Much Ado about Nothing

Much Ado about Nothing


By: Max

[Disclaimer: see chapter 1]

Chapter 8: Good New Year indeed

This had been - Hermione was sure of it - the lousiest Monday morning of her life and not only because her students were with their heads obviously already in their Christmas holidays, but because her head felt as if it would have been the ball by a troll’s tennis match. She’d got the mother of all hangovers - one which didn’t only last for a day, but now for the second morning and actually, yesterday it had already been bad, but crawling back in bed and spending all her Sunday in the quiet and peace of it, the headache had been more bearable now when she had to move and to talk. And using magic - utch! Even the tiniest spells she’d done this morning had made her stomach doing a turn and she’d always fought against the rash of nausea.

She couldn’t count anymore how often she’d this morning sworn to herself that she would never ever again come close to a bottle of fire whiskey. But even worse than the headache and the stomach trouble the fire whiskey had caused was the thought of Titus Ollivander and what she’d done with him. How, for Goodness sake, could she have been so utterly idiotic as to let this man come close to her? She’d never liked him - and now she even detested him! This smug smirk on his face as he’d seen her at breakfast! And how his hand had touched hers as he’d given her the tea pot! If he’d announced loudly that she’d been with him, it couldn’t have been more obvious. Snape had got the message immediately and the look on his face - actually he never looked exceptionally nice at Hermione, but this morning he’d watched her as if he’d think about using her for a potion ingredient!

Her only luck had been that Albus hadn’t presented himself at breakfast. She knew that Titus was his least favourite colleague - to put it mildly - and that he certainly wouldn’t approve of what she’d done. He’d probably become disappointed by her total lack of taste and if he’d know what had happened and how she’d behaved - no, she really didn’t want to think about it. She felt already ashamed enough. The last thing she needed additionally was Albus acting his “human behaviour - and may it be as strange as strange can go - doesn’t amaze me anymore” number. She knew herself that during his long life certainly had seen women making worse mistakes, but that doesn’t mean that she wanted a high rank on his “women with a lousy taste”-list. Not for something as stupid and silly as this stunt!

Probably he knew already. Nothing in Hogwarts - not even Fawkes smelling apple slices - moved as fast as rumours. And Albus, sitting in his office like a spider in its nest, holding all the threats in his hands, was always best informed. How had Ron in one of his rare moments of insight one said? “In Hogwarts no sparrow dares to on on a roof without asking the headmaster’s permission first.”

Slowly marching up the stairs - with a head hurting like hers one wasn’t up for sprinting - the corridor which led to the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the main tower Hermione wished for being only 48 hours elder. Then school would be over for the winter break and she’d be on her way to her parents for Christmas, away from Hogwarts, away from Albus and - even more important - away from Titus Ollivander. She would have two weeks to sort out the mess she’d got herself in and afterwards she’d certainly feel better prepared for dealing with Albus.

But unfortunately she had to deal now with him. Minerva who’d seen her by walking up to the main tower had pushed her a pile of parchments in the arm, saying: “You’re on your way to the lab? Just be a dear and drop this on Albus’ desk. I’ve signed the letters, but he should nevertheless read them.”

With this she’d shattered Hermione’s hope to come away from this day without meeting her boss. Her chances for it hadn’t been bad before: The last week he’d been twice for a day away in ministry’s business and with the preparations for the ball as additional task he certainly hadn’t found much time to work himself through his paperwork on his desk. And with her new project still on the archarch state, she didn’t need his input, so she probably wouldn’t have seen him except of the meals in the great hall.

“Hermione?”

Titus Ollivander’s voice worked on Hermione’s tensed nerves like sandpaper. He was the last person she wanted to meet now and him hanging around in the hall - heavens, hadn’t he to do something better?

“What’s the matter, Titus?” Hermione asked wearily.

He came a step closer. “Cant yot you guess? I thought you’re Hogwarts resident super mind.”

“Titus, I’ve got a lot of work to do.” Hermione tried to get past him, but he blocked her, laying a hand on her shoulder.

“Honey - don’t be so harsh! It doesn’t suit such a pretty girl like you.”

If Hermione hated something then it was to be called “honey”. So she pushed his hand away, looked up at him and asked icy: “What do you want?”

Titus Ollivander wasn’t one for easily giving up. He wasn’t in use with women resisting him and so he put his hand again on Hermione’s shoulder. “What about having dinner in my quarters this evening? We can proceed where we stopped …”

Once again Hermione pushed his hand away, this time very energetic. “I thought I’d have made myself clear the other night,” she said with as much coldness as she could muster. “I’m not interested in preceding something with you.”

“Don’t play coy with me, Mione!” This time he didn’t touch her shoulder, but fondled her backside. “I know what a hot little bitch you are and how much you need to be fucked.”

If there was something Hermione loathed even more as being called “Honey” it was shortening her name. And touching her when she obviously didn’t want it! Stepping back, she gritted her teeth for not yelling at him. “Titus,” she was fighting for control over her voice, “once again: I am not interested in an affair with you. I certainly don’t want to have sex with you and I’d be very grateful if you could restrict yourself to a professional relationship with me.”

“Ah?” His eyebrow rose. “Who is it then you’re interested in? Our dear headmaster? You’re dancing with him - it was damn obvious that you wanted to get under his robe, Granger! Or was it only a bit cockteasing because the old man isn’t up to it anymore? I am, Granger - I certainly am. And I’ll show you, that no woman plays …”

He’d made the mistake of gripping under Hermione’s robe to her breast. But before he could touch it, he’d got her knee in his groin. Screaming in pain, he stumbled back. “Bloody bitch!” He pulled his wand out.

Hermione had been quicker. Before he could cast a spell, her boiling jinx hit him directly in the groin. He went down to the floor, holding with one hand his privates, but the other with the wand in it was still raised.

Hermione fumed. “Don’t you ever dare to come close to me again? Next time you touch me I won’t restrict myself to a boiling jinx. Next time I dismember you!”

In her rage she hadn’t seen that he moved his wand. Now he suddenly cried: “Stupe …”

“Expelliarmus!” Albus’ voice roared like thunder through the corridor. Hermione felt how her wand was thrown out of her fingers and sailing - accompanied by Ollivander’s black ebony wand - to Albus who caught both wands with his left hand.

Hermione starred at him, standing in front of the open stair case to his office, wearing a burgundy robe.was was deadly pale; his eyes not blue anymore, but grey and cold, his mouth a thin line. She’d seen him furious before and she’d found the sheer power he was radiating frightening although his rage hadn’t been directed at her. But now it was - and Hermione suddenly found herself wishing the floor would open and swallow her. She felt cold to the bones and in the same time she sweated and trembled.

As he opened his mouth again, his voice was as sharp as a knife. “Doctor Granger - you’ll wait in the lab. Professor Ollivander - you come with me.” Turning around he stepped on the stairs which moved him upwards.

