They arrived in Venice the next afternoon, having enjoyed a private breakfast eaten while they were stopped in Innsbruck, and then the view as the train wound its way through the Brenner Pass and into northern Italy. When they disembarked at the Santa Lucia station after lunch, they joined the throngs disgorged from the recently arrived trains and took the vaporetto to the Rialto. Thank Merlin they'd been able to discreetly Shrink their bags in the station, as they had to walk several blocks to reach the small pensione Albus had selected for their stay.

Minerva was tired after the restless night she'd passed, but by the time they got to their room, she was eager to explore the city, so they set out in the crisp December air, first to the Rialto Bridge and through the fruit and vegetable market, then along the Grand Canal, eventually turning to wind through the tiny side streets to the Campo San Polo and on to the Scuola Grande di San Rocco.

The Tintorettos that crowded the walls and ceiling of the upper salon were beautiful, but oppressive, she thought, in their ubiquity. She spent some time looking at the details of each one, glad for her father's long-ago insistence that she study the Christian Bible and its stories. She shuddered as she looked at the Raising of Lazarus; it reminded her of Inferi and other Dark magic she'd read about during her training as an Auror.

They came out and doubled back to Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari. In contrast with the intricate Renaissance façade of its neighbour, this building's spare Gothic exterior didn't prepare her for what was inside.

As they proceeded up the wide nave toward the apse, Minerva stopped, momentarily stunned by the view.

"This is …"

She had no words.

Titian's spectacular Assumption of the Virgin dominated the chancel, rising thirty feet above the altar, the uplifted arms of the apostles and the Virgin directing the eye upwards to the heavens and their God. The light that shone in, even on this grey day, from the slender, ogival pairs of stained-glass windows beside and above the painting gave it the appearance of being illuminated from within.

They stood in captivated silence for a few minutes.

She hadn't been in this church when she'd visited Venice with her father many years before. That trip had been largely for his research, and they'd spent most of their time in the libraries of the Marciana and the Accademia, or around the Venetian Ghetto, where the city's wizarding population had settled alongside its Jews when both were relegated to the Cannaregio sestiere during the early sixteenth century.

Albus took her hand and squeezed it.

"Titian was always one of my favourites," he whispered as they continued to gaze at the painting.

She could see why.

Finally, they tore themselves away from it to look at the other marvels the church held—the beautifully carved choir stalls, Antonio's Canova's oddly modern-looking, pyramidal funerary monument, and another Titian, as well as the nineteenth-century tomb of the painter himself.

Albus was especially interested in the burial place of composer Claudio Monteverdi—a simple plaque carved into the pink-and-white marble floor.

"I shall have to tell Nicolas I've seen it. He was at the first performance of Il ritorno d'Ulisse in patria and became a great admirer of Monteverdi's. He often complains that his operas aren't performed anymore."

When they came out, it was dark, and there was a light rain falling.

"What would you say to an early dinner and then bed?" Albus asked.

"I'd say lead on, man."

They walked back to their hotel and got a recommendation from the desk clerk, whose girth, Albus later declared, was a hint that she knew where the neighbourhood's best food was to be had.

The restaurant was homey and small, but they were early, and the waiter gave them a prime seat near the blazing fireplace. Minerva was hungry, so they had a hearty risotto of Borlotti beans to start, and a bottle of Amarone. That was followed by a rabbit stew in rich broth for Minerva and a fritti mista for Albus. They polished off the red wine with dinner, so he ordered two glasses of sweet Torcolato to go with their pudding, warm chocolate cake drizzled with hazelnut cream.

As they stepped out onto the cobblestones of the tiny street, Minerva put a hand to her head.

"I think I've had too much wine," she said.

"Minerva McGonagall? Pissed? Impossible," said Albus, and she batted him on the elbow he offered to steady her.

"There was a lot of wine in that risotto. And I think there was some in the broth with my rabbit. Then you ordered wine with the pudding."

"All part of my dastardly plan to get you tight and have my wicked way with you."

"You brute," she said, smiling, and he pulled her into his arms.

She was just tipsy enough to feel no shame as they kissed in the middle of the street with evening strollers looking at them as they passed. His lips were warm and sweet, and she felt positively wanton as she pressed her tongue into his mouth.

A group of youths came by, hooting and whistling. When one young man called out, "Bravo, Nonno!" Albus broke the kiss, but she held him close, their breath making warm puffs of mist that mingled in the frigid air.

"Keep that up, and you'll have to carry me back to the hotel," she said.

He grinned at her like a schoolboy and grasped her hand.

Their second-floor room was small, but it had its own bath and a window that opened onto a tiny courtyard rather than the noisy street.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Albus cast a Warming Charm. Minerva took off her coat and gloves, tossing them on the straight-backed chair that sat in the corner of the room, and began tugging at the buttons to her dress, her fingers maddeningly unobliging, thanks to the chilly walk. Frustrated, she grabbed her wand from its hidden pocket, intending to Banish her clothes, but he grasped her wrist.

