AN: I hope everyone enjoys this as much as I have. Let me know what you guys think.
Instantly, Michael found himself shoved unceremoniously into one of his own armchairs, staring up at his long time friend. "Albus, what on earth!"
Albus rounded on him, his entire frame shaking. "How many?" he asked, his voice deathly quiet, daring to be contradicted.
Michael looked up at him wearily, hoping Albus was simply fishing. There was no way he could know. "How many what Albus? What's gotten into you man? Sit down, and I'll get you a drink."
"How many women..have you shagged..in back corners..since you've been married..to that wonderful woman?" With every ground out word, Albus stepped forward, until his hands clamped around the arms of Michael's chair, their faces scant inches apart. Albus' hot breath ruffled the hairs hanging in Michael's face, as grey eyes grew wide and then narrowed.
His entire body relaxed back into the chair, a feral grin sliding across his face. Albus straightened up, stepping away from the chair. He couldn't let himself get carried away. Every fiber of his being screamed for satisfaction, but he held back. He had never seen Michael this way and he wasn't sure just what the git was capable of. He reached into his cloak, ready to pull out his wand, when Michael spoke, and Albus' world stopped spinning.
"I lost count somewhere after 1958. Although," he said, turning thoughtful, "if you're interested, there was this one time in Paris.." He let his thought trail off and took delight in the shocked face staring back at him.
It wasn't often that Michael got the best of anyone, especially Albus, and he savored the rare victory. Languidly, he got out his chair, straightening his dressing gown and smoothing his hair.
Albus expected several reactions, but not this. "She loves you," Albus said, horror etched in every word. "Did she mean nothing to you, nothing at all? What in the hell is wrong with you!"
Michael's grin grew as he walked over toward the fireplace, where he kept his wand on the mantle. He made the mistake of turning his back on an exceptionally irate wizard and kept talking. "What can I say Albus? She's a great shag. She can go for hours, and I do mean hours. She may be dull as dirt to be around otherwise, but," He spun around wand at the ready, but Albus was quicker, much quicker.
With a sharp crack, stars flashed before his eyes as Michael fell to the ground, his wand skidding across the floor, well out of reach. Albus stood over him, a red glow encompassing him, shaking his hand out.
Reaching up, Michael almost screamed when his hand came into contact with his nose as a white hot pain radiated throughout his head and seemed to utterly consume him. When his hand drew away, it was covered in a deep red. It took everything he had not to faint on the spot. "You know I abhor violence Michael, but, in this case, perhaps I could make an exception. Friends are worth the extra effort after all."
Albus reached down, and this time Michael managed to scream like a school girl as Albus pulled him to his feet by the now throughly broken nose. Albus seemed to pay no attention to the blood flowing down his arm and robes, or the frantic clawing of Michael's hands on his. "It would be best for your nose if you would quit struggling you idiot. You already look like a Picasso; no need to make it any worse."
Albus turned and shoved Michael back into his arm chair, and waited until he looked up again, Michael's eyes filled with pain and hatred. With a wave of his wand, Albus conjured another chair and sat down, his elbows resting on his knees, utterly at ease.
The initial wave of rage had abated; perhaps Aberforth had been onto something when he used to punch the oak tree in their backyard. Now, all Albus was left with was an incredible sadness and utter disappointment. "You disgust me Michael. If I didn't think Minerva would kill me, there wouldn't be enough of you left to fill a snuff box. I do hope those other women were well worth all of this."
The blood had finally slowed, and Michael pulled his hands away from his face. That damnable grin was still firmly in place, now accompanied by a steel glint in his eyes. "They were more than worth it, believe me."
He cocked his head to the side, regarding the older man. "Not that you would know, the way you've been pining away after my wife all these years. I doubt you would know what to do with a woman if she jumped in you lap."
Twice in one night; despite the broken nose, it was rounding out to be a decent evening. Albus never seemed to react, the same tired expression blanketing his face, but Michael could read the shock in his eyes. "You didn't think I knew? Why do you think I married her? I had..hell, I have beautiful women; I wanted that one."
Michael shot to his feet, swaying for a moment from the blood loss before he began to pace. "I saw the way you looked at her. Bloody hell Albus, I'm surprised you didn't step on your own tongue. Tell me, how does it feel Albus? How does it feel to finally be the one to find something you want and cannot have? Rather unpleasant, wouldn't you say," Michael sneered.
"As a special favor for all our years of friendship, let me fill you in on what you've missed." He stopped his pacing and smirked down at Albus, his eyes malicious and wild. "She moans like a cheap Knockturn Alley whore. There's this one spot just behind her..no, I'll let you find it on your own. That's what this is about isn't? Albus Dumbledore, her great rescuer, rides up on his white horse once again to save the day. And the prize? Why, the fair witch of course. But, between you and me," he said, leaning forward for dramatic effect, "she's more of a hag, or perhaps a harpie."
Michael straightened up again, his face flushed, making him look like a bruised tomato. "That's quite enough Michael. You've said more than enough."
Michael seemed to think before nodding slightly. "Once again Albus, you're right. We both know you won't tell the wench what we've discussed, so why don't you ju.." All sound suddenly stopped.
Michael's hands once again flew to his face, this time in abject horror. His hands slid across his smooth face, muffled cries of terror filling the room. His fingers played over the seamless expanse of skin that used to be his mouth. "You never did know when to stop, did you? Now that I have your undivided attention. This time, you're the one that's right Michael. I'm not going to tell Minerva, you are. You and I are going to walk back to the castle like the adults that we are, calmly, rationally, and you are going to explain the situation to your wife."
He watched, almost amused, as Michael began to shake his head furiously, backing away. "Be a man Michael. Don't make me put you in a body bind."
With a flick of his wand, Albus transformed Michael's dressing gown into a simple set of black robes and cloak before walking toward the door. "Not a word," Albus warned, his eyes flashing as the door opened silently and Michael's mouth sudden reappeared.
Experimenting, Michael opened and closed his mouth a few times, for once holding his tongue. "Aren't you coming?" Albus asked, making a point of tapping his wand against his leg, sending sparks flying from the tip. Michael crept out the door, flinching as Albus dug the tip of his wand into his back.
"You had me fooled Michael," he growled, all the while keeping a serene look upon his face as people passed. "I thought you were a smart man."
They walked in silence, Albus' wand hidden by the folds of their robes, and Michael not daring to look anywhere but straight ahead. The long walk allowed both men ample opportunity for reflection. One, one what awaited him atop the hill, and the other on the past.
No matter how desperately he tried, Albus simply couldn't stem the flood of guilt and unease that threatened to overtake him. Michael had hit far too close to the mark for comfort. He had been best man at their wedding, had introduced them. It was because of him that they had met, and the bastard hadn't even lasted two years.
Even after this, when everything was done, Albus knew he could never reveal his feelings; it just wasn't possible. In a way, he was no better than Michael. He spent twelve years pining, lusting after another man's wife. Just because he didn't paw her like a piece of meat didn't make it any better. In the end, he had done exactly what he always feared. He hurt the one he loved most, and he would never forgive himself.
It was with determined dread a short time later that Albus gave the password to Minerva's chambers, and ignoring Michael's snort, pushed him inside. "Albus, I was beginning to wonder..what on earth happened?"
minni: If I told you how it ended, what would be the fun in that?