Hermione needed a moment to get herself moving again, but even by sprinting after him on the stairs she didn’t dare to ask for her wand though she felt amputated without it. She only was glad that the stairs stopped in front of the lab. Their spinning had made her feeling nauseous again and she stumbled in the lab and to the bathroom, kneeling down in front of the toilet and puking. Getting up afterwards and washing out her mouth she didn’t feel much better. Only her stomach was empty now and so she went back in the lab, seating down on the rug in front of the fireplace, her arms wrapped around her knees. She still shook life a leaf and she couldn’t think, but only cry.

She didn’t know how long she’d sit so, sobbing and crying. But suddenly Fawkes was there, landing on her shoulder and comfortingly nibbling at her ear.

“Oh, Fawkes,” Hermione stroked him, grateful for the warmth under her cold fingers, “I’m such an utter idiot! I’ve messed up everything. Our master probably will never forgive me.”

Only a minute later she heard the door becoming opened. Albus entered. He still was pale, but his eyes were calmer and held herd ind in his hand. Silently he approached her and handed her the wand down.

Hermione took it, pushed it in her sleeve, swallowed and said quietly: “Thank you.”

No answer. He stepped back to the sofa, but didn’t sit down, but only laid his left hand on the back. Breathing deeply, he said: “I’ve put Professor Ollivander on probation. One toe over the line again and he’ll have to pack and leave. So that’s settled. Now I think you owe me an explanation. What happened between Professor Ollivander and you?”

Hermione didn’t dare to look at him. Instead she fixed her gaze on the rug. She couldn’t tell him - not the entire story. She was too much ashamed of it. Swallowing the big lump in her throat, she slowly said: “It was … private …”

“Private?” His voice sounded sharp again. “Forgive me for meddling in something what you see as ‘private’, Doctor Granger …,” he made the formal title almost sound like an insult, “but two members of the Hogwarts staff hexing each other in public I can hardly find ‘private’. As the headmaster of this school I feel responsible for its safety and therefore I will not tolerate such displays of reckless, irresponsible behaviour. One of your hexes could have hit a passing student or a fellow teacher. It was sheer luck that it didn’t come to that.”

Hermione swallowed again. “I know, Headmaster,” she whispered. “And I’m terribly sorry.”

He sighed. For a moment he didn’t speak, but only looked at her. Then he breathed deeply again. “Technically you’re not a member of the Hogwarts staff, but only my apprentice. Therefore I can’t put you on probation. But I warn you: If you can’t keep your private things out of the Hogwarts hall, it will have severe consequences. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Hermione nodded and dared for the first time since he’d entered to look at him. He obviously wasn’t furious anymore. It was even worse: His eyes were sad and tired. And he didn’t hold her gaze, but turned around and marched to the door.

Hermione cleared her throat. “Headmaster …” To address him with his title hurt. It made her aware what she’d lost. But she knew that he wouldn’t like her to use his given name in this moment. “Professor McGonagall asked me to give you these papers …” She collected the parchments she’d dropped on the floor, jumped on her feet and approached him.

He tried to take the papers with his right hand, but by g sog so he twitched, bite at his under lip and holding his right hand closely to his chest, took the pile with the left.

Hermione looked terrified at him. “Are you injured, sir? Shall I get Poppy for you?”

“No, thanks - I’m fine. But …” now he studied her intensely, “… get yourself at the infirmary. You look as if you’d faint the next moment.”

“I’m fine too. I don’t …”

“No discussion! This was an order,” he cut her short.

Once again Hermione could only nod. “Yes, sir.”


On her way to the infirmary Hermione felt like walking through thick mist. Her head kept achingr str stomach was cramped and she was tired, so indefinite tired! She only wanted to fall down in a corner, rolling herself together in a ball and to cry until oblivion took over. But Albus had ordered her to see Poppy Pomfrey and even if going to the hospital wing was the last thing she’d ever do - she would obey him. Souldouldn’t disappoint him again.

At least Hermione was lucky enough to find Poppy alone. As Hermione stumbled in her office, the mediwitch sat behind her desk, doing her paperwork. Seeing Hermione she was immediately on her feet, approached the young witch and led her to the stretcher in a corner of the room. “Heavens, lassie - what did you do with yourself? You look like a walking body!”

“That’s how I feel,” Hermione answered honestly, sinking down on the stretcher.

Poppy laid a cool, soft hand against Hermione’s forehead. “Oh, oh - you’re a bit feverish. Did you catch this nasty flu which gets around?” She pulled her wand out. “Lay down, Hermione …”

“I don’t think I’ve got a cold,” Hermione said, obediently stretching on the bed. “I simply suffer from a hang over. I drano muo much fire whiskey on Saturday.”

“Hmm …” Poppy let her wand hover over Hermione’s body. “Exhaustion and fire whiskey aren’t a good mixture, Hermione. I don’t wonder you feel like hell. Your blood pressure is on a record low, your blood sugar could hardly be lower …” She turned around and marched to her cabinet. “What you need, young lady is a hang over potion, some chocolate and at least 12 hours of rest.”

“I have two classes to teach in the afternoon,” Hermione protested.

The mediwitch put two vials on a tray. “Forget about teaching, Hermione. You’re not up to it. Besides: The holidays are starting tomorrow. Your students won’t suffer from missing a class …” Coming back to the stretcher, she handed Hermione a vial. “Master Snape’s patented hang over cure - tasting ghastly, but working like nothing else. Drink, dear - you’ll feel better afterwards!”

Hermione cringed by swallowing the potion. Sometimes she wondered if Snape found pleasure in making his potions smelling and tasting especially vile. But Poppy had been right - immediately after Hermione had drunk what tasted like poison, she felt how the pain in her head faded and her stomach stopped burning. Closing her eyes, she sighed in relief.

Poppy patted her hand. “I know how awfully one feels with a haver ver like that. Now you only need a bit of chocolate and sleep and then you’ll be like new.”

&0;Po0;Poppy?” Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. “Could I perhaps have a few drops of a dreamless sleep potion?”

Poppy looked at her, her forehead wrinkled. “Oh, oh - so bad?”

“Worse, Poppy!” Hermione felt tears in her eyes again.

“What haed, ed, Hermione?” Poppy took once again Hermione’s hand. “You know you can tell me everything, lassie.”

Hermione nodded. She knew that Poppy liked to join the gossiping in the staff room, but that she nevertheless was entirely trustworthy. What was told in confidence in the infirmary didn’t leave the hospital wing. So Hermione swallowed and said: “I’ve just got myself a well-deserved dressing down by my very cross master. He caught me hexing a colleague in the hall.”

“Ah? You were the one who provided Ollivander with the nice boils on his private parts?” For a moment Poppy Pomfrey grinned. “I actually thought that who ever it did would deserve an award from all female inhabitants of the castle.” Becoming serious again, she proceeded: “But dear - couldn’t you have done it in private? Even in his best mood Albus goes ballistic about hexes in the halls - and one a day like this … I wonder he didn’t bite your head off.”

“He almost did,” Hermione said. “I’ve rarely seen him this furious.”

Poppy sighed. “Forgive him, Hermione. He’s got a personal and very sad history concerning hexes in the halls …”

“I know,” Hermione wiped a tear away. “Minerva and Augustus told me about his wife.”

