The Comedy of Errors

The Comedy of Errors

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

Chapter 9: A day in the life of a headmaster


With a groan Albus stretched his arm and let his hand fall upon the spindly silver instrument on the nightstand. Its ringing died away, but Albus couldn’t enjoy the silence long because right at that moment the little door in the clock on the wall opened. A tiny woman, clothed in a robe with a funny hat, decorated with red woollen balls, marched out of it, cleared her throat and shouted with forced cheerfulness, “Guten Morgen, guten Morgen! It’s six o’clock, ze sun is shining and ze entire world with all its glory is waiting only for you!”

Albus raised his head and looked at the window. Rain was running down the glass, and through the streaks of water Albus could make out a grey, clouded sky. Rolling on his back, he looked at the clock where the little woman still stood, hands on her hips. “The sun’s shining - my foot!” Albus grumbled.

The woman at the clock pursed her lips. “I only tried to brighten your mood!” she shot back with a heavy German accent, sounding insulted. “But you obviously like starting ze day with nagging at me! You know what? You should get yourself a wife! She would tell you how to behave towards a lady!” Gliding back into her clock, she closed the door with a furious clunk.

Albus sighed and looked down at himself. He’d been having such a wonderful dream when the first clock had awakened him! In the dream he’d been making love to Minerva again. She’d straddled him and he’d played with her breasts and it had felt glorious. But now he didn’t feel good anymore. The dream had made his usual morning erection so hard that it ached. But what was even worse was the prickling in his left leg. The rainy weather had not only caused the scars on his thigh and over his knee to hurt, but had given him rheumatics too. His knee was swollen, and in matters of stiffness was competing with his member. Unfortunately the knee won, which made the few steps to the bathroom seem like a long march.

Standing up and putting weight on his leg hurt so much that Albus had to bite his bottom lip to suppress a moan. As much as he hated it, he would have to start the day with a painkilling potion. Bracing himself with one hand against a bedpost, Albus used his free hand to summon a vial out of the cabinet in the bathroom. Opening the little bottle and sniffing at it, he made a face. Severus Snape’s potions were without doubt very effective, but sometimes Albus thought that his potion master enjoyed creating an especially vile taste. Gulping the yellow liquid down, Albus shuddered and looked longingly over at the perch where Fawkes normally spent the night. A phoenix tear would have made the ache go away too, but Fawkes wasn’t there. He’d disappeared three days ago and Albus hadn’t seen him since. He supposed that his old friend was just playing lovebird with another phoenix down in Cornwall, and as glad as he was that at least Fawkes was having luck with his lady - he felt almost a bit left out and jealous. Besides, as lousy as he felt, he really needed the phoenix.

But now at last the potion’s effect had kicked in. Albus breathed deeply and tried again to put his weight on the leg. It still wasn’t a pleasure, but the pain was bearable now, so he limped to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror there made him snort again. Although he’d lost a bit of weight in the last few weeks, he still found his belly too fat, his legs too thin, his skin too wrinkled and over all - a naked old man with a potbelly and an erection was a rather hilarious sight. For the 250th time he told himself that he shouldn’t eat as many sweets and do some exercises now and then.

Yet he’d never liked sports much. In his young years he’d played quidditch, like almost every child in the magical world, but it had soon become clear that flying a broomstick wasn’t something Albus had talent for. On the contrary, he’d been so clumsy that his flying instructor had always announced that he would go “to practise cushioning and tree repairing charms” when he had to teach Albus’ class. But at least the flying instructor had given Albus helpful advice. After an especially bad lesson he’d picked young Albus and his broken broomstick out of a tree and, setting him down on the ground, said, “I’ve heard you are exceptionally talented in transfiguration, Mister Dumbledore. You could possibly become the first bird animagus in 500 years. Spreading wings will probably be the only chance you’ll ever have to make it through your flying test!”

Four years later Albus had, in fact, become an animagus - and his father, who’d trained him, had almost broken down in laughter when he saw his son sprouting feathers. Knowing his fear of heights and his clumsiness on a broomstick, he’d announced the development to his wife with a cheerful, “Rhianon, prepare some ice! Your Albiedoo is going to become a penguin!”

After a lot of teasing, and Albus himself believing that he would become a bird that was unable to fly, he’d been relieved when he found out that his form was a phoenix. His father had been delighted; even his always critical mother had been in awe of the beauty of her son’s animagus form. Yet Albus himself, though loving the red and golden plumage, hadn’t been too happy about it. Of course, a phoenix’s eyesight, his sense of smell, the healing powers of his tears, and the ability to apparate in a flame even in anti-apparition warded zones was great. But Albus didn’t like flying much, and the idea of becoming the first ever always walking phoenix didn’t appeal to him either.

So he tried using his phoenix wings, but the first attempts had been as dreadful as his flying lessons on a broomstick. He’d fallen from every tree in the park at home and his father’s idea that he would perhaps need to start higher to get air under the wings hadn’t worked well either. Phoenix Albus had fallen from the rooftop like a stone and if his mother hadn’t cast a cushioning charm he would probably have broken his neck when he hit her rose bed. He’d practised all summer, but at the end of his holidays the only real development he’d made had been the trick to apparate the moment before he hit the earth, saving himself.

Back at Hogwarts he almost gave up his exercises. He didn’t mind the laughter of his mates much, but the shrill screaming of girls who saw a phoenix fall down from one of the towers really got on his nerves. But then one evening, as he was trying a start from the meadow again, he suddenly heard a sound almost like laughter. A phoenix landed gracefully next to him and began to show Albus how to use his wings. With the bird’s help he managed his first round - in deep approach, but nevertheless flying - over the Hogwarts grounds. The next day, when he came to the meadows, the phoenix was already waiting for him, sitting on an apple tree and nibbling on one of the fruits. He invited Albus to fly up and Albus only needed four attempts before he managed it. The phoenix shared an apple with him, showing him how to hold it with his claw, and then he taught Albus how to use the air currents over the grounds to glide, and how he could ascend without too much effort by simply doing rounds, letting the current lift him up. It was fun, and Albus enjoyed the freedom he found in flying. But he enjoyed even more that the Phoenix had become his friend, always waiting for him when he came out of the castle and always willing to fly with him.

When autumn came, Albus worried about his feathered friend. He’d been looking more and more exhausted each day, and he’d lost feathers. And one evening - it had gotten pretty cold already - he hadn’t wanted to fly, he hadn’t wanted to eat the apple Albus had gotten for him from the kitchen, and even his song had sounded sad and sick. When Albus changed back into his human form, the phoenix sat on his arm, snuggling his body - and he really looked dreadful with half of his feathers gone - on Albus’ chest. Wrapping the obviously sick bird in his cloak, Albus stormed up to the infirmary, hoping that the mediwizard there would help his friend. But when he put the phoenix down on the mediwizard’s desk, the creature burst into flames, leaving only a pile of smoking ashes.

Albus had been 16 years old at the time, and although he was a proud Slytherin, he started to cry, his tears falling on the ashes and blinding him so much that at first he didn’t see that something there moved. It had been the mediwizard who cried, “It’s really a phoenix you’ve found!” Looking down, Albus saw what appeared to be a rather ugly chicken just rising out of the ashes, and he heard a cackling which sounded as if the bird was saying, “Help me.”

