After Elizabeth

After Elizabeth, Part Two

---

He held his breath for nearly a minute, waiting to see how she'd react: he loosed his hold on her (though Merlin knew he didn't want to -- it felt entirely right and bloody wonderful, having her there in his arms), and let her step away from him.

"Where are we?" she asked faintly, scanning the landscape by the light of the moon.

"Devon. Where I grew up."

She started to retort -- it simply wasn't possible, after all -- and then took another look at the craggy hills and the clear night sky, unblemished by London smoke -- and instantly shut her mouth and simply stared.

Albus wanted badly to touch her, to maintain some contact: but he sensed, too, that she needed room, so he strolled over to the fallen menhir-slab that he'd favoured as a boy and lounged against it, giving her the time she needed.

He'd got quite unnerved by her silence before she finally turned to him and demanded, "How is this possible?"

"Well," he said thoughtfully, and scratched at his chin, "the logical conclusion is that it's Magic."

She stared at him, realising that he was absolutely serious.

"You're not with the Intelligence Corps," she accused.

"Not British Intelligence, no, Army or otherwise. Or any of the other recognised nations, either."

"Recognised nations?"

"We were once one people," he elaborated. "But the societies grew apart, until we finally withdrew. It's as though there are two worlds, now -- the Magical or Wizarding World, and what we call the Muggle World. Yours."

"That's rather a lot to expect me to take in."

"It is," he admitted. "But it's the truth. Shall I demonstrate?'

"I think you'd better."

"Are you cold?"

"Yes, but --"

He drew his wand -- slowly, so as not to frighten her, and was pleased when she didn't flinch -- and cast a Warming Charm on her hands and feet, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"How -- That's rather presumptuous," she said with a glare. "And you might warn me first, next time."

"I could have done something mundane and impractical, I suppose," he retorted. "Presented you with a bouquet instead, but that's considered a tawdry parlour trick. And it would be an insult to your intelligence, as well."

She smothered a laugh and kept staring at him, from a distance.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asked softly.

"To see the stars. It's much clearer here, and even should you decide to chuck me out on my ear, at least you'll have had that."

"Oh."

She glanced up, then back at him, and sighed.

"Suppose I'd best take advantage of it, then," she said, and slowly moved over to him and boosted herself up onto the slab.

"Do you remember the names?" he asked.

"Some of them," she murmured. "Father taught me the constellations, but it's been a long time."

"Can you find Ursa minor?"

She scanned the sky, and eventually pointed it out.

"Polaris above it, of course," Albus said softly, "and below it is Draco, the dragon...."

They watched the stars together, Elizabeth unconsciously wriggling closer to Albus as the warming charm faded, until he put an arm about her and drew her closer.

She didn't object.

It was quite pleasant, to vastly understate it -- until Albus noticed a little light flickering in the hollow below them.

Blast.

"See that one?"

"Where?"

"Down there," he said, pointing. "Below the horizon."

"Below the --"

She squinted at it, and then laughed. "Albus, that's a house. And they're breaking the blackout."

"It is, the house where I was born and raised -- never mind the blackout, it can't be seen from above, not by Muggles. If I'm not mistaken that light means my mother is awake and knows I'm here, and there will be the devil to pay if I leave without stopping in."

Elizabeth gave him a reproachful look which he interpreted entirely correctly, and he bent to whisper in her ear.

"You are standing on a hill in Devon, to which you arrived by Magic. If you survived that, you'll survive my mother."

I may not, but Elizabeth will, he thought wryly.

"Besides, you're cold and you need some tea," he said practically. "She's probably put the kettle on already. Come along."

He pulled his wand and cast Lumos, took her hand, and led her down the rocky path, fervently hoping his mother had the sense to tell the House Elf to stay out of the kitchen for the duration.

---

Albus' mother had smuggled the Elf out of sight, thankfully, and the little kitchen was quite deserted when he pushed open the door and ushered Elizabeth through it.

"Off with this," he said of her coat, "and go sit by the fire and warm up."