Poppy nodded. “Then you understand why he reacts so hard. And today - he probably feels like hell too. He actually still should be in bed, but you know how exceptionally pig headed he can be. Albus Dumbledore the invincible - who is he that he lets himself becomoppeopped by a few broken bones?”

“His hand!” Hermione cried. “He’s broken his right hand!”

“No,” Poppy shook her head. “Albus never settles for something small. Whenever I get him as a patient, he’s really in a bad way.”

“What happened to him?” Hermione asked.

“He smashes shs shoulder - this time the right one. But it was sheer, pure luck that it was only his shoulder. He could have broken his neck.” She shook her head again.

“How did he break the shoulder?” Hermione demanded to know.

“It was this storm on Saturday night. He was out in his animagnus form - but don’t ask me why! It certainly wasn’t a night for fun flying. And he certainly shouldn’t have flied over the roofs. Yet he did and got in trouble with the wind. He almost failed his balcony and by falling down on it he smashed his shoulder - nicely, as I must say. An open break like out of a healer’s book with a big vein ribbed. As I came in his bedchamber it looked there like in a butcher’s workplace.”

Hermione felt like fainting again. The thought of Albus injured and bleeding made her tears roll down her cheeks again. And suddenly it dawned on her: He had seen her with Titus! She’d known it! As Titus had kissed her in the corridor, she’d suddenly felt Albus’ presence. For a moment she’d thought she’d have smelled him and then - the rustle she had heard! It had been the falcon’s wings as he’d flied down the hall.

He’d seen her! He’d been there, invisible or in his falcon form - and hadn’t she on her run to the main tower stopped because she’d heard the falcon’s cry outside? It had sounded so desperate.

Albus had been there. She was sure of it. And now he thought she’d slept with Titus and - oh heavens, what must he think about the scene in front of his entrance? How much of it he had witnessed? Had he heard what Titus had said about her dancing with Albus?

He thought she’d slept with Titus.

Rising up, she looked at Poppy. “I can’t stay,” she said. “I promise I’ll go in bed later, but now - Poppy, I have to see Albus. I must talk with him.”

She was almost at the door as she heard the mediwitch call her name again. Turning around, she saw poppy reaching her a vial and huge slice of chocolate. “Your chocolate and the dreamless sleep potion,” Poppy said amused. “And … good luck with the headmaster!”


Hermione was almost sure: She’d broken the Hogwarts record for sprints between the infirmary and the main t. Pa. Panting she arrived at the oak door in front of the headmaster’s office and had to stop herself from not bursting in without knocking. Announcing her presence by scraping at the wood, she hoped fiercely that Albus wasn’t with a visitor and hopping from one foot to the other, waited impatiently. To her it seemed like an eternity until she heard a calm “Come in.”

He didn’t sit at his desk as she’d expected. Instead he sat in a high backed chair in front of the fireplace, his shoulders bent, and his long hands in his lap. Seeing Hermione he slowly raised - and Hermione felt like crying again. He looked so tired and sad - and she had done that to him! She longed to run to him, to hug him, to bury her head on his chest, to smell his comforting fragrance. But of course, she didn’t. His eyes, not blazing anymore, but still more grey then blue, kept her at distance.

I thI thought I’ve ordered you to get yourself at Madame Pomfrey’s,” he said, his voice still sharp.

Hermione braced herself. It wasn’t easy to look in his eyes, but she wasn’t a Gryffindor for nothing. “I was in the infirmary,” she said, scolding herself inwardly because her voice was shaking. “And now … there’s something I thought I should tell you …” Breathing deeply, she said - as quick as possible because she knew she couldn’t afford to hesitate if she didn’t want to lose courage: “I didn’t sleep with Titus Ollivander. I met him in the pub and I was drunk and felt lonely and I thought for a moment I’d like to be with him and therefore I let him kiss …”

“Doctor Granger!” Albus interrupted her, sounding very determined. “Your private affairs are no concern of mine.”

Hermione felt as if he’d slapped he the the face. She looked at him, the man she admired, to whom she’d felt so close and whom she’d thought her friend. But now she couldn’t read in his face anymore and his eyes didn’t radiate the warmth and tenderness she was used to see there, but looked distant. He even didn’t direct his gaze at her, but looked over her shoulder to the perch on which Fawkes stood, quiet and motionless like a statue.

Hermione slowly sunk her head. Had she really hoped that telling him would change anything? “I apologize, Headmaster,” she said, her voice hardly more then a whisper. “I shouldn’t have bothered you with my private affairs.” She couldn’t avoid sounding hurt though her pride rebelled against it. But at least she could avoid breaking down in front of him. Yet it was hard not to run to the door, but to go there slowly, step for step and with an erect back. But she wouldn’t show tears. She wouldn’t show him how much he’d hurt her with saying, that he didn’t care about her. She was Gryffindor after all and even if she’d just provided herself with the Christmas gift of messing up her entire life royally - she wouldn’t break down in front of a cold, heartless Slytherin!


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


“… and a good new year, Miss!” The shopkeeper called after her.

Hermione clutched the package with the books she’d just bought firmer as she made her way through the crowded street to the apparition point in a little park. Good New Year indeed! She couldn’t think of a year in her life she’d started feeling more miserable. Even during the war the New Year had always seemed to keep the promise for better times to come, but now she felt as if she would have to face even worse times.

Christmas with her parents had been awful. She of course hadn’t wanted to burden them with her sorrows, she she’d tried to keep up the façade, smiling until her jaw and the muscles in her cheeks had hurt and telling funny stories until she’d felt like vomiting. After four days she hadn’t been able to bear it any longer. Secretly she’d sent a letter to Ginny,gingging her for getting her an invitation back and Ginny, faithful friend as she was, had reacted immediately. Only a few hours later Hermione had stumbled out of the fireplace in Ginny’s flat, hugging her friend and crying: “You’re saved my life! I would have gone insane if I would have had to stay a day more. You know, I love my parents dearly, but at the moment …”

In the night she’d told Ginny the entire story then - starting from the night at “The Three Broomsticks” over the horrible Monday when she’d hexed Ollivander to the even more horrible Tuesday - the day the students had left for the Christmas break.

“Albus had been at breakfast in the hall this morning for wishing the students merry Christmas. But he didn’t look at me. I went then to the lab, hoping he’d show up. But he didn’t. He came to lunch, but because there were only six or seven students in the castle, we didn’t eat in the hall, but in the dining room behind. Albus sat on the other end of the table, talking all time to the people around him. He once again didn’t look at me. He let me simmer all day before he came to the lab shortly before dinner time and already in his travelling cloak. He told me he’d be away - whatever this means - for the next days and he’d drop me a note when he’d be back. Then he wished me ‘merry Christmas’ and gave me a gift. I thanked, wished ‘Merry Christmas’ to him too - and then he was already gone.”

“And what did he give you for Christmas?” Ginny had asked curiously.

“I don’t know. I didn’t open the gift. I laid it on the desk.”
“You didn’t open it?” Ginny had looked at her unbelievingly. “I’d burst in curiosity!”