"Slow down, my love," he said, nuzzling her forehead. "We have all night and nowhere we have to be in the morning." The fingers of his other hand ghosted over her breasts as he reached for her buttons. "I want to undress you myself."

A shiver went through her as she remembered him saying something similar the first time they'd made love, when the newly discovered desire that had stirred in her for months finally clicked into place, like a key in a lock.

She sent her wand to rest on the small bedside table.

He removed his heavy overcoat and laid it on the chair along with his Homburg. His hands were steadier than hers as he began to undo the buttons that went from the neck of her wool dress to the calf-level hem. She undid the maroon-and-gold tie at his throat and pulled it out from under his collar-stiffeners, then stuffed it in his jacket pocket. After pushing the jacket from his shoulders, she tugged his shirt out from his trousers and got to work unbuttoning it.

When Albus's hands reached her waist, the front of her dress fell open, and he bent to kiss the skin he'd bared, running his tongue over her clavicles and into the soft divot that lay between them. He kissed her neck, his lips sucking gently at the place where her carotid artery pulsed with life.

Her hands carded through his hair, short and slicked back in the Muggle way. Distracted as she was, it took her two tries before her "Finite Incantatem" released the charm and his long hair and beard shimmered back into being to flow in auburn-and-silver waves over his back and chest.

"Better," she whispered, letting her mouth touch his, her lips light and elusive as the brush of a butterfly's wings.

His fingertips danced over the sides of her breasts and down her belly as she pulled her arms from the sleeves of her dress and pushed it past her hips to step out of it, leaving her in a brassiere, knickers, and stockings.

He removed his shirt and vest, then his belt and trousers, the buckle making a dull, metallic thunk when he dropped the garments in a messy heap on the floor. They both bent to remove their uncomfortable Muggle shoes, and when they straightened up, he turned her around so that her bottom pressed up against his thighs. He unhooked her bra and helped her push it off, his hands coming around her to knead her bare breasts. His mouth tickled across her shoulders as she rubbed herself against him through the frustrating cloth that separated her from his skin.

Maybe it was the wine, but she wanted him with a desperation she hadn't felt since they'd resumed their affair that cold March day nine months ago, wanted to drown in his flesh and the sensations he evoked in her.

She tried to pull away and move him towards the bed, but he held her fast. Her nipples were hard peaks of electric sensation as he pinched and rolled them between his fingers, and she moaned. He broke off his work to Summon his wand and cast a Silencing spell, then tossed the scarred Elder stick onto the chair with their coats.

One hand returned to her breast, while the other travelled south to her sex, fingers pushing the thin silk into her most intimate parts.

"So wet," he murmured, "I can feel it right through your knickers."

She could only gasp in response, because at the same moment, one of his insistent fingers found her clitoris, and words fled her. He held her still, his hard cock pressing almost uncomfortably into the small of her back.

When she moved one leg back to rub against the side of his calf, the hand that was teasing her stopped, and he released her, only to grasp the waistband of her knickers and yank them down around her thighs so that her legs were restrained. His arm came back around her, pressing her back against his bare chest.

"Don't move," he breathed into her ear.

He reached down to cup her mound, holding her there for what seemed an eternity before he allowed a finger to move into her cleft and over the button of flesh that made her release the breath she'd been holding with a soft, "Oh!"

Her legs threatened to give out as he touched her, the tension coiling up from her centre forcing breathy cries from her mouth. As one finger caressed, another worked its way into her, probing and pressing, until her orgasm broke over her. He had to hold her up as she shook, pulsing around the finger that was still sheathed within her.

When she could stand on her own again, he let her go and knelt to pull her knickers all the way off. She returned the favour, letting her tongue tease the erection she had uncovered.

"No," he said when she put her mouth on him in earnest. He pulled her to her feet and steered her to the bed. She turned down the coverlet and lay, legs spread and arms outstretched to receive him. He joined her, covering her body with his, but he didn't take her; instead, he stroked her skin, letting his cock slide teasingly against her sex.

Minerva's legs, still encased in stockings, came up to wrap around him. His weight on top of her and his familiar scent made her hum with pleasure as he whispered endearments between kisses that covered her face, ending with her mouth.

They kissed and frotted against one another, and just when she thought she'd scream with the need for him to fill her, he did.

"Minerva … my beautiful Minerva …" he said as he slid home.

He moved slowly, and she arched upward to meet him so that he rubbed against her in the right spot.

"Love you," he breathed over her, "want you always … always …"

He slowed his movements even more, then stilled, trembling above her.

"Please, Albus," she said, pulling on his buttocks.

