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See you in the dark
All eyes on you, my magician
Learning how to stay on her toes and agile while dueling was one of the most difficult things Hermione had ever been taught. Dumbledore fired sparks and harmless lights at her while she dodged not only those, but also his physical advances. He encouraged her to retaliate with as many spells as she could recall. Initially she had been horrified by the idea and used only low level spells and jinxes, but after he very nearly caught her the first time, she cast a nasty curse purely out of instinct. His eyes had lit up while he deflected it with embarrassing ease, and his excited shout of, “Excellent work, Hermione!” was all that she needed to continue.
Dumbledore, of course, was infuriatingly good. He was impossible to touch either by hand or by wand, whereas she failed miserably.
It ended when he caught her yet again, pinning her against the wall for at least the tenth time.
“How are you so quick when you're pushing a hundred and twenty?” She gasped, chest heaving against his where he pressed against her.
“You're focused on beating me, not improving your skills,” he chided in an even tone.
“Well if you’d just go easy on me so I have a chance to learn!” Hermione snapped, then sagged. “Sorry.”
“I am going easy on you, Hermione,” Dumbledore told her, letting her go.
She gave him a skeptical look, then took her stance. “Prove it then.”
Approximately seven seconds later she was pinned to the wall again, three different colours shadowing on her skin where his fake spells had hit her. Her wand was on the floor, her arms pinned above her head as usual, and her legs in such a position that she couldn’t gain any momentum or leverage.
“Bugger,” Hermione muttered, tugging her hands down.
Unlike every other time, however, they didn’t budge. She met Dumbledore’s eyes and tugged harder, but yielded no result. He raised one bushy eyebrow before letting her go.
“Do wizards have super strength or something I’ve missed out on?” Hermione griped, annoyed at having been so easily thrashed by a centenarian.
“Fortunately not, we simply have many more years afforded to us in which to hone our skills.”
“So you’re telling me your secret is that you exercise?” Hermione countered in a tone tinged with disbelief.
“Among other things, yes,” Dumbledore agreed easily. “Now, why don’t we conclude for today?”
"And you'll continue kicking my arse on Monday?"
Dumbledore’s eyes glittered with amusement. "And many, many times after that."
“If you were a muggle you’d have died twenty years ago you know,” Hermione informed him conversationally as she approached the place in the wall where the door always appeared. This time when she and Dumbledore stood in front of it, it remained very stubbornly doorless.
A half hour later, despite everything Dumbledore could come up with, nothing had changed.
“The room has never done something like this before!” Hermione insisted, crossing her arms furiously. "It always let us out! It even let people out in different areas of the castle when that Umbridge hag and her bloody sycophants were trying to chase us down! Oh don't give me that look,” Hermione added when he raised his eyebrow at her language. “Anyway, Harry had to use the map to tell people where they were in the castle when they left the room because the exit point would switch every time the door closed!”
“The castle is far more aware than you give it credit for,” Dumbledore told her in a tone laced with amusement. “The room is not malfunctioning, I promise. Rather, the castle has decided that we need to remain here together.”
“Well, is it going to tell you why?”
Dumbledore chuckled at her tone. “I daresay we will find out in due course.”
“I'd like to go to bed on time, damnit.”
With a loud pop, a large and rather ornate bed appeared against the far wall, with a table on either side, and what appeared to be two sets of pyjamas. A door appeared in the wall, which she assumed would lead to a bathroom. Hermione stared, her mouth falling open in surprise.
“One bed,” She observed flatly.
Dumbledore’s hands fell on her shoulders and squeezed them momentarily. “Go take a few minutes for yourself, and I’ll see what I can manage.”
She nodded, and as she walked to the new door, a wave of Dumbledore’s wand brought an identical bed into being. She felt a brief moment of hope, but then the second bed vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and her shoulders fell. Dumbledore shooed her into the bathroom, where she took the opportunity to freshen herself up as best she could without a shower. After nearly ten minutes of killing time, she exited to find Dumbledore still striving to find a solution to the bed dilemma.
“If it wants us to sleep in the same bed, nothing will stop it,” Hermione told him tiredly as she swiped the pyjamas from one side of the bed. “One thing we learned about the room, it doesn’t change its mind.”
“I see that,” Dumbledore observed, seeming perplexed for the first time. “I must admit, usually the castle doesn’t directly defy me this way.”
“Maybe you’re finally losing your touch?” She suggested with a grin, not able to close the door in time to block the fake spell he sent her direction.
The pyjamas were made of thin pink satin, a tank top and shorts that weren't as long as she wished they were.
“I don't even like pink that much,” she griped. She didn't bother changing them herself. If the room wanted them to be pink, then pink they would be forced to stay.
