Measure for measure

Measure for Measure


Disclaimer: see chapter 1

Chapter 8: Night fly

“Sorry, Yves - I didn’t want to be rude, but I’ve got this odd feeling. I’m certainly not a seer, but over the years, I’ve learned to trust my emotions.” Albus strode energetically over to the park at the end of Diagon Alley. In the middle was a little meadow, used as Apparition point. Albus hurried towards it.

“I actually hope you’re wrong for once,” the Potions master said with a grim smile. “However, I understand you wanting to go back to Hogwarts to make sure Hermione is safe. Fleming certainly understands too. A father-to-be is allowed to be nervous and worried about his pregnant wife.”

“I’m probably overprotective about Hermione,” Albus said. “Sebastian von Peregrin will be with her …”

“Nevertheless, you’ll feel better seeing her safe and sound with your own eyes.” They’d arrived at the Apparition point now and Yves de Beauregard was pulling his wand out. “See you at Hogwarts, Albus!” he announced and disappeared with a little “pop”.

Albus found it hard to concentrate. He’d been nervous all evening, but now he was almost in a panic. His heart was hammering hard in his chest, his palms were wet with sweat and his stomach clenched. He’d tried all evening to calm himself down, but the forbidding feeling had increased to something like certainty. Hermione was in danger - he simply knew it.

Closing his eyes, he tried to think of the Hogwarts gates and nothing else. He needed all his willpower to push the thought of Hermione away, but it wouldn’t help her if he splinched himself now. He focussed on his target, murmured the Apparition spell, feeling a sense of relief at the familiar tugging at his consciousness. Then he was whirling around for a moment, out of time and space, weightless and dizzy, before he landed in front of the gates. Luckily for him Yves de Beauregard had waited for him and caught him, preventing Albus from falling down.

Smiling soothingly, the Potions master said, “Everything looks fine here. Your wife is probably already in bed.”

Albus nodded with a little sigh, pulled his wand out of his sleeve and whispered a spell. For a few seconds nothing happened, but then a little red and golden sphere appeared at the tip of the wand, flew over to the fence and hovered there. Albus gritted his teeth and cursed inwardly. He knew only too well what the little sphere stood for. It was the signature of Hermione’s magic – and it being there could only mean that she’d done a charm or spell here, only a few minutes ago. Now another light appeared at the tip of Albus’ wand - a tiny, green point which joined Hermione’s sphere.

The Potions master gasped. “Oh Merlin - he’s been here!”

Just at that moment, the ring on Albus’ finger started to glow, making a sound like a whistle. Albus looked at the Potions master, his eyes filled with horror. “He’s got Hermione!” He inhaled deeply, directed his wand at the ring and spoke the Locator spell. Once again a red light appeared at the tip of his wand, hovered for a few seconds over it and then flew in the direction of the dark forest.

“Headmaster!” Sebastian von Peregrin hurried down the path and opened the door at the gates. “Where is Hermione?” he asked, breathless.

“She was too early, I’m afraid,” Albus answered, his voice as cold as cracking ice. “Draco Malfoy got her. They’re in the Forbidden Forest.”

“We have to go after her,” Sebastian exclaimed.

“Just a moment - let me think first.” Albus looked at the Potions master. “I think you’ll have to change.”

“Of course.” The Potions master nodded.

“Good.” Albus directed his gaze at Sebastian. “Yves and I will fly over the forest. Hermione wears an enchanted ring on which I’ve just cast a Locator spell. We’ll go after it while you run up to the castle. Get the McGonagalls, Filius and then go up to the infirmary. You’ll find Alastor Moody there. Tell them to search, too. If someone needs help, shoot three red stars in the sky. Be careful! The man we’re after is a Death Eater and murderer.”

“Yes, Headmaster.” Sebastian von Peregrin turned and sprinted up to the castle.

Albus looked at the Potions master. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure you can do what’s necessary?”

“I won’t let him harm another person,” the Potions master said firmly.

Albus nodded and changed into his phoenix form, immediately spreading his wings and rising. To his left he heard the rustle of another pair of strong wings and turning his head, he saw a white falcon flying next to him.

As always in a crisis, Albus felt calm and collected. He’d pushed his fear away - he couldn’t afford to panic and so he forbad himself to think about Hermione and the baby and what could happen to them. He had to find and save his wife as quickly as possible - and that meant he had to concentrate on the tiny red light which would lead him to her. Only it had started to snow, the view over the forest becoming worse with every second. Albus couldn’t see the guiding red light anymore; instead he had to fight against the wind pushing him to the west, away from the forest. Flying against it, he searched through the dark trees under him. Where was the light? As long as it glowed, Hermione was alive, but Albus saw only snow and dark trees. Then, suddenly, the falcon was there. He passed Albus, screaming hoarsely and then diving down direct in front of Albus’ beak, turning sharply to the left in front of it. And there it was, the red flame, moving quickly to the north. Hermione was there and alive, but obviously running for her life.

Once again the falcon cried and flew with powerful strokes of his wings in the direction of the little flame. Albus followed him, his eyes connected to the red light. Now it moved even more quickly, turning to the left and then to the right again, doing a full circle, then heading north again. Hermione obviously was doing slalom between trees - but how long would she be able to keep this tempo up?

Albus flew as quickly as he could, fighting against the storm. Suddenly the flame stood still and then a triumphant howl sounded through the forest, followed by the crackling of branches and white light.

The falcon had just arrived over the white light. Pressing his wings close to his body, he kipped over, his head forward, letting himself fall down like a stone. Albus had never done such a manoeuvre - phoenixes weren’t hunters, but lived from vegetables and fruits - but nevertheless he followed the falcon, diving down with his wings folded against his body, breaking through the trees. Crashing against a branch, he tumbled down, but at least the leaves had stopped his hard fall and so he managed to land on his claws.

He heard Hermione screaming, “No! No!”

Another howl, this time furious, answered her. Albus turned around - and felt that his heart would stop beating. Hermione lay on the frozen soil, her wand broken, her head bleeding and over her was a werewolf, his fangs bared, just poised to bite.

Albus changed back into his human form, gripping his wand. Yet before he could pull it out, the falcon fell on the werewolf’s back, digging his claws and beak into its neck. The creature turned around, howling again, shaking itself, trying to get rid off the bird on its back. It rolled around, but the falcon was still over it, wildly clapping his wings. Albus used his chance. With one jump he was over Hermione, shielding her with his body and pulling her away behind a rock.

The werewolf and the falcon were still fighting, the bird using beaks and claws, the werewolf snapping at him and howling.