The mediwizard had smiled at him. “I don’t know much about phoenixes. They’re very rare and I would never have thought that I’d see one in my life. But this one obviously thinks it belongs to you. So I think you should keep it - and perhaps you should go to see the Headmistress. You’ll need her permission to have such an exotic pet. Besides, I think she perhaps knows a bit more about phoenixes.”

In fact, Headmistress Clementine Atherton hadn’t known much about phoenixes. She’d never seen one in her long life. But asking the portraits in her office had gotten Albus some information; he learned that phoenixes originally came from Egypt - or the desert? Nobody knew for sure - and that they sometimes chose wizards or witches to live with, making very faithful companions.

But where his phoenix - which he’d named “Fawkes” after seeing him burn - had come from and why he’d chosen Albus as his wizard, Albus never learned.

Standing now in front of the mirror, Albus cast a shaving charm. Although he still missed his beard, he couldn’t bring himself to grow it back. He’d shaved for Minerva, and if he grew the beard back now - wouldn’t it look to her as if he wanted to make a point, like telling her “It’s over and done”? It was of course over and done - Minerva’s behaviour towards him left no doubt about that. She was polite around him, she even granted him the occasional little smile, but she kept her distance, only talking about school business with him.

Albus was in a way glad about this development. He’d feared she would leave Hogwarts - so much that in the first days after the end of their affair he almost fainted whenever he got a note from her. Every time he feared that she would give notice. This danger seemed to be past now, and he even dared to hope that he could get her friendship back one day.

But he knew already that it wouldn’t be enough. He would miss her - probably even more than he did now. At the moment he only saw her in public - in the Great Hall during meals; in the staff room during conferences, or in his secretary’s office when she came up to the main tower with her paperwork. But although she avoided being alone with him, he always had to fight against the urge to touch her, to hold her close and to kiss her. He didn’t know how he would cope with this when he was alone with her again.

Shaving and showering done, Albus cast a drying charm on himself, limped back into his bedroom and opened the wardrobe door. He really felt like wearing something comfortable and easy. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be staying at Hogwarts all day, but would need to go to the Ministry in the afternoon. That meant he would have to dress formally. Yet it was only the beginning of autumn, and still pleasantly warm, so at least he wouldn’t sweat all day in velvet and heavy brocade.

Summoning a grey silk under robe and an outer robe of forest green silk, the hems, collar and sleeves embroidered with silver, he dressed, sat down on the bed again, slipped on green socks, and sighed once more because bending his leg ached. Murmuring his mother’s old saying - “What can’t be cured, must be endured” - he put his black boots on and rose. His knee still didn’t like his weight on it, so he changed into his animagus form and apparated directly into the antechamber behind the teacher’s entrance to the Great Hall.

Transforming back into his human form, he slipped through the door. The first thing he saw in the hall was Minerva, who’d just entered. She wore her house colours too, and the deep burgundy of her robe made her skin look like marble. And the neckline - a bit deeper than usual - emphasized the elegance of her shoulders and her proud carriage.

Albus’ heart sped up at the sight of her. He found her breathtaking, and once again he longed to pull her into his arms and into the nearest dark corner to kiss her until her small lips became soft again. And to take her bun down, to let his fingers glide through her hair, to feel her slender form and her breasts - just perfect for being cupped in his hands, and the chocolate brown nipples so responsive to his touch and - heavens, an erection he didn’t need right now! Not with Minerva standing at the Gryffindor table, talking to the prefect and watching him out of the corner of her eye. If she saw that his body was reacting to her - he was sure she wouldn’t take it as a compliment this time, but would hex him.

Slowly, carefully keeping his outer robe around him, Albus sat down in his chair. He hardly registered Valerian Vector’s greeting and when he heard Filius Flitwick’s high voice on his left, he almost jumped. Inwardly sighing, Albus turned his head to the Charms professor, who’d placed himself on his left. “Good morning, Filius,” he grumbled, reaching for the tea pot.

“My, my, Headmaster - you’re not really awake yet, are you?” Filius Flitwick grinned, his dark eyes under bushy brows looking very amused. He watched Albus pour tea in his cup, add a generous amount of sugar and milk to it and start to stir the mixture. “What do you call what you’re preparing?” he asked.

Before Albus could answer, he heard Minerva’s voice, “Beauty bath. Didn’t you know that Cleopatra bathed every day in warm ass milk to make her skin lily white? Albus has improved the recipe - he uses warm milk, sugar and a drop of tea. And he takes the bath inwardly in the hopes of whitening his black soul.” Sitting down in her chair at Albus’ right, she took the teapot out of his hand, filled her cup and granted both men on her left a little smile, “Good morning, Albus, Filius.”

“Good morning, Minerva.” Albus looked at her slender hands and once more wished that he could be alone with her. Or rather not, because without the 800 students and the teachers watching, he would probably embarrass himself. But he really would have liked to pull that hand to his mouth, kissing the inside of the wrist. He’d done so almost every morning in Cornwall, and it had always gotten him a little purr.

“Minerva, Albus - I’m glad to get the both of you together,” Professor Flitwick spoke again. “I’m having a problem with a student.”

“Parkinson!” Albus and Minerva sighed in unison. Looking at each other, Albus shrugged his shoulders apologetically while Minerva smiled rather awkwardly.

Filius Flitwick laughed. “The two of you should marry! You already act like an old couple!” He obviously didn’t notice that Albus choked on his tea and Minerva blushed, but proceeded, “Back to my problem student. It’s not our darling girl from Slytherin for once, but - as much as I dislike it - one of my charges.” For a moment he looked down at the Ravenclaw table where his students were seated.

Albus had taken the bowl of porridge and put a few spoonfuls onto his plate. Spreading sugar over it, he asked, “Mister Langley?

Minerva swallowed the piece of toast she’d just put in her mouth. “Oh my, Filius. Your talk with him wasn’t a success?”

“To be honest, the boy almost made me hex him.” Filius Flitwick sipped at his coffee. “In 17 years of being head of a house, I have never felt so helpless with a pupil. I can’t remember another one who was so good at provoking me.” He sighed and shook his head. “Langley isn’t stupid …”

Minerva smiled at him. “How could he be? He’s a Ravenclaw. They’re never stupid, but sometimes …” she let the line hang in the air.

Filius Flitwick nodded. “Yes - sometimes they are difficult. In Langley’s case, his grades are shameful for a Ravenclaw. In almost every class he’s on the lower end. The only one he manages is flying. And when asked how he thinks he’ll make it through his OWLs he keeps telling me that he won’t need great grades because he’s going to be a Quidditch champion. He won’t need all the silly stuff we try to hammer into his head.”

“Yes,” Minerva sighed. “He told me something along those lines too, when I was scolding him for reading a Quidditch magazine in class the other day.”

