Headmaster Albus Dumbledore's stomach did a sudden flip. Was it the
hot chocolate? He tilted the cup and glanced inside. Nothing out of the
ordinary, he added the same amount of chocolate to the steaming milk as he
always did. So why was it that he couldn't keep his heart rate steady? He
ran his tongue along the outside of his lips. It felt as though there had
just been a soft, warm pressure on them. . . as if he had just been kissed.
"Honestly, Albus, your hot chocolate recipe is good, but not that good," he said to himself, as he shook his head and took a seat in the plush purple chair behind his desk. After a few moments, he was feeling almost normal, until another surge of adrenaline rushed through his veins. His fingers trembled, and his legs wobbled. He let his eyelids slowly shut over his dry, widened eyes. He allowed darkness to consume his vision, to sooth him, until. . . A sudden flash of white light blinded him. Hermione Granger's face was hovering over his. Her lips were pursed. Her eyes were hungry. Her hands tickled his neck and traveled up into his hair, which felt strangely thick. He realized that his skin felt firm, and his bones and muscles felt stronger. As she placed her deliciously plump lips on his own, he was once again consumed by blackness.
His head was on his desk. Bit by bit he unclenched the muscles in his face, and opened his eyes. He sat up and leaned his back against the chair. Hermione Granger, was this the answer to her whereabouts after the time turner accident?
"Bloody hell," Dumbledore mumbled.
He ripped open his desk drawer to reveal a neatly placed quill and stack of stationary paper. Almost frantically, he began scrawling out a letter. His penmanship lacked its usual luster, but now, Dumbledore thought, was no time to consider the neatness of his handwriting. When he had finished dotting the I's and crossing the T's, he called Fawkes to him.
"Take this to Professor McGonagall, immediately," he said, and tied the letter to his leg. The phoenix acknowledged him briefly, before soaring away.
....................................
A/N: Argh!!!! For some reason, I can't find myself enjoying writing the rest of this story! I've lost my luster for it. . . I'll tell you guys what, if any of you feel like picking it up and finishing it for me, I'll give it to you. Just email me, and tell me what you want to do with it, and I'll consider passing it on. I'm so glad everyone likes it, and I feel bad that I don't want to write it anymore, but I'd rather give it to someone and let them finish it then see it die.
"Honestly, Albus, your hot chocolate recipe is good, but not that good," he said to himself, as he shook his head and took a seat in the plush purple chair behind his desk. After a few moments, he was feeling almost normal, until another surge of adrenaline rushed through his veins. His fingers trembled, and his legs wobbled. He let his eyelids slowly shut over his dry, widened eyes. He allowed darkness to consume his vision, to sooth him, until. . . A sudden flash of white light blinded him. Hermione Granger's face was hovering over his. Her lips were pursed. Her eyes were hungry. Her hands tickled his neck and traveled up into his hair, which felt strangely thick. He realized that his skin felt firm, and his bones and muscles felt stronger. As she placed her deliciously plump lips on his own, he was once again consumed by blackness.
His head was on his desk. Bit by bit he unclenched the muscles in his face, and opened his eyes. He sat up and leaned his back against the chair. Hermione Granger, was this the answer to her whereabouts after the time turner accident?
"Bloody hell," Dumbledore mumbled.
He ripped open his desk drawer to reveal a neatly placed quill and stack of stationary paper. Almost frantically, he began scrawling out a letter. His penmanship lacked its usual luster, but now, Dumbledore thought, was no time to consider the neatness of his handwriting. When he had finished dotting the I's and crossing the T's, he called Fawkes to him.
"Take this to Professor McGonagall, immediately," he said, and tied the letter to his leg. The phoenix acknowledged him briefly, before soaring away.
....................................
A/N: Argh!!!! For some reason, I can't find myself enjoying writing the rest of this story! I've lost my luster for it. . . I'll tell you guys what, if any of you feel like picking it up and finishing it for me, I'll give it to you. Just email me, and tell me what you want to do with it, and I'll consider passing it on. I'm so glad everyone likes it, and I feel bad that I don't want to write it anymore, but I'd rather give it to someone and let them finish it then see it die.