Albus turned around, wand raised, but couldn’t cast a stunner, knowing that one which was strong enough to get the werewolf, would hit the falcon and probably kill him. Yet he could try to bind the werewolf’s legs and so he cast his spell, but missed target because the werewolf had moved again, just out of the reach of the ropes which were flying at him. It’d become aware of Albus now and turned to him, snapping and foaming with rage. Albus cast a shielding charm over Hermione and jumped on his legs, once again directing his wand against the werewolf. He was just prepared for attacking it, but the falcon stopped him, this time picking at the eyes of the beast.

The creature obviously understood that it wouldn’t have a chance against the falcon and a wizard with a raised wand. Throwing itself against a rock, it tried to smash the bird on its head, but the falcon got away. As he let go, the werewolf used its chance to run. Albus sent a stunner after it, but the spell hit a tree, shaking and breaking the oak. It was Hermione who pulled Albus back before a branch could hit him, but slipping on the wet soil, he fell hard on his shoulder. A sharp pain went through him, but he nevertheless managed to turn around and looking at Hermione, he cried: “Did he bite you?”

Hermione lay on her side, protecting her belly with both hands. Tears and blood mingled in her face which was ghostly pale. “I’m not sure,” she answered. “There’s a scape on my leg. I got it when he first caught me.” Her eyes were full of horror. “Albus - I’m so afraid!”

Crawling to her, he took her in his arms and pulled her in his lap. “Don’t be afraid. I’ve got you and I’ll protect you. You’re safe, Hermione. I’m here and I won’t let you go.”

“Albus, you have to hunt him down! As long as he’s free, nobody is safe!” Hermione trembled in his arms, but her voice was firm.

“I won’t leave you alone here. I’ll get him, but first I’ll bring you back in the castle,” Albus said.

Behind him branches crackled. Jumping once again on his legs, Albus turned around, directing his wand against the dark trees.

“Hermione? Albus?” Augustus McGonagall stormed into the little clearing. “Thank the gods - you’re here and in one piece!” he called and raised his wand, sending red sparks up to the sky. Kneeling down in front of Hermione, he slipped out of his cloak and wrapped it around her. “How are you, Hermione?”

“Hermione was chased and perhaps bitten by a werewolf,” Albus explained wearily.

“A werewolf?” Minerva had arrived, out of breath and bracing herself against a tree.

“Albus!” Hermione tugged at Albus’ sleeve. “Go after him! I need to know he’s caught!”

“Hermione …” Albus didn’t want to let her go. He needed to feel she was safe. Nothing else mattered to him.

“Augustus and Minerva will get me home,” Hermione whispered. “Please, Albus - catch him!”

“It can’t have been a werewolf,” Minerva stated now. “Look up!” She pointed to the sky where, through an opening in the clouds, the moon just appeared - a small silver sickle. “Whatever has bitten Hermione - it can’t have been a werewolf.”

“Malfoy!” Hermione cried. “It was Malfoy!”

Albus got on his feet. “Augustus, Minerva - get Hermione to the infirmary. I’ll go after Malfoy.”

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

“You need to calm down, Hermione!” Minerva McGonagall pulled the still trembling Hermione close, her hand stroking her cheek, wet from tears. “Think of your little one! He’s had enough adrenaline for one night.”

“How can I calm down as long as Albus is out there?” Hermione cried. “I shouldn’t have sent him after Malfoy. We should have waited for the Aurors.”

“They wouldn’t have had a chance to catch him,” Augustus said. “Once they arrived here, he would have been out of the wards, Apparating away. If someone has a chance, it’s Albus, and he isn’t alone out there. He certainly has met up with Filius, Sebastian and Alastor in the meantime.”

“No, he didn’t.” Alastor limped into the infirmary, his cloak soaked, and a wet leaf on his shoulder. “The bastard made it to the outer parameter and Apparated away. Albus and Yves are after him. We found the signatures of their wands, but it was already too late to follow them.” He dropped into the last empty chair at Hermione’s bedside. “How are you feeling, lass?”

“I’m so worried about Albus!” Hermione was still crying. “If something happens to him …”

“Hermione!” Alastor sounded firmly. “Don’t underestimate your husband! The little bastard doesn’t stand a chance against him. Besides Albus isn’t alone. Yves is with him and the lad certainly isn’t too bad a wizard.”

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. She suddenly remembered the falcon that’d driven the fake werewolf away from her. “Yves is an Animagus,” she said slowly. “He is a falcon.”

“What?” Minerva looked at her out of huge eyes. “How do you know?”

“He attacked Malfoy. Why would a real falcon have done that?” Hermione answered.

Minerva wrinkled her forehead. “There’s no falcon in the Ministry’s register,” she said.

Her husband smiled. “Tabby, there isn’t a phoenix either. You know Albus never bothered with a registration.”

“Besides, why would Yves been registered at our ministry?” Alastor asked. “The man is French. Perhaps his falcon form is known to his ministry.”

“It must be,” Augustus said. “The French law is very strict about Animagi. In France even Albus wouldn’t dare to fly around as an unregistered Animagus. It could get him five years in their wizards’ prison.”

“A Potions master who’s an Animagus!” Minerva sounded almost offended. “Normally they can’t change a teapot into a turtle!”

“I’m very glad Yves is good at Transfigurations,” Hermione stated. “Without him it would have become even worse out there.” She leant her head back against Minerva’s shoulder. “Why did Malfoy use this disguise? I mean, his bite couldn’t make me a werewolf - or could it?”

“It could not.” Poppy had entered, a tray with a few cups and a vial in her hand. “He probably wanted to scare you to death – or to kill you with a bite in your throat.” She set the tray down at the nightstand and smiled at Alastor. “Are you well?”

“I’d be better if I could fight the bastard, too!” the old Auror grumbled.

Poppy uncorked the phial and gave it Hermione. “Drink this, dearie. It’s only a light soothing potion. It won’t do any harm to you or your baby, but it will calm you down a bit. Afterwards, you should try to sleep, Hermione. You’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

“I can’t sleep before Albus is back,” Hermione said.

“I’m afraid you’re right.” Poppy patted her hand. “Nevertheless you can drink the potion. Albus wouldn’t want you to fret yourself to death.”

“Yes.” Hermione nodded and gulped the potion down.

“Well - I think we should leave you now,” Minerva said. “You really need rest.”

“No please - don’t go, Minerva! I don’t want to be alone!” Hermione held Minerva’s hand and looked pleadingly at her.

“Of course, my girl. If you want us to, we’ll stay with you until Albus is back,” Minerva consoled her. “It won’t be long now, I’m sure.”

