Summary: Albus Dumbledore thought that defeating Gellert was the hardest thing he had ever done. That was until a rather shy Dumbledore attempted to acquire a date for Elphias Doge's party. Post-defeat of Gellert Grindelwald Era. Part 1 of 2.
Warnings: Mentions of AD/ED and AD/GG and a very socially Inexperienced!Dumbledore. Fluffiest of Fluff.
A/N # 1 – seraglio - Italian word for the sequestered living quarters used by wives and concubines in a Turkish household.
A/N #2 - cortigiana onesta - The cortigiane onesta are well-educated and worldly courtesans They were chosen on the basis of their "breeding"—social and conversational skills, intelligence, common-sense, and companionship—as well as their physical attributes. It was usually their wit and personality that set them apart. They were prostitutes in the sense that sex was one of their obligations, but unlike the average prostitute, sex constituted only a facet of the courtesan's array of services. For example, they were expected to be well-dressed and ready to engage in a variety of topics ranging from art to music to politics. (Wiki)
A/N # 3 - cortigiana di lume – Slighty lower class than a cortigiana onesta.(Wiki)
Upon his entrance into the small nondescript building that stood on the corner of Nightingale Lane, Albus Dumbledore, Defender of the Free Wizard World was immediately greeted by a woman, who surprisingly, considering her occupation, was rather plain and dressed in sensible clothes. Her hazel green eyes were amused as though his disparaging thoughts were obvious, and he flushed. It was not his manner to be so transparent, but he was a tad bit anxious.
"We pride ourselves on substance and discretion, not flash and panache, Sir," she politely explained as she escorted him to the drawing room.
"My apologies, I did not mean to imply…" he quickly apologized.
The drawing room was exquisitely done in classical style and full of antiques. There were even assorted magical classicals scattered about for his perusal on the various end tables. The room spoke of class and elegance, of old money and cigars. It was meant to be a comfortable, soothing room, but Albus Dumbledore noticed that his knee was shaking.
There was a table set up for tea, and naturally, being a gentleman, he held out her chair for her so she could sit down.
"Thank you," she murmured in approval, and he realized that he had just passed some test of hers. He had never made use of a brothel before, and the fact that he needed to be interviewed by the Madam before he was allowed into the seraglio was a trifle unnerving.
On one hand, he wasn't at the grocers picking out a melon for his dinner; he was merely attempting to attain a suitable companion for a dinner party. He couldn't understand why must the transaction be so bloody difficult? Well, least this had the hint of respectability about it, as it would be horribly gauche to be given a list of vitals stats and told to pick a stud at random.
"Don't apologize, kind Sir! Everyone, when they first walk through that door, takes one look at me and is horribly, horribly disappointed. As a Madam, they believe I should greet my customers in a see-through peignoir. That's not how I run my Gentleman's Club, Sir. We are Triple Confidentiality Bonded and our reputation is unmatched by any other establishment." Madam Esme gently reminded him. "I caterer to a certain clientele, primarily the higher social realms of our society, though I must confess to my deep surprise that a mage of your sterling reputation is interested in my services."
He said not a word; instead, he blushed, as she was quite correct. Why was he here? Couldn't he have his pick of his circle of fawning admirers from which to choose? His flustered non-response was duly observed by the Madam.
"I do wonder, and wish you'd tell me why you are in need of one of my boys. I assume with your reputation, you wouldn't have to pay for such services," Madam Esme gently prompted. "You're quite the flavour of the month."
Her hazel green eyes measured and weighed him, estimated the size of his tackle and noted that he hadn't brought his familiar with him. Madam Esme desired an answer, and she was quite prepared to sweat the answer out of him.
Oh, she would have given Gellert's Questioners a run for their Galleons, as Albus was horrified that he would have to admit so much, so soon.
