Young

They had shifted again during the night, somehow limbs had become entangled, her back was cushioned in Albus’ beard. His beard, she smiled, as her eyes opened.

The man has style and he can pull it off.

As Clara moulded more into the nice warm embrace, she felt something poke against her arse. Something she had never felt in the weeks till now. Something scandalous. She felt Albus wake up from the way his hands became lighter around her and the way he tensed when he became aware of the situation.

«Take me to bed.» She whispered, with a fond smile and eyes closed as she relished the game.

Albus rolled away from her and let her fall on her back. His silver brow was ticked up in a wry, terse way. That twinkling devil of a man never let anyone see how unfazed he could really be.

«We’re already in bed.»

Clara smiled as her eyes searched him, looming above her like that.

«That is not a negative answer.»

Long fingers traced her lips, a featherlight touch that made her eyes flutter. That blue, that familiar blue that had come to be almost unguarded in her presence. The blue that was sometimes staring at her as if their owner was starving and she was comprised of lemon drops and pancakes and chocolate and humbugs. All those childlike qualities only the true philosopher has, packaged and promoted in a way that achieved many goals at once.

«Excuse me.” Albus said in his normal voice, not showing a hint of the breathlessness his touch made her feel. “I have some matters of anatomy that would not wither if I linger.»

Clara chuckled deeply. With fondness that gripped her heart and made her feel warm and alive, her eyes followed his figure as he left the bed.

«Do you ever look at bodies?» He asked, under the light cover of a sheet at a lazy summer afternoon.

«I look at people.» Clara frowned.

«I sometimes do.» Albus looked down, where the tips of his fingers were taking it upon themselves to feel the curve of her side. «I like your body. How it’s young… untainted.»

«So, it is not about the appearance of it?»

Albus gave no reply, his eyes didn’t leave his fingers that touched her side, lightly, timidly almost.

«I am not untainted.» He heard the ruefulness in her voice.

No, you’re like me. How can you be so young and be like me?

Oh, this is getting old.

Clara lay on her side with her back turned to him. Albus was squinting through the darkness to discern the patterns of the canopy of his bed. Their bed. Clara had been spending more than half the nights of her week away from her own bed, for months now.

Before he knew it, he was rolling to his side as well.

He took her hair between his fingers and let them slip away. He breathed in her scent and let it overwhelm him. He slithered a hand around her waist, palm down and feeling her body through her thin summer nightie. He spooned her and dipped his head on her neck and breathed deeply.

And Clara breathed and exhaled with him, letting out a hum that was so full of contentment, Albus couldn’t play coy anymore.

«Let me give you pleasure.» The words rolled off his tongue. He relished the shiver that ran through the body under his grasp.

«You’ll give without taking?» She teased him, her eyes closed as he loomed above her.

«Hmm, I’ll take.» His hand soothed up her chest, his fingers skittered around the swell of her breast. «I’ll take my share.»

His hand was pulling down the thin strap of fabric that held her nightie close around her frame. It got out of the way, slided down her arm, only for his open mouth to replace the spot it left bare. He felt Clara shiver underneath him. Albus eased the strap off, unravelling her like a present. The other strap was next, as he buried his face in her hair. The movement brought her flush against his chest, one hand encircling her waist between her frame and the bed, his palm flat on her stomach, right beneath her breasts. Clara melt into his embrace with such ease, with a hum of contentment, with her body’s warmth surrendered to his will.

He hooked his thumb in the neckline of her garment, as he nibbled on her ear. He pulled it down, slow as if to give his mind a chance to back away. His other hand was resting on her hip, drawing circles there, through the fabric. Clara craned her neck, tilted her head back and stared at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

«I’ve always loved your fingers.» She whispered, as if she knew that Albus had no idea of how to play the female body.

His thumb brushed her erected nipple, enjoyed the gooseflesh that he produced.

Well, maybe she didn’t know, not exactly. Maybe she just thought a compliment might be a good idea.

«I have seen them do wanders with wand and quill.» She shuddered, as his blunt nails grazed over her sternum, guiding his touch from one breast to the other. She mushed further into him, the curve of her arse right on where Albus’ body was betraying him. «They’re so deft, so well-worked.»

He felt her bite back a sound, her back tensing in anticipation as his other hand slithered flawlessly under the hem of her nightie, caressed the soft skin of her thigh and edged upwards, to the centre. He stopped there, shy of where hip and leg were joined; his calloused fingers trailed the lace trimming of her knickers. He lowered his lips to her ear; Clara tensed in anticipation of the sound that would follow.

«Are you really giving me a pep-talk?»

His voice had deepened on its own accord, blood was rushing down to all the right places and the moan Clara bit back again just made it all even more delicious. She opened her mouth for some retort, but Albus gripped her nipple and tugged; she moaned instead. A full, open moan, stuttered and breathy, and it left abandon in its wake. He had her trapped in his embrace, and yet, somehow, Clara managed to stretch her hand back in an awkward angle, grip his hip as if to make sure he wouldn’t suddenly disappear.