He took the coat and hung it on one of the pegs by the door, and hurried over to the cookstove to make the tea -- the kettle was already whistling quite indignantly -- as Elizabeth wandered to the fireside and sat, and took in the cozy room with its low ceiling and heavy beams blackened by centuries of wood-smoke, and his mother's bright, pristine pots and pans, and the colourful china displayed in the great Welsh dresser.

"Come here, you," he muttered to the teapot.

It shook itself awake, rose on its stubby legs, and waddled over to him, snuffling, and doffed its lid so he could pour in the water.

"I'm still at home, aren't I?" Elizabeth said, and he turned to find her staring at the obnoxious little teapot, eyes wide. "I've got the 'flu and I'm delirious."

"Afraid not, thankfully," he said. "Mother's rather eccentric about the tea-things, likes them mobile. But then she has rheumatism, so it's useful to her that way," he said as he added hot water to the pot.

It clapped its lid back on and waddled back over to the wash-basin, ready to pour itself dry after the requisite warming period.

"Where is she?"

"Giving us some time alone, I expect, so you can adjust. She's quite perceptive that way."

"Oh. Is this," Elizabeth said with a nod to the teapot, "what you meant by 'plenty of useful things?'"

"Precisely, although that's not all.

"Things work in very much the same way here as in the other world, I expect," he said, toying absently with the tea-cannister. "It's just that we've cut out a lot of the steps. Muggle scientists have begun to understand how the universe and nature work, and they're beginning to compensate with machines. We simply do so naturally, without any intermediary. Mechanical lifts are common in your world now, for example, but we accomplished the same thing nearly a millennia ago without resorting to mechanics -- a simple charm on a stair, or a Levitating Charm on an object or person, accomplishes the same thing. We just harness the energy required in a different way."

"Oh. But why the separation?"

He winced internally. This was the tricky bit -- how to tell the girl you rather desperately adored that her people had behaved less than admirably, and probably still should.

"Because once Muggles began to realise that there were rules to nature rather than it being the work of the gods, and noted the difference between us," he said carefully, "they became distrustful of us because we could accomplish things so easily. It wasn't natural, or so it seemed to them. Silly, of course, because from our perspective it's the most natural thing in the world -- one is simply born with Magic. We refine the skill, of course, but it's nothing we asked for or attained dishonestly. And with everyone, Muggle or Magical, distrust leads to fear...."

"I understand," she said quietly, and he noted with immense gratification that she had grasped it immediately. "Did you know that several German shop-owners were burnt out at the beginning of the War? Perfectly innocent people, livelihoods destroyed by a mob, because of fear and prejudice. The Royal family's even changed their name, because it was too germanic."

"It's all quite silly, isn't it?"

"Yes, like that idiocy over German music."

The teapot had emptied itself and was now butting at Albus' arm, dog-like, for attention.

"All right, you little --. The other thing I meant," he told Elizabeth over his shoulder as he spooned the tea into the pot, "was that -- contrary to whatever you think -- I'm not in financial straits. I simply don't give a toss about Muggle clothes. My job requires me to venture out, sometimes, and what I've got is quite sufficient for my needs. Or was, before I started..." He floundered about for a moment.

"Courting," Elizabeth offered, amused.

"Yes, all right, courting you," he admitted, and hid his blush by turning to the kettle and pouring water into the pot. (Funny, he'd always blithely thrown the word about before, but now when it came down to it he was blushing like a schoolgirl.)

"I don't mind the clothes, it just led me to the wrong conclusion," she said softly.

"At any rate," Albus continued, pulling cups and saucers from the dresser, "finances are not a concern at all. You may send me away for any other thing you like, but that's not a valid concern -- unless it's a matter of pride."

He turned to look at her and found her staring into the flames, deep in a brown study, thinking it all through. He wasn't entirely certain she'd heard him, but he was loathe to disturb her -- he knew she needed to sort through this by herself, much as he craved her attention: so he quietly turned to finish with her tea, shooed away the cream-jug, sugared the cup, and took it over to her, wrapping her fingers about it when she didn't note his presence immediately.

"Oh, thank you," she said with a start, and sipped as he readied his own tea and returned to the fire.