Filius Flitwick looked grave. “Yesterday I threatened to kick him out of the house Quidditch team if his grades don’t get better soon. He became impudent and yelled at me, saying that I wanted to ruin his future out of spite because I envy him his Quidditch talent. I gave him detention, but I don’t think it will help much. I’m at my wits end with the boy.”

Minerva filled her cup again. “Albus, I’m afraid I’m failing with the boy too.”

Albus looked down at the Ravenclaw table and promptly met the hostile glare of the student in question. He’d obviously registered that the professors were talking about him, and now with Albus watching him, he became nervous, sliding on the bench and fiddling with his spoon. Albus let him sweat under his gaze for a moment, then he directed his gaze back to the Charms master. “Filius, could you send his file up to me before you go to class? I have to go through some paperwork today, but I think I’ll find the time to talk to Mister Langley.”

“If you give him a Quidditch ban, Severus will dance for joy,” Minerva said gloomily. “Slytherin is playing Ravenclaw on Saturday. If Langley can’t be on the team, the Slytherins will have a chance to win.”

Filius Flitwick made a face. “I can’t say I’d like that. But if your lions win against Slytherin in a fortnight, the race for the Quidditch Cup will be open again.”

“If my lions win!” Minerva sounded sceptical. “But you know our team isn’t very good this year. The Patil girl isn’t a bad Seeker, but compared to Ginevra Weasley or Harry Potter …”

“I actually think your Chaser - Miss Quirks - is the weak spot on your team, Minerva,” Filius said. “The girl isn’t bad, but she isn’t a real team player. She always tries to do her own thing, without paying much attention to the others.”

“Well, she’s a third year and has just started on the team,” Minerva defended the Chaser of her house team. “But she’s got talent. About that I’m convinced, and you know, the way she flies reminds me of …”

Albus leaned back, quietly eating his porridge. He still wasn’t much interested in Quidditch, but he enjoyed watching the debate between his colleagues. It was good to see Minerva so vivid and full of enthusiasm. She loved Quidditch and she didn’t only enjoy watching the games, but talking about them.

But now she was speaking to him again. “Albus, I’ve been thinking about the Quidditch teams these days.”

Albus looked at her, “Yes, Minerva? What about the teams?”

“I know you’re not overly fond of Quidditch”, she furrowed her brows as if she found this a real flaw in his personality, “but the students love it very much. And being out in the fresh air, flying and exercising, does them a great deal of good. Therefore I think we should have more Quidditch teams.”

Dee Sprout, the Herbology professor who sat on Minerva’s right, beamed. “I think, Minerva is right, Albus!” she cried in delight. “My house has around 250 students now and at least half of them would so like to play. Yet we’ve got only one team which makes - with all the reserve players - only a dozen students who can actually have their fun. That’s too few!”

“Even having only 150 students in my house,” Filius Flitwick stated, “I’d also like to have at least a second team.”

“I’m with my dear colleagues for once.” Severus Snape had risen and was now standing behind Albus’ chair, coffee cup in his hands. “My students could do with some exercise.”

“Oh yes!” Minerva said ironically. “Perhaps a good workout would make them less aggressive towards my lions. On the other hand, the way your students play doesn’t make me wish for a second team. In the last match against Gryffindor they played - even for Slytherins - extremely foul!”

“Ah - and your little saints always followed the rules?” Severus snorted. “May I remind you, that your Beater tried to kick our seeker off his broom?”

“What was your Seeker doing down there, hampering our Beater?” Minerva promptly shot back. “It was clearly foul play!”

“You and your blind chick of a Seeker not seeing the Snitch doesn’t make for the Slytherins playing foul!” Severus hissed.

“Well, Severus,” now Dee Sprout was stepping in, “your Seeker seems to have a tendency to see Snitches where no one else does. If I may remind you of the last game against my house? Your Seeker was around our Beater at the South end of the pitch, while at the same time our Seeker saw the Snitch on the North.”

“So she said at least!” Severus snorted.

Dee Sprout, although a very nice and patient woman, looked as though she’d like to throttle the potion master. “My students don’t lie Professor Snape! If our Seeker says she was after the Snitch, then there was a Snitch!”

“Are you implying that my students are liars?” Severus asked in a voice like steel encased in velvet.

Albus didn’t give the Herbology witch a chance to answer. Raising his hands, he said, “Ladies and gentlemen! May I remind you that we’re not in the staff room, but in front of our students? Besides,” he reached for the teapot again, “I’d like to finish my breakfast without you hexing one another.”

The effect of his little speech was immediate. Severus snorted, put his empty cup down on the table and announced, “I have a class to teach!” Stalking down from the teacher’s table, he swept through the hall to the exit, his black robes billowing around him.

Dee Sprout put her hat, which was always hanging sideways on her head, back at the right angle and grumbled quietly, “Overgrown bat!”

Filius Flitwick rose. “I’ll get you Mister Langley’s file, Albus.”

Minerva emptied her tea cup and rose too. Looking at Albus, she said, “I’ll send Delenn the budget for the next month. It’s already a bit late, so I’d be grateful if you could for once sign it immediately, without me reminding you five times. You know, you really could think about more Quidditch teams - even if you’re not overly fond of Quidditch.”

“Yes, Minerva.” Albus nodded with the long proven patience of a Headmaster who was always nagged at breakfast. “Anything else?”

“Yes. You’ve forgotten to give me your orders for office supplies again. Perhaps you could just look at your stock and write me a note? You know, some people are waiting to get the things they need - and I don’t want to write two orders just because you can’t be bothered to look at your ink bottle. And if you think I’ll help you out once again because you were too lazy to get ink for yourself, you’re wrong, Albus!” Minerva told him.

“All right - I will sign the budget, think about Quidditch teams, give Filius’ student a dressing down, check my ink bottle, and throw myself from the tower after having such a start to the day,” Albus whined.

Minerva promptly rolled her eyes. “Just look at the bright side, Albus. After such a start your day can only get better.” Before he could answer, she’d slipped through the teacher’s door behind him.

Her exit acted like a signal to the students and the rest of the staff. The usual chatter became even louder, with the shuffling of feet and the clattering of dishes and cups put down on the tables. The students streamed out of the hall, and by the time Albus had finished his second cup of tea he was alone. Sighing, he stood up too. He almost envied his colleagues. He’d always liked teaching better than sitting at a desk and working through piles of paper. But he was the Headmaster - and the paperwork, as much as he disliked it, was part of his job.

Slowly walking through the hall and up the stairs his mood brightened. He loved Hogwarts and he’d always liked the atmosphere just before classes were to start in the morning. There was always some excitement in the air, and although he didn’t harbour many illusions about students anymore - at least a few of them were looking forward to what they would learn this day.

Coming around a corner on the third floor, Albus saw a small girl - obviously a first year - sitting on a windowsill. She was holding her bag on her lap and had laid her head on it, obviously crying. Albus stopped in front of her, looked at the crest on her bag - it showed the Hufflepuff badger - and rummaged in his memory for her name. He was actually good at names, but it always took a few months before he knew all the first years. It helped when he thought of the sorting, and now he remembered the shy looking, mousy blonde with the freckles, and how Minerva had called out her name - Lucinda Crombs.