Albus gently eased open her legs, his fingers trailing over the bare flesh of her inner thigh. The movement brought one of her legs over his, offering him better view of her face. Her eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, she had already surrender to it all. A tingling sensation was spreading across Albus’ lips, when they landed on her face. Leaving soft kisses there, breathing her in, his hand slid down her thigh, fingers drawing circles and patterns as they danced above the shivering skin.

With a trickle of wandless magic, her knickers faded into nothingness. He found her soaking wet when he touched her folds, his eyes searched hers to ground him to the moment. He skittered up, where he knew the bundle of neurons laid, and touched.

He kept two fingers still on the wet warmth, held her gaze and asked for entrance. Clara had long since abandoned all kinds of shielding while in his presence; she smiled as he felt his mind around hers again. Albus let his fingers circle around, searching for their effect through her eyes.

Clara had latched onto those blue twinkling eyes, sharp and observant even in their lust. Her hips were torn between melting into his deliciously intruding fingers and melting into his embrace. She was engulfed in the heat that always radiated off his body, the aura of his restless blood and his strong, overwhelming magic.

Albus must have picked up on her dilemma, because he laid his palm flat on her skin, pressed her against him. She sighed at being cornered in this liberating way.

One of his hands was stroking her clit, the other danced around her chest; all Clara could do was to get lost in the depths of blue eyes. She thought not of all that could or hadn’t been, she merely choked on a moan of everything unfolding now.

«Give me your sounds.» Albus’ deep voice was music to her ears, his breath a staccato of electricity on her skin. His lips searched for her cheek gently, but with a need that screamed of surrender. «They are mine, give them to me.»

The softness of his moustache caressed her as much as the rest of him was doing, as his lips edged closer to her lips. Her shoulders coiled in on herself as she contained another gasp. A litany of give them, give them, give them to me was his reply, as his palm on her chest pressed her against him, as his hips couldn’t help rolling against her curves.

«Let me feel your skin on mine.» Was her reply, breathless and stuttered.

I won’t look if you don’t want me to, was what she didn’t say, the intimacy of his mind slithering in and around hers stealing all that remained from her shattered attention. I just want to feel your skin on mine.

As if to give merit to her wish, her hand caressed what she could reach of his lean, bony back.

Always the Slytherin, she mocked herself. Never give without asking for something in return.

«I would have been bored before long if you weren’t.» Albus’ deep, rumbling whisper teased her ear again.

She tried to gather enough mind to respond, really, she did; but Albus’ fingers worked between her legs, circling away every thought. All she could was grip Albus’ hip harder, mush her body further into his, wishing them both into a single entity.

He gasped in her ear, as she felt his rigid length twitch in response. He needed her, in that moment. He needed her as if she were his breath. The realisation overwhelmed her, sent her in a daze, eyes fluttering close. But still she didn’t budge. He would not hear from her if he didn’t get past his stupid prejudice.

«Stupid, you say?» He toyed with her nipple again, in the same way he toyed with everyone and everything.

With effort, she kept her lips sealed, imprisoning her wanton moans. They thrummed in the cage of her chest, sending pulses of desire through her body, right down to her soaked core. Her hips jerked and she let them, allowed some of the building tension vent through that.

It’s always stupid to not pay attention to what the other says, were her shattered thoughts. And you hardly ever fall victim to such fallacy.

Her skin was burning with desire to feel his. She wanted him bare, she wanted him open and trusting and utterly surrendered. She moistened her lips, sucked them into her mouth and relished Albus’ gasp; he couldn’t stop his body from thrusting against her. His head was pressing down on the side of hers, his fingers circled and circled, turning her legs to jelly and her mind to mush.

He could keep his cock away from her, if that was his wish, if that was within his ability, but skin to skin contact he would grant her.

Albus’ fingers left her clit, but Clara didn’t mind. His touch went lower, opening up her folds like spring turns a blossom to a flower. Her back coiled, her hips rolled up to meet him.

Albus buried one long finger in her canal, and vented the desire of burying his cock instead.

He kneaded her breast, fingers curling around the soft skin. He held her body as it tensed and shuddered. He stroked her walls without any rush, and his body followed hers in the turns and tides of their joining passion. Her hips rolled back and his treasonous member jerked into it.

His own desire had deepened and unfurled, just by watching another’s body through the pleasure he himself was granting them. He had said he would take and he was. His hungry, straining member was betraying him, as it followed Clara’s hips and rubbed between the swells of her arse.

And Clara was relishing it, biting back moans that shook her more and more, that made her chest heave and brought blood on her face. Her lips were swollen by her own teeth as she tormented them to keep them shut.

Merlin, how, he craved for those sounds.

Her hips, her walls were sucking his finger in, it slipped flawlessly through her oozing, thick, slick wetness.

And Albus shed his clothes with a whispered spell and without another moment’s hesitation.

“Oh, your fucking magic- ahhm-”

One whispered word and the drizzle of magic brought his flesh against her warmness, her heat-radiating skin that was beaded with sweat. Another little spell removed his beard from between them, moving it over his shoulder. And he thrust against her with more abandon than before, where finally Clara was moaning openly, her back arching to guide her deeper into him.