"It's rather a lot to take in, I know," he said quietly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, it's just that.... There are rules regarding secrecy, you see, and I couldn't say anything until I knew you'd...."

"Until I was disposed to be open-minded?"

"Yes, he admitted wryly. "Or to be less charitable to me, until I was certain of you."

They were distracted by a shuffling in the hall, and Albus buried his face in his free hand.

"Oh, gods," he moaned. "Bear with her just this once, please, and if you give me the shove on grounds of an irritating mother I'll understand completely."

Elizabeth smiled, straightened in her chair, and hurriedly patted her hair into order.

Mrs Dumbledore was tall and fine-boned -- easy to see that Albus favoured her -- and her white hair hung in a single plait nearly to her knees along the front of her sensible dressing-gown.

"Sit down, my dear," she groused when Elizabeth started to stand. "The great oaf brought you in here, not the parlour, so there's no point standing on ceremony."

The great oaf himself rose anyway, and kissed her cheek.

"Hullo, Mother -- rheumatism acting up?"

"'Course it is, always does this time of year -- you know that."

She stared critically at Elizabeth for a moment, and reached over with a gnarled hand to touch the girl's cheek briefly.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian," she scolded, and he winced, "how dare you keep her out there for a half-hour? She's still not warm."

Albus glared at her: he knew damned well why she'd touched Elizabeth -- to confirm her suspicions, as much as to find an excuse to tick him off.

"We were busy," he retorted.

"No you weren't," she said with a sniff. "Star-gazing -- taaahhhhhh. At least you could've given her a proper cuddle to keep her warm."

Elizabeth smothered a laugh.

"He's utterly useless when he's sincere about something, I hope you've realised that," the old lady pointedly informed Elizabeth, and shuffled over to the pegs by the door to fetch a shawl.

"Not entirely useless," Elizabeth retorted softly, with a sly look at Albus. "A bit fumbly, perhaps, and a bit thick, but not useless."

Mrs Dumbledore worked her slow way back over and draped the shawl over Elizabeth's shoulders: Albus breathed a sigh of relief. (It was definitely a gesture of approval, never mind that it came at his own expense and with considerable teasing from both of them.)

"Well, I wish you better luck with him than I've had. Perhaps you can manage to keep him in decent clothes at least --"

"Mother --"

"-- if he must run about in that ridiculous costume. Though you'll be lucky to keep him in them at all, I suppose," she added doubtfully. "I had to sew him into his pantaloons until he was five -- he would shuck them off at every opportunity."

"Mother!"

Elizabeth, bless her and blast it, laughed outright.

"I'm for bed again," the old lady announced, ignoring the now red-faced Albus entirely. "Have him bring you back -- during the day," she added with a glare to Albus, "when we can visit properly, my dear."

"I shall. Good-night," Elizabeth said, smiling, and Mrs Dumbledore left for her bed.

After a long silence Albus finally observed, "Well, now you know where I came by the utter absence of tact."

"I think she's delightful, actually," Elizabeth said.

Albus stifled a groan. He could foresee many trips back to Devon if this worked out, including one for the obligatory trotting-out of bare-arsed baby pictures.

Aberforth and I really ought suss out where she's hidden that bloody album....

Aberforth had rather less to gain by such skullduggery, though. He'd has the sense to keep his pants on, even at an early age.

"How old is she?" Elizabeth asked thoughtfully.

Albus had to stop and count backward for a moment -- she'd only begun to get frail in the past few years, and he'd never really worried over her age. "One hundred twenty-two -- around the New Year? I think."

Elizabeth thought about that for a moment, and ventured, "You're a bit older than I've guessed, aren't you?"

"A bit, probably. What did you think?"

"Oh, I don't know. Twenty years older or so."

"And you are... what, twenty-two or -three?"

"Twenty-four."

"Hmmmmm. Eighteen-Forty," he offered cheerfully. "I'm not bothered by it. I'd rather be happy, frankly, no matter how long it lasts."

"And you've never married?" Elizabeth asked, after working out the sum.

