Measure for measure

Measure for Measure


Disclaimer: see chapter 1

Chapter 6: Typical Gryffindor

“And since then? Did you get an opportunity to learn if he’s over it?” Ginny Weasley asked, loitering on the sofa in front of Hermione’s fireplace, watching her friend in the chair opposite enchanting five needles to knit socks.

Hermione wrapped blue wool around the first needle and tipped her wand against it. The needle started to move and Hermione smiled at Ginny. “He needed three days until the problem was really solved,” she said. “But by Wednesday he felt better.” She giggled. “It was quite funny. I came from the dungeons - one of my seventh years wants to do a combined Transfiguration and Potions project for her NEWTs. Hence I had to talk with Yves. On my way back I met Albus in the little side corridor behind the Potions classrooms. He hadn’t attended breakfast because he’d been at the Ministry, so I hadn’t seen him at all that morning. For a greeting I kissed him - only on the cheek because I didn’t want to cause him any embarrassment.”

“But he showed you that he’s up for more than chaste kisses?” Ginny grinned.

“And how! We snogged like teenagers in the middle of the corridor!”

Ginny laughed. “Don’t tell me you got caught by some of your students! They’ll need therapy for years to get over such a shock!”

“Bah!” Hermione showed her friend her tongue. “Students can’t come in this corridor. So we weren’t caught. But you know what I sometimes really find amazing?”

“Tell me,” Ginny demanded.

Hermione blushed and looked down at her needles which were now knitting at full speed. “He gets a quicker erection than the young men I’ve known. I mean, he’s over hundred and fifty, but when I kissed him - I couldn’t have said ‘up’ as quickly as he was up!”

“I’d take that as a compliment. He obviously finds you very desirable,” Ginny stated.

Hermione blushed even deeper. “I find him rather desirable too. He’s an incredible kisser and his hands - uuuh! But,” she giggled, “it’s probably the mixture I find so arousing. On the one hand: you can’t be with him without noticing that he’s very experienced with women. He knows exactly how to push the right buttons. On the other hand: sometimes he acts almost shy. On Wednesday he found it necessary to tell me that he wouldn’t need an ice bag anymore. The way he looked at me was simply cute!”

Ginny raised her eyebrow. “I take it you personally verified that he was cured of his little problem?”

“Hmm.” Hermione nodded. “I had half an hour until my next lesson and there’s an unused class room near the Potions lab…”

“Oh?” Ginny licked her lips. “That sounds exciting.”

“It was very exciting. Only teaching afterwards - my, my. My knees were like jelly and I had scrapes on my shoulder blades because the desk I’d laid on had been a bit rough. Even the next morning my fifth years complained because I spoke so quietly they could hardly understand me. I couldn’t help it. I was totally hoarse.”

“Lucky cow!” Ginny rolled her eyes. “I’d give my right arm for a lover who makes me scream until I’m hoarse! Perhaps I should start looking around the older guys too. However, the only really attractive older wizard I know - except of Albus of course - is Augustus McGonagall. Or perhaps,” she cocked her head, “Monsieur le Conte. Although I sometimes think he’s gay. I always try to flirt with him, but he doesn’t react. It’s as if he doesn’t notice!”

“He does,” Hermione said dryly. “You should see how he looks at you if he thinks no one is watching him! Besides, he seems to have something in common with Albus.”

“Yves looks at me? How nice!” Ginny braced her head in her hands and smiled at Hermione. “What does he have in common with your husband?”

Hermione giggled. “A liking for female curves! Albus says he could never decide if he’s a breast or a butt man. He likes both. Yves obviously can’t make up his mind either. Last week while we were having dinner at the ‘Three Broomsticks’ - you should have seen how our esteemed Potions master looked at your cleavage! As you walked to the loo, he tried to get an asparagus crosswise in his mouth because he was so distracted with staring at your backside! Ginny, if this man is gay, I’m a lesbian.”

“Perhaps there’s hope after all,” Ginny smiled. “You know I’d really like to know him better. He’s highly intelligent, cultivated, witty, charming - and he doesn’t look bad, don’t you think?”

“And here I always thought you’d like blondes!” Hermione grinned. “Did you change your preference?”

Ginny giggled. “Weren’t you the one who once told me she’d like her men dark and handy? Deep, black eyes, dark hair - and short hair of course, because you wouldn’t like your lover spending more time in front of a mirror than you. And what was it about the body? If memory doesn’t fail me, you wanted it not too tall and not too muscular because you like brains better. Now look what you’ve gotten: two hundred pounds with more hair than an average dust mop; towering over you and looking down on you out of baby blue eyes.”

Hermione laughed. “I still like brains more than muscles, and you won’t deny: Albus has got a lot of brains!”

Ginny studied her for a moment. “You’re really in love with him, aren’t you?”

“Oh, Ginny!” Hermione sighed and laid her hand on her belly. “He’s my husband and the father of my child.…”

“You’ve forgiven him for what he’d done on your honeymoon?” Ginny asked.

“Forgiven him…” Hermione repeated quietly. “Question is: was there something I could forgive him? I mean…” She searched for words and started anew. “He certainly didn’t intend to get photographed and he certainly didn’t want to hurt me. It was bad luck.”

“Well, spending the night with Angharad Wilkes wasn’t bad luck,” Ginny disagreed. “Hermione, I don’t want to dig around in old stories, but I’d hate if you got hurt again.”

“That’s my risk,” Hermione said. “Yet I hope Albus has learned his lesson. Next time he’ll be more careful. I’m sure no photographer will get a chance to catch him again.”

“Hermione!” Ginny sounded almost infuriated. Sitting up she looked at her friend. “You’re prepared for him cheating on you again?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “I won’t like it, but I wouldn’t lay my hands in a fire when it comes to him and Madam Wilkes. He probably loves her.”

“Hell - he’s married to you!” Ginny protested. “Even if you just try to get the award for the most tolerant witch alive - he can’t have two women! We’re not in the Orient and he isn’t a pasha.”

“He doesn’t have two women,” Hermione said. “Madam Wilkes is on the other side of the world. And you know why Albus married me. I intend to make the best of it, but the fact remains that I only became Madam Dumbledore because he got me pregnant.”

“Oh, what a mess!” Ginny sighed.

“At the moment, I don’t suffer much from it,” Hermione declared calmly. “Only Albus does. Minerva is as cool as an ice cube around him; Augustus only talks business; your mother treats him like he’d knocked you up; my father wants to castrate him while my mother is in tears about the ‘lecherous old man’ who got her oh-so-innocent little girl pregnant; Harry and Ron look at him as if he’d done something to them and Alastor still only snorts at him. I can’t say how I’ve had enough of all that! You know what?” She sounded cross now and very energetic. “I’m going to give Ron, Harry and Alastor a good piece of my mind soon! Albus is my husband. If I can live with what he’s done, they can too! They aren’t married to him, so they don’t have a right to judge his conduct in our marriage.”

