You know, when I first got started with this pairing I didn't actually ship it. I just wanted to prove something to myself and it was an entertaining crack ship. *SIGH* Look at me now...
It should be obvious why it's another fuck or die, but just in case its not, fuck or die is the only way I can reasonably get Dumbledore into this position with anyone, least of all a student (regardless of age).
Timeline isn't exact, the only specific is that it's their 7th year and later than September, which is when Hermione's 18th birthday falls. Most likely sometime in winter.
I don't know when TV remotes actually became a thing, please just roll with that one. I was a mid 90s baby so my memory of the late 90s is scattered. I'm also American, which cripples my usage and understanding of British English, no matter how much google docs tries to help.
As per usual, it's marked complete because it doesn't require more and nothing else is planned, but my ADHD makes the rules, not me.
Trans people are awesome and JKR is a cunt. :)
-*-*-*
The moon outside, too bright..
"Really, I just need to speak privately with professor Dumbledore," Hermione told Professor McGonagall earnestly, settling herself into the too-squishy armchair in front of his desk. She was still shaking slightly, but she had a task ahead of her that would require all of her focus. Her mind skittered away from the end result, but she turned it around and made herself face it without flinching back. She couldn't very well lead him to the end result if she herself couldn't face it, could she?
Dumbledore dismissed Professor McGonagall and trained his eyes on her, looking grave and concerned.
"How are you, Miss Granger? Professor McGonagall told me you've denied going to the hospital wing, but-"
"I'm fine, physically at least," she cut him off, "quite shaken and left in a rather… perplexing situation, but I'm unharmed."
Dumbledore frowned slightly. "That's unusual, I must admit. Not to say that I'm-"
"I understand," Hermione told him, smiling slightly. "It's practically unheard of for someone to be taken by-" Hermione choked painfully, grabbing at her throat reflexively. "Shit, that's right," she muttered. Dumbledore watched her carefully, his eyes trained on where her hand grabbed her throat.
"You've been magically gagged, so to speak?"
A spark of hope bloomed in Hermione's chest, and she sat up straight and snapped her fingers. Just because she couldn't tell him what she'd been cursed with didn't mean he couldn't figure it out on his own.
"Have you ever heard of charades, professor? The muggle game?"
"I believe I have," Dumbledore answered her, the ever-present twinkle returning to his eye. "It is a game involving guessing, similar to solving a riddle."
"Fantastic." Hermione thought carefully for a minute, and Dumbledore sat silently. "You know, it's such a pity when wizards and witches utterly waste their talent and intellect on sadism and dark magic. As much as I hate to admit it, they could do so much if they hadn't followed the path they took to Azkaban. Especially when they've such a proficiency for the unforgivables, they could do so much more."
"I quite agree," Dumbledore answered her, the amusement glittering in his eyes belying his tone. "The eldest of the Black sisters in particular showed much promise while she was a student."
Hermione flashed him a grin of triumph before she moved on.
"Have you ever heard of a remote?"
Just for a moment, Hermione could tell she'd thrown him. Thankfully he caught up quickly.
"I have not," Dumbledore answered her.
"It's… well actually it might be easier to show you, if you'd be willing to take a look."
"Certainly," he agreed, rising from his chair and rounding the desk. Dumbledore seated himself in the chair next to her and removed his glasses, then met her eyes. If she didn't expect it, she wouldn't have felt the difference at all.
Hermione called up a memory from the past summer, sprawled out on the sofa changing channels on the telly. One click working, two clicks nothing, two clicks working, one nothing. She got frustrated, flipped it over and removed the battery cover. Memory Hermione sucked in a breath and pulled her finger away, a droplet of blood visible where the broken edge of plastic had cut her. She focused on the cut finger in her memory for several seconds before allowing the memory to move forward. Memory Hermione pushed the batteries firmly back into place, replaced the backing and returned to flipping channels, then turned the volume up.
Hermione closed her eyes and he left her memory, slipping his glasses back on while she righted herself.
"So it's a control of sorts," Dumbledore clarified.
"Yes, it is. It makes it do anything you want it to, even turning it on and off."
His eyes widened marginally, and she knew he understood.
"This sounds like the type of thing only a person as intelligent as the eldest Miss Black could invent."
"It really is," Hermione said thoughtfully. She went silent, trying to figure out how she could possibly lead into the next part. Dumbledore seemed content to wait for her. Though…
"Odd question for you," she began, and he chuckled in response. She understood why, everything she was saying was odd. "May I… call you by name?"