"I can assure you, honored Sir, that your answers will be kept completely confidential. What happens in this room stays in this room. A mage of your caliber, noble Sir, can no doubt detect the Wards that will ensure your privacy." Her tone was polite, but there was a sense of carefully moderated outrage that he believed that his secrets were not safe with her.
"It's not that, Madam Esme. Your reputation is formidable and your reputation for discretion is unsurpassed. It is very difficult for me to reveal so much of me to a near stranger. You are quite correct; I could have my pick of willing souls. Quite frankly, I must regretfully admit that I find their keenness to physically entertain me quite nauseating and rather unsettling," Albus regretfully admitted. "Plus several of my scars from my duel are far too… unpleasant for fair-weathered souls."
"So you desire a whore?" She prompted. "Because you believe that they won't recoil in disgust due to your scarring?"
"I would like a cortigiana onesta," he retorted. "I'll pay for two days, upfront. I reserve the right to decline the use of his services for tomorrow if, through not fault of his own, I decide he's not the right one for tomorrow's engagement. I assure you that he will be reimbursed for tomorrow whether or not he attends."
One perfect eyebrow arched in surprise.
"Not the right one for an engagement? My gentlemen are all highly educated and quite witty, how could they fail to be suitable for this engagement of yours?" Esme questioned. "I am not aware that the Ministry is having a function tomorrow."
"It's a dinner party thrown by a friend," Albus admitted. Again, his cheeks were flame colored, and he continued. "A very dear friend and his wife are throwing a dinner party. I am the Guest of Honor, and I very much would desire not to attend it alone."
"They're aware of your particular peccadillo?" The entirely too sharp Madam pounced.
"We were… lovers…" Albus hesitantly admitted. "It's long over, but we are still good friends. His wife is aware of the reason for our fondness and is not jealous."
"How long have they been married?" was her next question.
"Six years," he answered.
"How many children do they have?"
"Leah is carrying their first, and she is due in three months. I am to be Godfather," he said with a touch of pride. "It is a honor, and it speaks well of Leah that she suggested me."
Esme drank her tea in silence, and then delicately nibbled on a biscuit.
"What are your interests besides defeating Dark Lords?" That was her next verbal volley. "Tell me everything. What's your current occupation?"
"I'm currently working at Hogwarts as an instructor. I'm fascinated by knitting patterns. I enjoy ten-pin bowling though I've not mastered it, and I enjoy chamber music. I have two tickets to a concert tonight, if he's willing to attend."
He wondered if he should open his mouth so she could see that he still possessed all his own teeth, but no doubt the sharp-eyed Madam Esme had observed that plus the small thinning patch in his graying auburn hair. Albus had worn his best clothes for his interview, but he wondered if he had been smart to leave Fawkes at home. Right now, Albus could use his familiar's emotional support as truly this ordeal was rather harrowing and quite unnerving.
"What composers are featured at the concert tonight?"
It was a genteel question, but what was her reason for asking? To continue the bitter pretense that this was merely a polite conversation over a tea?
"It's a mixture of Schubert, Beethoven, Robert and Clara Schumann, and a few others," he informed her. "It's an early concert, so I thought dinner afterwards? I'm not sure what one plans….for an evening such as this? I was pondering if chocolates or flowers would be amiss for a token when we meet?" Albus frowned and shook his head. "Probably, woefully inappropriate. I understand that traditionally I am to present him with a token, but what does one give a cortigiana onesta?"
"You're doing exceedingly well so far, as you grasped that reality that this is a date, not just a grope fest," she assured him. "Trysting Tokens are usually delivered several days after your date. He'll respond back with either a delicate suggestion for more interaction or else he'll just graciously thank you for your token, which is a polite way of saying you can no longer hire him. You take it from there, and you can decide if you wish to hire him again. Physical features? Any preferences?"
"My only preference is…." Albus closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, thinking of the two men he had once loved. Only one's appearance caused him physical pain whenever he thought he saw HIM out of the corner of his eye. "I would prefer that he not be a green eyed, blonde with curly hair. If it is at all possible, I would be most grateful."