Her head was nested on his shoulder, tucked between him and the pillow, her eyes were closed and her expression open and surrendered. He drank her sight thirstily.

«I’m coming- fuck- Albus, I’ll come-» She gasped out, Albus was transfixed on her lips, red and moist.

Her walls were clenching around his finger, her hips were shuddering, her drawling moan stole Albus of his mind and breath. His other hand rushed down to her clit.

«That’s the objective, dearest.» Albus’ words were caught in his throat.

He drawled a moan as well, as his fingers finished her off, sent her over the edge. His cock thrust hard against her arse, his foreskin worked and urged pre-cum wetness out of him. His body fell more in tune with hers as he held her through her waves of pleasure, stroking her through it. Moans and endearments tumbled out of his mouth unbidden, matching her high-pitched sounds, her deliciousness as orgasm took hold of her. His balls tightened with the sight, the feel of her. His eyes fell shut and everything was lost apart from her, as with one last shudder of her hips he came as well.

Untouched, unbridled, he gasped and tensed as his hips thrust uncontrollably, he lost it as Clara relaxed in his embrace. She felt her arm cradling his hips, felt her thoughts raining him with warmness, heard her voice hoarsely crying assents, felt her other hand keeping his between her legs, pressing down, pressing her body on him. They both rode through it, one final thrust leaving him lax and satiated.

Albus fell onto his back, breathing deeply with his eyes still shut. Beside him he felt Clara fall face first into her pillow. Their minds were still linked, and even though her eyes were out of sight, stray whispers of her thoughts were his to take.

He didn’t, though; honestly, he could barely keep one eye open. He mentally backtracked, and physically reached out a hand. Slowly he fitted his palm in her smaller one. He lay like that.

A heartbeat later, Clara had interlaced her fingers with his.

He woke up the next morning with Clara’s limbs covering him like a blanket. He should get up. He knew he should get up and dress before she woke. But Albus felt too comfortable to move.

Lost in various thoughts, about last night and other nights, about the papers and letters that awaited him beyond his bedroom’s door, about the new school year that begun in a week.

He didn’t realise that Clara was awake, until her fingers started walking on his chest, until her mouth left hot imprints on his shoulder.

«You snored last night.» Albus remarked, the memory of it filling his heart with something ridiculously close to domestic bliss.

«You exhausted me.» Unfazed, she continued her ministrations.

«You won’t get it up for another week now, I’m afraid.»

She frowned. «Your cock?»

Albus smiled, side-glancing her. «Restrictions of age, you see.»

«You imply I cannot be fondling you for my own pleasure?» She arched a brow and went back to his chest. Albus took note of the contentment displayed so openly in her face, as her finger played with the white hairs on his chest. «Or do you mean to imply that your cock is the only thing that can bring me pleasure? I have years’ worth of lovely memories, not to mention last night, that can prove you wrong.»

She grazed his nipple with her teeth, enjoying his sharp intake of breath. She left him with a smile and retreated to the bathroom.

It is stupidity not to listen to what the other is telling you.

And one Albus had avoided all his life.

«I have received a few weird glances.» Clara was saying as she changed into her nightclothes.

Albus relaxed into the couch, let his head fall back. «Well, your comings ang goings would have been noticed sooner or later. On the other hand, nothing has changed in our behaviour towards each other.»

He let his head roll on the couch’s back, observing her nightie-clad figure approaching without disturbing his comfortable ease. She folded one leg underneath her as she assumed a seat beside him, her body facing him instead of the fireplace in front of them.

«I can sleep in my room more often? Stay with you only for a couple of nights each week?»

Albus purposefully delayed his response. She hardly ever went out of her way to avoid his gaze nowadays; and yet tonight she sat down facing him, only for her eyes to squint at the bookshelf behind him, visible over his left shoulder. One who wasn’t familiar with her ways might have easily drawn the conclusion she was more interested in discerning what books were hidden there among the shadows, rather than paying attention to their conversation.

«You know I don’t want that?”

«You know I don’t either.» Clara shrugged, now toying with a loose thread on the couch’s pillow.

Albus sighed, as the flames spread their orange light on his dark leather fireplace mat. «It’s reasonable, I suppose.»

Clara scoffed, echoing his bitter amusement at the choice of word.

«Some time apart might even do us good.» She agreed, finally tugging the thread out for good.

Only her fingers, gripping and fidgeting the thread between them, betrayed how her mind was occupied with the deeper meaning of her words.

Indeed, with no small measure of surprise, Clara found Albus secretly yearning for the nights they spent together. Sometimes they touched each other and others they didn’t. Sometimes they used hands, others mouths.

Every time, Clara was looking forward to the moment he climaxed; to the warmth radiating from his swollen cock, the way his magic pulsed and thrummed, enveloping her whole. To the intensity of his piercing gaze, a prison out of which she never wanted to break free.