Again, she could tell she'd caught him very much by surprise, but by now he knew that nothing she said or asked was inconsequential.
"Certainly Hermione," he granted her, as though it was a perfectly normal, everyday request for a student to make.
The portraits all along the walls, however, made their own opinions on the matter known, their objections overlapping one another until no individual voices could be made out. Dumbledore held up his hand to silence them, but they had actually just helped her a great deal.
"Albus," she said slowly, getting used to the feel of his given name on her tongue, "Is there anywhere more private we might continue this conversation?" She met his eyes steadily. "It feels quite voyeuristic, being exposed to this many eyes."
The unbridled shock in his expression told her that he'd heard the implication she'd infused those particular words with, that he understood the direction this was meant to go.
"Of course there is," he placated, waving his hand in the direction of the far corner of his office, off to the side of his desk. "Make yourself comfortable, I'll be along in just a moment."
"Thank you," she told him sweetly, apologising the only way she could, with her eyes.
The room she stepped into was undoubtedly his private sitting room, the furniture alternating between elegantly plush and wood in warm tones, flawlessly polished. The fireplace was tall enough for him to step right into it, with an intricately carved mantle atop it. There was a notable lack of paintings in the room, clearly this was somewhere he wished to remain entirely undisturbed, or more likely, not spied upon. The walls instead were taken up by shelves, most of them burdened by books, and she felt herself being pulled toward them. To her shock, however, she realised she wouldn't be able to read the majority of them, because most were in either Latin or Ancient Greek. There were some that she recognized as Aramaic, and in the hundreds of books around her only a small amount were English or French. She noted a couple titles in German as well, though she wouldn't be able to read those either. She trailed her fingers along the spines, trying to guess how many of them she could figure out, if she were ever given the chance.
"Sadly I believe a great deal of those would require translation for you," came Dumbledore's voice from the middle of the room. "Which, I must say, gets quite tedious with the older texts."
He came up behind her and ran his own fingers along the spines in nearly the same way she had, then wrapped his fingers around a particularly worn one and tugged it from the shelf over her head.
"This, for example, only translates within the same language, old to modern."
"Greek," Hermione said vaguely. "Ancient Greek to the modern counterpart, right?"
"Indeed," He smiled at her. "As you can imagine, translating a single paragraph could take hours, even days."
"Then how do you have time to…" She trailed off as the answer hit her. "You can read it," Hermione realised. "You can read all of these?"
"I can," he confirmed, eyes shining with what might be pride.
"When on earth did you learn?"
"As a student, my dear. In my days, a level of fluency in both Latin and Ancient Greek was required. In those days most children raised in magical homes learned the beginnings before entering Hogwarts, though most muggleborn students caught up before long. O.W.L.s were required for both, N.E.W.T.s were not, though naturally I took them both anyway."
"And achieved O's in both, no doubt," Hermione replied with the hint of a laugh. "Naturally."
"Naturally," Dumbledore echoed, chuckling.
"Wait, those were both removed from the general curriculum in nineteen-oh-four, so you would have had to graduate…" She trailed off, her mind skittering to a halt. Everyone knew he was old, but…
"Eighteen-ninety-nine," he provided, closing the book and sliding it back into place above her head.
Hermione did the maths in her head, and turned to lean her back against the shelf.
"I'm sorry, it seems my muggleborn is showing," she said faintly. "For muggles, anything over ninety is doing extraordinarily well, it's rather rare to make it to a hundred. Talk about culture shock…" She trailed off, looking up at him curiously. Thankfully, he understood her silent question.
"Generally anything under a hundred and twenty is considered young," he explained. "The hundred-thirties are perhaps where what you might consider 'normal' begins. The line between normal and abnormal is notoriously difficult to define, however. For instance, my predecessor Armando Dippet survived to three hundred naturally, for all we know."
Hermione had to pause to let her brain absorb that particular piece of information, the direction of her stare informing her that she was currently bracketed between the shelf behind her and Dumbledore in front of her. Dumbledore, the curse. Right.
"So if I'm correct, you technically aren't even considered old yet," Hermione mused thoughtfully.
"I suppose not," Dumbledore replied, "though I would say that in that instance, looks can certainly be deceiving."
He held one hand up between them, showing off the copious wrinkles traversing his skin. Yes, they were both very much on the same page now, with him reminding her of his age in response.
"Particularly in some cases," Hermione countered, "Lockhart comes to mind."
Dumbledore laughed in answer, almost throwing his head back with it as it filled the room. She found herself basking in the sound, delightful as it was.