“They worry about you and they don’t want you to suffer,” Ginny defended the trio.

“They make me suffer!” Hermione stated fiercely. “Treating my husband like the worst of rascals; ignoring whatever I have to say about that; telling me that I’m too subjective about him! I hate to be patronized - and patronizing is what they been doing! Heavens, Ginny, I’m no love struck teenager who idealizes her first love! I see Albus’ short comings and I’m fully aware of his failings as a human being. However, the Messieurs Moody, Potter and Weasley aren’t perfect either!”

“Huuh!” Ginny raised her hands. “Don’t bite my head off! I didn’t say that I agree with them. I find my brother Ron pretty moronic too. Oh - and while we’re talking about him being an idiot: he’s got a new girlfriend - as blonde as blonde can be, and only eighteen years old, just out of Hogwarts and working as an assistant in the Ministry at the Department of Social Development - you know, the trainings camp for future society hyenas.”

“Just out of Hogwarts? Then I should know her,” Hermione said. “Perhaps I’ve even taught her? What’s her name?”

“Morgana Harvers,” Ginny answered. “Does that ring a bell?”

“Oh, sweet Merlin!” Hermione moaned. “Miss ‘I can’t transfigure a bug into a button, but know all about make-up charms’!”

“Yes - that’s her.” Ginny rolled her eyes. “And she doesn’t only know all about make-up charms, but tried to convince me I should give her a column to write about the charms she developed herself. Only the one she told me about is so old, Queen Cleopatra wouldn’t have wanted to use it anymore because it was so out of fashion!”

Hermione shook her head. “What the heck is Ron doing with such a dumbass?”

Ginny shrugged her shoulders. “What do you think? She’s willing in the bedroom - and so delighted to have a boyfriend who is not only an Auror - and aren’t their uniforms sexy? - but the son of the Minister and the friend of Harry Potter! On Tuesday, I met her and Ron for dinner and it was so disgusting! As soon as my dear brother disappeared ‘to spend a penny’, the stupid thing told me I shouldn’t worry about Ron’s happiness. She’d provide him with a blow job once a day.…”

“That’s making sure a man is happy?” Hermione looked doubtful. “Too bad - I don’t think it would work with my husband.”

“Of course it wouldn’t work with him!” Ginny snorted. “He’s a bit more intelligent than my brother!”

“Ron actually isn’t stupid,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “The problem with him is only that he doesn’t trust his own brains. He was so used to me doing all the thinking that it hasn’t even occurred to him that he could use his own brain.”

“That’s something he shares with his best friend,” Ginny said. “Harry wouldn’t fall for something like Morgana Harvers, but the ‘girl of his dreams’ will have to be rather moronic too.”

“Does your mother still hope you’ll marry him someday?” Hermione asked.

Ginny nodded and made a face. “She isn’t the only one. Ron has been trying to get us together too, but I really don’t want to become the broodmare for a dozen little Potters.” Wrapping her arms around her knees, she looked dreamily. “Hermione - I was thinking about a potions article these past few days. Do you think I could ask Yves to help me? I mean, he’s French and he looks like a man who knows something about beauty potions.”

Hermione smiled and put her legs up on the sofa. “Why do I think you took a fancy to Monsieur?” she asked.

Ginny looked a bit awkward. “He’s interesting. And there’s something about him - something … I can’t name it exactly. Sometimes when he thinks no one is looking at him, he’s got such a sad expression in his eyes. And he seems to be very lonely, but brave. He never complains and he’s always polite and his manners - don’t you think he’s got beautiful manners? Only I think there’s something mysterious about him.”

Hermione nodded. “You’re right - although Minerva says he’s probably pretending to be mysterious because it makes even more of our students slobber about him. She swears if he had gone to Hogwarts, he’d have been a Slytherin.”

“That means she doesn’t like him,” Ginny stated. “Probably she dislikes Potions masters in general.”

“I think she’s irritated because he’s really extremely distant,” Hermione said. “In a way he’s even more so than Severus was. Severus came to the staff room during the breaks between classes, if only to argue with Minerva. Yves de Beauregard only marches in, greets everyone politely, empties his pigeonhole and disappears back to his dungeons. Albus seems to be the only person Yves talks to more than it is absolutely necessary.”

“Odd - such an attractive man and so reserved,” Ginny said. “Perhaps he likes being alone? Last week in the ‘Three Broomsticks’ he was on his own too, although a lot of his colleagues were around. Do you know how he spends his free time?”

“He loves music,” Hermione answered.

“Yes, I remember,” Ginny licked her lips again. “That evening in Venice when he played with Albus - you know, I wouldn’t have thought it, but there is something erotic about a man with a violoncello.”

“Hmm,” Hermione agreed, chewing on her bottom lip. “However, there’s something about it that irritates me. Probably Alastor with his ‘constant vigilance’ has rubbed off on me - I’m becoming paranoid.”

“What do you mean by that?” Ginny asked.

Hermione hesitated. “It’s probably idiotic, but last week he played with Albus again, and I remembered my aunt Kristin. She’s a violinist - a rather good one. A few years ago I stayed with her during the summer break. Her partner - the man who’d accompanied her on the piano for ages - had just quit and she was working with a new partner. They were both professionals and pretty experienced in doing duets. Nevertheless they needed a few days until they were in harmony with each other. Yet Albus and Yves didn’t seem to have such problems. They sounded in Venice as if they had practised together.”

“If they’d have known each other before Albus hired Yves - wouldn’t Albus have told you?” Ginny considered.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t bet on it. My dear husband is a Slytherin and he’s accustomed to keeping things secret. He never told anyone why he trusted Severus - not even Alastor or Augustus. Whoever asked him got to hear, ‘That’s between Severus and me’. And there’s something else about our new Potions master, Ginny.” Hermione poured pumpkin juice in the glass on the table and sipped at it. “Yves de Beauregard doesn’t get lost in the castle,” she said quietly. “Basti does all the time. Once a week he comes too late for a meal because he is lost. Even I, as a former Hogwarts student, have gotten lost a few times when I was new on the staff. You know, there are a few side corridors and stairs only teachers can use - like the hallway with the arcades over the cloister or the chambers behind the teacher’s table in the Great Hall. It’s especially difficult in the dungeons. This part of Hogwarts is like a badger’s burrow with a lot of hidden hallways and tunnels and rooms which only open when you know a password or how to move a statue in front of them. I got once trapped there in something like a cupboard - and you can’t imagine how embarrassing it was when Severus found me there after three hours! Yet Yves never seems to have a problem there. If I didn’t know he went to Beauxbatons, I’d say he’s a former Slytherin.”

