Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters.
Any.
Miss Rowling is a goddess for giving us these great personas to work with and she has been rewarded well for her talent.
enjoy.
Hermione paused as she found herself in front of the stone gargoyle that would lead to Dumbledore's office. Glancing down at the piece of parchment in her hand, she squinted at the tiny, neat handwriting.
Miss Granger,
I would like to speak with you. Come to my office after dinner. The password is "gobstopper".
Sincerely, Albus Dumbledore.
Hermione had no idea why he was summoning her to his office. She raked her mind, looking over the past few weeks to see if there was anything she had done wrong that would merit a trip to the headmaster's office. Nothing. She sighed and whispered the password. The gargoyle sprung aside, and she nervously stepped into the stairwell, pausing once more to look back before ascending the staircase.
She knocked lightly on the door and waited for a response. It swung open.
Dumbledore sat at his desk, rubbing his temples. "Hello, Miss Granger." he said, motioning for her to sit down.
She smiled politely. "Hello. You wanted to see me?"
He nodded at her, then turned away to collect his thoughts. He thought back to the many nights he had spent dreaming of her, dreaming of Hermione Granger, who was beautiful and sophisticated and wise beyond her years.
But how was he to tell her this? How could he confess to a student that his fixation with her was more than something professional, more than knowing her academic potential and trying to secure her a position at the Ministry when the year was through?
He sighed, then turned back to her. His eyes glided slowly over her face, the intelligent hazel eyes, her sculpted cheekbones, and her soft, pillowy lips, a pale rose that stood out on her otherwise golden face. He recalled the mornings he had spent hidden in the back of her bedroom to watch her awaken. He could see her now, the way she always shook her head and batted the air with her fists like a little kitten before sitting up and stumbling out of bed, so fresh and pink and new that it made his heart ache that he couldn't reach out and touch her.
It was wrong. So wrong.
But it wasn't as though it was a student-teacher relationship rooted in lust, like the tawdry affairs that bloomed between perverted old math professors and their naive students. No. It had gone beyond that.
It hadn't been until her fifth year that he had noticed anything. But she had entered the Yule Ball that night and suddenly his heart had stopped. He picked up on the way her auburn curls swished against the small of her back as she danced around the floor with other boys.
Student boys.
Her curves, lush and full and womanly, had rounded out and subtly screamed, look at me! Under the lines of the pale pink chiffon she had worn that night. And he had cursed himself for not being born 30 years earlier.
Dumbledore was no fool. He knew his little fantasies about the scandalously underage beauty couldn't go anywhere, even if he was, in reality, only fifteen years her senior. The truth was, the first Albus Dumbledore has passed away 10 years ago, leaving his son to continue his legacy. He had given his junior a cloak-polyjuice potion that he "wore" during his days at Hogwart's and removed at night, disguising him, wit included, as the older, wiser, Dumbledore. And now he had fallen in love.
He smiled at her, a bittersweet collision of pain and obsession. "I don't always look like this, you know." he told her.
She looked at him, confusion clouding her beautiful eyes. "Headmaster?"
"Albus, please."
Hermione blushed.
He tapped his wand to his forehead and muttered a charm: "Revealo!"
And the years fell away.
Suddenly standing before her was a tall man, ripped and gorgeous, who couldn't be a day over 30. In place of the white hair was a thick mane of dark brown satiny locks, and his cheeks were smooth and golden. But the vibrant blue eyes that locked into her own were laughing, and unmistakably Dumbledore's.
"It runs in the family." he explained to her. "I use my old man disguise during the day to keep ahold of the respect of the faculty and student body." he smiled at her.
Hermione's mouth hug open, matching her wide eyes. She stuttered, but could not get a full phrase out. He crossed the room and placed a finger over her lips, then replaced the finger with his own lips.
Hermione's breath caught in her throat, and there was a split second that she realized the wrongness of what was going on before she surrendered and lost herself in the kiss. And then she wasn't thinking anything at all.
Dumbledore pulled back sheepishly.
"Oh dear. That was highly unprofessional. I apologize."
Hermione shook her head and stood up in front of him, then reached out to kiss him again, and nothing had ever felt so right.
He stroked the sides of her face as the kiss deepened, and Dumbledore gently guided her through the door to his bedchamber, pulling her down on top of him.
She grew breathless and could feel the tingling growing between her legs. Her hands moved down his body and began to unbuckle his belt, never letting her mouth detach itself from his. He cupped her breasts, flipping her over so he was on top.
His fingers, deft and hungry, stroked her nipples through the thin white fabric of her shirt. They grew rigid beneath his touch and he could feel a shudder move through her body.
She was so beautiful.
One by one, he unbuttoned the buttons on the front of her shirt, longing to tear it off her hot little body. He slid it down, off her shoulders, and threw it across the room. He pulled back from the kiss and looked at her hungrily, fingering the white lace of her bra.
Hermione was breathless, flushed and pink, and tiny beads of sweat were beginning to gather on her forehead. She licked her lips and took hold of the back of his head, pulling him towards her. She guided his hands to her back, to the clasp of her bra, and he removed it in one smooth, unified motion. His eyes were hungry as he planted little kisses down her neck, down her collarbone, and onto her chest.
Her breath was growing quicker as he kissed around her nipples, then took one into his mouth, gently sucking at the pale pink mound he held in his mouth.
Hermione gasped.
He sucked harder, and flicked at the other nipple. Her breathing grew faster and faster. She took his hand and guided it down her body, to the zipper of her skirt. He expertly pulled down her skirt and touched the damp cotton of her black underwear, then gently pulled them off her. She grabbed his hand.
"I'm ready." she whispered.
He looked at her, his eyes gliding up and down the length of her body, taking in every inch of creamy, even skin, the way her breast, full and round, stood out and ended in perfect rosy nipples, hard and erect, that he was longing to reach out for again. Her flat, even stomach, and finally, the trembling, beautiful patch of skin between her legs.
He had waited too long.
He nodded, then reached up to pull off his shirt, exposing washboard abs and a v-cut. She instinctively reached out and stroked the smooth, tan skin, her eyes wide.
Fingering the waistband of his boxers, she slid them off him, slowly, and then brought her lips to his in a heated his.
He flipped them over, losing himself in the heat of the moment, and put her on top. He gripped her back and gave each of her breasts a tight squeeze before reaching down and stroking her mound, shifting them so that his rock-hard erection was now pressing into the inside of her thigh.
He stroked her clit, slowly at first, and then faster, moving his finger around the nerve endings and causing Hermione to whimper softly and move against his hand.
He plunged his other finger into her opening and traced circles around the fleshy, damp skin.
Just as she was about to climax, he pulled away and plunged himself inside her.
Hermione bit his neck and moaned with pleasure and he thrust over and over, deeper and deeper inside her. She thrust back and her breasts ground up against his chest with the forceful gyration of hips against hips.
He buried himself inside her, and they flipped over and over in a sweaty tangle of limbs and stark-white sheets. And then Hermione screamed, collapsing on top of him and moments later his seed filled her and he twitched, moaning with pleasure.
Exhausted, they lay, woman on top of man, with his erection still deep inside her, and she sighed.
"I love you." she whispered, her lips against his cheek.
And nuzzling her neck, he whispered it back to her and pulled her into an embrace.
And suddenly, things weren't just right anymore.
They were perfect.
The End.
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My first lemon, so be nice.