Going down on his knees - the left one creaking and reminding him of his rheumatics - in front of the girl, Albus pulled out his handkerchief, held it out to the still crying student who looked up at him almost fearfully, and asked softly, “What’s bothering you, Lucinda?”

The girl sniffled, her face flustered and her eyes reddened. “I’m lost, sir! I should be in Transfiguration, and Professor McGonagall will be so angry when I’m late, but I can’t find the classroom. The stairs moved, and then there was Peeves and he said I’d fall through if I tried to climb the one staircase.”

“I don’t think so, Miss Crombs. I’ll help you to find your classroom. Just blow your nose and then we’ll go down,” Albus said comfortingly.

The girl’s small face almost disappeared in his huge handkerchief. “Will I get detention, Headmaster?” she asked, her eyes frightened.

“That’s up to Professor McGonagall. But I don’t think she’ll give you detention for being late,” Albus answered. “Not if we hurry up now.”

“Yes, Headmaster sir.” The girl jumped from the windowsill and for a moment she looked up at Albus as if she’d like to take his hand.

Turning and walking down the corridor, Albus asked, “Why didn’t you go to class with your house mates?”

It had been the wrong question. The girl promptly started to cry again. “It’s my cat, Headmaster. I haven’t seen her since yesterday and I hoped she’d come back while I was at breakfast, but she still isn’t here and I’m afraid that she ran into the Forbidden Forest and got eaten by a werewolf or another monster. She doesn’t know Hogwarts and she’s only a kitten.”

“Lucinda,” Albus started softly, “cats - even young cats - are usually very clever. In all the years I’ve been at Hogwarts - and believe me, I’ve been here for a long time - I’ve never heard of a cat getting into trouble in the forest. Your kitty has probably met a nice tom and is exploring the castle with him now. Anyway, I have an idea what you can do to get her back. If I were in your shoes, I’d ask for Professor McGonagall’s help after class. You know, she is an animagus. She can transform to a cat and she knows all the cats in the castle. She certainly will find your kitten.”

The girl looked hopefully at him. “You think she’d really do that for me, sir?”

“If you ask her nicely, she certainly will,” Albus promised the girl, leading her around a corner into the corridor where the Transfiguration classroom was located. Stopping in front of the oak door with the sign “Transfiguration - Classroom I, Professor M. McGonagall, T.M.” he smiled at the girl, “So - here we are.” Knocking at the door, he waited until he heard Minerva’s severe “come in”. Entering, he shooed the girl in and smiled at Minerva. “I’ve found something you’re probably already missing. Miss Crombs got lost on a moving staircase.”

Minerva looked questioningly at him, and he didn’t need legilimency to know what she was thinking. She wanted to know if there was more behind the story, and if he wanted her to let the student come away without punishment. His answer to the unspoken question was a tiny nod and he closed his eyes for a second.

Minerva immediately got the message. “Well, Miss Crombs - sit down and pull your wand out.” Minerva looked at Albus once again. “Thank you, Headmaster.”

“It was my pleasure.” Albus turned and left. Marching up the stairs again, he smiled. It was good to know that Minerva and he were still able to communicate without words. He’d always enjoyed the fact that she was able to understand him even if he didn’t talk, and that he almost always knew what she was thinking just by looking in her eyes. As long as this worked, there was hope for their friendship - and with time he would certainly learn to look at her without desire and longing.


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


It had been almost ten hours since Albus had started his day, and limping down - the painkilling potion had worn off during the afternoon - the stairs to the entrance hall of the Ministry he felt dreadful. He’d spent all morning in the office, but although he’d gotten through a lot of paperwork, he hadn’t felt like a success. And the talk with Flitwick’s difficult student hadn’t been too pleasant either. Albus had really hoped that asking the boy up to his office would get him thinking already. Yet Aidan Langley had stormed in like a raging bull, accusing not only his head of house, but Minerva and Severus too of being “unfair” and biased against him. He’d yelled that he didn’t give a “blooming damn” about the Headmaster’s opinion either and that he “couldn’t care less” because he would be a famous Quidditch player. “Neither you nor the old hag nor your stuffy Charms master will stop …”

At this point Albus had had enough. One wave of his hand silenced the young man, a second one pushed him down into a chair in which he sat, gaping like a goldfish out of its bowl.

Albus put a lemon drop in his mouth and studied the student for almost 30 silent seconds. Then he said calmly, “I rarely use silencing charms on students. But I’m really not in the mood to yell today. It’s such a waste of energy. On the other hand, I won’t stand insults against your teachers. So let’s try it with me talking and you listening.”

For the next several minutes he provided the youngster with a severe grilling. He went through the grades and the list of detentions Aidan Langley had received during the last year and since the term’s start. Placing the tips of his long fingers together and looking over them at the student he said, “You were sorted into Ravenclaw - and I don’t believe that you’re the first student in almost a thousand years the Sorting Hat was wrong about. That means you should have more in your head than Quidditch. But let’s talk a little Quidditch first. I wonder. How good can a player become who’s obviously too lazy to use his brain? How well will someone do who lacks discipline and stamina? What about the courage of someone who chickens out over little challenges? Mister Langley, you want to become a champion. Good idea. But looking at your record I’d say you’ll become one of those losers who hang around in bars, boring other people to tears with their ‘If only this and that would have happened I’d have been really great’ stories. You will blame other people for what went wrong in your life because you’ve obviously not learned that the only one responsible for your fate is you.”

A few minutes more of that and he saw that he’d managed to get under the skin of his delinquent. So he released the student from the silencing charm and one half hour later Aidan Langley had left with the promise that he would work on his grades.

Nevertheless, Albus hadn’t been very happy about the talk. When had he lost his touch so much that he needed to use magic on a student? And why did he feel so tired and depressed? Getting students back on track was a routine act he had to perform once a month. It shouldn’t exhaust him so much.

The next item on his agenda had been an appointment with the Minister of Education about the upcoming Fivewizard Tournament. Albus had actually liked the idea that during the next year the German wizard’s school, Blocksberg, would host the meeting and competition of five European magical schools. What he didn’t like were his minister’s ideas about it. He expected Hogwarts “to win in every case” and to show the other schools “that we’re the greatest”. And what got on Albus’ nerves even more was the minister slapping his shoulder jovially and saying “But we won’t have to worry about a victory, will we? Hogwarts has the most powerful wizard alive for a Headmaster. You will make sure we win, won’t you, Dumbledore?”

Albus had tried to make it clear that he wouldn’t cheat, but wanted a fair competition. Yet the minister obviously hadn’t understood him. He’d only laughed. “But of course we won’t cheat, Dumbledore! We’ll only make sure we’ll win - as we deserve! I can’t tell you what it would mean if we were to lose. You know how hard I have to work every year to get you the funds you demand!”

It had been one of the talks which always made Albus think about resigning. And the longer he listened to the drawling of the minister, the more he longed for the peace and silence of Chateau Dumbledore. To sit on the cliffs now, looking out to the sea, to breathe the fresh, salty air, to hear the waves thundering against the rocks - it would be heaven. He’d gotten too old for debates like this, he’d heard all this politic blubbering at least once too often; he didn’t feel up to fighting against interfering ministry bureaucrats and over ambitious politicians any more. Minerva would probably do a better job as Headmistress. She was younger, she certainly didn’t feel so tired and worn out. And with Severus being married to Hermione Granger - she certainly would stabilize the boy so he could become a really good deputy for Minerva. He belonged as much to Hogwarts as she …

“Lord love a duck! Albus!”