She never once looked away, not when she lowered herself in front of his imposing form. Down on her knees she went, never letting him out of her sight. With obedient fingers, she unbuckled his belt. With languid abandon, she licked and sucked to guide him deep into her throat, until she choked and gasped and Albus softly whispered to her to slow down. He’d keep her hair out of the way, with such care and tenderness at first, stroking her face, murmuring hoarse endearments in his rumbling voice. But then his balls would tighten in her hand; Albus would grip her tightly as he came undone. He’d tug his fistful of her hair, he’d keep her down, forcing his way deeper into her throat. Taste of his cum would flood her mouth. Bitter-sweet it was, and validated a sense of freedom she could not explain.

With every chance, she glanced up to meet his blue and vibrant gaze. She hungrily observed the expression on his face: open, unguarded, bare. And all for her.

It was the quality of each encounter that mattered more than the quantity in the end. And Clara relished the intimacy of chess and books and gossip, as much as she did when she played her part in becoming a messy bundle of limbs.

Albus didn’t ask from her more than she was willing to give. He didn’t challenge any part of her heart she wasn’t willing to surrender in her own accord. He didn’t demand her attention on matters that didn’t interest her. He didn’t expect her to become someone she couldn’t be. And she didn’t ask him to put on hold the rest of his life, only for her sake.

She only smiled when Albus fell asleep on the fireplace mat between one sentence and the next, because he had been up since before sunrise, to deal with some debacle or another. She laughed when he apologised for his morning breath, but never said anything about hers. She enjoyed it when they fell back so easily on their camaraderie, that not even the intimacy of having had the other cumming in their mouth could rock.

An orgasm was merely one of the things they offered to each other.

«Come here, dearest.» Albus extended his hand over the arm of the couch in his sitting room.

Clara closed the bathroom door behind her and went, her eyes losing themselves in the familiar blue. She took hold of his hand and made to sit beside him. She didn’t get the chance, because Albus pulled her into his lap instead, where she landed with a sound of surprise. Her hands went to encircle his neck, as he tidied her in his lap, twinkling eyes sharp with an intent only he knew.

«I thought you were a fragile old man.» She joked, smiling more widely than she ever had done, not even when she was a child of five years old.

Albus huffed, smiling to himself in a way that betrayed how his own expectations had failed him. Clara’s gaze fell to his lips by default. His fingers snapped her out of it, as he brought them to her chin and raised her head a bit, keeping it in place.

Clara let herself be manhandled and stared back. She didn’t like looking into people’s eyes for long. It felt dangerous, somehow; the eyes are the windows to the soul, after all, and one must take care to whom they grant entry. With Albus, this danger didn’t exist; he was perched right on the centre of her soul, and wouldn’t budge. He reigned over it as overwhelmingly as he reigned over everything else.

Albus’ face inched closer to hers, nothing in his expression betraying his purpose. He came so close Clara felt his breath tingling her skin. She closed her eyes alongside him when he hovered above her mouth, the need to get closer overtaking him, swaying him forward.

It had been two months full of caresses and orgasms, his lips had discovered every dimple, mark and blemish of her skin, they had paid their respects to most surfaces and crevices. But they had never touched her lips. It had seemed immaterial somehow, something that they would only do for the sake of it. Something that other people shared in relationships of different kind than theirs. Clara hadn’t really realised the lack of it until this moment.

«You trembled that night-” Albus whispered against her lips, sending shivers down her spine. «You trembled like a schoolgirl.»

«I am… very attracted to you.» Clara sighed, her eyes refusing to open. Her fingers tangled in his long white mane, her thumb brushed the nape of his neck. Every little thing she could do to validate the authenticity of his presence.

«And I’m very attracted to you.» He responded, his hand curling on her side, bringing her closer. «Even though, you’re not really my type.»

He left a small kiss on her lips before the words were out, ensuring Clara wouldn’t open her eyes. She cursed his meticulousness under her breath.

«Yes, I wouldn’t say you’re my type…» Another kiss, making Clara go limp. «You know, I had a boy of my own,» another kiss, “back then.»

Clara forced her eyes open at this unprecedented share of confidence on his behalf, just in time to catch the relaxation that had spread through his face, that had kept his eyes closed and his lips parted. But he kissed her lips again then and Clara trembled under the featherlight touch.

«He was not stuffy, like yours.» He kissed again, just a peck, their lips landed together awkwardly due to how mirth had left them open and upturned. They chuckled. «Neither was he German. But he was blond, as well.»

«Was he handy, like mine?” She asked, covering her question with a kiss of her own this time.

She felt his ramble of chuckles as it shook his chest, a bitter fit of mirth she couldn’t understand. But his palm was burning a hole on her back as he kept her close. He laid a kiss, another kiss, small and timid; one more as silence stretched. Another peck, soft skin on soft skin, and their noses nuzzled each other’s cheek.

He wouldn’t speak, not in any way that was straightforward. So she focused on the softness of his lips instead.

«I’m up for anal sex,» Clara murmured, her lips brushing against his once more, «if you want to honour the days gone by.»