Ginny had got huge eyes. “You mean, he’s an impostor? Like that Death Eater who acted once as Alastor?”

Hermione slowly shook her head. “He can’t be - at least he can’t be one using Polyjuice or a disguise. You know, Polyjuice wears quickly off – you can’t keep up the charade for more than one hour without drinking it again. Our staff conferences often last longer. The last one was over two and a half hours and I watched the Potions master. He only drank a cup of tea - out of the same pot as Minerva, Basti, Stella and I, and he used a cup which had been sitting on the table.”

“And a disguise? Some Disguise charms are damn good and they don’t wear off as quickly as Polyjuice,” Ginny said.

Hermione once again shook her head. “A complete disguise which makes you look exactly like another person is very difficult to make up. It needs very strong magic for being kept up. Besides it could mix up when other magic is done around it.”

“Well,” Ginny looked thoughtfully, “the man’s a Potions master. The magic used for brewing potions is rather special. As far as I know it doesn’t mix with spells and charms.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Hermione confirmed. “However, I’ve seen Yves doing charms, too, and just yesterday he came along as I was just working on setting my second years turtles back in tea pots with my classroom door open. You know what a mess second years do with this Transfiguration, so I had a lot of work to do and it was shortly before lunch. Yves offered to help me and he did five or six teapots. For a Potions master he’s rather good at Transfiguration.”

“Then he probably isn’t an impostor,” Ginny smiled. “Besides, hasn’t Albus developed a test to make sure new teachers are really who they pretend to be?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes - and something rather clever. He uses his Pensieve and Legilimency. The new teacher puts a memory in the Pensieve, Albus enters it and uses Legilimency on the part of the teacher he meets there. The trick about it is that he can’t see more than the memory then, but behind it he feels the consciousness of the person - and with it the true identity.”

“Brilliant!” Ginny praised. “But couldn’t another Legilimens trick him by making up a false memory and consciousness?”

“Yes, but he would have to combine it with Occlumency - and doing that so well that Albus wouldn’t notice that he had been blocked is practically impossible,” Hermione explained. “On the other hand - there’s something else what bothers me. Do you remember the Marauder’s Map, Ginny?”

“The map which shows where everyone in Hogwarts just is? Of course,” Ginny answered.

“Harry gave it to me when I came back to Hogwarts,” Hermione told [her]. “Now it’s gone. I kept it in a drawer of my desk, but since this summer, it isn’t there anymore. Someone has stolen it.”

“Oh.” Ginny swallowed. “If something was wrong with Yves de Beauregard, he certainly wouldn’t like you having the map. It always shows the true identity of the people in the castle, doesn’t it?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, but on the other hand, if he were a Death Eater or something like that - how would he have learned about the map?”

“Hmm - there were two Death Eaters who knew about it: Pettigrew and Crouch. Pettigrew was involved in the making of the map; Crouch learned about it when he pretended to be Alastor,” Ginny said. “It’s likely they informed their master about the map, and that means other Death Eaters could have learned about it too.”

“Yes,” Hermione scraped herself behind her left ear. “But how would they know I had gotten it?”

“Who knew about that? Only Ron and Harry?” Ginny was chewing on her thumb as always when she was worrying about something.

“Albus, Alastor and Snape,” Hermione said. “Although Snape didn’t know where I kept the map. He only knew that I had it because he met me once in the dungeons when I was using it.”

“If I hadn’t seen Snape dying, now I’d believe that it’s him,” Ginny said with a little shudder. “Only I would wonder where he’d learned those manners. Besides, I was the one who was next to him as he died. I saw the killing curse hitting him and, as the battle was over, I searched for life signs in him. He was as dead as the infamous doornail.” She put her feet down on the floor, looked over to the clock at the mantelpiece and added, “What do you think Monsieur de Beauregard is doing on a Saturday at four o’clock?”

Hermione grinned. “Perhaps he is polishing his disguise? Or he is brewing the first ever lasting Polyjuice Potion?”

Ginny slipped into her shoes and stood up. “I’m a Gryffindor. I’m brave - so I am going down and ask the Potions master to help me with my article. If he kicks me out immediately, telling me there’s no beauty potion which could help to make me desirable, I am coming back and we are thinking once again about Snape being back.”

“If you aren’t back until midnight, I’ll sound the alarm for Harry and Ron,” Hermione giggled.

“If I’m not back for dinner, I’ve gotten Monsieur le Conte to invite me in - and that means you can have your husband for dessert!” Ginny grinned, bent down and gave Hermione a peek on the cheek.

“Well, before I have another go at my husband, I’ll have to write a letter. I intend to have the Messieurs Moody, Weasley and Potter for dinner next Tuesday,” Hermione announced. “Only they won’t have as much fun with me as my husband!”

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


Limping down the stairs to the dungeons, Alastor Moody couldn’t suppress a smile. The week’s start had been rather lousy. He’d obviously run out of luck as far as female Gryffindors were concerned. On Monday, he and Minerva had gone at each other in the staff conference. Their relationship had always been bumpy - he didn’t like when she acted the thin lipped spinster and she - well, she’d accused him of favouring his Slytherins when he’d only tried to get them fair treatment.

On Tuesday it had become even worse. Hermione had invited Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and him to dinner at the “Three Broomsticks” and there she’d proven herself a true Gryffindor: loyal, outspoken, brave. Only her loyalty belonged to her husband now, and her openness meant that she’d given the three men a dressing down even Minerva would have been proud of.

Now, on Wednesday, Alastor’s luck seemed to have changed. There had been an incident in a Potions class in the morning. One of his fourth year girls had messed up her potion; it had exploded and she’d broken out in blue polka dots on her face and hands. Considering that she was actually a colourless little bore, Alastor found that the dots were an improvement, but the girl didn’t see it like that. She’d cried and run to the infirmary where she’d gotten a Soothing Potion and a bed to hide in until the potion had worn off.

As a reliable Head of House, Alastor had, of course, used the first opportunity to look in after the girl - and well, it really was his lucky day! Poppy Pomfrey had not only been there, but just finished treating the flu of a third year Hufflepuff. Therefore, she’d invited him for tea in her office and while sitting in front of her fireplace Alastor had finally managed to ask her out for dinner on Friday.