"Never wanted to. It never took, before."

"Even with --?"

"Even with. Not despite or especially because, just even with. It doesn't seem to work that way, though many people are content to settle for their own tribe, so to speak."

"You don't look your age, at all," Elizabeth said wryly. "Do you realise you're a year younger than Aunt Rachel?"

"Good gods, and you must have thought her ancient."

He thought about it a while.

"That is a curious difference. A lot depends on ones' attitude, I think. My brother's only two years older, but he looks rather older than I -- he's rather a dour chap now, though he was quite as silly as I at one point. And Mother's hair was still like mine when she turned one hundred. The cheerful sort seem to age more gracefully, I suppose -- and the rather childish ones, like me, hardly at all."

"You're hardly childish, Albus."

"Oh yes I am, by Wizarding standards. Ask Mother, next time," he dared to hint. "She's quite despaired of me ever settling down."

Elizabeth shot him a very serious look.

"Do you suppose she'd mind me being --?"

"No, that was what the touching was about, and the shawl. Just to make certain -- she probably guessed as soon as I popped you in. She'd have gone all formal, no teasing at all, otherwise. You're officially approved-of."

"Really," Elizabeth said, pinking up.

"Really. That's where I got that, too, the summing people up, skill and character. I don't think she gives a toss, now that she knows you're a decent sort."

He reached for her empty cup, rose, and poured her another as the clock chimed midnight.

"I ought get you back soon," he noted as he handed the cup back. "Nosy Nellie shouldn't stay Petrified much longer."

Elizabeth choked a bit, and buried her nose in the cup.

"How did she know you were here?" she asked after a bit.

Albus shrugged. "She always does, when any of us are about -- ah, 'us' would be myself, Aberforth, and my sister or any of her brood. There's no warding on the place."

"Warding?"

"Protective charms. Security, alarms, that sort of thing. But she simply knows." He frowned. "We're a bit odd, even for Wizards -- more than our share of Divination in the family. Divination's got a dodgy reputation, it's considered a bit spooky. I shouldn't be surprised if she'd been waiting up for us."

"And you? Did you divine something about me?" Elizabeth asked gravely.

"Not a thing," he said with a grin. "Doesn't work that way. Sometimes we four will sense something about one of the others, but we made a pact long ago not to tell -- it's very off-putting, knowing part of your future. You, I'm afraid," he said delicately, "were simply a fascination that wouldn't go away until it was quite too late.... Er, I didn't mean that quite the way it sounded...."

"I know what you meant," Elizabeth said, and pinked up again. (It always delighted him when she did.)

"I think Mother saw something, though," he said shrewdly, deciding to take advantage of having Elizabeth off-balance. "You got a standing invitation.... I shan't be unwelcome in future, I suppose?"

"No," Elizabeth admitted. "I'd already made up my mind on that point."

Albus very nearly disgraced himself with a whoop, and just barely kept his tea-cup steady.

"Good thing. How embarrassing, to have the first girl you've brought home to mother in sixty years tell you to skive off."

"You're incorrigible," Elizabeth muttered.

"Utterly."

"I don't know how we shall manage, though," Elizabeth said doubtfully. "I'm still in mourning. I shouldn't put it off for a few months, and if you visit Nellie will snoop...."

Oh, Bugger and Blast.

He had a stroke of genius.

"Then send Nellie on the Friday errands," he suggested, "and I'll call then."

"I'm not sure that's wise, having you alone in the house," Elizabeth shot back. "You got a very nasty glint in your eyes, just now."

Double Bugger and Blast.

"Can't blame me for trying," he said with a sigh.

She smiled.

"I could cut it short, I suppose," she granted, "but it's still far too soon. I really ought wait at least a month."

"Much better," he said, relieved. "But you'll write until then, yes?"

"Of course."

She'd finished her tea: they sat by the fire silently, Albus drinking in the sight of her, until her eyelids began to droop.

"Come along, now," he said, rising, and held out his hand to help her up. "I'd best get you back."

"Let me clear up, here, at least --"

"No, no -- watch."