He felt Albus backtrack a bit. She met his reservation, his tenseness with a gentle, lopsided upturn of her lips.

Albus didn’t heed that, however. «That was not why-’‘

«Shh.” Clara brought her thumb on his lips, alert by the way he seemed alert. Her hand cupped his face like that first winter night in Hogsmeade. She caressed his face with her gaze. «I know. Don’t worry, I understand. You don’t have to say anything more.”

Albus’ expression became even more difficult to read; she could not be sure, but it felt like he doubted she could ever understand.

“I don’t care what happened before, Albus.” She said with conviction, chasing away the hurt his distance would always inspire. “All I want is for you to be… content. Especially in something so small, such as this. I’ll be open to experimentation, should you find yourself wanting it too.”

Nothing eased in the depths of blue eyes. There was still tension in his body, tension in the hands cradling her frame. Why could he not understand that she was giving him an out from a conversation he obviously didn’t want to continue? Clara cast down her meagre Occlumency shields and poked wandlessly against his own, in the way he had helped her learn over time.

Although he didn’t honour her invitation, Albus forced his body to relax.

Blue eyes searched for her, fixing her and drawing their conclusions. Clara kept a straight face and reached her own. She would never know for sure what his thoughts were; she had accepted that a long time ago. Nevertheless, she owed it to herself to know her own.

Like the cattle, she let someone else worry about all the unnerving truths and elected ignorance instead. When Albus leaned closer to her ear, she surrendered to the overwhelming feeling of his voice pulsing threw her.

«That’s the longest that my knees can take.»

Clara shook with the mirth warming her heart. She laid one more peck on his lips and rose. Albus stretched his legs as she accioed the book they were reading last night from the bedside table.

Albus’ bed was very big indeed.

As if to test how big it was, Clara lay on it vertically tonight. Her head had fallen back over the edge of it, was dangling over the floor unsupported, depriving her of the view of Albus and what he was doing, nested between her legs, his tongue teasing her clit. But even if she had him within eyesight, it was highly improbable that she would actually gather enough attention to convince her eyes to open.

Her hips were under Albus’ grasp and he was pinning them down as his tongue darted languidly in and out of her entrance, producing the most delicious sounds out of her. Her legs were bend to the knee, her feet digging into the sheets, damp with sweat and other kinds of wetness. The rest of Albus’ naked body took the rest of the bed’s width, leaving only his feet dangling from the side.

Never before had the urge to get lost inside her been so hard to resist.

And why would I resist? Albus found himself wondering, as he sucked her clit and relishing her throaty moan.

It had been unthinkingly long since the last time… And the last time didn’t involve a vagina. What if he-

He gripped her hips harder as she shuddered in his mouth.

To hell with it. He left one hand on her hips and brought the other down, into the tightness of her core.

«Yes, yes!» Clara breathed out when the couple of long digits breached her, rolled her hips up to take them deep. Albus’ fingers disappeared in and out of her. He put his other hand flat on her stomach and pulled his fingers out. Clara moaned at the loss, her hands gripping the sheets tightly.

«You will tell me when you’re close.» He used his usual polite voice.

Clara didn’t answer at once, and Albus held his hands away from her until she would.

«How close?” She asked. “Because I’m not far now.»

Albus hummed in mirthful acknowledgment, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses to Clara’s inner thigh. He nibbled, bit down, his teeth producing a humming sigh out of her. He guided her away from thought and into the land of sweet surrender, and as she started to relax again… Albus clicked his fingers.

Suddenly Clara’s body left the bed and hovered, unsupported, in midair; a surprised sound escaped her, a touch of alarm echoed in the fire-lit room. His abrupt wave of magic held her there, as she aimlessly flailed her limbs; Albus sat up on the bed and stretched his back with a painful groan.

“Albus!”

“Something wrong, my dear?”

Only incoherent stammering fell from her lips. Albus took pity. A second click of his fingers moved her in the centre of the bed and laid her down, far more gently than the one before it. She landed on her back again, her body shaking with mirth, just as Albus laid down on his side close to her, his beard already thrown over his shoulder and tied with his hair. He stretched his long limps and braced his head on his hand, watching as Clara choked and chortled.

“You startled me.” She said, turning on her side as well, mimicking his stance.

“Really? You hide it so well.”

Clara snorted into another of her fits of mirth; it truly suited her, Albus thought. It truly suited her to smile and laugh.

He ran a hand up the curve of her side. Clara did the same down his chest, her eyes searching his. He gave into the urge and let his face edge forward; her lips met his, her hum met his sigh. Clara left small kisses on and around his mouth, sweet, timid, lovely. Simple.

“Will you not ask me what I have in mind?” Albus brought a finger to her chin and teased her with his tongue in turn. She swayed forward, following him when Albus took his smiling lips away.

“I think I’ve made it clear that I’d follow you blindly wherever you took me, Albus.”

His fingers were trailing down her neck and into her chest. She would. Whatever Albus asked her to do, Clara would do it without hesitation.