Actually, Alastor wouldn’t have thought he’d feel like this again when he’d come to Hogwarts four years before. A long time ago - almost thirty years now - he’d been married, but his wife hadn’t been able to cope with him being away so often without her knowing his whereabouts or hearing from him for weeks. One day when he’d come back after a long mission he’d found his house empty. Instead of kisses, he’d gotten a letter from her lawyer, telling him that she wanted a divorce because of “neglect of his marital duties.”

At that time he hadn’t thought he’d stay alone for thirty years afterwards. Yet there had been the war against Voldemort, and while he was working against him, Alastor hadn’t found time to meet women. He certainly hadn’t thought of meeting one when he’d come to Hogwarts as the DADA teacher. Albus had persuaded him - first for “only a year until I’ve found someone reliable”, but during this year Alastor had not only taught DADA, but sponsored a Duelling Club too. One evening he’d overdone it. Duelling with Hermione he’d slipped and broken his shin bone. Having only one healthy leg, he couldn’t afford to take any risks, so he remained in the infirmary for three days - first very grumpy about it because he’d always hated to be in a hospital bed, but then he’d lost his heart there. Poppy Pomfrey, the blonde nurse with the beaming blue eyes and the soft hands, was all he’d ever searched for in a woman. He’d fallen in love with her warmth, her dry humour, her devotion to her work, her energy and her temper.

Yet for years he hadn’t dared to show her what she meant to him. He possessed a mirror, and looking at it, he saw the ruin of what once had been a handsome man. A leg and an eye lost; a part of his nose gone; more scars than he could count - he wasn’t a pleasant sight anymore. A woman as attractive as Poppy Pomfrey certainly had other choices. She wouldn’t want to be courted by someone like him.

So he’d thought. However, in the last months Poppy had showed him often that she liked him. When she came to a meal in the Great Hall, she always took the place next to him, and whenever he passed her in the castle, she smiled at him and often she stopped for a talk. On the evening before they’d started to attack Bellatrix Lestrange and her followers, Poppy had hugged him, whispering in his ear, “Take care, Alastor! Don’t make me cry about you!” As he’d come back, she’d embraced him again - and since then he’d started to hope and to dream.

Besides, he’d dared to ask her about Albus now and her answer had made a rock fall down from his heart. He’d always thought Poppy had a weak spot for her superior because she’d always flirted with him. And how they’d danced together at the balls at Hogwarts! Alastor remembered especially the last Yule Ball when they’d tangoed together - and he had almost burst with jealousy!

Today at tea he’d told her that he’d always felt a bit jealous - well, that had been an understatement - about Albus. Poppy had laughed! Loudly and cheerfully! And then she’d patted his arm, “Albus is charming and fun to flirt with, but I certainly don’t envy Hermione. Albus is devilishly complicated. He’s one of the most caring and loving men I’ve ever known and you know how many people he has given a second chance, even if they didn’t deserve it, and how often he risked his life to save others. You also know how reckless he can be when he’s convinced about something. I don’t think he ever sacrificed a life easily, but he was able to send people on missions knowing that they would have to risk, and perhaps lose, their lives.”

“Every leader must be able to do so,” Alastor had defended Albus - as he had for years.

“Yes, but I think Albus is actually too sensitive for a leader. He always balanced on a small rope - and I really wouldn’t want to be the woman who has to deal with his guilt complex, his depressions and his fear of personal commitment. Besides he’s at least one size too big for me.” She’d smiled at him. “You know, I’d like to have a man who’s at my eye level - a normal one who isn’t the greatest wizard alive and the hero of our world, but someone who belongs to me and shares my normal, little, boring life with me.”

The way she’d looked at him - it had warmed Alastor and made him so happy he still felt like singing and dancing a little jig. And in two days he’d have dinner with her!

“Alastor.”

“Headmaster.” Alastor heard himself replying to Albus’ greeting as coldly as he’d always done during the last weeks. Having already passed the man who’d been his best friend for more than half a century, he became aware of how he’d sounded. Turning around he looked at Albus. Was it only his impression or had Albus’ shoulders really just sagged? And the headmaster was limping slightly, always a sign that he was tired or sad or both.

Alastor cleared his throat. He’d promised Hermione to make up with Albus and he was a man who kept his word. “Albus,” he said - and how long had it been since he’d addressed his friend by his given name?

Albus stood still and only turned his head. Looking over his shoulder, his face betrayed no emotion. “Yes?”

Alastor swallowed. “I’d like to have a word with you. Perhaps you’ve got a few minutes?” he asked. “It doesn’t have to be now - but perhaps later?”

“I was on my way up to my office,” Albus’ voice sounded even hoarser than usual. “But what I have to do there can wait.”

“Well, then …” Alastor pointed to the door of his office. The claw at the end of his wooden leg scraped on the stone floor as he walked over and entered. Albus had followed him and was now standing just one step behind the threshold. Alastor pointed to the chairs in front of his fireplace. “What about a drop of Old Odgen’s?” he asked, feeling awkward.

Albus laid the papers and books he’d kept under his arm on the mantelpiece and sat down, looking at Alastor over the rims of his spectacles. “It’s a bit early, but why not?”

Alastor pulled a book out of the shelf behind his desk and took down the bottle he’d hidden behind it. Pouring a finger width of the liquid in two glasses he walked over to the fireplace and gave one to Albus. Sitting down, he watched the smoking, whirling content of his glass before he said slowly and stiffly, “Headmaster, I have to apologize. A few weeks ago I uttered my dismay about your private conduct and since then my behaviour towards you has lacked respect and politeness. I was made aware,” for the first time since they’d entered the office he looked up at Albus and saw just a hint of a smile in his eyes, “that your marriage and the way you treat your wife isn’t a concern of mine.” Breathing deeply he proceeded, “I still think you’ve behaved like a rascal and I still believe that you don’t deserve the love and devotion of such a great lass as Hermione. But if she is able to forgive you, I don’t have the right to harbour a grudge against you.”

Albus had taken his spectacles down, massaging the bridge of his nose between thumbs and index finger. Now he looked up at his old friend. “Thank you, Alastor,” he said calmly. “As odd as it feels to have my wife defending me - I’m glad we’re talking with each other. And there’s one thing about my marriage I want you to know, Alastor …”

Alastor knew that Albus had always been a very private man and as deep as their friendship reached - dealing with women had never been a subject between them. So Alastor interrupted now. “Albus, I meant what I said: your marriage is no business of mine. You’re certainly not obliged to talk about it with me.”