“Yes, Hermione,” Augustus joined his wife. “Albus probably already caught Malfoy. You’re safe now.”

There was a sound in front of the door. Hermione had heard it first and was already jumping out of her bed. “Albus!” She ran on bare feet to the door which just opened. Potions Master Yves de Beauregard, leaning on Albus, limped in. Both men looked dreadful. Beauregard had lost his robe, the fine white shirt he’d wore under it was soaked and dirty and the left leg of his black trousers were in rags, sticking to a bleeding wound. Albus didn’t look much better. His dark green outer robe hung wet and dirty around him, his hair was tussled and over his left cheek ran a scratch. He held the Potion master with his left arm, but had shoved his right hand between three open buttons of his under robe.

“Albus!” Hermione wanted to throw herself in his arms, but was afraid to hurt him, so she only laid her hand on his left arm.

Albus smiled weakly at her and let the Potions master down on an empty bed. “Draco Malfoy is dead,” he announced, his voice hoarse and tired. “I couldn’t stun him. He’d cast a shielding charm and then he tried to kill …,” he hesitated for a moment, breathing deeply, “… Yves. I had to kill him.”

“Albus …” Hermione wasn’t interested in Malfoy. She stroked over her husband’s arm. “Are you injured?”

“I think I’ve broken my shoulder,” Albus answered, looking at Poppy Pomfrey. “But you should look after Yves first. His leg is worse than my shoulder and he’s lost a lot of blood.” He laid his left hand on Hermione’s cheek. “Are you and the baby well?”

“Yes, Albus.” Hermione closed her eyes. She was almost dizzy with relief. “I was so worried about you!” She felt that his hand trembled and took it in hers, leading him to the next free bed. “Lay down, Albus. You must be exhausted.” He sank down on the bed, closing his eyes. Hermione stroked his hair out of his forehead. “I’m so glad you’re back!”

Alastor had risen and limped over to the bed Albus laid on. “Good job, mate!” he praised him. “You’ve given the bastard what he deserved.”

Albus didn’t answer. He only snuggled his cheek in Hermione’s palm, looking at her. “Are you in pain?” she asked.

Slowly he shook his head. “It’s bearable.” Looking at the nurse who was treating the Potions master, he asked, “How is Yves?”

“He’s got a nasty scrape and he’s really lost a lot of blood, but he’ll be fine,” Poppy replied, smiling at her patient. “I’ll get you a painkiller, Yves. Then I’ll look after the headmaster. Afterwards I’ll clean and heal your wound and feed you something which will make up for the loss of blood. You’ll have to spend the night here, but you’ll have company. Albus and Hermione will stay, too.”

“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey,” the Potions master whispered.

Poppy rose and looked at Minerva, Augustus and Alastor. “I think you can go to bed now.”

“Of course.” Augustus stood up and pulled Minerva with him. “Hermione, Albus, Yves - good night and get better! I’ll go to see Sebastian and Filius. They’re certainly waiting to hear the news.”

Minerva kissed Hermione’s cheek. “Sleep well, my dear. And don’t worry about your classes tomorrow. I’ll look after them.” Directing her green eyes at Albus, her smile became a bit awkward. “I’m glad you’re back and in one piece, Albus.”

“Good night, Albus.” Augustus McGonagall couldn’t suppress a little grin as he patted Albus’ healthy shoulder and followed his wife out of the infirmary.

Alastor Moody didn’t only grin slightly. His cheeky smile reached from one ear to the other as he looked at Albus. “Funny. I’ve done a lot of Death Eaters in, but Minerva nevertheless didn’t give me absolution for all my sins. I must have done something wrong.” He hugged Hermione. “Hop in bed, lassie. My godson needs rest and so do you.”


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


Poppy had healed Albus and ordered him into a bed next to Hermione. Putting a screen between them and the rest of the infirmary, she’d wished the couple a good night and had left. The door had hardly closed after her when Albus and Hermione had climbed out of their beds. Smiling at Hermione, Albus had pushed the chair between the two beds away while Hermione, grinning at him, had taken her wand from the nightstand. One swish and the both beds had merged to become a huge one. Hopping in, Hermione had met Albus in the middle for a long and tender kiss. Snuggling her head against Albus’ right shoulder, Hermione had gently touched his left. “Does it hurt much?” she had asked.

“No, sweetest heart - it only itches a bit,” he’d responded.

“But Poppy gave you Skele-Gro. It usually hurts,” Hermione had said.

“I’ll survive, Hermione. You’re safe - and that is what counts. You can’t imagine how worried I was as we came to the gates and you weren’t there. But how could this have happened? Why weren’t you with Sebastian von Peregrin?”

Hermione had sighed. “It was all my fault, Albus, and I’m sorry. I didn’t take your warning seriously enough. I came back too early. My mother was ranting again …”

“I’m so sorry, Hermione.” Albus had pulled her closer.

“Well - she was always stubborn,” Hermione had said. “But I should nevertheless have informed Sebastian that I was coming back a bit earlier. Yet I didn’t and so Malfoy got his chance. He must have hung around the gates for days, waiting until he could get me on my own. And he was well prepared. He was shielded and attacked me at the moment I appeared. I tried to fire back, but with his shields, I didn’t have a chance. And then he changed into this werewolf form - and I was in such a panic, I didn’t even think to look at the moon. I ran, chased by him. I tried to go in the direction of the school, but he was in my way and drove me to the forest.” She had shuddered and held on closer to Albus. “He enjoyed terrifying me. But actually I’m glad he was such a cruel bastard. If he hadn’t loved frightening me so much, you would have come too late. And I was so glad about the ring! I suddenly remembered it and turned it and I felt immediately better. I knew you’d come to save me.”

“Without the location charm of the ring, Yves and I wouldn’t have found you so quickly. It was clever of you to use it.”

“I’ll have to thank Yves tomorrow.” Hermione had yawned. “And you - thank you, Albus!”

“Hush!” He’d kissed her forehead. “Sleep, Piccola - it’s over and you’re safe.”

She’d slept in, snuggled against Albus, the calm beating of his heart the sound which accompanied her to the land of dreams.

But now she was awake again, her hands searching for Albus’ strong, warm body, but the pillow next to her was empty.

Hermione had just decided to call for him when she heard a sound - a half muffled, painful sob and then Albus’ voice, soft and consoling, “I’m here, my boy, I’m here. And I’m so sorry …”

The Potions master answered, his voice hoarse from crying, “I’m not accusing you, Albus. You didn’t have another choice. And I’m glad he’s dead! He was a monster, Albus! He was a murderer, a rapist, a sadist who enjoyed making other people suffer. If you hadn’t stopped him, he’d have tried it again.”