A warm hand landed on his arm and he breathed in a wonderful fragrance - lily of the valley and something fresh and clean. Looking down at a redhead with a few grey strands, beaming brown eyes in a heart-shaped face with little laugh wrinkles around the eyes, and a sweet, pink mouth he felt a rush of joy. Opening his arms he said tenderly, “Angharad! Or should I say Lady Angharad? Or is it even Your Excellency now?”

“Of course, your Headmastership!” The woman embraced him, rising on her tiptoes and kissing his cheek. “My - I’d almost forgotten how tall you are!”

“So?” Albus smiled at her. “Since you became a minister you seem to have forgotten a lot. You even come to England without giving your most devoted admirer a chance to lay himself at your feet!”

“My most devoted admirer? Who could that be?” Angharad Wilkes, American minister of foreign affairs, laughed.

“It’s me of course! I thought you knew that!” Albus pretended to be insulted.

“You? The wizard who’s called the greatest, but can’t do long distance apparition, and therefore never visits me?”

“You are always so busy!” Albus hugged the woman who’d once been his lover again. “And so am I, unfortunately. Nevertheless it’s wonderful to see you, Angharad. How long will you be staying in Europe?”

“Unfortunately, only for a few days. You know we’re having problems with our Muggle government, therefore I can’t stay away from my office for too long,” the American answered gravely. “But …,” she looked at her assistant who stood a few steps away from her, discreetly studying the fountain in the middle of the hall, “… what will you be doing tonight, Albus?”

“Hmm …” He pretended to consider for a moment, then he said, “I think I’ll be in the kitchen, preparing Chile Rellenos. Only I will have to find someone who wants to share them with me. You don’t happen to know someone who likes Chile Rellenos?”

Angharad Wilkes was beaming at him. “Oh, Albus - you’ve always known how to steal a girl’s heart!” Turning to her assistant, she said, “Clayton, I think I’ll get a migraine this evening. That means you’ll have to go to the dinner without me.”

“Of course, Madame Wilkes. I’ll apologize for you there.” The young man bowed, looking curiously at Albus.

His superior smiled. “Albus, may I introduce my assistant to you? Clayton Bonnet is a big fan of yours.”

The young man blushed, came nearer and shook the hand Albus was offering. “It’s a great honour to meet you, Professor Dumbledore. Madame Wilkes is right - I’m an admirer of yours. My father is an alchemist and he used to say that your work with dragon blood was one of the most important inventions in the last 500 years. And I’ve read all about you and Hogwarts. As a child I dreamed of becoming your student, but as an American I had to attend Salem.”

“Perhaps you’d like to visit Hogwarts now? You’d be welcome any time,” Albus offered.

“I’d love that! And I’ll be coming to Europe again in the winter - on my honeymoon.” The young man was blushing again.

“Then you’ll have to bring your wife with you,” Albus said.

“She’d love that!” Clayton Bonnnet looked at his watch and then at Angharad Wilkes who stood next to him, her hand still on Albus’ arm. “I hate to push you, Madame, but we’re supposed to be at the French embassy in only ten minutes. Our ambassador awaits us there.”

Angharad Wilkes sighed. “On a scale from one to ten …”

Albus laughingly finished the line for her: “… that sucks!” Bending down he took her hand and kissed it. “Would eight o’clock suit Madame? At my flat?”

“I’m very much looking forward to it, Albus.” She turned around. “Well, Clayton - let’s go and face another few hours of absolute boredom.”

“While I go shopping. Until later, Angharad!”

Albus marched over to one of the public fireplaces in the hall. Throwing a handful of floo powder in, he bent down and called, “Hogwarts, office of the Headmaster’s secretary.”

Only a few seconds later Delenn March’s head appeared in the flames. “Headmaster - what can I do for you?”

“You can inform Professor McGonagall that I’ll stay at my flat in London tonight,” Albus said, biting his bottom lip. He suddenly thought of what Minerva would make out of this information. She would know that he was meeting another woman - for what other reason would he stay in London? Of course, his affair with her was finished. So she really couldn’t expect him to live in celibacy. But nevertheless - he didn’t want to hurt her. On the other hand, he didn’t like lying to her. So he added with a sigh, “I’m to meet an old friend.” It wouldn’t help much, but it gave her at least the chance to believe that he was with a man.


Stepping back from the fireplace Albus changed his robes to comfortable corduroy trousers, a blue sweater and a black leather jacket. Hiding his long hair under a disguise he used the lift which ended in a phone box on a muggle street. Stepping out of it, Albus waved for a cab and ordered the driver to take him to the market in Soho.

In contrast to most wizards, Albus had always liked excursions into the Muggle world. Since he’d defeated Grindelwald, he’d become one of the most famous wizards of his time and this meant that he always got recognized when he showed himself in a wizard’s district. Sometimes the attention he received became too much for him. That he could hardly talk to a woman in public without the “Daily Prophet” speculating about a relationship the next day; that people felt offended and called him “arrogant” when he didn’t recognize them immediately; that he was the favourite target for volatile pompous asses - he was used to it, but he was glad that he could sometimes step out of all that by disappearing into the Muggle world. Therefore he’d gotten himself a flat in a Muggle house in Kensington. His neighbours there didn’t have a clue about his being a wizard. He’d told them that he was a teacher at a boarding school in Scotland, so they didn’t wonder that he rarely was in London. Besides, they didn’t care much about him. He was a pleasant neighbour, never making noise himself, not complaining when someone around him had a party.

Walking over to the market, buying Mexican cheese, poblano chiles, Hatch green chiles, onions, garlic, olive oil and everything else he needed for Angharad’s favourite dish - and yes, he’d always liked cooking and as a former potion master he was pretty good at it - he felt rather gloomy. He was looking forward to spending an evening with the American minister, but there was still the thought of Minerva.

“An old friend” - she wouldn’t believe it. She knew almost all of his old friends. They were all in a way related to the Order and to Hogwarts and that meant that he usually met them at the school or in Hogsmeade.

Staying overnight in London - Minerva wouldn’t need more than a few seconds to figure out that he was with a woman. And that meant she would feel hurt. But Merlin, what was he supposed to do? Living a monk’s life to spare Minerva’s finer feelings? As much as he cared for her - that would be too much of a sacrifice.

How had he gotten himself into this? By now the painkiller had completely worn off and his leg was hurting, there was also an ache in his chest, and his head felt hot and like something was hammering at his temples. Albus was sure he wouldn’t make it through the evening like that, which meant searching for a dark corner, apparating to Diagon Alley, and going to an apothecary there.