He took her cup and saucer and sat them on the edge of the basin with his own -- and then said, quite sternly, "Well, go on -- get to it."

The china squeaked in alarm at his gruffness and hopped about the counter as the basin filled: then the teapot slid in first, helped the cups and saucers in, and they splashed about, squeaking as though the water was far too hot.

"Oh, Good Lord --"

"Don't worry about the little beggars," Albus said, and deliberately dunked one particularly vocal cup under the surface with his finger-tip, until it sputtered and blew bubbles to the surface. "They adore it -- they just like to make a fuss."

He bundled Elizabeth up, hurried her outside, and Apparated her back to London.

"Still there?" he said gravely. (She'd buried her face in his coat-front.) "Got all your fingers and toes?"

"I think so. Why? Should I worry?" she asked, turning her face upward.

That was precisely what he wanted: he bent and kissed her.

"You are definitely not visiting," she said tartly, and gave him a little shove to put some distance between them.

He grinned unrepentantly.

"In you go -- I've got to unfreeze Nellie."

They entered the house -- which was marginally colder than it had been when Albus had first arrived as they'd quite forgot to close the French windows, but smelt much better -- and Albus helped Elizabeth off with her coat.

"I'm going to reverse the hex, and I need you to distract her for a moment," he said, "and then I'm going to Obliviate her -- that is, I'll remove any memory of my visit. Just tell her to toddle on off to bed, and you shouldn't have any problems."

"All right."

They stepped into the hall, and there was Nellie -- eyes popping wide at their reappearance, and her nose nearly blue from the cold. Albus withdrew his wand and reversed the hex.

"What did you do, you 'orrid, 'orrid man? I'll 'ave the constabulary on you, I will --"

"Nellie, how dare you speak to a guest in this house in such a manner?" Elizabeth cried -- and when Nellie rounded on her to retort, Albus Obliviated her and stepped back into the parlour before she could recover.

"Nellie, whatever are you doing?" Albus heard Elizabeth ask her.

"I... I don't know, Miss.... I thought I 'eard the bell an' I went to answer it, but...."

"Look at you, you're -- Oh, Nellie, you'd better go to bed at once, you don't look at all well," Elizabeth said, and Albus had to clap a hand over his mouth to muffle his giggling: she sounded so sincere, and he wouldn't have thought her capable of dissembling quite that well. "I can't have you getting ill too, not with the 'flu still about. Go on, get to bed."

"But, Miss --"

"No, no, it's quite all right, I'll lock up. Go on."

Albus heard Nellie wander down the hall, muttering to herself, and the click of a latch toward the back of the house.

"All right, you -- time to go," Elizabeth said firmly as she stepped back into the room, and reached over Albus' shoulder to turn down the gas-light.

He pulled her to him when she'd done and said quietly, "She really is spying on you, isn't she?"

"I think so," Elizabeth admitted with a sigh. "I overheard Aunt Rachel's solicitor telling her to keep an eye on me, and I don't think he meant it in a kind way."

Albus swore under his breath.

"Why don't you just sack the manky cow?" he asked.

"Can't, she's guaranteed a place in the household for life. Aunt Rachel thought of nearly everything."

Albus swore again.

"Well, I did say nearly," Elizabeth said mildly. "She couldn't possibly have counted on you."

"No, her imagination wouldn't have accounted for knights in shining armor, would it?" Albus said smugly.

Well, one of my names is Percival.

"Oh, she thought of them -- just not clumsy oafs who tread on girls' fairy cakes and think it's the end of the world," Elizabeth retorted, and then took pity on his consternation and drew him down for a swift kiss. "Go home, Albus. Now."

He released her quite reluctantly, shoved his hat down about his ears, and Apparated to Reg Weasley's flat.

Albus didn't sleep a wink for the rest of the night, far too excited with planning for a future he hadn't anticipated. Elizabeth, however, slept very well, and dreamt of self-cleaning tea-sets, wise old women who seemed to see into ones' soul, and their decent, irreverent, incorrigible sons.

---

Thursday November 7th, morning post:

Miss Thompson:

Has it been a month yet?

Sincerely,

A.