Albus smiled, but his eyes didn’t twinkle. “Thank you again, Alastor. Nevertheless, I’d like to make clear that we have something in common when it comes to Hermione. I adore and respect her too, and even more, she and our child are very important to me. However,” his eyes smiled at least a bit, “my friends are important to me too.” He raised his glass. “I’ve missed you and your Firewhisky, Alastor.”

“Well, I can’t say I like being at odds with you either,” Alastor sipped at his drink. He suddenly felt much better. Hermione had been right - once again. And he still had her furious voice in the ear, “Albus has done something you may name a ‘failure’. However, I’m sure he didn’t intend to hurt me and besides, are the three of you without any faults? Who are you to throw stones at my husband? Saint Harry, Saint Ron and Saint Alastor? Or are you hypocrites who are actually glad Albus has done something you can accuse him of because it diminishes the amount of gratitude you should actually feel toward him? I was witness to how Albus twice risked his life to save yours, Harry! I saw how he got you out of the line of a killing curse, Ron! And you, Alastor - didn’t you tell me it was Albus who carried you through the fire after the dragon had gotten you?”

Alastor sipped once more at his Firewhisky. “Besides,” he said awkwardly, “your wife wants to make me a member of your family - as godfather of your child.”

“I couldn’t think of anyone I’d like better in that position,” Albus said seriously.

“I actually thought she’d ask Harry or Ron,” Alastor admitted. “They’re her age and for years were her best friends.”

“You’ve become something like a second father for her,” Albus said. “You know her relationship with her parents is rather difficult in the moment. Hermione loves them dearly and I’m sure her parents love her back, but they live in different worlds. Here, in this world, you’re the one she sees as her father figure.”

“Huh!” In an attempt to ease the atmosphere, Alastor grinned. “Does this partner me with the formidable Molly Weasley as Hermione’s almost mother in the magical world?”

“Nope.” Albus’ eyes were twinkling now. “This partners you with another formidable Gryffindor: Minerva Stuart-McGonagall!”

“Uah!” Alastor shuddered. “But as long as I only have to share surrogate parental duties with the dragon from the Gryffindor tower, I can bear it. But marital duties-- I’d refuse!”

Albus grinned. “I know. Your finer feelings you’d rather share with a Hufflepuff who’s a formidable woman too. And when it comes to bossiness, she is in league with Hermione and Minerva.”

Alastor studied for a moment Albus’ face, then he shook his head. “I know you’re not omniscient. So how did you learn about that?”

“Deduction, Alastor, simple deduction,” Albus smiled. “I was in Poppy’s office when you came to the infirmary. I saw how she smiled when she heard your voice. Watching how you came down from the infirmary, grinning like the famous Cheshire cat, made the rest apparent.”

Hearing that Albus had been in Poppy’s office, Alastor felt the familiar jealousy again. “What were you doing in the hospital wing?” he asked suspiciously.

Albus rolled his eyes. “I shagged the school nurse senseless,” he answered ironically. “Alastor! Really! What do you think I am? A sexual maniac? I’m hundred and fifty three years old and married to a twenty six year old woman. I can assure you: she keeps me fully occupied.”

“You weren’t always,” Alastor snorted - and sighed in the same moment. He’d said that before thinking about. “Sorry, Albus - that was uncalled for.”

Albus sipped at his drink. “Sometimes I wonder if the Sorting Hat didn’t make a mistake with you. You’re as outspoken as a Gryffindor.”

Now Alastor made a face. “Me in the same house as Minerva? No, thank you. But talking about Slytherins - you should perhaps have a talk with Kingsley Shacklebolt.” He breathed deeply.

“What about?” Albus demanded to know.

“Draco Malfoy,” Alastor answered. “Ron and Harry told me Kingsley has called back the Aurors who were after the little bastard. They have lost his track and Kingsley thinks Malfoy isn’t in England anymore.”

“Hmm. He speaks French fluently; he knows France well - I wouldn’t wonder if he’d hide there,” Albus said. “But you’re right - I’ll ask Kingsley if he can’t at least inform the French Ministry.” Scratching himself behind his right ear, he proceeded, “I’d never thought Malfoy would manage on his own for such a long time.”

Alastor nodded and stretched his legs, the claw of the wooden one scraping over the floor. “That’s what I wonder about too. The boy always was a rather weak coward.” Emptying his glass he looked at Albus. “It was Snape who informed the Order about the death of Malfoy senior. But he was totally burned. The body - you saw it, Albus! It could have been anyone! And this Healer who identified him - who tells us he spoke the truth? Besides Snape and Malfoy were friends once. What if Snape covered up for Malfoy? What if Malfoy senior is still alive? You know he was the same calibre as his son. If the two of them work together …”

“That’s the point,” Albus interrupted. “They wouldn’t work together. Lucius and Draco didn’t get along. The boy was always closer to his mother and his aunt than to his father. And Lucius detested Bellatrix.”

“Well,” Alastor sighed. “Blood is thicker than water. Bellatrix and Narcissa are dead - and they certainly are. We both saw their bodies. So on his mother’s side, no one is left for Draco. If he’d lived, his father would be his only relative.”

“They wouldn’t cooperate,” Albus said firmly. “I knew Lucius well. He was my charge while I was Head of House here. And he was really very different from his son. He made a big mistake, but in the contrast to many other people who joined Voldemort because they wanted money and power, Lucius really believed in him. He was convinced our world would be better off without the influence of the Muggleborns. He was afraid we’d lose our culture and our traditions. Besides he was disgusted by the corruption and weakness of our rulers.”

“Heavens - he was one who undermined the Ministry even more!” Alastor stamped his claw on the floor. “You know he’d bought Fudge!”

“Yes. He wanted a revolution - and the weaker the Minister, the better the chances for that,” Albus said. “He acted like a true Slytherin. He didn’t mind breaking a few eggs to make an omelette. However, as he became aware that Voldemort didn’t want a better world, but only power, he tried to get away.”

Alastor put his glass down and looked at Albus, his magical eye changing the colour by it. “Between you and me, Albus, was Lucius your second spy?”

“Yes.” Albus nodded. “You know there were a few leaks in the Ministry and even in the Auror’s department. And Voldemort had become suspicious about Severus. We needed another spy in the inner circle. Lucius was like the gods’ gift to the Order.”

“You really trusted him?” Alastor asked.

“Yes,” Albus repeated. “I had known him since he was a boy and I was sure that he was - in his way - a honourable man.”

“Hmm,” Alastor grumbled, really not sounding convinced. “This thing about the Muggle boy he raped and killed; it was extremely disgusting.”