"The husband is a green eyed blonde or the wife?"
"Neither, he was a brunette, but he's salt and pepper now. Blue eyes, as for Leah? She changes the color of her hair quite often, but her eyes are light green. I believe her hair color is currently… Mumbai Mahogany?" Albus questioned.
"Malcolm," Emse decided. "I think Malcolm St. Rhys would be perfect for you. He's steady, reassuring and a shameless tease, but don't worry, he'll only be flirting with you. You don't mind if your courtesan is a little thick?"
"Mentally slow?" Albus questioned. "I was hoping more for a cortigiana onesta than a cortigiana di lume. I'm a little lonely, and I was hoping that the gentleman was someone with whom I could converse, on any subject rather than the Great and Glorious Battle. That subject is completely off-limits. I talk about it enough, and I wish not to even think about it this weekend."
"No, his build. Malcolm has a little bit of a tummy, not too much, but some insist on an Adonis or a Ganymedes," she explained. "He's quite well turned-out and exceedingly witty. Well versed in all classical subjects and he's quite fond of chamber music. Malcolm is quite the intellectual and will be able to keep his wits in a conversation with you."
"I'm not much of a looker," Albus admitted. "I wouldn't expect an Adonis to grace my arm."
"Very well, Malcolm it will be. Now, the delicate part of our transaction," Esme murmured.
"I have brought the necessary funds…"
Necessary funds had been nearly half his yearly salary at Hogwarts, but it would be worth it, and more, not to appear as a pathetically lonely gay boy at the festivities.
She turned a delicate shade of pink, and energetically began fanning herself with a fan that she had Transfigured from a fork. It didn't take the genius that Albus was to realize that he had just made a gigantic faux pas. Social niceties of the upper crust were completely beyond him.
"Please, friends do not speak of monetary remuneration," she gently chastised him.
He bit his lip, and she quietly closed her fan, having made a miraculous recovery from her near swoon.
"You put it in the silver bowl on the table before you depart," she whispered.
He quickly looked, saw the silver bowl in question and he nodded.
"You need to fill out the questionnaire. It asks some personal questions and that way Malcolm will be able to ensure that you enjoy yourself. After you complete the questionnaire, you can leave. You will go to the address on the survey at three this afternoon, and you'll meet Malcolm then. I think you two will hit it off splendidly."
"Questionnaire?" Albus repeated. He disbelieved that he had heard her correctly. "I have to complete a survey?"
"Sometimes, I find that people are shy about voicing their expectations. An appraisal of what you wish from the experience seems the best way to prevent awkward conversations and misunderstandings. A happy customer will return to visit again, and since we're now friends, I truly hope to see you again. When you're done with the survey, it will appear in my office, where I will discuss it with Malcolm. Remember, I assure you on complete confidentiality."
The madam nodded once and then left the room, closing the door behind her in order for Albus to have complete privacy in filing out his survey.
Hesitantly, he put on his half-moon spectacles to complete the survey. Since he had turned sixty or so, his eyesight wasn't as keen as it once was, and he had been too vain to wear them during the interview.
"Do I like watersports?" He questioned. "What does swimming have to do with this madness?"
Madam Esme had been running her Gentleman's Club for nigh onto forty years, and never had an answered questionnaire filled her with such horror. The potential for something to go horrifically wrong was quite high.
His answer to "Do you like watersports?" had been a rather perplexing, "I prefer the breaststroke when swimming," and the answers had gotten steadily worse.
She decided a wee dram might be helpful in settling her nerves, and when that failed to do anything, she had two more in rapid succession. Malcolm St. Rhys entered her office, and wisely, seeing the rarely used bottle of medicinal comfort was still in use, sat down quietly. Being a successful cortigiana onesta required discretion and a keen eye for detail. Now, would not be a good time to interrupt Madam Esme's self-medication.