Later morning post:

Mr Dumbledore:

No.

E.

---

Thursday November 7th, afternoon post:

Miss Thompson:

I don't think I can wait a month. I'm going barmy.

A.

Later afternoon post:

A. --

All evidence points to you already being so.

E.

He was delighted by that. He hadn't anticipated snark from her.

---

On Friday morning he sent no note, but had a box of fairy cakes delivered.

Friday November 9th, afternoon post:

Incorrigible.

E.

---

On the Friday night Albus and Reg were called away on urgent business -- Albus barely had time to scribble a line telling Elizabeth of his absence before they left -- and, consequently, when they popped back into town on Sunday afternoon they were bewildered by the chaos in the streets.

"What in bloody --"

Reg darted over to a newsboy, snatched a paper from him and tossed him a coin, and he and Albus moved out of the crush to a doorway and huddled together to read.

The Daily Mirror
Sunday November 11th, 1918
World War Over
Foch's Stern Armistice Signed

"You know what this means," Albus said to Reg, the paper trembling in his hands.

"No more sugar-rationing, and better cake in the Muggle tea-shops?"

"No, you git -- well, yes, that too -- If it's over for them, it'll be over for us soon, too. He's lost the advantage of his diversionary tactic."

Albus and Reg stared at each other, whooped simultaneously, and danced a jig in the doorway, before Albus decided he had a far better place to be.

"Where are you --"

"Off to see my girl, Reg!" Albus sang out.

"Bloody -- Wait up, will you?"

"Oh, no, you're not meeting her until the ring's on her finger, you blighter -- Shove off!" Albus threw over his shoulder as he sprinted away.

Reg grumpily shoved his hands in his pockets.

Merlin's balls, how can that old codger have a sweetheart when I can't even get a bird to look at me? Bloody --

His thought was rudely interrupted when a lady tram-conductor threw herself at him and nearly kissed the face off him. (Many, many years later he would re-tell the story of the lovely Muggle lady who'd kissed him passionately in Trafalgar Square -- so many times, in fact, that he'd bore his six grandsons to tears.)

---

All the lady tram-conductors were apparently engaged in the same activity -- and the 'bus conductors, and quite possibly the Underground conductors as well, whether male or female -- because transport in the City and environs had ground to a halt, and Albus had the devil of a time getting to Cheyne Walk. (He didn't dare Apparate -- too many people milling about.)

Nellie opened the door, sour-faced as ever (though Albus was uncharitably pleased to note she'd apparently caught a cold).

"Miss Thompson ain't seein' no visitors --"

"Official government business!" Albus barked out, and added a glare.

She shrank away, and he barged in past her.

"Miss Thompson!" he bellowed. "Miss Thompson, your presence is required --"

Elizabeth anxiously peered down at him over the baluster.

"What --"

"Good news," he shouted up, waving the paper. "Come see."

She hurried down and he pulled her into the parlour, slamming closed the pocket-doors in Nellie's face.

"Whatever --"

He thrust the paper into her hands and watched her face as she read.

"Oh, Albus --" she said breathlessly, eyes alight -- and then dropped the paper and flung herself into his arms.

"Is it really ov-- urk --"

"Sorry," he said, and loosened his grip.

"-- over?"

"Looks like it, if the truce holds. We'll hear about it at work tomorrow -- shall I stop by later?"

"Yes -- no, you -- oh, for heaven's.... Yes, come tell me."

"Despite Nellie?"

"Bugger Nellie."

She deserved a damned good kiss for that, and Albus made certain she got it.

---

Albus walked jauntily toward the stoop of 407 Cheyne Walk at dusk the next evening, and stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed Elizabeth waving frantically from the parlour window.

"Around back," she mouthed, so he stepped furtively into the mews and Apparated into the back garden: Elizabeth pulled him in through the French windows, tiptoed him through the hallway (he could hear Nellie banging pots about, in the kitchen), and up the stairs.

"I don't suppose you can make a gramaphone play indefinitely?" Elizabeth asked doubtfully when they'd reached the third-floor landing.