“You know I wanted to stun him.”

“If you hadn’t killed him, I would have,” the Potions master said. “He didn’t have a right to live anymore. Not after what he’d done.”

“We’re not judges, my boy,” Albus responded, calmly and sadly.

The Potions master whispered something Hermione couldn’t understand. Albus sighed. “Yes - I know. Nevertheless ….” Now his voice became inaudible too.

Hermione became uncomfortable about her eavesdropping. She knew that not only Albus, but the Potions master, was a private man. Neither of them would want someone to listen to their private conversation. Kicking her legs, she made the sheets rustle and signalled with a sigh that she wasn’t sleeping as soundly as the men probably thought.

Indeed, the conversation stopped. Both men listened for a moment. Then the Potions master whispered, “Your wife misses you, Albus. And you need your rest. Go back to bed.”

“Dear boy …” Hermione’s eyes had become accustomed to the dim light in the infirmary. Now she could see Albus’ shadow through the white fabric of the screen. His hand lay on the Potions master’s shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll find it,” he assured him.

“Albus,” the Potions master’s voice, although very quiet, sounded urgent, “you went through so much trouble. You can’t risk more - not with your pregnant wife. I’m fine, Albus, really. I can deal with things as they are. And I’ve still got a year and a half …”

“No. I promised you that I’d help you out. I won’t let you go through that alone,” Albus disagreed.

“Albus!” Hermione saw that the Potions master now rose up and put his hand on Albus’ arm. “You’ve got a good wife and you’re becoming a father. That’s the future, that’s what counts.”

“I’ve got a good wife indeed,” Albus responded. “She knows what loyalty means and she certainly wouldn’t want me to let a friend down.”

“Albus,” the Potions master started once again, “I was a complete failure as a husband, but one thing even I know, a wife wants to be set first. And yours deserves it.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Albus confirmed. “And I can assure you, she’s first. She and the child are the most important issues in my life. But as I’ve said, she wouldn’t want me to let you down.”

Hermione shifted, now feeling really uncomfortable. There was something between the men, something Albus didn’t want her to know about and - although she was almost bursting with curiosity - listening to a conversation which wasn’t meant for her to hear wasn’t something she could get her Gryffindor conscience to feel good about.

“Albus?” she grumbled, trying to sound as if she’d just woken up. “Where are you?”

“Here I am, darling,” he answered, patting the Potion master’s shoulder and standing up. “I’m just getting Yves a glass of water. Do you want one too?”

“Yes, that would be nice,” Hermione answered.

“I hope I haven’t wakened you, Hermione,” the Potions master said, sounding awkward.

“No, Yves, don’t worry,” Hermione watched Albus conjured two glasses of water, giving one to Yves and coming with the other around the screen, offering it to her. “Thank you, Albus.” She took the glass, sipped at it and put it on the nightstand.

Albus slipped out of the hospital dressing gown. He wore only a set of boxer shorts underneath and Hermione was glad about it. She wanted to feel his skin and as he came back to bed, she turned to him and laid her hand on his chest. He stretched his arm, once again offering her his shoulder to snuggle against. Kissing her forehead, he yawned. “Let’s go back to sleep, shall we?”

“Good night, Albus.” Hermione stroked his cheek and almost giggled. She’d always found it amusing how quickly he was able to fall asleep. It was as if he could switch himself off. And watching him when he was asleep had always touched her. She remembered a night in the summer of her sixth year. She’d spent it at the Order’s headquarters with Harry and the Weasleys.

The Order had been very active around that time. Almost every night, members had been out on missions. And Molly Weasley had been in the kitchen then, waiting for them to come back. Hermione had spent some time in her company, helping with the cooking and baking Molly had done to distract herself. In her parents’ house, Hermione had never cared about kitchen work, but magical cooking was fascinating.

Hence she’d been there as Albus and Alastor had come back from a very exhausting trip one evening. Molly had offered them a late dinner, but they had wanted to shower first. Hermione had laid the table and after ten minutes Alastor had come back in the kitchen, his hair still wet. Sitting down, he’d said, “I’m hungry as a wolf. I hope Albus comes soon.”

Five minutes later, he’d drummed with his fingers on the table, grumbling, “What the hell is Albus doing? Drying every one of his hair individually?”

Molly had looked at Hermione. “Just be a darling - run up and knock at the headmaster’s door. Tell him dinner’s waiting.”

Albus hadn’t answered Hermione’s knocking and she’d become worried. So after calling three times, she’d cautiously entered the room, finding Albus on the bed. He’d only slipped out of his boots and his outer robe and then he’d obviously just kipped, not even taking his spectacles down. Hermione had stepped to him, removed his glasses and pulled a blanket over him, watching him sleep for a moment. He’d looked so much younger and more vulnerable, not the imposing headmaster anymore, but a man with dreams and hopes and too many responsibilities lying on his shoulders.

Now Hermione envied him again a bit for his deep sleep. She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t push the thoughts of Albus and the Potions master away.

Ginny, who sometimes joked about herself that being female, a Gryffindor and a journalist made her the most curious person alive, had weeks before already looked up Yves de Beauregard in the members’ list of the International Confederation of Potions-Makers. She’d shown Hermione the entry and she remembered it very well. It showed the Potions master’s entire name - Yves Claude Raimond Conte de Beauregard, born on November 11, 1954, at Chateau de Beauregard near Clermont Ferrand in the departement Auvergne. His father - out of an old, French noble family - had been a Muggle; his mother was a witch, born in Paris. Yves de Beauregard had been educated at the French wizards’ school Beauxbatons. Afterwards he’d studied Muggle chemistry at the Sorbonne in Paris and gotten his doctorate; then he’d finished his education as the apprentice of the famous German Potions master Irenaeus Hertl-Hertesfeld in Freiburg. As a master, Yves de Beauregard had worked twelve years for a French potion lab, doing research on exotic herbs in South America. Then he’d become a professor at the Magical University of Lyon, but being a specialist of South American herbs, he still spent a lot of his time in the Amazons.

Until now Hermione had thought that Albus hadn’t known the Potions master before he’d applied for the job at Hogwarts. Yet the conversation she’d listened to had sounded as if they had been old friends.

When and where had they met? Hermione knew that her husband had travelled a lot; she knew too, that he spoke German and had been in Germany during the war against Grindelwald. But this had been before Yves de Beauregard had been born. And South America - hadn’t Albus once mentioned he’d like to see the places where the Mayas had lived and that he’d never found time for it yet? That meant he hadn’t been there yet. Besides, he spoke a lot of languages - Italian, Latin, Roman, German, Irish Gaelic, Russian, Goblin, Mer - but he had once admitted that he’d never been good at French, and Spanish he’d not even learned.