Hermione had sighed. “It feels like a book, but considered the mood Albus was in, it’s probably one about ‘wizard’s etiquette’ or a leather bound copy of the Hogwarts rules with a personal dedication ‘To my dearrentrentice who should learn this by heart. Merry Christmas - Albus Ice Cube Dumbledore’.”

“Oh my, Hermione!” Ginny had taken her in the arms. “Getting on the wrong side of Dumbledore certainly isn’t a picnic!”

In her friend’s embrace Hermione had found at least a little comfort, but the next morning Ginny had looked awkwardly at her over the breakfast table. “You know I love to have you and I’d love to spend a lot of time with you. But I have to go away for a few days …”

“Oh.” Hermione had swallowed. “I didn’t want to bother you. I’ll go back to Hogwarts.”

“Nonsense.” Ginny had shaken her head. “You need a few days off. And I need some one to water my plants and …,” she’d blushed. “Hermione, I don’t want my family to know that I’m gone. With you here … I mean … if some one would floo for me … could you just say something about me being away for the day by doing research for an article? I’d floo you then in the evenings and you could tell me …”

“I take it you’ll be with a man?” Hermione had asked with a little smile, but very puzzled about Ginny being so secretive.

Ginny had nodded and a tear had rolled down her cheek. “Yes, Hermione - I’m going to be with a man. I’m in love, Hermione - totally and hopelessly. I know we don’t have the slightest chance of a ‘happily ever after’, I know that my father would drop dead if he’d learn about and what my mother would do, I don’t want to imagine. And my brothers would kill him …”

“Huh!” Hermione had said. “Did you get yourself a vampire for a lover?”

Ginny had sighed. “Don’t ask, Hermione. It will be over soon; therefore I don’t need to shock you with telling. But I can assure you: Junior Merlin Award Winner Doctor Hermione Granger getting caught by banging her master would make less of a scandal than the minister’s daughter found out with this man. But I can’t help it, Hermione. I love him as I’ve never loved some one before. I know it can’t last - but the little time we have together I want to enjoy too the fullest.”

This time it had been Hermione who’d embraced Ginny. “I’ll cover you, Ginny. Just go and be with your love. And give him my regards. Who ever he is - a man who’s able to make you feel like that mustspecspecial. And if he loves you back as you deserve it, I hope I’ll get a chance to welcome him one day as a friend.”

“Hermione, you’re the best!” Ginny had hugged her closely. Then she’d suddenly giggled. “My, my - if Harry and Ron would know about our choice in men, they’d get us a padded cell at St. Mungos before we’d get a chance to hex them.”

“For snogging Ollivander I’d deserve it,” Hermione had sighed.

Ginny had raised an eyebrow. “Hermione! Don’t try to fool me. I wasn’t talking about Ollivander. You’re in love with Hogwarts resident Othello! You’ve fallen for Albus Dumbledore, Hermione and for the performance he did I can find only one explanation: He wasn’t only bitten, but chewed through by the green eyed monstallealled ‘jealousy’.”


Coming back to Ginny’s empty flat now and seating down in front of the fireplace - it was only a few minutes to six, the time Ginny would floo - Hermione had to admit: As far as her feelings were concerned, the clever redhead had been right. Always honest against herself, Hermione couldn’t deny it any longer: She was in love with Albus. She’d fallen for her master - entirely and deeply. She didn’t kwhenwhen and how it had happened, but now she was sure: It was not only his brilliant mind she was fascinated with. It was the entire man from silver hair tips to eccentric stocked toes she longed to be with. His azure blue eyes, the crooked nose, the always a bit raw lips, the long, energetic chin, the strong shoulders - and heavens, how could she have been such an idiot? Her dream lover, the man who’d been so familiar - she’d thought the freckles on his shoulders, knowing that he were a redhead. How could she have forgotten, that Albus’ hair had once been auburn? She’d seen pictures from him in younger years - Minerva had once brought her album in the staff room. Hermione still meant to hear Dee Sprout and Rolanda Hooch, looking at a picture from a younger Albus, stating that he’d been “dead sexy” with his auburn mane and the short, auburn beard.

Hermione didn’t mourn over his youth gone. .She actually found that he even looked more attractive now in his ripe age. She’d by now had opportunities enough to watch his face intensely and she’d used them, every time again becoming fascinated again by the stark contrasts in it. There were the deep wrinkles on his broad forehead - he was a man who was used to deep thinking and concentrating, a man to be taken serious, a wise man. But the net of fine wrinkles around his eyes told about a man who liked to smile and to laugh, a cheerful man who didn’t feel too old and too dignified to play or even to set up a colleague with a little prank. The contrast to this wrinkles were the deep carved folds in his cheek, on the one side connected to the scar he’d got in the final battle. This wrinkles were telling about sleepless night, sorrows and pains he’d suffered and looking at them, Hermione had sometimes wished to touch his cheek and to - no, not to stroke the wrinkles away, but to make him smile because then the wrinkles became smoothed by the dimples which appeared around his generous mouth.

But the most fascinating feature in his face certainly was his eyes. They showed aliveness and aountount of energy Hermione found sometimes overwhelming. And the famous - or as Severus Snape named it - “notorious Dumbledore trademark twinkle” - Hermione loved it. It made Albus look like a cheeky boy. She was sure: As long as he would twinkle, he would never look really old.

Only that he didn’t twinkle at her anymore. She’d lost him - just a few days before she’d become aware how much he really meant to her. And even if Ginny had been right about Albus being jealous - Hermione knew for sure: As long as she was his apprentice she’d rather get a change to become friend with the potion master than to come close - as close as she longed for - to Albus. He would never ever lay a hand on her. And trying to seduce him was absolutely no option either. Hermione knew that he wouldn’t give in - even if Ginny was right and he wanted her too. Despite his image as a womanizer: Hermione was close enough to him for knowing that he didn’t let himself be ruled by lust. He’d proven more then once his iron willpower, he’d proven through all his life that he was a honourable man - and this was one of the reasons Hermione loved him. But it also meant that her love was hopeless - at least as long as she was his apprentice. She would have to hide her feelings and fight her longing.

Yet Hermione being Hermione she came to a decision: On the day her apprentice ship ended, she would try - and how! - to seduce him and she wouldn’t care a single damn about what her friends would say and about how scandalous the rest of the wizard’s world find it and that her parents probably would provide her with the address of a good therapist to get her over what her mother certainly would call a “father complex”.

Hermione knew himself that falling in love with a man who was so much older then her didn’t count as “normal”. But being a witch and having to fight for her life at the age of 17 hadn’t been “normal eit either and besides: The man she was in love with wasn’t a “normal” man. He was Albus Dumbledore and no one who’d ever come close to him could take him for an average man and wizard. Being with him - and if she’d only succeed to get him for one, glorious night - would be worth to wait and to fight. He was what she’d waited for all her life and even if she couldn’t get him for good - she would get as much from him as she could.


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

It was even harder than she’d thought. After a peaceful week in Ginny’s flat Hermione had come back to Hogwarts, determined to use the break for working on her research and on the speech she’d have to hold at the award ceremony in a few days.