"Oh, it's quite illegal. Lead on," he said cheerfully.

She led him into her bedroom and over to a tabletop Victrola, put a disk on and set the needle down, and Albus promptly charmed the arm to reset itself and the spring to rewind. He was quite disappointed when she led him out of her room, however.

She slipped a hairpin from her chignon and quite handily locked the door from the outside.

"Aunt Rachel hid all the interior door keys," she explained. "We still haven't found them."

Albus looked doubtful -- he wouldn't put it past Nellie to know that trick too -- so he warded the door, just in case.

Elizabeth took his hand again and pulled him up one more flight and into the attic.

"Help me pull this beneath the hatch, would you?" she said of a large trunk.

"Hang on," Albus said, and simply reached up and unlatched it (he was quite tall enough), pushed the hatch open, and pulled himself through. Then he withdrew his wand, warned "Keep still, now," and Levitated Elizabeth up and onto the roof.

"What, Miss Thompson, are we doing on the roof?" he asked gingerly. "It's not particularly safe, up here --"

"You'll see soon as it's dark," she said, eyes sparkling.

"It's bloody cold and you didn't bring a coat, goose."

"I thought perhaps you'd take your mother's advice."

His jaw dropped, and then he laughed.

"I thought I'd get a thump."

"Special occasion," Elizabeth said, nestling into his arms back-to-front.

"How did you know how to get up here?'

"Used to do it all the time, in summer," she said, "as soon as the raids stopped. Best place to see the stars -- Look!" she said suddenly, and pointed. "It's started."

A small light had popped up to the north, in Kensington, and soon little dots were appearing all over.

"It's the street lamps," she explained, voice hushed. "They've lifted the blackout."

All over the City and its boroughs lamps were going on, and smaller, weaker lights as well as residents tore down the blackout curtains from windows.

"If things were truly back to normal we shouldn't see much," she volunteered. "But the smoke isn't terribly heavy, yet."

"Why aren't the bigger lights going on?"

"The coal shortage. They don't want too much demand, yet, not in the middle of winter."

"It's lovely," Albus murmured. "Each little point of light a house, or the street in front of it. Nearly as beautiful as the real thing."

"Ummm hmmm."

"Funny thing, that -- I was in Hogsmeade over the week-end, and found a nice little cottage to let."

"Where's Hogsmeade?"

"Scotland, the Highlands. A wizarding village near Hogwarts, that's the wizarding school for Britain. I've a standing offer to teach there, when my work with the Ministry -- the wizarding Ministry -- is done."

"I see. Think you'll take it?"

"The cottage?"

"No, the job."

"Oh," he said, disappointed. "Probably. I don't care for government work, much."

"Where do you live now?"

"I stay at my friend Reg's flat during the week, and with Aberforth week-ends -- he has a pub in Hogsmeade."

"Have you ever had your own house?"

"No. I've stayed with Mother or Aberforth, or with... well, with the gentleman I apprenticed with."

"I see. Why didn't you go ahead and take the cottage?"

"Not sure. Something was missing, somehow."

"Oh."

"Someone, actually."

"Must the cottage come equipped with someone?"

He was certain, now, that she was teasing him, and bent to mutter in her ear, "I should vastly prefer that it did."

"Ah. Well, I think you should take it, Albus. Seventy-eight years old, and never owned or let a place of your own? It's quite ridiculous, really, even for you."

They were so engrossed with each other -- specifically, with certain activities counselled by a very wise and very old woman -- that they quite missed the lighting of the great lamp within Big Ben's face.

Albus did remember to tell her what he'd heard at work, eventually. And by the time they made their way back downstairs, the gramaphone needle had worn down the groove in the disk and utterly destroyed the last movement of the 1812 Overture -- to the vast relief of Nellie, who'd spent a good twenty-five minutes with her ear plastered to the door of Elizabeth's room, wondering why Young Miss was listening to that poncy Russian music over and over and over and....

---

November 20th, morning post:

Cottage is let, some refurbishment needed, anticipated completion December 20th. Still require definitive answer as to whether Chief Ornament will be in residence.

A.