How had Yves de Beauregard acquired his Animagus form? Hermione had needed two years until she’d managed to change into her form - a Jack Russell terrier - for the first time and although she rarely used the dog form, she’d always been rather proud of it, knowing that it needed hard work and talent in Transfiguration to become an Animagus.

Potions masters and Transfiguration - that was normally a contradiction in terms. Of course, Albus, who’d started his career as a Potions master and alchemist, was an outstanding Transfiguration master too, but Albus was Albus. All other Potions masters Hermione had ever met had been in company with Severus Snape who’d disliked “silly wand waving”.

Minerva had always snorted when Severus had made a comment about “silly wand waving” and once she’d told Hermione, “Small wonder he dislikes working with a wand! When I took over as Transfiguration mistress, Albus let me have his old exams. So I know our esteemed Potions master was lousy at Transfiguration. He almost failed his NEWT.”

Hadn’t Albus once mentioned that his mother, who’d been a famous Potions mistress (she’d been the first witch ever who’d become Potions professor at the Cagliostro University in Venice), had never been good in Transfiguration either? “It was a running gag in the family, Mother always maintained she had only married father because she wanted to have a Transfiguration master at hand. She was a typical potions-maker - with a cauldron she could do almost everything, but changing a bug into a button she found difficult.”

And there was something else about Yves de Beauregard that irritated Hermione. Why was he so touched by Draco Malfoy’s death? He’d sounded as if he’d known the young man. But how? Hermione knew the Malfoys had roots in France and connections there. Malfoy had once even boasted about the family’s French vinery and their castle in France, but as far as Hermione remembered the Malfoy’s French estate was located in the Champagne - and wasn’t that rather far away from the Auvergne where the Beauregards were at home?

Besides, the Malfoys were pure-bloods - and Hermione remembered only too well how Malfoy had harped on the subject that his heritage was really “pure” while other wizard’s families had brought themselves “down” by letting Muggle-borns in. “Dumbledore’s great grandmother was a Mudblood,” he’d once said with disgust. “No wonder the man’s such a foolish Muggle lover. And even Zabini isn’t really a pure-blood. His great grandfather slummed around with a Mudblood too. My ancestors knew better - they didn’t spoil our bloodline.”

So what had connected Malfoy to Beauregard who was a half-blood and had grown up in the Muggles’ world?

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

“You know, Ginny, there’s one thing about my dear husband I really can’t stand,” Hermione ranted, directing her wand at one of Albus’ black boots which laid on the rug in front of the sofa. “He’s really exceptionally sloppy. He only needs three minutes to make a total mess out of every room he is in.”

“Three minutes?” Ginny had found the other boot which had been parked on the mantelpiece. Putting it next to its brother shoe, she grinned at her girlfriend. “I hope for you he’s only quick in undressing, but not in the proceedings.”

“Well,” Hermione blushed. “He was away for two nights - a Transfiguration master’s exam in Budapest. And I missed him very much.”

“You obviously di …” Ginny didn’t finish her line. She’d picked up Albus’ silken under robe which had lain under the sofa. Now she stared at the collar of it, swallowing hard.

“What’s the matter, Ginny?” Hermione looked at her.

“Uhm - ah …,” Ginny stammered, her eyes still fixed on the robe. Swallowing again, she hung the robe over her left arm and, with her right hand, picked a long hair from the collar. “Look there.”

Hermione took the hair and looked at it. “Well - what about it?”

Ginny took the hair back and put it on the burgundy robe again. “It’s blond,” she said quietly.

Hermione wrapped the hair around her finger. “Yes, it’s blond,” she confirmed calmly.

“Hermione!” Ginny cried. “It’s certainly not one of Albus’ hairs. And you …”

“I’m neither blonde nor do I have such long hair.” Hermione sat down at the chair in front of the fire. “But you don’t think I’d suspect my husband of cheating only because he’s got a blond hair on his collar?”

“You don’t?” Ginny threw the robe over the sofa and sat down too. “He …”

“Yes, Ginny,” Hermione interrupted her, “I remember our honeymoon. Nevertheless, I trust him.”

“Huh!” Ginny played with the hem of her sweater. “I don’t know if I’d be able to trust him so much.”

Hermione unwrapped the hair and threw it in the fire, watching how it braised. Laying her hands over her belly, she said, “I know him, Ginny. He isn’t a notorious womanizer and he certainly isn’t reckless. His night with Angharad Wilkes probably was something like ‘good bye, love’. And it happened at a time when we were married, but not really together. But now we are and I’m sure Albus wouldn’t come home after spending a night with another woman and then hop in bed with me.”

Ginny kneaded her hands awkwardly. “Hermione, I really don’t like to be the one who pours water in your wine, but - you’re my friend and I’d loathe if you were hurt again. And I mean …” She blushed. “Hermione, he could hardly have come home and refused to sleep with you without you becoming suspicious, could he?”

Hermione slowly shook her head. “Ginny, it was him who started it. And I’m sure he didn’t cheat on me before.”

“He’s a man,” Ginny said as if this would explain every failure.

Hermione sighed. “Ginny! I’m not a naïve little sheep who closes its eyes to the obvious. But I know Albus and …” She hesitated, breathed deeply and proceeded then. “Heck, he’s hundred and fifty three years old and even as the powerful wizard he is - he isn’t a young man anymore. I nevertheless can’t complain about not getting enough sex, certainly not. But,” her cheeks became slightly pink, “he normally needs between twenty-four and forty-eight hours after a climax until he’s up for the next round. When I want him before, he needs - how shall I put it?” The pink became tomato red now. “He needs a bit of help to get started then,” she finished.

“Ah so.” Ginny nodded. “And yesterday he didn’t need …?”

Hermione smiled. “Certainly not. It was him who started it and he was … I mean we hadn’t had intercourse for a week. In the night before Malfoy attacked me, we were together, but then - you know, Albus was injured. And painkillers aren’t exactly libido increasing. Besides Albus was very busy. Malfoy’s death and Albus casting a killing charm on him made for a lot of fuss at the Ministry. Then he was away for the exam …”

Closing her eyes she remembered the evening before. Albus had announced he would return that night, but she hadn’t expected him before midnight. She’d thought of her own examination. Five Transfigurations masters - Old Dribblewitt from England; Melusine Paracelsus, Headmistress of the German wizards’ school Blocksberg; Don Felipe Contez-Valleiro from the Magical University of Cordoba; Lars Ingerstrom from the University of Upsala and Musa al Hakhim, the Transfigurations master of the Egyptian Ministry of Magic - had tested her for two days. In the afternoon of the second day, she’d been sent out of the room. Albus had awaited her outside and he’d held her hand during the endless half hour the discussion inside had lasted. Then she’d been called in again to be told that she had made it. And that evening she’d been initiated as a member of the Brethren of Transfiguration Mistresses and Masters. The following celebration with the examiners and Albus - who’d been very proud on her - had gone long after midnight. Hermione had been told that this even hadn’t been long. Some celebrations would last until dawn.