Malcolm was in his mid-sixties with short cropped midnight black hair long gone to a pleasing salt and pepper. His eyes were a pleasant sky blue and sparkled with intelligence. He was taller than most and the fact that he possessed a slight paunch mattered not at all to him. In other words, he was normally a man comfortable with who and what he was. But Emse's irregular behavior was making him a tad anxious.
"Malcolm, I have a new client for you, and I would plead with you that you use kid gloves with this gentleman," she finally said after her fourth wee dram. "It will be very bad if he's not completely satisfied with our Club. I fear to rouse his temper by displeasing him. I could easily imagine him annihilating the Club if he is not chuffed with his experience."
"Come now, he can't be that bad if you've gotten him this far in the vetting process. Who is he? Bloody Albus Dumbledore?" Malcolm cheekily commented. "He might want to wipe out London if we really irk him."
The squeak that was produced by the normally composed Madam Esme was answer enough for Malcolm.
"Give me the bottle, Esme," he protested. He was not a man to panic easily or find solace in drink, but this was a very special occasion.
"It's mine, all mine, you can't have it," she retorted, clutching her liquid comfort to her chest, much like a mother protecting her babe. "Besides, you're Hired for the next fifty two hours, Malcolm. You can only drink with your client."
"Are you sure that one of the pretty boys might not be more his style?" Malcolm intently questioned. "He's rather cosmopolitan. How about Bryce? He's a sweet looking boy, got a nice mouth and he's extremely flexible. Bryce is quite good shape, while I've got my paunch. You're always ragging me on it, claims it cuts down on my profitability."
"No, Malcolm, Bryce doesn't have the skills needed for this," Esme explained.
"He's your Top Rated Courtesan among the upper echelon. Cancel his contracts and send him on to Dumbledore," Malcolm insisted. "You can't send me to Dumbledore! I know my strengths…. He'll want somebody limber which I'm not. As you are well aware, my top Customer Satisfaction Surveys are from…the shy little gay boys…"
Malcolm's jaw dropped and he put his hand to his aching head.
"He's… not?" Malcolm whispered in a mock horrified tone. "Then why is he hiring a bloody whore? There are probably easily ten thousand men and woman willing to make a man out of him! What does he need a bloody whore? Why me?"
"We do NOT use that term here, Malcolm," retorted Esme. "We also don't use that LANGUAGE here! Your client wishes to hire a suitable companion for forty eight hours. Tonight, he'll take you to a chamber music concert and then dinner. If you are compatible, he'll take you to a party tomorrow. The party is in his honor, and it's being thrown by his former married lover and his pregnant wife."
"He desires Arm Candy to show his former lover that he's moved on from their relationship. I'm most assuredly not Arm Candy," protested Malcolm. "That's Alwyn. How about Gareth? He's bemoaning the fact that he doesn't work enough. You were even saying last week that he needs to start pulling more business or he's out in the street."
"He doesn't want Arm Candy, he wants companionship and he desires someone suitable he can present to his former lover. I've got less than four hours to get you cleaned up as you're meeting him at three."
"Give me the questionnaire," roughly ordered Malcolm, as he was, pardon the pun, the consummate professional. "Plus give me his file."
"Malcolm, be gentle with him. He was wondering if he should bring you flowers when he meets you, so don't laugh. Whatever you do, if you want to live through this, please, do not disparage him."
"Flowers?" Malcolm flashed a winning smile as he was practicing his surprise for when he received his flowers. "That's really a quite sweet gesture. I don't usually get flowers from my patrons."
Albus Dumbledore glanced at the mirror, and he straightened his suit. A rather nervous looking mage with graying shoulder length hair and a trim beard stared back at him.
"Albus, please, a dash of color, I beg of you," pleaded his reflection. "We look so hopelessly… heterosexual!"