Apparating at the gate her first gaze had been directed to the top of the main tower. During the last days she’d always told herself, that Albus’ anger at her by now certainly would have cool off and that working together undisturbed by school business would help to come over the tension, but now, looking up at the tower she felt a sharp pang of disappointment: The flag showed green. Albus wasn’t there and Minerva was neither - she’d as every year gone to Scotland with her husband. That meant that potion master Severus Snape was the highest authority in the castle and that Hermione had to see him to announce her return.

Sighing deeply, she trudged through the frozen snow up to the castle. It seemed to have lost something from its glamour now that she knew that Albus wasn’t there. Despite their cold farewell she’d looked forward to seeing him again. But on the other hand: Perhaps it was better this way. Him still being away meant that she would get a chance to remove her unpacked Christmas gift from the desk. It had been rude to let it lay there, showing him that she hadn’t cared about it. Empathic as he was he would understand that if he’d seen the unwrapped gift - and this surely wouldn’t have been a good start for making up with him.

Yet Hermione couldn’t help wondering where he was. He hadn’t mentioned any plans for Christmas. So where had he gone? To his mansion? Hermione actually couldn’t imagine that always gregarious Albus would have wanted to spend Christmas alone in his home, glorious as it was. If he was there, he probably wasn’t alone. And thinking of that led Hermione inevitable to the beautiful Italian witch who had been with him at the ball. He’d named her “an old friend”, but Minerva and Severus Snape had made clear that she was more and the way they’d danced together had shown that their relationship was in fact close and certainly not platonic. And Professor Francesca de Santis-Valerio had spent the night after the ball at the castle - and probably not at the guest room in Albus’ flat, but in his bed.

Was she now with him too? And if so: How serious was it? Francesco de Santis-Valerio was another format as Aurelia Willington, so much was sure. If Albus had renewed his relationship with her then it could easily mean that it was to become very serious. And as much as Hermione admired the beautiful potion mistress: The thought of Albus loving her made Hermione’s heart ache. It was bad enough that she couldn’t act her love, but to know that he lay in the arms of another would have made it unbearable.

The entrance hall and the corridor which led to the dungeons were deserted. Even the ghosts seemed to have taken leave for the break and Hermione, hearing only her heels clicking on the stone floor by walking to Snape’s office, suddenly felt an odd sense of forbidding. It made her stop and look around. But there was nobody - not even the care taker’s ugly cat. Scolding herself for behaving silly, Hermione knocked at the dark door with the sign: “Office - Professor S. Snape, P.M.”

Only a few seconds later the door was opened by the potion master who just slipped in his black robe. Beneath he wore the usual attire: Black frockcoat with high collar, black trousers, and black boots. His disapproving sneer was as usual too, but stepping aside and snarling: “Come in, Doctor Granger” wasn’t. Hermione had intended to say something like “I’m back”, to receive a grunt for an answer and to disappear then to her chambers.

By entering the office she was already sure for one thing: Snape hadn’t asked her in for inquiring nicely how she’d spent the holidays. Sitting himself down on the chair behind his desk, he offered Hermione with an impatient wave of his hand the chair opposite, but didn’t want until she was settled, but said: “You missed the headmaster, Doctor Granger. He left this morning for Germany. Before he went he ordered me to proceed with your lemensmens and occlumency training as soon as you’re back.”

“What?” Hermione starred at him. She remembered how Harry had suffered through the occlumency lessons with Snape in his fifth year, how absolutely devastated and groggy he’d looked every time when he’d come back from the dungeons. Having Snape in one’s mind - Hermione shuddered by thinking of it. It was as if her worst night mare would have come true! She couldn’t stop herself - she burst out: “You can’t be serious!”

Snape’s black eyes looked almost amused. “This I’ve told the headmaster too. Yet he was serious about. To quote him: ‘It’s time to toughen the girl up’. Training only with him won’t get you the practise and experience you would need if a hostile legilimens would try to enter your mind - though I wonder for what one would look there …”

Hermione was already fuming. She felt an urge to hex first Snape and then - no, she wouldn’t want to hex Albus. She rather longed to get at him with bare hands. Breaking his nose again, provide him with another black eye, throttle him slowly until he was blue in the face - wouldn’t that be nice? How could he have done this to her? He knew that she couldn’t stand Snape and that he was the last person on earth she wanted to haloselose to her. And Albus knew too that her mental shields still weren’t really strong. Snape would probably get through them like a knife through butter. And then he’d learn that she was in love with her master and even worse: He’d find the memories of the fantasies she’d developed about seducing Albus.

Hermione suddenly felt sick. She couldn’t imagine how Snape would react, but she was sure: He would show neither tact nor mercy. He would probably not tell only Albus, but the rest of the world too - and in a way which would make her look as debauched and bad as possible.

“No.” She rose. “No, Professor Snape. I won’t let you in my mind,” she screamed, fighting against panic.

Amazingly Snape neither sneered nor yelled back. Sounding almost understanding, he said: “I’m not interested in your mind, Doctor Granger. But we have to obey the headmaster’s order.”

“No!” Hermione balled her fists. “He can’t order me to open my mind to you.”

“Actually he could,” Snape answered coldly. “You’re his apprentice; you’re bond to obey him. If he orders you, you have to follow - so simple. But if you’d use your oh-so-precious mind for thinking, you’d find that he didn’t order you to open it. Just the opposite: Hets yts you to learn closing it at last.”

“But you know as good as I do that occlumency training with a master means that he breaks through the shields!” Hermione yelled. “And I will not have you in my mind.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a good position for a start?” he asked sarcastic. “The headmaster thinks you’re not trying hard enough to block him. With me you’ll try with all your might, what will give you a chance to learn occlumency at last.”

Hermione trembled. “And if I refuse?” she asked.

Snape leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. “That wouldn’t be for me to decide. But if I were in your shoes I’d think twice about. After your little encounter with Mister Ollivander I wouldn’t find it wise to try the headmaster’s patience so soon again. He’s always willing to give people a second chance, but I actually wouldn’t bet on him giving you a third …”

Hermione closed for a moment her eyes and breathed deeply. She couldn’t think clearly, the shock sat too deep.

Snape seemed to take her silence as consent. Rising up, he said: “I’ll have a potion to supervise. We’ll set up tomorrow at eight o’ clock here.” He turned to the door of his lab: “You’ll find your way out, I trust?”


Hermione was almost proud of herself that she’d managed to arrive in her chambers before she broke down sobbing. She’d always known that Albus’ personality had a lot of facets, but she hadn’t thought him able to be cruel. But setting her up with Snape - was this the punishment he’d thought she’d deserve for her mistake?

It hurt deeply to think about. It made for an ache too painful to bear and for crying as if she could never stop again. She felt as if her world had been shattered - and actually: Didn’t it lay in pieces around her? Albus - the man she would have trusted with her life gave her over to Snape.