Knowing about that, she hadn’t counted on Albus being back in the evening. So she’d been sitting at her desk, working on the research for the new project as he’d entered around ten o’clock. He’d looked tired and she’d smelled the taste of Firewhisky as she’d kissed him. “Did you have only a drink or a dinner too?” she’d asked him.

“Don’t fuss, Piccola - I’m fine. Only I’ve missed the both of you.” He’d laid his hand on her belly. “How are you?” Just this moment the baby had kicked against Albus’ palm, making him beam. “Oh, hello, son! You’re obviously in high spirits.”

“And how!” Hermione had sighed. “He was turning and kicking all day.”

Albus had stepped behind her, laying both his hands on her belly and stroking it tenderly. “Does he need his father to calm him down?”

Hermione had leant back with closed eyes. “I think you are already working on him,” she’d whispered.

Albus had nibbled at her ear. “His mummy works on me too,” he’d said in her ear. “You look ravishing, you smell lovely and I’ve missed you terribly. And,” his one hand had cupped her left breast, “if you don’t stop wriggling your sexy butt against me, I can’t guarantee you’ll make it to the bed without being ravished first.”

“And if you don’t stop fondling my breast, I’ll do you here, on the rug!” Hermione had given back.

“Oh. And what would you do if I stop?” Albus had chuckled.

Hermione had turned around in his arms, stroking over the bulge in his robe and slightly squeezing it. “You really don’t want to know, Albus!”

Albus had grinned. “An attack on the family jewels?”

Hermione had already pulled her wand out. Opening the buttons of his robe with one swish, she’d taken his erection in her hand. “I’m particularly fond of this certain part of you. I wouldn’t destroy it for the world.” Using her other hand to play with his testicles she’d looked up at him. “Albus, I don’t think I want to make it to the bed. Doesn’t this rug look inviting enough for you?”

He’d slipped out of his robe and had kicked his boots away before he’d undressed her with a snip of his fingers. “You’ve got an obsession with rugs, Piccola.” He’d grinned, lain down and pulled her over him. “But I like to share it. And I’m all yours. Do with me what you want.”

Hermione had kissed him and then, without further ado, she’d straddled him, taking his penis in her hand and guiding it in her. Although she couldn’t count anymore how often she’d now slept with him, it still felt sensational when he entered her. She loved the sweet little sting of getting stretched by him; she loved how he filled her; how his stiff member rubbed over her G-spot; how the few hairs around his base tickled when she came close to them and how he moaned and looked at her when she moved.


Ginny softly tugged at Hermione’s sleeve. “You look like the cat that got the bird - and why do I think your bird is a blue eyed phoenix?”

“Perhaps because we’re both into birds?” Hermione smiled at Ginny. “Did you find out what kind of falcon Yves is?”

“In any case he’s a brave one - or should I say he’s reckless?” Ginny pulled a little book out of the inner pocket of her robe. “That’s a copy of the French Animagus register. The first twenty pages are all about the law for Animagi and registration and the punishment for unregistered Animagi - like wand breaking and being banned from the wizarding world and going to the wizards’ prison.”

Hermione leafed through the register. “Oh - look there.” She pointed to the page she’d just opened. “There’s a Malfoy!” She read: “Cleopatre Gratafour, nee Malfoy, born in 1898 in Herfordshire/UK as the daughter of Tullius Malfoy and Ariadne Malfoy nee Dumbledore. Animagus form: Sparrohawk, Accipeter nisus, brown-grey.” She looked up at Ginny. “Albus is related to the Malfoys! Did you know that?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Sweetie, all pure-blood families are interrelated. As far as I remember was this Ariadne Dumbledore, the great grandmother of Draco.”

“That made Albus his great granduncle,” Hermione said, her forehead wrinkled. “And he had to kill him. How terrible!”

Ginny pointed to the register. “Back to our subject, Yves de Beauregard isn’t in there. At the moment, there are only six living Animagi registered in France. Three of them are female, none is a bird.”

“Bird Animagi are very rare,” Hermione said thoughtfully. Standing up, she plaited her robe and looked at Ginny. “Let’s go to the library.”

“What you want there?” Ginny asked.

Hermione was already on her way to the door. “I’m sure the library has a book about falcons. I want to know what kind of falcon Monsieur is.”

“I’d like to know that too,” Ginny said, running after Hermione.


Ten minutes later, Hermione and Ginny sat down at a desk in the library, Hermione opening a book with the title “Birds of Prey in Europe”. On the first page were drawings of different birds. Hermione studied them cautiously, shaking her head. “Hmm,” she grumbled. “He isn’t a buzzard, so much is sure.”

“Why?” Ginny pointed to one of the drawings. “You said he’s white with black - like this?”

Hermione shook her head. “This one has a rounded tail and look there, at the end of the wings - he’s got these single feathers there. Besides, this buzzard has too much black in his plumage. The falcon I saw was pristine white with only a few black spots at the tips of his wings.” Turning the book, she looked at the last page where more drawings showed other kinds of birds. “Here!” she cried, pointing with her finger on a white bird. “That’s the falcon I saw!”

“Gyre falcon”, Ginny read the description under the drawing. “And what does this tell us about Monsieur de Beauregard?”

Hermione glanced through the book until she’d found the description of the gyre falcon. Reading it she wrinkled her forehead. “It tells us that Monsieur is even more mysterious as we’ve thought,” she said quietly. Looking at Ginny she asked: “What do we know about his family?”

“Not much,” Ginny said. “He was sired by a French nobleman; his dame was a witch from the South of France.”

“And he looks a true French man with his dark curls and the black eyes,” Hermione proceeded. “So how did he acquire the form of a falcon which lives only in the Northern part of Europe? Here it is: ‘The natural habitat of a gyre falcon is Greenland and Iceland’. It doesn’t come further south than the coasts of Germany. And you know, the Animagus form of a wizard is connected to his heritage - unless the wizard is a certain Albus Dumbledore. But the average wizard always becomes an animal which lives in the country he comes from.”

Ginny scraped herself behind her left ear. “A French wizard with an unregistered, strange Animagus form,” she said. “The more I learn about Monsieur, the more questions I’d like to ask him.”