Three minutes later he was there, entering a dark, oddly smelling apothecary where an ugly witch with bad teeth and a smile like a hungry shark loitered behind the counter. She looked sceptically at him - she’d probably never seen a Muggle in her shop. But when he asked for a painkilling potion she recognized him. “Oh, it’s you, Headmaster Dumbledore! What an honour! I always thought you’d get every potion you need from your Professor Snape.”

“Considering Professor Snape is at Hogwarts and I’m here, I can hardly ask him for a painkiller,” Albus answered a bit impatiently.

“Yes, of course.” The shopkeeper obviously enjoyed talking to the prominent wizard. Bracing herself on the counter she once again showed him her yellow, broken teeth. “You are aware that you should actually see a qualified healer when you’re in pain?”

Albus breathed deeply. “Hogwarts has not only a potion master, but a very qualified mediwitch too. I’ll see her if it gets worse, but at the moment I simply have a headache and would like a painkilling potion.”

“But you know about the side effects?” the witch asked and grinning, she whispered, “It can cause trouble with the stomach and reduce the libido, you know?”

Albus glared his best Slytherin gaze at her. Slowly and clearly he said, his voice sounding like cracking ice, “Madame, I’m a potion master. Only at the moment I don’t wish to brew potions, but simply buy one. If you don’t feel up to selling me one, just tell me. Then I’ll go to another apothecary.”

“No, no, Headmaster Dumbledore! Of course you shall get your potion. I only wanted to make sure you’re aware of the dangers and …” Babbling she dived and got him a blue vial. “That makes eight sickles and three knuts.”

“Thank you, Madame.” Albus put the vial in his pocket, laid the money on the counter, marched out of the apothecary and apparated directly to his flat. Landing in the rather dusty smelling living room he swallowed the potion - it tasted better than Severus’, but he doubted that it worked as well - opened the windows and changed back into his wizard’s attire. Throwing the outer robe over the couch he marched into the kitchen where he unshrunk his shopping, washed the chiles, grated the cheese, prepared the batter, roasted the poblano chiles, made himself a pot of tea and sat - relieved because the potion hadn’t taken away the pain entirely, so he needed to stretch his leg - down at the kitchen table. While cutting the Hatch chiles, peeling the onions and slicing them into little pieces - he wasn’t a potion master for nothing - he pushed the thought of Minerva energetically away. Instead he tried to think of the woman he was cooking for.

How long ago was it now? It had been after Voldemort’s first rise - two or three years after he’d killed the Potters - during the time in which the Wizarding world was believed to be safe again. Albus hadn’t shared this belief, but he’d hidden his worries behind a calm façade. And then, at the yearly summer ball at the Ministry the Minister at that time had approached Albus, a small, lush woman with beautiful, flaming red hair on his arm. “Madame Wilkes, I’d like you to meet Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Albus, may I introduce you to Madame Angharad Wilkes, the Ambassador of the United States of America?”

Albus had looked into a pair of chocolate brown eyes full of warmth and mischief and immediately liked them. Bending down - in her case a rather long way because she only reached to his chest - he’d taken a small hand and formally kissed the air over it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Madame Wilkes.”

“Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, I feel honoured too.” Her voice - a soft mezzo soprano - had immediately gotten to him.

And he liked her slight accent. It sounded melodious,s and recognizing it as Southern, he had a vision of the beautiful redhead in a long white dress, seated on a porch in front of a lovely house, surrounded by blooming azalea bushes. Smiling at her, he said, “Please, call me Albus. My entire name was only ever used by my mother when she was cross with me.”

“What a pity. It’s such a nice name!” She looked amused, a golden flame dancing in her eyes.

“But rather a mouthful,” Albus answered.

“It suits you,” she decided and, looking him up and down, she added. “You seem to be rather a handful too, Albus - tall as you are.”

“Can I nevertheless persuade you to grant me this dance?” Albus asked, offering his arm.

Graciously she laid her hand on it, then looked at the Minister, who’d been watching the flirting with a pretty forced smile. “At a ball a girl should dance at least once. You’ll excuse us, Minister?”

“I’ll give you back the Ambassador after the dance, Minister!” Albus promised, and led the American witch to the dance floor. Taking her in his arms he got a hint of her fragrance for the first time and enjoyed it. And although she was so small, her soft body against his felt lovely, and in her dancing she showed grace and a feeling for the music.

“I shouldn’t have promised to get you back to the Minister after the dance,” Albus smiled at her.

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll have a problem getting yourself another partner,” she replied.

“I’m rather picky when it comes to partners. I doubt I’ll find another one I’d so enjoy dancing with.”

She laughed. “Headmaster, I’ve been warned about you.”

“I’m only half as bad as my reputation!” Albus smiled back.

“How disappointing!” Angharad Wilkes responded. “You know, in my profession one is surrounded by politicians and rather boring bureaucrats all the time. So I was hoping for once to meet someone who doesn’t pretend to be a good boy. But if your reputation isn’t true …”

“Well, if you want me to, I’ll make it true,” Albus twinkled at her. “If only I knew about which of my many bad habits you were warned. It would make it easier to live up to your expectations.”

“If I told you it would be only half the fun, Albus. You’re to find out yourself.”


It had been so much fun to flirt with her! She was everything he liked in women - witty, warm, cultivated, self-confident, independent, strong. And he’d fallen in love with her. So he sent her flowers the day after the ball - yellow roses and a note which read, “I’m still working on finding out what you expect. Perhaps you’d like to give me a hint over dinner? Tomorrow at eight? Albus.”

At this dinner he’d learned that she wasn’t only charming, witty and intelligent, but sensitive and sophisticated too. And she loved music! She told him that she’d spent a few years in the Muggle world. “I studied music at the Julliard School in New York and then worked as a flutist in an orchestra in Paris. It was wonderful, but after a few years I missed the magical world. And then our Embassy in Paris offered me a job as attaché for Muggle relations. I took it and two years later I was asked to take over the Muggle relations department at our Ministry for Foreign Affairs. From there I went to Norway as the Ambassador and now I’m here - and glad about it. I liked Norway, but I’m looking very much forward to the Opera and the concerts here.”

Three days later Albus had invited her to the opera – The Marriage of Figaro. As the Countess onstage had sung about her lost love, Angharad had slipped her hand into Albus’ and leaned her head against his shoulder.

Normally Albus would have understood such a gesture as an invitation for more. But with Angharad he’d held himself back. He’d fallen in love with her and he wanted to show her that he was serious. So he’d let her take the lead and it had been she who initiated the first kiss and it had once again been she who one evening, as he accompanied her back to the Embassy, asked him, “Must you sleep every night at Hogwarts, or are you allowed leave until breakfast?”

Taking her in his arms he’d teased her, “Does this mean you won’t offer me coffee in the morning?”

“That depends, Albus,” she’d bitten his nose tenderly, as she liked to do. “If you’re not living up to expectations, you’ll get kicked out with the famous line ‘Get up and make coffee or are you unable to do that too?’”

Lifting her up, he started to walk up the stairs. “Did you ever hear the line ‘No sex please, we’re British’?”

“Oh heavens!” she giggled. “What have I let myself in for?”

“Hear me out, my lady! I wasn’t finished yet. What I wanted to tell you is that this saying was made up by British girls to keep foreigners like you away from their men. Our girls know how we are - and they don’t want you to know it too because you wouldn’t want another lover after you’ve had a Brit.”