"Not yet … not yet …"

She tried to shift her hips up, but he let his weight pin her to the mattress. He took her left hand from his arse and held it to the pillow above her head, whispering, "Adhaere," and repeated it with her right hand. She was stuck.

"Albus—"

He put a finger to her lips and traced it gently across them.

"I want to take my time tonight, and if you move too much, I won't be able to."

He sank deep into her then, and pushed her legs together so that she was entirely trapped beneath him. She thanked whatever god was in charge of such things for the size of his cock. It felt huge, lodged between her closed legs, and that was exactly how she wanted it.

His pace was agonisingly slow, and her second climax hovered just out of reach as he pushed in, one maddening inch at a time, then withdrew the same way, leaving only the tip of his cock inside, repeating the motion over and over until she was almost senseless with need.

She groaned when he pulled out completely and brought his hands up to cup her cheeks. The way he looked at her nearly made her come; his eyes bored into hers as if he were looking into her soul. She wondered for a moment if he was using Legilimency—but no, she'd experienced that before, and this was nothing like it. She almost invited him to look, to see how much she loved him, but then he kissed her mouth again, and the idea dissolved. He moved to her breasts, teasing her nipples with lips and tongue, and she couldn't hold back a scream when he grazed one with his teeth, the sharp sensation on her taut flesh sending zings of pleasure to her centre. Kissing and suckling, he etched a meandering path down her body, leaving a trail of quivering desire in his wake.

He pressed her thighs wide, opening her most secret place to his gaze.

"Yes, please … oh, please …" she said, anticipating the touch of his tongue on her nub. Instead, he murmured, "Need to taste you," and pressed his mouth to her sex, plunging his tongue into her opening. She tried to buck her hips up, but he pressed her more firmly to the bed with his strong hands, tongue darting and probing. She moaned as it teased her, moving in and out as his cock had been doing minutes before.

When he finally licked her clitoris, she howled. Her upper body arched off the bed, her arms pulling against the charm that held her wrists. She wanted to wrap her legs around his shoulders, but he held her by the hips while the long-delayed orgasm ripped through her. He slid his tongue deep into her again as wave after wave of ecstasy enveloped her.

After a minute during which she could barely think or breathe, her body relaxed back against the mattress, and he came up to lie on top of her again.

She came down from her euphoria and felt him pressing his erection rhythmically against her belly. Now that he'd driven her nearly mad with pleasure, she wanted to do the same for him, to feel him lose himself as utterly as she had lost herself.

"Come up here," she whispered. "Put your cock in my mouth."

A small puff of breath escaped him. "Shall I release your arms?" he asked.

"No."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

He hesitated, then moved carefully up until his knees were straddling her head. Taking his penis in one hand, he guided it to her mouth.

She wrapped her lips around the head. As she moved her tongue around it, he gave a cry, and she began to suck him, her head bobbing back and forth.

He leant forward, putting his palms to the wall for support, and as he began to pump gently in and out, she heard him moaning, "Ah … ah … ah …" softly. His cock pushed farther into her mouth—she had no choice but to take it in, and that excited her. All she could do was swallow around him, which she knew he loved. He stilled, and his shuddering breaths told her he was close to climax. Suddenly, he withdrew and moved down, pushing her thighs apart. He thrust into her hard and fast, and she cried out, the heat and pressure beginning to build again in her core as he moved, grasping her legs and pushing them up against her body. She felt him deep inside her, and he moved a hand between them to stroke her. Her breath stopped and her arms pulled at the invisible restraints as she fell over the edge again, silent this time.

Albus's cries were still soft, and she knew he was holding back, trying not to be too rough. She was having none of it. "Harder," she said. He obeyed, but not with the enthusiasm she'd hoped for, so she made things clearer: "Fuck me hard, Albus Dumbledore. Hard as you can."

That did the trick.

He propped himself up on his elbows for more leverage and slammed into her. It felt glorious, the pain transmuted into intense pleasure at the moment of total surrender, and it left her gasping, tears leaking from her eyes.

The punishing rhythm he took up was matched by her cries, and his voice joined hers, uttering nonsense as he pumped and thrust. The bed banged against the wall in joyful chorus, its wrought-iron frame shrieking and complaining.

"Yes! Yes! Gods!"

"My— Ah! You—"

The bed frame crashed to the floor, the jolt sending Albus sprawling on top of her.

It nearly knocked the breath from her, but she managed to gasp, "Don't stop," so he pushed himself back up and went back to his task as if nothing unusual had happened.

The Sticking Charm released when he came, shouting, and she wrapped her arms and legs around him, pulling him down, wanting them to be as close as the laws of physics would allow while he pumped his climax into her.

After his spasms stopped, he sighed, and she buried her nose in his neck, planting kisses against the soft skin there.

His heart was thudding hard enough that she felt it in her own chest, and for a moment, she was concerned. But he lifted his head and smiled.

She did too, and then they both began to laugh.