“Didn’t you wonder about that? All his life Lucius had never shown an interest in boys. Just on the contrary. He had been a regular at Madam Anastasia’s club - and none of her girls ever complained about him being rough. In the establishment, he was known for liking ‘vanilla sex’,” Albus told him. “And suddenly he was into sadism? With a boy?”

“Hmm,” Alastor kneaded what was left of his nose. “I’ve always thought the Malfoys would do anything that moved on legs. Wasn’t there a story about Malfoy junior being caught with two other boys?”

“Yes,” Albus nodded. “He’s probably gay - or bisexual or whatever. But his father wasn’t.”

“Bah, what a family!” Alastor said with disgust.

“What can one expect from such a family?” Albus said. “The marriage between Lucius and Narcissa had been arranged by Voldemort. They couldn’t stand each other - and I think that was a point in Lucius’ favour! Narcissa was, in her way, as bad as her sister Bellatrix - if not worse.”

“You know, there’s a story about you and Narcissa?” Alastor asked.

Albus rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course I know. She was after me once, or better said, after my money and my fame. I don’t think she ever loved anything else. That made her different from her sister. Bellatrix loved Lestrange and as long as he lived she was absolutely loyal and faithful to him.”

“I think Narcissa loved her brat,” Alastor snorted. “She spoiled him to no end.”

“I nevertheless doubt she really loved him, not as a person at least,” Albus said. “She saw him as an extension of her own person. He never got a chance to develop a personality of his own, but was always a puppet on his mother’s strings. When she died, he was entirely lost. He needed Bellatrix to guide him …”

“And then Auntie Bellatrix took over,” Alastor stated, “and she used him as his mother had done.”

“She promised him he’d get his revenge,” Albus breathed deeply. “You’re right - I’ll have to talk to Kingsley. As long as Malfoy is on the run, Hermione isn’t safe.”

“Albus,” Alastor bent forward and laid a gnarled hand on his friend’s arm. “If the Aurors don’t get him, we will. We owe it to Hermione and we will protect her. I’ll be with you in that.”

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

Slipping out of his boots and kicking them through the open door in his wardrobe, Albus pulled a few papers out of his cuffs, placed them on the shelf next to his bed and let his outer robe drop down on the floor. A wave of his hand opened the buttons of his under robe and he threw it on the floor too. His house-elf would pick the clothes up in the morning so Albus didn’t bother about it. Stretching, he switched the CD player on the shelf on. Mozart’s symphony No. 41 G minor - one of his favourites - sounded through the room. Albus looked to the bed and sighed. He didn’t know if Hermione would share it with him this night. He actually never knew before she appeared, and what happened then, Albus was sure the majority of men wouldn’t complain about. Having a beautiful, passionate young wife who showed her desire openly - wasn’t that what most men dreamed about?

He didn’t. He felt depressed, which was probably typical for him and his inability to find happiness. During the days, he hardly saw Hermione; she only visited his office when she needed him as the headmaster. During meals she still sat on the left end of the table although he’d offered her a place at his side. She’d refused, saying she wouldn’t like driving Minerva or Filius away from the chairs they’d occupied for so long. So he didn’t have a chance to talk with her in the hall. And in the evenings he never saw much of her either. She’d always had an active social life and this hadn’t changed. On Friday, she mostly disappeared to London to be with Ginny or Ginny came to Hogwarts; during the week, she spent the evenings with Alastor; Basti; Minerva and Augustus; librarian Irma Pince or Stella Sinistra. Wednesday was reserved for the Literature Club she’d founded. And Tuesday she was doing something they called “tap dance” - an invention of his secretary - with Delenn, Minerva, Poppy, Pomona Sprout and Jemina Talbott.

Since the ball at the Ministry, Albus had twice managed to get Hermione out for dinner, and although both had been very nice, nothing had come from it. She’d not once asked him to spend an evening with her. Obviously she was content with coming to his bedroom two or three times a week to get sex. She obviously didn’t want more because afterwards she would disappear, just waiting until he fell asleep before she snuck back to her own bedroom.

Waking up in his lonely bed always made Albus feel miserable. Sex wasn’t enough for him. He wanted more. He wanted to hold her afterwards; he wanted to wake up with her next to him; he wanted to share her life; he wanted to be at her side - but she obviously only needed him as lover.

He tried to console himself, telling himself that it was better than nothing. And in bed she was all a man could wish for - and heavens, why couldn’t he convince himself that he didn’t need more? For years, affairs based on mutual sexual attraction had been enough for him. He hadn’t wanted more, he often had inwardly ranted when one of his lady friends had asked for more. Now he craved more. He longed for Hermione’s attention, her affection, her love.

Slowly, with sagged shoulders, he went to the bathroom. He’d spent almost all day at his desk, working through a mountain of paperwork. His only distraction had been the two hours he’d been in the Potions lab, working with the young man who’d once been Severus’ apprentice. In the last weeks the new Potions master had mostly looked after him, but officially Algernon Brittle would remain Albus’ charge because changing the master three times during an apprenticeship wouldn’t look too good in his papers.

Yet bending over cauldrons hadn’t improved Albus’ condition. His neck was cramped, his back ached and he felt every one of his years. Sinking into the bathtub, he closed his eyes and stretched, his spine cracking. The hot water and the lavender salt in it worked to relax him and he allowed his thoughts to drift.

Alastor - it was good to be back on speaking terms with him. Alastor still wasn’t at ease with him yet, but Albus was sure that he’d come around. They had been friends for decades and he certainly wouldn’t let Alastor go away.

And there was this letter. It wasn’t often Albus was surprised, but as the owl had reached him, he’d, gaped at it for a moment, not believing his eyes. It was more than ten years now since he’d revealed the prophesy concerning Voldemort to the then fifteen year old Harry. Since then their relationship had been tense.

First Albus had thought it would help if he gave Harry some time on his own to calm down. Only it hadn’t worked. Harry had become even more distant towards him. And when Albus had finally tried to talk to him, Harry had showed him cold hostility. Since then, they’d only spoken about Order business with each other and Albus had given up hope. He’d learned to live with the fact that some things couldn’t be changed - and until today he’d counted his relationship with Harry in that department. But now Harry Potter had sent him an owl. It was short, but amazingly polite, “Dear Headmaster, The last days I’ve thought a lot about the war and how the two of us were dealing with each other. I know you’re a busy man, but I’d be grateful if you could find time to talk with me. Perhaps I could visit you next week? Please let me know what you think about this. Yours, Harry Potter.”


Albus had immediately answered. “Dear Harry, Thank you for your letter. I’d very much like to talk to you. Would you like to meet me on Thursday at eight o’clock for dinner at “Riccardo’s”? Yours, Albus Dumbledore.”