The next morning he’d gotten not only coffee, but a kiss and a smile. “You were right about British men, Albus. I think I could get used to you.”

She’d pretty much gotten used to him. For three happy years they’d been an item. But then the usual problem had raised its ugly head: Angharad had been offered a job as a state secretary in New York where the American Ministry of Magic resided. Both Albus and Angharad had been aware that this not only meant a big career for her, but would mean a big problem in their relationship. Long distance apparition was draining, and getting the schedules of a busy English headmaster and an equally busy American politician together would be - considering the time difference between their countries - almost impossible.

Angharad had approached the problem directly, as was her way. “Albus, I love you and I don’t want to lose you. But keeping you would mean giving up my career to stay in England. I could imagine living here, but - I’m a Southern girl and in some things we’re rather old-fashioned. If I’m to stay, I’d like to become your wife.”

Generous as she was, she’d given him a week’s time to think about, but he’d actually known the answer at the moment she’d asked. He’d loved her as much as he was able to, but the idea of marriage nevertheless didn’t appeal to him. He simply couldn’t imagine how Angharad would fit into his life at Hogwarts. What would she do there? She’d probably be bored to death in no time, she’d probably miss her own career, and in a few years she’d regret her decision.

But the main reason for declining had been Voldemort. Albus had known that he would rise again and that he would have to fight against him. He’d lost one wife in the war against Grindelwald. He wouldn’t risk Angharad’s life too. He had loved her - and therefore he hadn’t married her, but had let her go despite the longing and the hurt in doing so.

But at least it had gained him a friend. Although Angharad and Albus hadn’t met often in the last several years - whenever she’d been in Europe or he’d visited America, they’d spent some time together. And last time, when they’d met at a conference in Paris, a nightly stroll along the Seine had led to a passionate kiss and to a night together. Both had been aware that they wouldn’t become a couple again. Nevertheless, they’d enjoyed sleeping together very much. The feeling of familiarity, the ease with each other and the shared laughter had still been there and Albus hadn’t regretted that he once had let her go, but for a while he’d wished he could have her close again.

Angharad - she’d been one of the best things that had ever happened to him. No other woman had ever understood him so well - except Minerva. With Minerva he shared even more than with Angharad because she was a part of Hogwarts too. And they’d lived through so much together, Minerva and he. They’d shared experiences Angharad even didn’t know about. She had of course read and heard about the war the European wizards had fought against Voldemort, and she knew of course that Albus had lost students and friends. But Minerva didn’t only know. She had been there, at his side. She’d held him as he grieved for all the fallen friends and students, and he’d comforted her as she mourned for her husband.

“Ouch!” While thinking about Minerva, Albus had cut himself on the thumb. Putting it in his mouth, he walked to the sink, washed the blood off and cast a healing charm. Sitting down again, he cut the rest of the onions, smashed the garlic and put them and the Hatch chiles in a pan. Looking at his watch he charmed the pan to keep its contents at a simmer, stood up, cleaned the table and drank the rest of his tea. It was just around six o’clock. Carefully slitting and seeding the poblano chiles, he stuffed them with the Mexican cheese, dipped them into the batter, fried them in the olive oil and covered them with the contents of the other pan. The dish would need 40 minutes in the oven. That gave him not only time for a shave and a shower, but for a little nap too. And he urgently needed it.


“Albus! Honey!”

Soft lips kissed the tip of his nose, a tender hand stroked the hair out of his face. And there was the delicious smell of Chile Rellenos in the air and Albus’ stomach rumbled.

Angharad, kneeling in front of the couch on which Albus had fallen asleep, laughed. “I don’t need to ask if you’re hungry.”

Albus raised his arms and pulled her into an embrace. “I’m sorry, Darling. I only wanted to close my eyes for a moment …”

“And then you lost yourself for awhile, as my grandmother used to say.” Angharad smiled at him and stroked one finger over the wrinkles on his forehead. “Honestly, Albus, you still look rather tired and worn out. What’s the matter with you? Trouble at school?”

“No more than usual. Only I’m getting old, so the usual feels rather tiresome.” Albus turned his head in the direction of the kitchen. “I promised to cook for you and now you’ve done it yourself.”

“Nonsense, Albus. I only put the dish you prepared in the oven.”

Getting up he discovered that the table was laid and candles were lit. “It seems you’ve done a good deal more. I’m obviously a lousy host.”

Angharad shook her head. “You are a tired man who suffers from rheumatics.” Looking rather severely at him, she proceeded, “There’s no good denying it, Albus. I know you too well and I already saw in the Ministry that you’re limping.” Laying her hand against his forehead, she added, “You’re even a bit feverish, my dear. I think I should put you into bed after dinner.”

Albus stood up, pulling her with him and taking her into his arms. Bending down, he nibbled at her ear. “Bed sounds like a wonderful idea, Angharad.”

“Let me guess, you hope I’ll tell you a bedtime story?” She snuggled for a moment against him, then she stepped out of his embrace. “Our dinner should be ready now. And I’m starving too. I’ve had lunch with your former Minister. I mustn’t tell you what a terrible bore he is, must I? He was whining all the time about you. I was almost glad that the ancient sheep served as lamb was so tough. If I hadn’t been so busy chewing it I probably would have given Fudge a piece of my mind - and what good would that have done? It’s more likely that your giant squid will learn to tap dance than this moron will realize that he - and only he - caused his downfall.”

During her speech they’d gone into the kitchen where Albus took the hot Chile Rellenos out of the oven while Angharad put some flour tortillas onto a plate. Albus levitated the pan to the dinner table and, bending down to the shelf where he kept a few bottles of wine, he asked, “Red or white? French, Spanish, Italian or German?”

She turned around, looking a bit awkward. “Albus, I don’t want to mother you, but - you’ve taken a painkiller, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Mummy, I did. And I know I shouldn’t drink alcohol. Therefore I’ll do with water while you’ll get the wine. So what do you want?”

“German, white,” she smiled. “And don’t cringe, Albus! I know red would suit Chile Rellenos better, but I just feel like a cool, fresh Riesling.”

“Of course.” Albus pulled a bottle out of the shelf, opened it with a wave of his hand, took two glasses, filled one with water and marched to the table.

Angharad followed him with the tortillas, sitting down and smiling at him. “Your Chile Rellenos smell like heaven with vanilla.”

“Oh - you’d have liked them sweet?” Albus teased her. “Too bad - I made them rather hot.”


For a few minutes they ate in silence, interrupted only by Angharad’s happy little sighs. She emptied her plate in record time and smiling at Albus, who gave her a second helping, she said, “You know, I’m almost glad you can’t cook for me all the time. I’d get terribly fat!”

“I don’t think so.” Albus pushed his half empty plate away. He didn’t feel hungry, but in need of some closeness. Catching one of Angharad’s red curls, he wrapped it around his finger. “I’d like to give you some exercise.”

“Exercise with a full belly?” Angharad smiled at him.