"You've made your point," he acknowledged good-naturedly. "If looks are relative, and I'm not technically an old man yet, then what does that mean?" He asked her seriously.
"Well for one, it means that we should jump in with both feet," She told him softly, taking hold of the hand he still held up between them, "No looking back to ask silly questions."
She watched him translate her words in his head. No hesitating.
"Anything else?"
Hermione looked around the room, exaggerating her movement slightly. "Clearly I'm going to need you to lead the way," she told him with the hint of a wink.
Again, he translated in front of her eyes. You must initiate.
"Follow me," he invited, clasping her hand more securely in his and leading her toward a door that was opening of its own accord. In her chest her heart was crashing, now that she'd successfully played them both into position, there was nothing left to focus on except her end goal. Getting him to invite her into his bed.
He led her through the doorway and closed it behind her, leaving her to examine his bedroom. It was rather large, with the enormous bed being the predominant feature. Contrary to the scarlet she expected, his bedding was a deep purple, with silver filigree decorating it throughout. The bedposts were a dark, rich mahogany that she suspected dated back to the founders. To one side his large wardrobe stood part way open, showing off a collection of his signature elegant, colourful robes.
She felt his hands on her shoulders, a comforting weight.
"There are many, many strategies to win games, Hermione," he told her seriously.
Hermione shrugged and turned around, looked up into his eyes. Suddenly, her nerves fled, leaving her much calmer. She didn't know why they'd gone, but she wasn't about to beg them to return.
"It's no matter," she answered lightly, "this game in particular seems like it could be fun, and who knows what the other options might be. The timer's already started anyway."
Hermione reached to the clasp of her robes and slipped it open, allowing the rest to open on their own. Her robes fell to the floor in a single, heavy rush, leaving her standing only in her bra and knickers, which she'd thankfully had the foresight to turn black before she came.
At some point he'd removed his glasses, but it was clear by the way his eyes dragged their way up her body that he could still see her quite well as she approached him. Hermione rested her hands on his chest and looked up into his face, trying to offer something resembling reassurance when he seemed lost.
Hermione's right hand slid up from where it rested on his chest, brushing his beard, to caress the side of his neck while her left sought out his hand to bring it to rest on her hip. When she lifted up onto her toes and let her eyelids droop closed he was leaning down to meet her. She felt the warmth of his exhaling breath on her parted lips first, and her thundering heart faltered in its beat. Her own breath left her in a stuttered little huff, and she felt the smallest buzz between them as it fanned across his mouth. Her fingers ventured around the curve and behind his neck, caressing his hairline as she pulled only millimetres closer, bringing the skin of their lips into contact with each other, hot breath being shared now instead of merely exchanged.
Hermione took the plunge, sliding her lips across his in a caress, coaxing him to respond in kind. When he did it yanked her breath away, straight from her lungs in a way that left her clinging to him with glowing embers underneath her skin. His robes joined hers on the floor and then it was his skin against hers, his hands not sure where they should go or how they were allowed to touch her. Hoping it would help him, she twisted one arm behind her and unclasped her bra, then shrugged the straps off her shoulders and flicked it away with one hand. Meanwhile, she felt him flick his beard over his shoulder and whispered a charm to keep it there.
She kissed him more confidently, found one of his wrists and brought one hand to cup a breast and hoped it would give him the confidence to go from there. His other hand made its way into her hair and pulled her in enough for him to kiss her harder, his tongue brushing against her lip where it was trapped between his. Hers met it in kind at the same time his thumb grazed her nipple and she moaned quietly into his mouth, arched into his hands. Her arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him flush against her, the fabric of his boxers brushing her belly. His hand was still buried in her hair and he was kissing her properly now, and she could feel him starting to grow hard against the bone of her pelvis. She pressed forward against it and lifted one leg to wrap partially around his thigh, her knee at his hip.
His hand wrapped around the back of that knee and slid up to wrap firmly around her thigh. In the next movement he stooped and curled his other hand around her other thigh and pulled, and Hermione wound both arms around his neck in shock, and her legs wrapped instinctively around his hips. It wasn't until he took a step forward to rest her back against a bedpost that she realised he had picked her up, and her hips rocked in an instinctive motion with the arousal the thought inspired. With her sufficiently braced against his bedpost, his hands were able to wander from their grip on her thighs up to graze her arse as he dipped his mouth to her throat. She gasped and tangled one of her hands into his hair again, her head fell back and she cried out softly when one of her nipples was teased, then his hands switched so that he could taunt the other.