She hadn’t an idea how to get herself out of the situation. Going down to the dungeons tomorrow would lead to total humiliation and probably to the ruin of her reputation and her career. Not going down would probably led to Albus sacking her for disobedience - and then her career and life would be ruined too. No other master would take her up, no university would offer her a job and probably she even wouldn’t get the promised award then. And there was no one who could help her out of this situation. Or was there?

Looking at the fireplace, she rose up. Ginny - she would talk to Ginny. Even if her girlfriend wouldn’t know how to solve the problem - she was an amazingly clever witch and together with her Hermione would perhaps find a way to get herself out of this disaster.

Throwing a handful of floo powder into the flames, Hermione went down in front of the fire place and putting her head in the now green flames, she called: “Ginevra Weasley’s flat.” The fire crackled and for a minute Hermione feared, Ginny wouldn’t be at home, but then the face of the pretty redhead appeared.

“Hermione - what’s the matter with you?” Ginny had obviously immediately seen how pale and miserable Hermione looked.

“Ginny, I’m doomed - and I need your help. I don’t know what to do …”

“What happened?” Ginny asked.

Hermione told her story, fighting against tears again. “I don’t have the slightest clue how to get myself out of this …” she finished.

“Oh f ….. ine!” Ginny closed her eyes. “Let me for a moment think about …”

Hermione heard a whisper in Ginny’s back, and then Ginny turned her head, obviously listening to some one behind her. For a few seconds she looked very serious, a wrinkle between her brows, then she nodded and directed her eyes at Hermione again. “Could you come over? Perhaps we’ll find a solution together.”

“Oh Ginny!” Hermione tried a smile. “You can’t imagine how grateful I’d be for that!”

“Hermione …” Ginny seemed for a moment to hesitate. “Do you remember what you said before I went away the other week? About the man I was with?”

“Yes, of course I do,” Hermione answered.

“You said you’d welcome him as a friend. I don’t expect you to really do that. But promise me you will think of what you’ve said.”

“Of course I do,” Hermione answered. “Give me half one hour and I’ll be there.”


Ginny looked serious and almost grave as she opened the door of her flat for Hermione. Taking her friend’s cloak and hanging it up, she quietly said: “One promise more, Hermione: You won’t tell anybody who you met here. And however you feel about him: He offered to help you. I didn’t ask or beg him. It was him who said he’d try.”

Hermione nodded. “I promise.” She felt more and more puzzled - who, for the world, was Ginny’s lover?

Entering the living room, now more then only curious about the man, Hermione thought for a moment the world would have stopped to move. The man who stood - with his back to the door - at the window … for a moment she only saw the silken silver mane flooding down over a dark blue velvet robe. Her heart stopped, her lips working on their own accord, formed the name: “Albus!”

But then realisation dawned: The man at the window - his hair was slightly longer then Albus’ and it was finer. Where Albus’ hair fell in thick strands this man’s was like a wave of fine silk. And he wasn’t as tall as Albus and his shoulders, although unmistakeably manly, weren’t as broad as Albus.

“I’d never thought I’d become mixed up with Albus Dumbledore once,” the man turned around, looking out of amused grey eyes. “But considered your relationship with the hero of our world I take it as a compliment.”

Hermione couldn’t answer. Sinking on the sofa, she had to struggle for closing her jaw and to breathe. She’d thought Ginny’s behaviour would have prepared her for every thinkable surprise, but this - this hadn’t been thinkable! This counted under “Who ever wrote the script for movie I’m in - he certainly shouldn’t smoke this stuff again!” But obviously her script writer had got a heavy dose of the stuff, then now Ginny was next to the man Hermione was still starring at unbelievingly and she lad her hand on his shoulder and said firmly: “Don’t forget: I love him.”

Hermione swallowed and looked at the couple in front of her again. He’d taken Ginny’s hand now and kissed it gently. “I love Ginevra too, Doctor Granger.”

The way he said the name - Hermione never would have thought the voice she remembered as icy, arrogant and cruel could sound so soft and gentle.

“I thought you were dead or …” Hermione stammered.

“… In Azkaban,” he finished for her, almost conversationally. Sitting down on the chair opposite to Hermione, pulling Ginny on the wing, he proceeded: “Complaints concerning my survival are to be directed at Albus Dumbledore. He made Ginevra’s father ‘forget’ about hunting me down.” Smiling lopsided he added: “Although I don’t think Albus Dumbledore’s influence would have been enough if the minister would have reckoned that I’d seduce his only daughter once. He’d probably kill me single-handed for that.”

Hermione still could only stare at him. Lucius Malfoy, once considered the wealthiest wizard in England, descendant of one of the eldest and noblest pureblood families, incorporation of the arrogant aristocrat and known death eater, right hand of the dark lord, father of Hermione’s arch enemy Draco - the same Draco she had killed in the final battle - sitting in front of her and holding her best friends hand - this couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be real. She probably had cracked under the distress. Her imagination was running wild, she was gone mad.

Slowly she said: “I killed your son …”

Lucius Malfoy nodded and for a moment something glittered in his eyes. But his voice was calm as he answered: “I know. He didn’t left you another chance.”

“He was a death eater,” Hermione whispered. “And so were you!”

This time it was Ginny who answered: “Lucius changed sides. A few months before the final battle he became the headmaster’s spy. Without him the order wouldn’t have stood a chance. It was Lucius who told Dumbledore about when and how Voldemort would attack Hogwarts.”

Hermione looked at the wizard with the grey eyes. She remembered how she’d seen him first time. It had been in her second year at Hogwarts as she and her friends had met Lucius and his son in a bookshop in Diagon Alley. He’d looked incredibly arrogant and - Hermione couldn’t deny it - handsome. The arrogance had gone as the platinum blonde hair and the sneer he’d worn then. He looked now like some one who’d made a trip to hell and back more then once and hadn’t he been for a few weeks in Azkaban? That he’d managed to keep his sanity there showed that he was a stronger man than Hermione had thought once.

Yet the sharp lines around his eyes and the mouth showed something else too: The proud spirit which had once made Lucius Malfoy had been broken. Lucius Malfoy had tasted the bitterness of defeat and humiliation. The grey hair, the sadness in his eyes, the lines in his face made him look now vulnerable - and Hermione suddenly meant to understand Ginny at least a bit: The after war Lucius, this quieter version was an attractive man. He even looked like some one who was worth getting a second chance.

Nevertheless - Hermione was a very curious person. “How did you come to change sides?” she asked.

For a moment Lucius’ sneer was back. “Dumbledore,” he simply said. “He visited me in Azkaban - and he gave me a lot to think about. He made me aware that it had been my choice which had led to my fall. I’d once joined the dark lord for greatness - not only my greatness, but in the believe that he would give our world some glamour and greatness back. Dumbledore made clear, that Voldemort had only brought enslavement, blood, dirt and sweat.”

Hermione could hear that he’d spoken about that before. He sounded almost a bit bored and in the way he said Albus’ name - love and affection he still hadn’t developed for the headmaster.