“I’d actually like to ask my husband same questions.” Hermione put the book back in its shelf.

“And why don’t you?” Ginny demanded to know.

“Because I wouldn’t get any answers,” Hermione replied calmly. “Albus never answers a question he doesn’t want to. You know how often he was asked - by Minerva, Alastor, your father, Harry and me - about his relationship to Snape. We all always got the same one liner, ‘That’s between Severus and me.”

“But you’re his wife!” Ginny said.

Hermione smiled and marched out of the library. “You know what I’ve always disliked about young men and why I never wanted one? Ron, Harry, Titus - they always did what I ordered them to. Sometimes I thought if I’d commanded them to jump in the lake with their clothes on - they would have done so without questioning why. And how could I respect a man who I can push around? Albus I can’t. I can ask him to do something for me and I’m sure he’d do everything for me - as long as it doesn’t go against his principles. He won’t become a woman’s fool - not mine, not another woman’s. And if one would try blackmailing him by refusing sex - it would be a good way to drive him out of the bed forever. As much as he likes sex, he isn’t a slave of his body. And that’s part of what I love about him.” She looked at her watch. “Oh hell - we’re late, Ginny! If we want to be punctual for dinner, we’ll need to start soon.”

“I want to be punctual!” Ginny grinned. “I’m bursting in curiosity about the girl Harry wants us to meet.”

Hermione and Ginny had arrived at the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Main tower. Hermione murmured the password, the gargoyle moved and the both women stepped on the staircase behind it. “Ginny, could you perhaps get our cloaks and bags while I tell Albus that we’re going?” Hermione asked.

“Of course, dearie.” Ginny patted Hermione’s shoulder. “But I’ll come down to his office. So please think of my innocent soul! No shagging on the desk!”

“Your what?” Hermione laughed out loud.

“My innocent soul!” Ginny climbed on the next staircase.

Hermione shook her head and knocked at the door to the office of Albus’ secretary. Entering she smiled at Delenn March who was sitting at her desk. “Hello, Delenn,” she greeted.

“Oh, hello, Hermione!” The secretary smiled at her. “How are the both of you?”

Hermione stroked over her belly. “We’re fine, but a bit in a hurry.” She pointed with her chin to the door to Albus’ office. “Do you think I can disturb your boss for a moment?”

The secretary laughed. “He’ll love it! Professor McGonagall buried him in paperwork. He was whining about it all afternoon.”

“Then I’ll give him a little break!” Hermione turned to the door, but before she could knock, Albus opened it from the inside. “Delenn, I can’t find …” he started, but then he saw Hermione and beamed at her. “Piccola! How nice to see you. Come in.” He laid his hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “Delenn, it’s already late. Don’t you want to call it a day?” Shoving Hermione inside his office, he pulled her in his arms. “Give us a kiss, will you?”

Hermione raised and kissed the tip of his crooked nose. “I only came to tell you that I’m going.”

“You’re leaving me?” Albus held her close. “But I’ll feel lonely without you.”

Hermione looked at his paper laden desk. “I think you’ve got enough work to do. Besides I told you that I’d be meeting Harry and his new girlfriend tonight.”

“Yes, you’ve told me.” Albus laid his hand against her cheek. “But I’m going to miss you. And you know I can’t sleep without you.”

“I shall give you a teddy bear, Albus!” Hermione played with his hair, but turned then to the door because it had been knocked on once again. Opening it, she smiled at her friend. “Ginny, come in.”

Ginny entered, her and Hermione’s cloaks over her arm. “Hello, Albus!” she greeted cheerfully.

Albus bent down and gave Ginny a peek on the cheek. “Hello, Ginny. You’re looking lovely.”

“Thank you.” Ginny smiled at Albus. “You’re not looking too bad either. Nevertheless, I’ll take Hermione away from you now.”

“But you’ll promise to look after her, won’t you?” Albus laid his arm around Hermione’s shoulder, kissing her cheek. “You are going to be careful, Hermione, aren’t you? You know, you’re needed.”

“Am I?” She looked at him.

“Very much so. I’m so used to your nagging and ranting at me.” He grinned.

“Bah!” Hermione took her cloak and let Albus help her in. “Don’t work all night, Albus. You need rest too. And have dinner! You can’t live from only eating sweets.”

“Yes, Mummy. I’ll be a good boy,” he promised. “And by the way, my regards to Harry and his new girlfriend.”

“Yes, we’ll tell him. Ciao, Albus!” Hermione was on her way to the door.

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


“And? How do you like her?” Harry looked expectantly at Ginny and Hermione. His girlfriend had just gone to the washroom.

“She’s nice and obviously intelligent and interesting to talk with,” Hermione stated, leaning back and folding her hands over her belly. She felt wonderfully relaxed. The dinner that Harry, his girl, Ron, Ginny and Hermione had just consumed, had been delicious. The cosy Indian restaurant near Merlin College had been a favourite place of Hermione’s during her time as student at Oxford and sitting here with her friends, sipping at a glass of pumpkin juice, felt like being back in old days.

Next to her, Ginny grinned. “The real question is: Is Harry clever enough to cope with such an intelligent girl as Natalia obviously is?”

Harry didn’t let her go at him. Chuckling he gave back, “I’m used to intelligent and emancipated girls. I was at school with Hermione.” He beamed at her. “I’m sure you and Natalia will become good friends. And isn’t she great? And so pretty!”

Ron giggled. “Oh my, oh my! Harry’s got it so bad!”

Hermione smiled. She was happy about Harry obviously being so much in love. And Natalia Tushnikov, the Russian Charms student he’d introduced to his friends, really looked like someone Hermione could like. She wasn’t a stunning beauty, but nice to look at with her dark hair and beaming blue eyes and she obviously had humour and a heart.

Besides, having grown up in Russia, she’d come to England only two years before. Harry had met her at Diagon Alley and - as he’d happily told Hermione - she hadn’t known him! She had - as probably every witch in Europe - heard about the war in England, but the name “Harry Potter” hadn’t been known to her. For her Harry wasn’t “the boy who lived and defeated Voldemort”; he wasn’t the hero and saviour of the magical world, but simply the nice young guy she’d fallen in love with. Hermione could imagine how much Harry enjoyed that. He’d always hated his fame and he’d always felt uncomfortable with girls swooning about him. Natalia was just the type he’d searched for.

And now she was back at the table and sitting down next to Hermione, smiling at her belly. “Harry told me you’re expecting a boy. I can imagine how much you look forward to having him. You know I have four little siblings at home. My youngest brother is just four and such a great child. I miss him terribly.”

