’t bear waiting any longer. “How is she?” she asked.

“Hmm.” The mediwitch made once again. “I’ve seen him worse, but I’m afraid we’re nevertheless in for a rough night. Severus, do you know what happened to him?”

“From what I’ve read in Malfoy’s mind the dark lord wanted to show off again. After having Albus stunned by five of his death eaters he tried shreddening Albus. He, just casting a reducio at the dark lord and his merry men, couldn’t block it entirely, but he at least managed to change and to take fly. Lucius obviously tried to hit him then flying with a Avadra Kevadra, but only got Fawkes.”

“I wonder how Albus could fly ...” Poppy said, her tone full of admiration. “His shoulder is practically in pieces and he’s got three broken ribs too. One of it even injured his lung. It’s really a mess he’s in and I wonder how he could flee in this condition.” She turned and wandered to her office, rumouring in her cabinet again.

“We’re talking about Albus,” Severus called after her as if this would explain everything. “And by the way: He probably bought our side a little more time for preparing. From what I’ve found in Malfoy’s memories, the dark lord is reduced in the moment. Albus obviously got enough of his magic for the dark lord not even being able to apparate in the moment. He had to use a portkey for getting away. Considered that he wasn’t in a good shape before this little encounter this probably means he has to lay low for a while.”

During his speech Hermione had used her chance to stroke the hair away which had covered Albus’ face. Now she kneeled again next to him, watching his much too pale face with worry. His features were even more gaunt as she remembered them, his lips looked bloodless and almost as white as the beard surrounding them and his eyes laid in their caves.

Poppy Pomfrey was back, carrying a tray with some vials on it. She put it one the night stand and bent once again over Albus. “Severus?” she asked by it. Snape jumped to his feet and came to the bed, limping heavily. “What’s with your leg?” The mediwitch asked.

“Later.” Snape only replied and helped her to turn Albus around so that he laid on his back.

“Thanks.” Poppy let her wand once again over Albus’ chest, which showed a dark red bruise. She murmured an incantation and immediately Albus breathed more easy. “So - that was the lung,” Poppy stated satisfied. “Getting more air will probably already do the trick ...”

And in fact, Albus’ eyelids flattered already, he moaned once, his lips became firm, then he opened his yes, only for closing them again and moaning anew.

“Welcome back, Albus,” the mediwitch said, the relief clearly in her voice and smile. “How do you feel?”

“Uuh ...” Albus opened his eyes again. “I think I could feel worse ...” he whispered.

“Yes,” Snape admitted dryly. “You could be death, you know.”

“How’s Fawkes?” Albus asked, his voice hardly more then a hoarse whisper.

“He’s fine. I’ve made him a nest out of my cloak, so he’s sleeping now,” Severus answered.

Hermione couldn’t speak. She wanted to say something, she wanted to tell him how happy she was for him being back, but her voice didn’t obey her. She only could grip his hand, sobbing heavily by it. Albus tried to turn his head in her direction, but Poppy stopped him: “Don’t you dare to try moving before I’ve fed you a painkiller! I don’t want you to pass out again. So ...” Taking one of the bottles from the tray and opening it, she pushed her free hand under his neck and helped him to raise his head for swallowing the content of the bottle.

Albus made a face by it and grumbled a “bah!”

“Don’t tell me you’d rather have a lemon drop,” Poppy said crisply and took another bottle. “You have to drink some skel grow first.”

“Icks!” Albus moaned, but bravely opened his mouth.

“Hermione?” Poppy asked, looking to the still crying girl. “I need a hand. Can you help Albus to sit up so that I can plaster his shoulder and mend his ribs?”

Hermione was glad for having to do something, so she jumped on her feet, pushing her arm under Albus’ healthy shoulder. He tried a weak smile on her, but couldn’t say anything and became very pale again as Hermione helped him to rose his upper body. Leaning heavily against her, he struggled for breath and only after a few seconds he managed to say: “It seems I’m really too old for such stunts.”

“Oh - you’re coming to sense?” Severus asked ironically. “Does this mean you’ll stop strolling around on your own, fighting a dozen death eaters just for entertainment?”

“Actually,” Albus answered, his head again Hermione’s shoulder, “death eaters aren’t my idea of entertainment. I’d really rather given Hermione a lesson in transfiguration.”

“Oh, don’t worry about your wife’s education,” Snape said, seating down again and pulling up his trouser’s leg. “She’d just got a little exercise in Defense Against The Dark Arts.”

Hermione bit on her tongue and tried to catch Snape’s eyes, but he was looking at his leg now. She hoped fiercely that he wouldn’t tell the headmaster that he’d kept her back from using an unforgivable on Lucius Malfoy. Seeing the thick drops on sweat on Albus’ pale forehead she didn’t think he should worry about this in the moment. Later, when he was better, she would confess.

Poppy was ready now with plastering Albus’ shoulder and chest. Looking in his eyes, she said firmly: “Now I’ll mend your ribs. Afterwards you’ll be a good boy and drink a sleeping draught. Your body needs rest - and I promise you: I’ll chain you to this bed if you try to get up before I give you permission to. In the contrast to you I don’t believe the wizard’s world will collapse in the moment you look away from it for a few days. And yes, I know Hogwarts needs you - but it needs you healthy and in full use of your limbs.”

“Poppy ...” Albus produced a look Hermione would have laughed at if her heart wouldn’t have been so heavy - and if she’d ever knew of a puppy with blue eyes. “Couldn’t I have the rest at least in my quarters? You know I don’t like it here.”

“Oh heavens - you’re worse then Severus!” Poppy looked to the potion master who just tried to hide his wand. “And you don’t dabble around with this leg of yours! You’ll only made it worse and that means I’ll get you a bed next to Albus.” She waved her wand like a sword. “You’re really a nightmare to a hard working mediwitch - both of you!” Having said her say, she started tending to Albus again, healing his broken ribs, feeding him another vial and finally signalling Hermione to lay him down again. “Good night, Albus,” she said then, almost tenderly. “Severus - just you go to my office. I’ll see to your leg there. And you ...” she turned to Hermione, still seating on Albus’ bedside, “will go to bed now.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Hermione said, raising and looking firmly in the mediwitch’s eyes. “Please, let me stay.”

“Oh sweet Merlin ...” Poppy sighed.

“Hermione.” Albus’ voice was already thick with sleep. “You need a rest. So off you go ...”

“Please!” Hermione repeated. She simply couldn’t leave - the horror of almost losing Albus sat too deep.

Obviously Poppy Pomfrey understood. Sighing again, she raised her wand and directed it at the chair Severus had used earlier. With a quick incantation she changed it to a second, small bed, summoned a woolen blanket and a pillow from a cupboard and nodded satisfied. “If you need me, just call. And now good night and sweet dreams!” She blew out most of the candles, letting only one at Albus’ night stand alight, then she marched through the door, closing it quietly behind her.

Hermione sank down on the bed next to Albus’ and shyly took his long, slender hand in hers. Kissing it, she almost jumped as she heard his voice again: “Sleep, darling. It was a long day ...”