Hermione sighed as she shed her robes and bra, dropping them casually to the floor. She downright refused to remove her knickers, but she'd never been able to sleep in a bra. When she pulled them on and realised they weren't loose, but instead rather snug against her skin, she turned to pick her robes back up instead.
However, the clothing she had shed was gone. She spun in a circle looking for it, but the bathroom was too small for it to be hidden somewhere.
“You've got to be joking!” She yelled.
There was a polite knock on the door.
“Is something wrong?” Dumbledore asked through the closed door.
She cracked the door open.
“It got rid of my clothes! The pyjamas are, well, tighter than I'd like so I was going to put my robes back on instead but they're gone!”
“In that case, perhaps it will make you feel better to hear that I have been denied a shirt.” Dumbledore sounded, once again, deeply amused.
“What?” Hermione yanked the door all the way open in surprise without thinking. Indeed, Dumbledore was standing there in nothing but silky black pyjama trousers, his chest bare. She forced herself not to stare.
“My clothing has also been confiscated, otherwise I would have gladly lent you mine.”
Hermione finally remembered the way her nipples poked at the thin fabric, but crossing her arms now would only draw more attention to the problem. As far as she had noticed, his gaze hadn't strayed from her face for a moment.
“I'll be more comfortable once I'm under the covers,” she answered, making a beeline for the bed. She propped herself up against the headboard and tugged the duvet up to her armpits. She watched Dumbledore press his hand gently against the wall with his eyes closed. Moments later a table appeared, holding a tray, a tea set and a plate that looked as though it had come from the great hall. A window also appeared, which opened when Dumbledore waved his hand toward it. He tapped his fingers against the plate, upon which biscuits appeared, along with a steaming pot of tea. He prepared her tea with a practiced hand before carrying the tray over to the bed. He set it down with a stabilisation charm before sliding into the bed next to her.
“Thank you,” Hermione said softly as she picked up her favourite biscuit. “I had some sweets for you that I’d picked up while I was in muggle London, but they’re in my bag.”
“Something new?” He sounded hopeful as he sipped his own tea.
“Of course it is. Most of them I’ve never had either, remember, my parents forbade it. Clearly you’re a bad influence.” She couldn’t complete the sentence without laughing, which made Dumbledore chuckle along.
Once she finished her tea, she got up for the bathroom one last time. Mercifully, the room allowed her to brush her teeth. As the light turned off, something flickered in the corner of her eye.
“What are you planning?” She asked the empty space suspiciously.
Of course, she got no answer.
When she awoke, it was in a confusing flurry of movement and tangled covers as another person tried repeatedly to grab hold of her. She thrashed violently and screamed until her hands ended up pinned above her head in a recently familiar position.
“Hermione,” Dumbledore said her name quietly, close to her ear so as not to startle her more. “It’s only me.”
Finally the unfamiliar environment swam into focus. Dumbledore had her hands pinned over her head in the exact same way he had time and time again earlier that day, one of his legs laid on top of hers to keep her from kicking. The duvet had slid aside in the struggle, leaving Dumbledore half on top of her. His beard dangled between them and his hair fell in a sheer curtain of white around them, his eyes sparkling in the dim light coming in from the window.
Even without a shirt, his physique was toned but modest, and had she not experienced it she wouldn’t have believed him to be as strong as he had proven he was. Something about the entire situation felt so surreal that Hermione didn’t bother hiding it when she took her time looking over the body that was pinning her down to the bed. When she met his eyes again, she realised he’d been watching her check him out.
Dumbledore’s grip on her wrists loosened, but she didn't pull her hands back. He was still hovering partway over her, and the tension that had erupted between their bodies was magnetic.
“I think we just found our answer,” Hermione said softly. Her eyes lingered on his lips, their faces close enough together to make it obvious.
“You've not even graduated yet,” Dumbledore protested gently.
“I've dueled death eaters three times, watched people die in front of me without being able to save them, and been tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange,” Hermione countered.
“I know you have,” Dumbledore sighed. “You’re brilliant, your mind works in incredible ways, and you’re beautiful, and I am…”
Hermione held perfectly still, waiting for him to complete his thought.
“You’re what, Albus?” She whispered.
“Not strong enough,” Dumbledore sighed, his low voice almost a groan.
Hermione only had time for a flicker of confusion before one of his hands plunged into her hair, and he kissed her like he thought he might die otherwise. He learned her body with the same ease that he learned everything, and soon the minimal pyjamas the room had provided them with fluttered to the floor.
Their clothes reappeared draped over a chair, where they would go unnoticed until late morning.
Hermione woke early in the morning with a strong arm around her waist, tangled in an abundance of hair that, for once, wasn’t entirely her own. She leaned into the strong chest at her back and tilted her head when soft lips gently caressed the side of her neck.
Across the room, a door eventually appeared.
And all the pieces fall
Right into place