Lucius was still speaking: “After I was released from Azkaban - knowing that Dumbledore had used his influence for getting me out earlier - I went to him and offered him my services as a spy. He was in urgent of one after Draco had blown Snape’s cover. umblumbledore and I made a deal: I’d provide him with information and he’d protect my wife.”

“Your wife?” Hermione didn’t understand. The icy blond beauty Narcissa Malfoy lived - as every reader of the “Daily Prophet” know from the society pages - in a posh flat in London, acting the society queen. Her husband was never mentioned and most people thought her a widow or divorced.

“Noblesse obliged,” Lucius said, sounding bitter. “We didn’t marry for love, we were never a happy couple, we actually couldn’t stand each other, but she was Lady Malfoy and I had promised to protect her. I couldn’t, so I asked Dumbledore.”

“You don’t like him much either,” Hermione stated, keeping her voice as neutral as possible.

“I owe him my life and the little what’s left from my honour and dignity,” Lucius answered. “But you’re right - I’m not one of his admirers. I know he’s a great wizard, I know he saved our world, but I was one of his paws and I saw behind his benign face. I knew all too well that he would sacrifice me without thinking twice for the greater good and though I also know that one can’t win a war without any sacrifices - I had been on the dark side long enough. I knew the signs and I saw that Dumbledore was often close to breaking point. The pragmatism he’d developed bordered on opportunism and his desperation made him prone for falling himself. While other people saw him always as the keeper of the light and the knight in shining armour, I saw the dark spots on his armour.”

Despite her anger about Albus Hermione felt a need to defend him? “He’s human,” she said. “And as you said: One can’t win a war without scarifying something.”

“You’re right, Doctor Granger,” Lucius answered with a little smile. “And in a way I admire Dumbledore for throwing himself and his ethic and high moral in the battle. He was willing to dirty his hands. But as some one who had to help him with his dirty deeds and as some one who sometimes couldn’t see too great a difference between the way Dumbledore manipulated people and the way the dark lord did, I couldn’t come to love him much.” He smiled up at Ginny who still sat on the wing of his chair, thoughtfully playing with his hair. “But Ginevra is working on that. She keeps telling me that I’m an arrogant Slytherin bastard and should finally overcome my old grudge against Dumbledore.”

Ginny smiled at Hermione too, her eyes bng fng for acceptance. “Lucius lives in France on his ry nry now. I met him there as I researched for an article …”

“And she made the mistake of falling in love with me,” Lucius let his head sink against Ginny’s side. “I’ve warned her, but she’s incredibly stubborn.”

Ginny blew a kiss on his hair. “It seems that Hermione and I have a rather peculiar taste in men.”

“Oh yes!” Now Lucius grinned, suddenly looking younger and even more handsome. “But I must say I like it - not only Ginevra’s taste, but the idea of the great Dumbledore defeated by a woman.”

“What leads us directly to Hermione’s problem,” Ginny said matter-of-factly.

Hermione swallowed - she’d almost forgotten about it in the last minutes. But looking again at Lucius, she said: “Do you know how I can protect myself against Snape messing around in my mind? Except of using occlumency, that is?”

Lucius breathed deeply. “If you think of dark magic: Forget about it,” he answered. “Even if there were something you could learn in a few hours - you couldn’t use it with Snape. He smells dark magic as a niffler smells gold. And besides him: Dumbledore would notice too.”

Hermione sighed - half in resignation, half in relief. The idea of using dark magic hadn’t appealed to her. “Any other ideas?” she asked rather hopeless.

“Yes.” Lucius smiled. “The situation isn’t as bad as you think, Doctor Granger.”

Ginny rose up. “You tell Hermione and I’ll get us tea,” she said. “And by the way: Doctor Granger sounds odd, don’t you think?”

Hermione actually found it even odder that the man who’d named her “mudblood” once should now call her with her given name. But she nodded: “If you’d like …” she said hesitantly.

Lucius smiled again. “Hermione …” he managed the name without a slip. “Under given circumstances I don’t think we’d come around. As I mentioned: Ginevra can be very stubborn.”

“Yes, Lucius.” It sounded and it felt odd.

“Good girl!” Leaning back and crossing his long legs under the robe, Lucius became serious again. “Back to your problem, Hermione. The first thing you have to consider: We’re talking about Severus Snape who certainly isn’t a nice, but an honourable man. Apart from knowing that Dumbledore would skin him alive if he’d use something he’d learned during occlumency training against you he knows the rules himself. Reading minds and talking about it is considered even worse style than kissing and telling. So I think your secret would be safe with him - except of one person: Dumbledore. Severus is fiercely loyal against him. If he’d think that your feelings could be a threat for Dumbledore, he would certainly tell him.”

“And then I’d be doomed,” Hermione said gloomy.

Lucius nodded. “Getting the ‘I like you, I like you very much, but not in this way’ speech doesn’t go well with one’s pride, does it?” he asked understandingly.

Hermione couldn’t resist. “Did you ever get it?” she asked curiously.

Lucius laughed. “But of course!” Becoming serious again he proceeded. “And what was even worse for my pride: I got it from a muggleborn witch. I felt so hurt by it that I went and married Narcissa though I actually never liked her. But back to your problem: To prevent Severus from learningR’ve actually got two opportunities - a pensieve and occlumency.”

Hermione nodded, feeling numb by it. “I know. I could store my memories and thought about …,” she couldn’t get herself to speak out the name loudly, “… my secret in a pensieve re Ire I’d be save. Unfortunately I don’t have one.”

“And you can’t get one until tomorrow,” Lucius said. “We both know that pensieves are very rare, very much in demand and therefore hellish expansive. Even I don’t own one anymore. So forget about the pensieve and let’s come to your other chance: Occlumency.”

Hermione laughed bitterly. “And here we go again: If I’d be any good in it, I wouldn’t have to worry.”

“Considered how powerful a witch you are, I can’t imagine you’re not able to become a good occlumens,” Lucius said.

“Perhaps - but I don’t think I’ll manage until tomorrow.” Hermione felt once again how her eyes burned with tears.

“Hermione, I neither think you could manage to strengthen your blocks until tomorrow. But I don’t think you’ll need to block Severus entirely. There’s a trick Dumbledore probably didn’t teach you because it only works when you know the legilimens and he isn’t trying to read your entire mind. It needs some concentration and preparation, but I think you can learn it until tomorrow.”

“Really?” Hermione felt new hope. “What will I have to do?”

Lucius bent a bit forward. “You’ll have to hide certain memories and thoughts.”

“That’s blocking,” Hermione sighed. “And I’m not good at it.”

Lucius shook his head. “Blocking means you build a wall around certain parts of your mind -all all strong enough to keep the attacking legilimens away. What I mean isn’t blocking, but tricking the legilimens not to look too close to certain parts of your mind.” He seemed to think a moment, and then he smiled a bit wearily at her. “I think a demonstration would make it clear.”

Hermione was amazed. “You’d give me permission to enter your mind?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Thrusting you won’t dig around - and thrusting my abilities in occlumency, of course.” The last he said with a little grin.

“I certainly won’t mess around in your head, I promise,” Hermione gave back.

“Then get your wand out and let’s do it,” Lucius ordered her.