How many Generals would ask for a soldier like her?

Albus hummed, his fingers already bringing her lips towards him. Clara met him through her smile, her hand already resting on his waist.

Albus sighed into the kiss, deepening it on the way. His hand was curled around her side, brushing up the curve of her hip and Clara just kissed him back with equal fervour. She brushed a finger down his balls as she toyed with his lips and Albus shuddered, touched her clit again to work her up.

Clara pushed him back on the mattress, removing herself from his lips. Albus raised a brow at her, sprawled as he was aristocratically on his very big bed.

«Would you mind if I took the lead?»

«Ah.» A secret smile bloomed in his face. «I never thought I would find myself replying thus in this particular question, but. I think that might be for the best.»

Clara laughed, her eyes falling close, but she wasted no time. She had already straddled him, before her mirth died down.

«You okay?»

Albus grasped her hips. «I’ll be perfectly fine as long as you tell me what you want.»

Clara sighed and looked down. «How do I stuff it in might be a good start.»

Albus choked on a snort. «I thought the German-’‘

“He-“ Clara intoned, shifting her weight on one leg and trying to find a solution, «he took it upon himself to- do the stuffing part. Oh--“ She turned to him, alertness in her face. “I’m not on the potion, Albus. Do you want to…?”

Albus let his eyes flutter close and mocked a groan of ruefulness. “Ah, you’re in a child-bearing age.”

«Don’t start.» She scoffed. Her wide grin didn’t subside, as she watched Albus perform the contraceptive spell.

The matter of contraceptive precautions hadn’t slipped Albus’ mind, of course. To his slight shame, he would accept that he merely wanted to see if Clara would forget it herself… Or choose to not remember, in accordance with some nefarious plot she may be harbouring; a plot that remained unclear, even to him.

Emotionally damaged people had all sorts of ridiculous notions. Not all of them were fit for public consumption; to his further shame, Albus had no qualms in never admitting to this little test he had put Clara through, at this time of openness and trust.

“You’re not actually thinking about my age right now?” She asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Oh, my sweet Clara…” Albus sighed. Both his hands squeezing the skin of her youthful waist, he urged her straddling hips to roll over his cock. “If your father were alive to see us now…”

“I don’t think he’d mind,” Clara responded, leaning down to lay a gentle peck on his lips. “If he were alive, the Guild would have forced him to marry me off to some fat and wealthy idiot of its members.”

Albus wanted to defy her certainty. Alas, and despite the respect he helf for Clara's dead father, Albus suspected that in this case, Clara's certainty had good foundations.

“And he was the Magister of the Guild.” Clara shook her head, staring steadily into his eyes, despite the topic of discussion. “The Magister should always put the Guild’s interests first. If a political alliance was required to strengthen our Society’s power and influence, I would have been sold off to the highest bidder like a breeding mare. Yes,” she nodded. “My father tried to protect me. But he warned me himself, he wouldn’t be able to protect me for long.”

For nearly 20 years, this was the first time Clara spoke so fluently about her childhood years.

“Which is why it was a huge relief when they all died.” She was saying, and the last word, died, escaped her in a sigh of deep relief. “They were all corrupt, Albus. You do know what they did to children.”

“What they used to do.” Albus corrected, pushing her off from her straddling position on his hips, guiding her to lay on his side. “Ever since your father became Magister, he banished the old ways—”

Clara scoffed, but her fingers remained interlaced with his.

“Of course you didn’t know.” She said, and goosebumps creeped under Albus’ skin. “Our Small Council knew that you would never abide with what they did to us. There was no law in that place, Albus. You of all people know that very well. Despite your best efforts, the Ministry couldn’t touch us. The ICW couldn’t touch us. We thought we were kings of the world… But the truth is that any power we might have had was lost when the Ministry of Magic took our place. Two and a half centuries ago, we were governors of magical people… By the end we were just a bunch of sick old men and terrified children.”

“Your father tried to change that,” Albus noted, but Clara only huffed. “Clara, such things take an obscene amount of time to—"

“My father was a good man.” She mocked the words, as if they were an insult. “Tell me, Albus, do you truly believe that a good man can undo traditions that stand for a thousand years? He had to sit back and watch as the Guild’s children were being groomed into pliable sheep. Soldiers, to bring the Guild to its former glory. Do you know what we were called, growing up? Recruits. ‘Come here, Recruit.’ ‘Go there, Recruit.’ ‘You are a good recruit, so I will send you to Hogwarts, where you will find more children to recruit to our cause.’ Our names didn’t matter. Our wants didn’t matter. We were recruits that would reinstate the Guild. We had a diary in which we had to write our thoughts, and if our thoughts weren’t in accordance with the Guild’s interests, then were starved, battered, held in isolation for days. The Seeker One, the member of the Small Council responsible for educating us, shaved our heads if we failed our tests.”

“The children who came here—” Albus interrupted, but Clara didn’t let him finish.