Originally, he had debated on wearing his plum suit, but he had decided to go with his black ensemble. While he was gay, he didn't wish to appear like a complete flaming homosexual. That meant his favorite pair of high heeled buckled boots was in his wardrobe, and he was wearing a sensible pair of oxfords.
"Fawkes? Do I look like an undertaker?" He questioned his familiar. "Perhaps? A splash of color might not go amiss? A bold scarf perhaps?"
Fawkes chirped his agreement, but Albus wasn't too sure about Fawke's fashion sense. He was a Phoenix, after all, a creature well known for being a might ostentatious. His familiar caught that thought and he hissed, sparking his annoyance at Albus. He wildly flew about Albus' quarters, silently saying, "See if I ever give you any more fashion hints, you big, bloody poof", angry sparks flying off his feathered tail, and Albus sat down on his bed.
"Fawkes, please. I can't go to tomorrow's night party without someone on my arm. It will be utterly humiliating to show up and have Elphias and Leah realize that I haven't had a bloody date in close to forty years. I can't believe that I'm hiring a courtesan!"
He put his head on his hands, and he prayed for strength. The Defeater of the Dark Lord Gellert was terrified as he was meeting a whore in twenty minutes and he didn't have a bloody pressie. Fawkes landed on his shoulder and gently nuzzled his beard. In his beak, there was a nicely patterned scarf. Not too flashy, but it did have a dash of color that matched Albus' necktie.
"Sorry," Albus whispered as he took the token of apology and Fawkes chirped his own apology. "Shall we be off? Perhaps I can think of something to give him between here and there."
Fawkes again gently questioned his mage on whether or not he should be chaperoning the two mages, but Albus pointedly reminded him that he wished for his familiar's opinion on the courtesan.
"Plus, with you on my shoulder, I'm less likely to decide to decide to cancel," Albus shakily confessed. "Though he might like two days off with pay."
Minerva McGongall, Head Girl of Hogwarts was hiding in a window sill. The reason why she was hiding was because she was reading a book of poetry.
Shakespeare's Love Sonnets.
"Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, so do our minutes hasten to their end," she read out loud.
With a loud snap to show her disgust, she closed the book. "I should never have taken Muggle Studies. I can't stand poetry. I'll never get an O on my N.E.W.T. if I can't understand this bloody sonnet."
"Come now, Miss McGongall, you should show more respect for the Bard. Each changing place with that which goes before, in sequent toil all forwards do contend," quoted Professor Dumbledore. "Sonnet Sixty, I believe?"
He sat down next to her on the window sill, and shook his head. "Show more respect to the Bard, Miss McGonagall."
"I just don't understand it." She wailed her frustration.
He tried not to smile at her irritation, but he knew he failed.
"You need to think metaphorically. Sonnet Sixty is about time. Like waves crashing ceaselessly on the beach, the minutes of our lives tick down. Each wave replaces the one before in a never-ending action, ever onward. Try reading it again, and focus on the fact that it's dealing with time and how relentless it is. After all, it's Sonnet Sixty and there are sixty minutes in an hour, unless you're using a Time Turner," Dumbledore advised his favorite student.
"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. Forgive me for being cheeky, but I think the firsties will be even more enamored of you if they see you dressed like this." Her green eyes narrowed and then she pounced. "I know you're not scheduled for this weekend and you have Headmaster Dippet overseeing your Lions. Are you sneaking out for a date?"
She knew what his sexual preferences were, and didn't care a wink.
"Miss McGonagall, as Head Girl, you are entrusted with much responsibility at this school. But I don't think overseeing my social life is part of your burdensome tasks."
Minerva McGonagall smiled at him, and leaned toward him. "Good luck, Professor. Have fun, you deserve it," she whispered. "Nervous?"
He grimaced a smile which was answer enough for the empathetic Minerva. But talking with the Head Girl had given him an idea. "Fawkes? Do you know the book of which I'm thinking? Could you bring it to me?"
Within moments, Fawkes was back with Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass.