Hermione felt very nervous as she pulled her wand out of her sleeve. The only mind she’d entered before had been Albus’. The thought of now slipping a former death eater’s consciousness didn’t in the least appeal to her. But the thought of Severus Snape finding out about her love for Albus was even more dreadful and so hesitantly she directed her gaze at Lucius Malfoy’s grey eyes, raised her wand and whispered: “Legilimens!”

His mind wasn’t as bright and warm as Albus’. Instead of feeling surrounded by light she found herself in a dim, grey mist and almost shuddered. But then she discovered huge walls around herself. It was as if she’d stay in front of a fortress, protected by impenetrable walls of dark granite. She knew that she could come through, but for doing so she would need all her power and she probably would hurt him. Yet now she saw a light and followed it. He’d opened the walls for her, letting her in something what looked like a meadow in front of a dark, forbidding forest. On the meadow a grey mare and a chestnut filly ran around and she saw people walking in little groups, talking with each other. Hermione looked around - the forest, forbidding as it was, seemed to call for her. Slowly she started to walk in its direction until she reached the shadow of the trees. But then - Hermione’s breath stocked - she saw them: Death eaters in their black costumes, the silver masks glittering dangerously. They gathered only a few steps away from her. She saw black hoods and heard a harsh, cruel laughter and then a high-pitched, cold voice.

Hermione couldn’t understand what the voice was saying, but recognized it at once. It belonged to Voldemort. Although she knew he was dead and gone and would never come back, she shuddered. She certainly didn’t want to see Lucius Malfoy’s memories of his time as a death eater. Backing away, she tried to flee on the other side of the meadow.

A thought of Lucius stopped her. “Go to the death eaters!” he ordered her, sounding almost amused.

Hesitantly Hermione moved to the death eaters. She felt chilly the closer she came to them. But they didn’t look at her and so she slipped through the crowd and entered the forest - and found herself not in a dark wood, but in a bright bedchamber with a huge bed where Ginny laid, clothed only in a very flimsy nighty, her long red hair flooding ovhe phe pillows. She looked breath taking lovely. And there was something more in the room, some almost tangible feelings: Tenderness, admiration, love, desire.

Hermione broke the connection. She didn’t want to invade Lucius’ privacy more than she’d already done. Yet she was glad he’d shown her this image. She knew: In the mind no one could lie. What she’d seen and felt was how he saw Ginny and how he felt for her - and for a tiny moment she almost envied her friend for being so beloved and adored.

She couldn’t help smiling at Ginny who just came in with a tea try. And this smile said that she understood now.

Lucius rose and took the tray, touching Ginny’s arm gently by it. Putting the cups on the table, he looked at Hermione. “Do you unders wha what I wanted to show you?”

“Yes …” Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. “I only wonder what I could use to keep Snape away from theorieories I don’t want to share with him. I think my memories of Voldemort wouldn’t shock him.”

Ginny poured tea and sat down. “Certainly not. Snape has seen more horror than we can and want to imagine.”

Lucius held his tea cup in both his hands, looking thoughtfully in the steaming liquid. “Let’s think about what he probably wouldn’t want to see …”

“The golden trio!” Ginny cried. “He never could stand Harry and Ron! If Hermione shoves her memories of her time with them in front of the other thoughts, Snape probably wouldn’t come close …”

“Hmm …” Lucius looked sceptically. “I wouldn’t bet on that. Severus may be curious.” He sipped at his tea, and then he put the cup down at the table. “I know something he certainly doesn’t want seeing - the question is only if you want to show him …”

“What is it?” asked Hermione eagerly.

Lucius took Ginny’s hand, but looked in Hermione’s eyes. “Did you ever sleep with Dumbledore?”

“Uuh?” Hermione looked a bit shocked at him.

“Let’s ask the question in another way: Are your memories of love making connected with Dumbledore?” Lucius tried again.

Hermione shook her head. “Certainly not. He never touched me in that way.”

Ginny giggled. “But he will!”

“At the moment it’s good he didn’t already,” Lucius stated. “It means that you can hide your thoughts of Dumbledore behind a few juicy memories. Severus certainly won’t look too closely at them. He’s kind of prudish …”

“Huh …” Hermione sighed. “I’m actually not too keen to show these memories to him, but I won’t have many other choices, will I?”

Ginny grinned: “Your master would say: What can’t be cured must be endured. But …,” she stopped and looked at Lucius. “Darling, I think I have another idea. There’s something Snape probably even less wants to see than Hermione making love …”

“What do you think of?” Hermione asked.

Ginny beamed. “Children!” she almost cried. “Snape can’t stand children - especially small children he detests. My mother - you know how she is - tried once to invite him to her birthday, telling him he’d certainly enjoy being with all our family. You should have seen his face! He looked as if he’d rather go to tea with a basilisk!”

Lucius laughed. “He probably would.” Kissing Ginny’s cheek, he said: “You’re a genius, Ginevra. A herd of children certainly is something Severus doesn’t want to come close to.”

Hermione wrinkled her forehead. “Only I don’t know much small children. I remember my little sister but I always found she was a brat.”

“You know my nieces and nephews,” Ginny said. “And we can freshen up your memory on them - I’ve got an album full of pictures.” She was already on her feet, running over to her book shelves from which she took a leather bound album.

Lucius took a cookie and grinned at Hermione. “Considered the Weasleys are mostly redheads you can by looking at the brood think about the children Dumbledore could provide you with.”

“And you don’t think this would get Snape certain ideas?” Hermione asked.

“A dozen of vivid redheads - that’s an image to drive Severus so quick away he even won’t look closer what kind of redheads this are,” Lucius assured her.

Ginny was back at the table, laying the album in Hermione’s lap. “And here we go: The famous Weasley redhead collection. You will admit: The prettiest in the lot are Bill’s girls - what proves: One needs a Gryffindor and a Slytherin to make real nice redheads.”


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

It was already dark when Hermione came back to Hogwarts. She couldn’t recognize the flag on the main tower, but she saw that there wasn’t a light in the entire building. Albus wasn’t there - and Hermione was not unhappy about it. Although she felt much better now - the day had drained her and so she was glad she wouldn’t have to deal with Albus. Her feelings about him were not only mixed, but reaching through the entire scale from loving and longing - and oh, how much she longed to be with him again! - Over feeling hurt and disappointed to anger and rage. And this mixture made for a rather explosive cocktail. She wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t master to show him a calm façade just now and therefore it was better she wouldn’t met him.

She would - as Lucius had suggested - distract herself with a book before sleep - a heavy one, one she would have to concentrate on. Therefore she was now on her way to the lab where she certainly would find a suiting tome. Besides: She still had to get her Christmas gift. Perhaps she had for once luck and Albus hadn’t been in the lab yet.

Slipping in and commanding the light on, she knew immediately: He had been there. He had seen the unwrapped gift. He’d even moved it because it didn’t lie in the middle of the desk anymore. It was on a pile of other books now, next to her laptop. Albus had put it there as he’d made room for the pensieve which stood now in the middle of the desk.


to be continued …