“Of course they weren’t shaved and starved and battered, Albus!” She intoned fervently. “Only the kids who were fully indoctrinated were sent to Hogwarts! The rest were kept in the Guild’s mansion and were being home-schooled.”

Albus thought back to all the children that had come to Hogwarts from the Guild. Yes, they were too serious, too withdrawn, too manipulative, but they were raised in a cult, so it was only to be expected.

“There wasn’t anything you could have done.” Clara hands were all over his face, as if trying to caress Albus’ thoughtfulness away. “I’m just telling you, Albus, that you shouldn’t worry about what my father would think, because my father would be proud for me. I chose to love a man who is above all this. I broke free of that cult, because I chose you. Because I see you, I understand you, I love you. Because if you were there, you would have done your best to stop it. But where was my father when all this happened?”

“If…” Albus slowly formed his reply. “Your father had tried to change too many of the Guild’s ways too rapidly, what do you think the rest of the Small Council would have done?”

“Deposed him and put someone worse in his place.” Clara responded promptly, while fire burned in her brown eyes. “But that doesn’t change the fact that my father was a weak man, Albus.”

“No, Clara.” Albus brushed her wet cheeks. “Your father was a man who tried to overturn the status quo, all on his own.”

“He should have talked to you.” Her voice was tinged with anger. “He should have asked for your help. He was weak and proud. He didn’t have the guts to do what needed to be done. He wasn’t like you.”

Clara stared into Albus’ eyes with the hunger of a headless woman who finds the head her body lacks. She worships me, Albus realised then. The mere thought sent a dangerous amount of blood down to his cock.

“He knew there wasn’t anything I could have done, Clara.” Albus murmured back, rubbing his eyes to escape this dangerous pull that had him in his grip. “I had been too loud in my condemnations of the Guild in the past. My name was not invoked with pleasant feelings by the Guild’s members… As I’m sure you realise yourself.”

Clara’s brown eyes fidgeted back and forth, to and away from his face. “Still, Albus. If you had been Magister, instead of my father, we would have been saved. We wouldn’t have been taught to serve,” she was saying, “by abolishing any kind of personality we still had left. Do you know what a cult is, Albus? That’s what my father was; the leader of a cult. You are not that.”

She kissed him then; she kissed him with the hunger that was pouring out of her eyes. Her tongue got tangled in his mouth, she pressed her hot body against Albus’, who didn’t want to be so responsive to her worshipping.

Because Clara was his responsibility now. All the smiles she hadn’t smiled while she grew up, she had granted to Albus. And it was Albus’ job to keep a smile flourishing on her lips.

He pulled her onto him; brought her legs to straddle his hips. Clara’s warm folds slided over his cock.

This has to end, Albus was thinking, because Clara was a broken girl from a broken home, who was offering herself up to be used, to be filled with the meaning she lacked.

“I will never use you, my dear,” Albus muttered into her neck, as Clara lowered herself on his cock.

“Ah!” Her gasp wasn’t all pleasure. Albus held her hips steady and his eyes with hers, as he gently pushed upwards. Breath hitching and fingertips digging in flesh, he backtracked a bit, drawing a throaty moan from her, before he pushed in, deeper than before. Clara lowered herself as well, and groaned as Albus sheathed in her. Her tightness stole him of breath and mind for a long moment.

She braced her hands on the mattress enclosing his head and Albus run his hand up her arched back, feeling the knots of her spine. Her eyes were searching him as she shifted her hips and tried out a few timid moves.

Albus’ hand returned between her legs, building up the pleasure she had lost. Before long Clara had relaxed and he could properly appreciate the feel of her around him. He kept her within view as much as he could, to watch the way her face crumpled with every move. Her sounds were driving him mad, were urging his hips up. She straightened her back and rolled her hips and he thrust up in time to catch her.

His hands gripped her hips as they gained more and more ease, the fluidity of her movement stroking and squeezing him. He fondled her breast with featherlight touches, the contrast deepening her pleasure. She circled her swollen bud as she fucked herself on his cock and Albus breathed deep with it all. His hand rested on her shoulder, thumb and finger stroking the sensitive skin of her neck, as he pressed her down with the other. Clara stroked his chest and smirked breathlessly at how it made him moan.

And when both hands ground her down hard on him and he thrust up, Clara cried out with intensity she had never before. Albus was startled, his hands released her at once, but Clara brought them back on her shoulders and kept them there.

«Do that again.» She ordered, and Albus complied. Clara’s face crumpled around her moan.

Clara shuddered around him and he scrunched up his face, cast his head back to hold his orgasm. Clara rolled around his cock again, and he met her thrust to thrust, both trying to hit that spot that made her writhe and Albus’ balls tighten. Soon she was coming undone, her hips stuttering and just the sight she made pulled him over the edge with her. Her walls were clamping down irregularly, milking him, as they both fisted each other’s flesh and rode the pleasure.

Clara fell down above him abruptly, her back arched and brushing her nipples on his chest. With stuttered breaths and a few last jerks they were satiated and done. Clara pulled away and collapsed beside him. The room’s air tingled Albus’ heated, sweaty skin, the line of warmth by his side, more grounding than anything else. Clara’s fingers found his and they stayed gazing at the canopy, lost in their minds.