"Albus…" Hermione gasped, rocking fruitlessly against him again.
His mouth left its place on her neck and, after the smallest hesitation, he lifted his head to look her in the eye. He couldn't ask her if she was sure, he knew that, but she understood. Sick of the game, she spoke plainly for the first time.
"Don't you dare stop now," she breathed to him, gasping for breath. She caressed his face with her hands, so close to hers, before slowly burying her hands in his hair and relishing its softness between her fingers. When she leaned in to kiss him she didn't close her eyes until the last moment, holding his gaze as long as she could as though to make a point. When she did he gave himself over to it fully despite both of his hands being occupied, kissing her feverishly in return. She felt his hands fumbling back and forth under her, taking turns stabilising her weight where he held her up, until both of his hands cupped her bum and he pressed his hips flush with hers.
It felt like she'd been electrocuted, the way her body jolted when she felt him hard and pulsing against the sheer fabric of her knickers. Her legs tightened around his hips and she rocked against it, moaning heavily into his mouth. He adjusted his grasp so that he was holding her hips and pulled her back away from the bedpost, causing her to cling to him again. He bent to lower her down onto his bed and her grip pulled her with him, only allowing him enough space to slide her knickers down her legs before she pulled him up with her again.
Her knees fell apart and his hips settled to be cradled by hers, and his tip was teasing her just so, to make her lift her hips even though it was futile until he moved closer.
"Please," she begged anyway, "Please Albus."
His hand slipped between them and she felt his tip press closer, gliding back and forth with the copious fluid there, and he gave a strangled sigh when he felt it, and the grip of the hand holding her hip tightened in response, his hips rocking slightly. She arched and groaned quietly, growing steadily more desperate as he rubbed the tip repeatedly up and down, then slipped farther down and began to press into her. Hermione tightened her legs around him and shifted her hips, impatiently pulling him all the way inside her in one smooth stroke, and she cried out against his shoulder.
Dumbledore groaned and flexed his hips, pulling back and then pushing slowly back into her, and when he had rocked all the way back into her, Hermione felt the sharp jolt of magic in her chest and watched the light of it hum along her skin, diffusing along her limbs and flickering away off her fingertips.
"It's broken," he realised, "or it appears to be." He looked down at her, questioning.
Hermione took a deep breath. "Sexcurse," she huffed out at once, tensed against expected pain that didn't come. "It's gone," she confirmed needlessly.
Trying to head off the inevitable confliction he was bound to feel, Hermione angled her face to his and kissed him again, wrapping one arm around his shoulders, her opposite hand in his hair once again, and rocked her hips with his.
"If you stop now when we're already this far, I swear I'll find a way to kill you myself," she promised him. "Please Albus," she whispered.
He claimed her mouth with his with a breathy groan and rocked his hips against hers briefly, then pulled back and surged back into her, making Hermione gasp his name. One of his hands found one of hers and grasped it gently, threaded his fingers in between hers and pressed their clasped hands into the pillow above her head. His chest was nearly flush with hers, one elbow keeping her from taking all of his weight, and his hips pounded firmly against hers. He ducked his head and caught one of her breasts with his mouth and her free hand clutched the back of his head when his tongue teased her nipple. His thrusts slowed so that he could focus on her breasts, switching to the other when her fingers were clenching, and she pushed her breast up to meet his lips this time.
When she was begging him to continue he gripped her tightly and flipped them, pulling her on top of him. He filled her even more from this angle and Hermione gasped, clenching her fists where they rested on his chest. Dumbledore rocked his hips against her and she groaned, pushing back to meet him unconsciously and felt a jolt go through her. He guided the rock of her hips against his and mirrored her gasps with the stroke of his hips. She rocked back against him with her front pressing deliciously on his pubic bone, guided by the motion of his hands and hips, and her orgasm rushed up through her with a sudden ferocity until the only word she could remember as she came was his name.
Under her hands she could feel his chest rumbling as he grunted, his hips began thrusting arhythmically and just as her orgasm waned she felt him throbbing, groaning harshly as he came. She pressed back against his hips as they moved erratically, watching his face while he gasped to regain his breath with his eyes closed, feeling the first hints of fluid sliding back out of her. It was about then that her muscles told her they were just about through with holding her up, and Hermione leaned forward to rest her head softly against his chest before dislodging herself and wrapping herself around his side.
"That was incredible," she breathed, still trying to catch her breath.