He hoped the boy could make it; he felt like talking to him rather soon. And probably Hermione was waiting for this too. She had pushed Harry to write this letter, and although Albus still wasn’t happy about his wife doing his dirty deeds, as far as Harry and Alastor were concerned - well, beggars couldn’t be choosers, could they?


“Albus?” Hermione had entered his bedroom.

“I’m here, in the bathtub,” he answered. Hearing her voice made his heart do a little jump, but the little happiness was immediately driven away by thinking that he’d once more wake up in a deserted bed the next morning. He felt more and more torn between his desire for her and his need for more. A part of him demanded he not give in again, that he tell her that he didn’t want only sex and that he couldn’t bear being left alone afterwards. But another part of him couldn’t give it up - and not only because he still lusted after her. Need - the almost desperate hunger for her he’d suffered with in the weeks she’d been so far away from him, he didn’t feel anymore. She probably thought that sleeping with her regularly made his body react slower now and even need some help to get started, but he knew it better. His desire had subsided because he actually didn’t want sex, but love. Yet sex was what gave him at least an illusion to hold on to. And there were the precious moments directly after the act when she laid in his arms, sated and content, smiling tenderly at him, playing with his hair and talking about the baby and her day and the projects she was busy with. These moments, this little time, was when she belonged to him and when being with her felt right.

Now she came in the bathroom, wearing only a short silken nighty which showed her beautiful long legs. Smiling at Albus she asked, “Do you need someone to scrub your back?”

“Only if you join me in the tub,” he gave back, shifting to make space for her.

Hermione bent down and held her hand in the water. “Aaah - do you want to boil yourself?”

“Come in and you’ll find the water nice too,” Albus said.

Hermione slipped out of her nighty and stroked with her hands over her swollen abdomen. “What do you think about climbing in a big bowl of Daddy soup, Habakkuk?”

“Spiced with lavender - a speciality of the house!” Albus laughed. “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

Hermione put her foot in the tub, twitching from the heat. “It’s really hot!”

“Soup has to be hot, Hermione. You wouldn’t like it cold,” Albus smiled.

“Well - it looks appetizing, this soup.” Hermione kneeled down next to him, bracing herself on his shoulders. “Oh my,” she sighed. “Your neck is all cramps and so tense! What have you done with yourself all day?” She shoved his hair away and started to massage him.

“Hmm!” Albus purred. “That feels wonderful. But isn’t it too exhausting for you?”

“Albus, I’m pregnant, not sick!” Hermione reminded him once more. “Oh, while we’re talking about it: I saw Poppy today. Our little one is fit and perfectly developed and I’m in a good shape too.”

“That’s good to hear,” Albus turned his head and smiled at her.

Hermione kissed his cheek. “Do you want to know what we’ll have?”

“I actually thought we’d have a human baby,” Albus grinned. “But I wouldn’t cry about getting a nice dragon either. We could give it to Hagrid, you know?”

“Albus!” Hermione bit in his shoulder. “You know what I was talking about.”

“Do I?” he teased her.

“Well, if you don’t want to know if it’s Habakkuk or Eurynome, I won’t tell you,” Hermione sulked.

“But of course I want to know.” He pulled her between his spread legs with her back against his belly and laid his hands over her abdomen. “So - what are you? Son or daughter?”

Hermione entwined her fingers with his. “It’s him - you’re becoming father to a son, Albus.”

“A son,” Albus repeated quietly.

“You don’t sound delighted,” Hermione turned her head, looking at him. “Don’t you want a son?”

“Of course I want him,” Albus replied. “And I’ll love him and …,” he searched for words. Slowly he added, “It probably won’t be easy to be my son.”

“Albus!” Now Hermione was on her knees again, facing him. “I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful father. And he’ll be proud to be your son.”

Albus lowered his head. “I’m not very good with boys,” he said, his voice quiet and sad. “Three boys - three of my students - I saw as something like sons. Two became Death Eaters; one didn’t want to speak with me for years.”

Hermione cupped his cheeks with her hands. “Albus! When you came to look after Lucius Malfoy and Snape, they were eleven year old boys who had suffered through a horrible childhood. You couldn’t make up for that. And Harry - you couldn’t know that he was treated so badly by his relatives! But our son will be with you from the first moment of his life. You will love him and you will give him all that he needs. And together we’ll work toward giving him so much self-confidence that he can bear the expectations people will connect to his name and heritage.” She snuggled close to him, stroking his cheek. “Don’t worry so much, Albus. Habakkuk will be fine. We’ll be a happy family.”

He suddenly had a big lump in his throat. Swallowing he held her close, whispering in her hair: “Thank you, Hermione - for our son and for your trust in me and for defending me to your friends. I don’t know about me as a father, but about one thing I’m sure -- our son will be fine because he’ll have you for a mother.”

“Oh, Albus - you really should trust yourself more.” Hermione took his hand. “And now let’s get out of this tub. It’s getting cold.”

“First it was too hot, now it’s too cold,” he said, but stood up. Climbing out of the tub he cast a drying spell on himself and reached for a towel. Hermione didn’t like drying charms, so he offered her the towel. She let him wrap her in it and smiled as he rubbed her dry.

“I like that,” she whispered.

Lifting her up he carried her to the bed, laid her down and stroked tenderly over her belly. “Hello, son!”

Hermione pulled him down to her. “Your son seems to be sleeping,” she said, kissing the tip of his nose. “Isn’t it nice that he is giving his parents some time off?”

“He seems to be a well behaved young man,” Albus smiled, but taking Hermione in his arms and kissing her, he felt almost as if he were fulfilling a duty. But at least he couldn’t complain about this being an unpleasant one. Her lips were so soft and welcoming and her hair smelled like vanilla and honey and her full breasts touching his chest were like silk, the already erect nipple telling him that she really wanted him.

Being wanted by a woman - that had always been the strongest aphrodisiac for him. And even with his doubts about Hermione loving him - he sometimes wasn’t sure if another man wouldn’t have served her as well - his body started to react to her.

Now her hand was on his thigh, softly stroking him. Breaking their kiss, she turned her head a little so that her mouth was on his ear. “Albus …”

He loved the way she spoke his name. It was like a tender touch. “Hmm?” he grumbled.

“May I ask you something very private?” she sounded almost a bit shy.

Albus couldn’t help chuckling. “Professor Granger-Dumbledore, you’re in my bed, your hand isn’t far away from my genitals and in a few minutes we’ll probably sleep with each other. I think that gives you a right to ask me very private questions.”

“Well,” Hermione’s fingertips stroked over his soft, but heavy penis. “It’s really rather intimate, Albus. And you know - if you don’t want to answer, you needn’t. I really would understand it.”