Yes, this couldn’t go on. Not when Clara worshipped him like this.

«There were not many virtues left on me,” Albus quipped, gathering her to his side, keeping her close. «Now I’m utterly debauched.»

«You’re in peace,” Clara murmured into his neck, stroking his chest. “You can afford to be debauched. In this way at least.»

He noted the sadness of her beautiful eyes and said nothing. He only relished the intimacy under his fingertips.

Albus’ eye was trailing away from his letter and towards her as she did her marking, belly down on the fireplace rug. She had been staying with him twice a week nowadays. It felt oddly enough.

«I love seeing you so content.»

«I’m almost happy.» She grimaced, as if haunted by the prospect.

«Where else can this go? I mean, we read and chat.. we make love.» Albus mused to the ceiling. «Where else can this go?»

«We could have our own house, share the bills.» Clara replied, lips trembling with mirth. «Get married, have children.» Albus chuckled deeply, meeting her mirthful gaze. «Meet up with friends in Saturday nights, go on vacations.» Her words were drowned by chuckles as well.

«It would kill us both.» Albus said in a deep exhale and watched with the corner of his eye as Clara sat beside him on the couch, brought their sides together, one line of unassuming warmth.

«We’ll mimic the cattle as much as we can.»

Albus tilted his head at her. «Memory of that night survived after all.»

Clara stole a glance at him, smiling to herself. «Bits and pieces. It was one of the few times in my life I tried to be a Gryffindor. To follow my heart without thinking of complications. I failed, obviously.»

«I wouldn’t say so… Not completely, at least.»

«Gryffindor and not completely, assisted by copious amounts of alcohol.» She met his eyes. «Can it be?»

Albus’ gaze fell on her hand and he took it in his. He stretched her fingers against his, rested their palms together.

«You’ve proven you can do it. You can form an attachment to another human being. Even if it is all for show, a…»

He searched ahead for the word. He thought of Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, of figures you see merely through their imprint on reality. He thought of puppets moving behind white sheets and smiled.

«A shadow play.»

Clara hummed. «You know it’s a shadow play. You let your own shadow play in. That’s why I could do it.»

Albus covered her hand with his other one, closed it off from sight, in a cocoon of wrinkled skin.

«Do you know why I did it? Why I found myself yearning for it, why I allowed myself be lost in it?»

He asked the question, reserving his judgement for himself. Clara contemplated.

«The cattle never know.» It was her settled reply. «My shadow doesn’t know, that’s why it can’t answer your question with a few accurate words.»

Albus hummed, but spoke no more. Clara laid her head on his shoulder, and asked no more.

Albus wondered if Clara suspected why his shadow joined into their play. He himself knew now without a doubt why he had let her approach him in this way.

All human beings need warmth and company; when they abstain from it, they are a step closer to becoming gods… or monsters. And Albus had sworn long before that, unlike Gellert, unlike Tom Riddle, he would fight off his tendency to become either a monster… Or a god.

When Albus picked up his letter again, Clara returned to her own work.

It’s summer again, a lazy afternoon. It could have been years later, or only months. With the sheet forming a tent above them, protecting their sweaty bodies from the summer breeze, Albus couldn’t really tell how long had passed, how long there was still.

The mind gives with one hand and takes with the other. If it had hands, that is. Maybe it has as many hands as god does.

Eyes were searching faces, each mind busy with their own thoughts.

«You already know that this can’t la-»

Clara brought her index to his lips and held it there. Her eyes pinned him in place.

«I’ve known it for a long time that this can’t last, Albus.»

Her lips quirked up, she slid her finger down to his chin, ran it through his beard. Without lingering she folded her hand back under the pillow.

«Maybe I’ll go away again. Maybe I can join the Order? I’ve never been in an Order before; only in a sect.»

«I can’t have you in the Order.» Albus hadn’t wait for her to finish.

Clara averted her gaze, smiled in that secret introvert way of her again. «Why not?» She challenged for the heck of it.

«It wouldn’t work.»

They held each other’s gaze for long moments, the detached coldness in Albus’ eyes revealing more than he needed to say.

«I’ll go away then.»

He smiled.

«Yes, do that.” Albus sighed. “Fly away.»

Maybe she would even find somewhere worthy to stay.

Clara must have been haunted by something along those lines, judging by her expression.

«Maybe I’ll die soon.» She said in an afterthought.

Albus huffed in amusement. «Enticing, isn’t it?»

Clara smiled back, fondness softening her face.

“You won’t, though.” Albus chased away his mirth and allowed a commanding note into his voice. “You will find a place to belong… Because you can belong, Clara. And you have so much to offer to the world.”

What transpired behind her warm brown eyes, Albus didn’t know and he wouldn’t find out for years to come.

Upon this lazy summer afternoon, they fell asleep side by aside, with the breeze ruffling the curtains of his room.

Two figures, side by side but not touching.

Two figures under a white sheet.