“You can volunteer to baby-sit Hermione’s youngster,” Ginny giggled. “She certainly will be glad sometimes to have someone else look after her son. My mother always was.”

“Oh, and talking about our mother,” Ron said. “She told me she’d heard from someone your boy would be named ‘Habakkuk’. That’s not true, is it?”

“With Hermione and Dumbledore one can never know. But Habakkuk Dumbledore,” Harry tried and made a face. “It’s ugh!”

“Besides, Habakkuk Dumbledore would be too short,” Ginny laughed. “Dumbledore junior needs a few names more.”

“Of course!” Hermione nodded.

“Why?” Natalia wanted to know. “Your husband’s given name is Albus, isn’t it? That’s not very long.”

“Her husband’s entire name is Albus Percival Brian,” Harry said.

“Wrong, Harry. It’s Albus Percival Wulfric Brian,” Hermione corrected him.

“That’s a mouthful!” Natalia commented. “But you don’t have to address him with all his names, Hermione?”

Ron laughed. “Probably Hermione has a nickname for him.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. She’d always detested abbreviations of her name and she hadn’t been fond of nicknames either - except of Albus’ “Piccola”. Ron knew that, but she couldn’t resist teasing him. “In special moments I always call him ‘Albiedooh’,” she grinned.

“Ugh!” Ginny giggled. “That’s almost as cute as ‘Ronniekins’. So our mother used to call him.”

“Except when she’s sending him howlers,” Harry added. “There it was always ‘Ronald Weasley!’”

“Augustus McGonagall said the entire school was always breaking down in laughter when Albus’ mother sent him a Howler. She really used all his names when she was yelling at him,” Hermione told them. She looked to the door that had just opened. An older wizard entered. Although he was bald headed, he was a handsome man; looking like a Roman patrician with a big, but well formed nose; dark eyes; an energetic chin and a generous mouth. He wore a dark green velvet robe and was accompanied by a gaunt blonde witch in dark blue robe.

Seeing Hermione, he smiled, waved at her, said something to the witch who was with him and made a beeline to the table Hermione and her friends were sitting at, out-stretching his hand. “Hermione - or must I address you as ‘Madam Dumbledore’ now?”

“Hermione will still do, Professor Attenby,” Hermione had stood up and taken his hand.

“We’re colleagues now, Hermione - and so it is Richard.” The professor, who’d been Hermione’s teacher and secret crush at the university, looked at her belly and grinned. “My, my, girl - are you ever pregnant! When will you have the baby?”

“If it’s punctual, it will come in four weeks,” Hermione replied.

Richard Attenby laughed. “Considering it’s Albus’ child, I can’t imagine it will be on time. But speaking of your impossible husband - where is he? Still away?”

“No,” Hermione answered. “He’s at Hogwarts, working himself through a mountain of paperwork and whining loudly about it.”

“If I get some time at hand, I’ll pity him,” Richard Attenby grinned. “You know, I’m used to Albus being sometimes erratic, but this week he really overdid himself. Asking me two days before an exam to take over for him and then for a candidate with a terribly complicated two hundred and fifty page thesis! I wouldn’t have done it for anyone else than Albus - but I really hope the business he had to do was really as important as he told me.”

Hermione felt Ginny gaze at her. She knew as well as Hermione what Attenby had just revealed. Albus had lied. He hadn’t been at the exam.

Hermione breathed deeply. She wouldn’t show Richard Attenby or her friends that she felt as if she’d just gotten a punch in the stomach. “I’m sure his business was important,” she said and wondered how she managed to sound so calm. “He wouldn’t have bothered you if it hadn’t been.” Forcing herself to smile, she pointed to the table. “Would you like to sit down?”

“No, thank you, Hermione.” Richard Attenby looked over at the table where his companion sat. “Professor Edgins and I were working all evening and now we want to have a quick dinner and a talk about our project. But it was nice to have run into you. We should have dinner together soon, don’t you think? Next week here? Kick Albus out of his stuffy office - he’s working too much!”

“I’ll ask him if he can get himself away for an evening,” Hermione promised.

“Well, then …” Richard Attenby waved to the entire table. “Have a nice night!”

While he went back to the table where his colleague waited for him, Hermione forced another smile at her friends. “I’ll go for little king tigresses,” she announced.

Ginny was immediately on her feet too. “I’ll go with you.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Why must girls always go to the loo together?”

Ginny grinned. “Because they want to pull the boys through their teeth there!” Following Hermione to the washroom and closing the door there behind them, she hugged her friend. “I hate that. How do you feel?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, Ginny. I must think.”

Ginny breathed deeply. “I can’t believe it.”

“What?” Hermione asked.

“That he cheated on you. If he’s done it, he’s the best actor I ever saw. Just before, before we left – the way he looked at you was so full of tenderness and pride. How could he look at you like that when there’s another woman on his mind?”

Hermione leant against the tiled wall, her hands protective over her belly. “I don’t believe he cheated either,” she said slowly.

“But why did he lie then?” Ginny asked thoughtfully.

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. “In the literal sense of the word, he didn’t. He told me about a master exam in Budapest. Period. And then he said he’d be away for two days. It was me who connected it.”

“Oh, come on!” Ginny rolled her eyes. “You’re already talking like a Slytherin!”

“Albus is a Slytherin,” Hermione reminded her. “Nevertheless, I don’t think he’d lie to me just for the fun of it. He’s certainly got a reason - a good one.”

“If I were in your shoes, I’d confront him,” Ginny said.

Hermione sighed. “I don’t think it would make much sense. He doesn’t want me to know, hence he won’t tell.”

“Hermione, you’re his wife! You have a right to know what he’s up to!” Ginny said energetically.

“I don’t think he’d agree with you,” Hermione said with a weary smile. “And once again, Ginny, he’s certainly got a reason to keep that from me.”

“So you intend to swallow this? Just so?” Ginny shook her head. “Hermione, are you sure you’re not overdoing the ‘respect your husband’ thing? Respect shouldn’t only go in one direction. And lying to one’s wife certainly doesn’t count as respectful behaviour toward her.”

Hermione stroked over her belly. “I know, Ginny, I know. But I really have to think before I act. And I know if I confront him, he certainly will refuse to talk about it.” Once again she chewed on her bottom lip. “Even worse, he would probably want a promise that I stay away from this - whatever it is.”

“And you don’t intend to?” Ginny asked.

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “I’ve had enough. I want to know what’s up - and I’ll find out!”

“That’s the spirit!” Ginny praised. “I’ll be with you - and we will find out your dear husband’s secret!”


To be continued …