“We’ll start slowly, my dear,” Albus promised, bending over to her and nibbling at her ear. He longed to pull her into his arms, to feel her close and to forget all about the pain and the sorrow of the last few weeks. Slowly he let his mouth wander down to the base of her neck while his hand glided up from her waist to her soft, perfectly rounded breast.

Angharad seemed to like his ministrations. Putting her fork down, she pushed her plate away too and stroked his head, combing her fingers through his hair. “Is it possible you’re more interested in the dessert than in the Chile Rellenos, Albus?” Her voice sounded tender and amused.

“Certainly! The dessert looks and smells extremely sweet and delicious!” Albus answered. He pushed his chair back and tried to pull her in his lap, but Angharad stood up and took his hand.

“As I said, I should put you into bed after dinner.” She smiled down at him. “Come!”

“With the greatest pleasure!” Albus rose and, holding Angharad’s hand, followed her to the bedroom. Standing in front of the bed, he pulled his wand his wand out of his sleeve, directed it at the redhead and cast an undressing charm.

Angharad laughed as her clothes fell down on the floor, folded themselves and sailed over to the chair where they arranged themselves into a neat bundle. “Why did I bother with nice undergarments?”

“Because you’ve forgotten that I rarely bother with them?” Albus undressed himself, put his hands around her waist and let himself fall backwards on the bed, pulling her over him. “I’ve always thought that nothing suits a woman better than her own skin. And you, my darling,” he let his hands wander over her back to her buttocks, “have got very beautiful skin.” He kissed her, opening her soft lips with his tongue and holding her close. Her body felt lovely - warm and soft and well-rounded just in the right places. And her hair, cascading down over her shoulders and touching his skin, smelled like honey.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t help remembering a taller, more slender body, and raven black hair which had felt like silk under his fingers and - heavens, what was wrong with him? He’d wanted Angharad; he’d looked forward to seeing her, kissing her, holding her, making love to her and falling - at least for a few blissful moments - into sweet oblivion in her arms. Only his body didn’t want to cooperate. This-time-really-little Albus didn’t react to the beautiful and willing woman close to him. He obviously didn’t want to stand up for a pretty, lush red head, but had set his mind - and his owner had always known that his member had got a rather stubborn mind of his own - to wanting a slender, black haired witch. Albus was sure if his little playmate had a mouth, he’d have opened it by now to say, probably sounding like Severus when he was ordered to tutor Gryffindors, “Don’t try to fool me, Albus! That’s the wrong witch!”

Wasn’t a penis supposed to be polygamous? In former times, Albus’ member had occasionally behaved as if he’d like to belong to a sheik with a huge harem. Albus had fought more than once with him because he’d risen up for the wrong women. But now he’d obviously decided that he didn’t want to play with Angharad, and Albus already knew that he wouldn’t succeed in persuading the sleeping no-beauty.

“Albus?” Angharad knew him too well. Looking down at him with worry in her eyes, she tenderly stroked a strand of silver hair from his forehead and rolled off him. “You’re really a bit ill, hmm?”

Albus folded his hands behind his head and looked up at the ceiling. “It’s a side effect of the painkiller,” he lied. “I’m sorry, Angharad. You’d deserve better than an old, unable man.”

Turning on her side, she turned his face to her. “Don’t talk nonsense, Albus. You’re certainly not an old, unable man. But …,” she breathed deeply and there was something like sadness in her eyes as she proceeded, “… why aren’t you with Minerva?”

Albus almost jumped out of the bed in surprise. Looking at Angharad, he swallowed and forced himself to smile. “It’s Wednesday. Our chess evening is Thursday.”

Angharad raised her eyebrows. “You know I didn’t ask about your chess game. I wondered why you still aren’t attached to her. I get your ‘Daily Prophet’ and although my staff wonders about it - I do read the society pages. I’ve actually been expecting to read something about Minerva McGonagall and you finally becoming a couple.”

“Minerva is my deputy and a friend - nothing more,” Albus said stiffly. “What makes you think we would ever be a couple? If I may remind you, she was married to one of my closest friends.”

“She was!” Angharad replied. “That was what held you back all these years. But now she’s a widow and free.”

“Angharad, you really should know me better,” Albus stated angrily. “Despite my bad reputation, I’m not after every unattached woman who happens to cross my path.”

Angharad remained calm. Turning on her back she said, “I know, Albus. You’re certainly not after every woman. Quite the contrary. You’re really picky. But you can’t deny that you have a weak spot - if not more - for the formidable and beautiful Minerva McGonagall.” Bending down she retrieved the blanket and pulled it up. “And I must admit that I was always jealous of her. She was closer to you than I ever could be …”

“That’s not true!” Albus disagreed. “I did love you, Angharad! And at the time we were together Minerva was happily married to Augustus. Nothing ever happened between her and me that couldn’t have been done in front of you or her husband. I won’t deny that I’m fond of Minerva, and that I adore her. But there really never was a reason for you to be jealous of her. I was always faithful to you. I never even thought of cheating on you. And Minerva! What a ridiculous idea! Really, Angharad – I wonder about you.”

She turned again, looking at him for a long, silent moment. Then she quoted, “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” With a little smile she proceeded, “In our case it should be: You protest too much, my lord.”

Albus felt his headache coming back. Massaging his temples he asked, “Why are you harping on the subject, Angharad? I told you I never cheated on you.”

“Albus, I’m not talking about the past,” Angharad responded calmly. “And I’m harping on the subject because I want you to be happy. You love Minerva and she won’t go away for a job in America. With her you’d have a chance to …”

He didn’t let her finish. “I don’t love Minerva!” he interrupted her. “I care for her, I’m fond of her, I respect her very much …”

Angharad’s smile became complacent. “But you don’t see her as a desirable woman? Albus, you can’t tell me that!”

Albus once again studied the ceiling. “No, I won’t tell you that,” he admitted, sounding like a sulking boy. “Minerva is a beautiful and passionate woman.” Turning around to her he said, “I can’t believe it! I’m in bed with a lovely woman - and she makes me talk about another one, trying to convince me that I should be together with her. Angharad, you’ll have to admit that’s strange!”

Angharad laughed. “That comes from taking someone to bed who cares about you, Albus!”

Sighing, he laid his head on her shoulder. “Sometimes life is pretty difficult, Angharad.”

“That’s an insight worthy of your wisdom!” Angharad commented dryly, playing with his hair. “But, for the most part, you’re not at your best tonight, honey. You’ve forgotten something important in maintaining that there’s nothing between you and Minerva McGonagall. You didn’t say that she isn’t interested in you.”

Albus didn’t respond. He didn’t want to lie to Angharad, so he only kissed her shoulder and turned away. “I need some cocoa. Would you like a cup too?”

“Albus!” Angharad caught him on the side of the bed. Putting her arms around him from behind, she kissed his left shoulder blade. “I promise I’ll stop pestering you. There’s only one thing more, Albus, please - don’t make yourself unhappy! Don’t stand in your own way, don’t let your doubts get the better of you. Trust yourself. I’ve loved you and I was with you long enough to know that you’re a man who deserves love and who’s able to make a woman very happy. Think about it, Albus - just think about it.”


To be continued