With a wave of his hand the covers slid out from under them and draped themselves helpfully over the two of them, and Hermione watched Dumbledore patiently. He rolled onto his side to face her before he opened his eyes, but when he did she could see the conflict within them. Not allowing herself to overthink it, Hermione kissed him softly, lingering in wait for him to respond. He did, much to her relief, resting his hand on her waist to pull her flush against him. It wasn't long before her pulse began to race again. Despite her effort to hide it, he picked up on it quickly and studied her from his side of the pillow, hair splayed out and his beard still tucked out of the way over his shoulder. He ran his thumb across her bottom lip and she couldn't stop the shaky breath she sucked in in response. When he replaced his thumb with his lips she sighed and pressed herself against him.
"Again?" He whispered to her.
Hermione chuckled breathlessly. "I know it doesn't work like that," she assured him.
Albus ran his fingers through her hair until they got tangled into it, then pulled them free.
"Just a moment," he told Hermione, then rolled away to the opposite side of the bed. His wand flew into his hand and he tapped it wordlessly against a plain silver tray sitting on the bedside table. A few moments later a tiny potion vial appeared on the tray along with a scrap of parchment with harsh black handwriting upon it. She watched him read it, laugh heartily, and then swallow the potion provided. She was curious about the note, but it flew from her mind when Dumbledore returned to her, slipping back into her arms. He kissed her softly, yet somehow with a sort of desperation and she delighted in feeling his hair between her fingers. He pulled her knee on top of his hip and she felt him brush against her, hard again.
Hermione reached down, wrapped her hand around him and stroked him, making him grunt softly into her mouth. His hand replaced hers and then he was teasing her with his tip again just like the first time. Unlike the first time though he wasn't adjusting himself to slide into her, instead he just continued to rub back and forth as she pressed harder against him, moaning breathlessly as he kissed her until finally she came again. Instead of continuing to rub against her the way he had been, he positioned himself and slipped back into her and she cried out softly.
Hermione caught her breath and tugged at him lightly, nudging him to roll on top of her. He complied and she cradled his hips between hers and pulled him in with her legs. Dumbledore kissed her breathlessly and his thrusts were uneven from the beginning. She could only suspect he had made sure she came first because he knew it wouldn't be long, because it was scarcely another minute before his groans were muffled by her shoulder and hair, his hips rocking against hers unevenly.
This time when they lay side by side, it was with his arm around her shoulders and her head nestled comfortably onto his shoulder, his silent spell ridding them off the mess they'd made and the exhaustion subduing them both.
"What did the note say?" Hermione asked curiously, recalling his laughter. He chuckled again as he summoned it and handed it to her.
This never happened
Hermione saw Dumbledore leaning back over to the tray as she laughed, and wondered what on earth he was putting his potions master through now. A second potion vial appeared along with another note, which made Dumbledore snort in amusement. She recognized the contraceptive and took it from him, taking the sour liquid down in one quick swallow. She craned her neck to see the harsh script on the second note.
Merlin's saggy bollocks, you old codger.
Whoever she is, she needs another dose tomorrow.
Dumbledore flipped this scrap over, touched it with his wand and said, "By all means consult with Bellatrix, I'm sure she's feeling rather put out."
With this, he set it on the tray and after a moment it disappeared.
"Will he?" She asked curiously.
"Oh yes, he won't be able to resist. He will also collect any remnants of your blood and properly dispose of it and the spells on it."
Hermione sighed with relief, and Dumbledore set his wand aside.
"It's late," he told her quietly. "You may stay, if you wish."
His tone was uncertain and he didn't quite meet her eyes. In reply Hermione ducked her way back into his arms, head on his shoulder with her arm draped across him.
"Only tonight?" Hermione whispered, against her better judgement, she knew.
"Don't tempt me with things I'm not to be trusted with again," Albus whispered back.
Brush me with your hair
I swear
I don't know long that I can last
-*-*-*
If you're into it come tell me on Tumblr, I'm all on my own over here. Same username, just with dashes instead of periods.
If you're not, thanks for hanging out and giving it a try anyway!
My work is also on AO3 and usually goes up faster there just because formatting and posting are such a pain in the ass here. Username is the same again, replace periods with underscores.
Bolded words at the beginning and end are from the song Black by Dierks Bentley.
If you want more, say a prayer to the ADHD gods.
Disclaimer: I do not support relationships like this, ie significant age gaps when one party is very young like this, in real life. Relationships of that nature are often inherently predatory and toxic. This is a work of fiction with fictional characters who do not exist and should be treated as such.