“Huh - that sounds serious. But ask away.” Albus was curious now.

Hermione swallowed and took his hand, holding it up and looking at it. “You know I was always fascinated by your hands? Yesterday in the evening as you were at this official dinner,” now she blushed, “I was thinking about …” once again she swallowed and her cheeks became as red as cherries.

Albus entwined her fingers with his. “You thought about my hands - and what they were doing to you, Hermione?”

Hermione hid her face against his neck. Next to his ear she whispered: “They weren’t doing something to me, Albus. In my imagination they did … I mean … I was watching how you touched yourself.”

He stroked her back. “You found the idea of me touching myself arousing?” he asked quietly.

“Very much so,” Hermione confessed. “It seems I’m a bit of a voyeur.”

“Who isn’t, Hermione?” He kissed her forehead. “What about a little deal? You’ll get to watch me while I get to watch you.”

“Oh.” Hermione chewed for a moment on her bottom lip. “Well - it’s only fair, isn’t it?”

“Admittedly,” Albus rolled her on her back and smiled down at her. He liked very much that she’d told him about her fantasy - and he found the thought of watching her very arousing. “I wouldn’t want to climax by masturbating. Instead, I’d like to come inside you.”

“I’m sure I’d like that too.” Hermione was chewing on her bottom lip again. “Albus?”

“Hmm?”

“Are we going to become a bit kinky?”

He couldn’t help laughing. “Sweetest heart!” He pulled her close. “That question was very Gryffindor.”

She played with his hair. “Well - our sex certainly isn’t Gryffindor. It’s rather Slytherin, isn’t it?”

He knew her well enough to feel that she wouldn’t be comfortable as long as she didn’t have a serious answer. “Hermione, I don’t think there’s something like Gryffindor or Slytherin sex in the sense of the first being ‘normal’ and, therefore, allowed while the second is ‘kinky’ and, therefore, sinful. In general, I accept everything which adult people decide in agreement to do with each other. As long as it’s done while respecting the dignity of all parties involved, I would never judge it.”

“Hmm.” She obviously wasn’t entirely satisfied with his answer. “You never judge, but …”

Taking her hand, he turned it and kissed the inside of her wrist. “Hermione, I have never believed in testing out everything that’s possible. I know without ever making an attempt in that direction that I’m not sexually interested in men. I’ve always found that nothing suits a woman better than her own skin; I was always happy enough with the toys I found on my lady and I’m vain enough to believe that my equipment is enough to please my partner. I wouldn’t know what to do with two women at the same time; I certainly wouldn’t like to share you with another man and even while sleeping with a very loquacious Gryffindor, I rather kiss than gag her.”

“Loquacious Gryffindor?” Hermione was pulling him down. “At the moment it‘s you who’s talking. But,” she kissed the corner of his mouth, “I’m glad you’ve told me that.”

“And now,” he let his lips glide over her mouth, “you’d like me to stop talking theory and start with some practice?”

Hermione’s hand was under his hair on his neck, her finger playing over his spine. “Couldn’t you do both?” she whispered. “Your voice - it’s very sexy.”

“Ah - and how do you make it through staff conferences with me talking all the time?” Albus teased her. Shifting down to the bed’s end, kneeling between her spread legs, he bent down and kissed her mound.

Hermione laid her left hand on her breast while her right went down to stroke his hair. “I use to fantasize about you in the boring parts of the staff conference. I’d imagine what I’d like to do with you. Last time as Jemina ranted about her lack of funds without end, you sat there, playing with the hem of your sleeve. And I thought of closing the door, going down on my knees between your legs, opening your robe and pulling your member out …”

Albus swallowed and leant back on his heels. Gripping his half erect penis with his right hand, he started to stroke it. Feeling her eyes on him made his blood rush down into his groin. “And what did you want to do then in the staff room?” he asked.

Hermione’s left hand was playing on her breast, twitching the nipple while her right had gone between her legs, the index finger stroking over her clitoris. “It’s funny,” she said, her voice husky, “I can’t decide what I like better. In some of my fantasies, you’ve already got a full erection when I come close to you. I love it when you kiss me and I feel through your robes that you’re hard. But on the other hand - to arouse you feels wonderful too. In the last staff conference I dreamed about surprising you, taking your soft cock in my mouth and feeling it growing while I suck on it …”

Although Albus bit on his bottom lip, he couldn’t suppress a moan. His penis was fully erect now and he stopped the long strokes he liked. Instead he used his left hand to knead his balls lightly. He didn’t want to become too aroused - and the sight of Hermione, her body glimmering with sweat, her hands on her breast and her vulva, was incredibly erotic. And how she looked at him, her eyes directed at his groin!

“Hermione, you’re breath-taking,” he whispered. “I love watching you. Your hands - and your skin and - oh, Piccola!”

“And you,” she breathed hard. “Your hands are so beautiful and your member - thinking about is already enough to get me wet and needy! Albus - alone the thought of you entering me …” She now used her index and middle finger for filling her channel while her thumb worked on her nub. “It’s so perfect - as if I were just made for you! And sometimes I start to come the moment you push in.”

“Hermione - if you knew how it feels on my end! You’re so tight and hot and like silk around me. And I love to smell your juice and to lick you and to get you wriggling and panting and moaning.” His member was leaking now and so hard it almost hurt.

Hermione still watched him, her eyes dark with desire. “Albus - I want you. I want to feel you inside, I want you to come in me. Now, please - please, fuck me now!” She opened her arms and he bent forward, guiding his erection in her.

Bracing himself on his elbows he looked down at her. “Sweetest heart …”

“Albus!” She wrapped her legs around him and started to move. “I need you so much. Don’t make me wait!”

“Piccola - oh, Merlin, Hermione! If you keep this up I won’t last long,” he warned her.

“I don’t want you to last long,” Hermione moaned. “I want to feel you coming. I want you to pant and to scream.”

Albus closed his eyes. Looking at her and feeling her, smelling her arousal and listening to her hard breathing was too much for him. He was so close! But he didn’t want to come without her. It needed all his willpower not to let himself fall in his lust and pleasure, but she was what counted for him and he wouldn’t come before her. He wouldn’t - not if he burst with arousal!

“Albus, oh Albus! Yes, yes - just so!” Her nails dug in his shoulders. “Oh Gods - yes! You feel - oh, it’s so good! Albus, I’m coming! Albus …”

Her scream was his undoing. He couldn’t keep back himself any longer. Pounding a last time into her, he whispered, “I love you, Hermione. I love you.”


To be continued …