November 20th, afternoon post:

Require elucidation re: Chief Ornament.

E.

November 21st, morning post:

WIFE, blast it.

A.

Afternoon post:

Oh. Chief Ornament Presumptive does not recall being asked. Awaiting further developments.

E.

He buried his head in his hands.

Of all the bloody.... Women.

---

November 22nd, morning post:

Head of Household would adore providing further developments for Chief Ornament Presumptive, if allowed within 20 yards. Is the bloody month over yet?

A.

November 23rd, morning post:

Is impatience from mother, too?

E.

He ground his teeth for twenty solid minutes after that one.

---

November 23rd, afternoon post:

No, impatience is mine alone.

Will negotiate lifetime supply of sherbet lemons for marital tea-table rather than fairy cakes, in exchange for compromise on date.

A.

November 24th, morning post:

Sherbet lemons were to be condition of acceptance in any case. Non-negotiable point on date compromise.

Try again.

E.

He chewed his moustache-ends to shreds in agony.

(But it helped remind him that he was badly in need of a trim. They'd rather got in the way, last time.)

---

November 25th, morning post:

Is stubbornness from father, or mother?

Enclosed find bits of beard-hair, ripped out due to frustration.

A.

Afternoon post:

Mother. Father complained of same problem with her, often. Caveat lector.

Might be an improvement re: beard. Am reserving judgement until seen December 2nd.

E.

He resolved to find a way to make her pay for that one. He was quite proud of his beard.

It was a bit bristly, though. Perhaps he should find a tonic or charm to soften it....

---

November 27th, morning post:

Am laid up at Reg's, having dropped a heavy ornamental inkwell on foot (mine, not Reg's) in despair over December 2nd. If gout-ridden for the remainder of my life shall blame you and shall require much tea, sympathy, and other significant tokens of affection during flare-ups, to compensate.

A.

November 28th, morning post:

Sending condolences and fairy cakes.

Tea, sympathy, and any tokens of affection whatsoever only after December 2nd.

E.

Afternoon post:

You are a cruel, cruel woman.

A.

November 29th, morning post:

Would take that to heart had your mother not written me and warned you would try every trick in the book. Advised resoluteness and a firm hand.

She was right.

E.

November 30th, morning post:

Knew letting Mother meet you beforehand was a mistake.

A.

---

December 1st, first possible morning post:

Mr Dumbledore:

I have upon consideration decided to leave off full mourning as of December 2nd. I shall very likely take tea at the usual place around four o'clock in the afternoon.

Sincerely,

E. Thompson

---

Elizabeth arrived promptly at four, and Albus was waiting. (No one else was: he'd bribed the shop-owner quite handsomely to turn away all other customers.)

"Mr Dumbledore, how pleasant to see you."

"Miss Thompson," he said, and drew out a chair for her. "I trust you've recovered fully from the excitement of the Armistice?"

"Oh, quite. Although that's been the furthest thing from my mind, actually."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

The shop-owner hurried over to bring their tea -- and proudly set a plate brimming with sherbet lemons in the middle of the table before scurrying off.

"Point One," Albus said gravely, "sherbet lemons, no cakes -- fairy or otherwise."

"Oh, my.... You're quite serious, aren't you? I know you adore fairy cakes."

"Bugger fairy cakes, they're not important. Besides, you have to smash the ones from the Hogsmeade pastry shop out of the air to catch 'em -- it's messy, and the wings tickle going down. Point Two," he continued impatiently, setting a scroll in front of Elizabeth, "the leasehold of a lovely -- or soon-to-be-lovely -- cottage in Hogsmeade, complete with rose bushes and House-Elf-of-all-work."

"House-Elf?"

"Cook -- non- egg-boiling wife, seemed prudent -- maid, lady's maid, Tweeny, nanny -- your wish, their command. Give 'em a nice tea-towel, plenty of work, and a pint of Butterbeer on Sundays, and they're yours for life. Point Three --"

"Albus --"

"-- No, wait, I'm not finished, there's the banque-balance yet. Point Three --"

"Albus."

"What?!"

He was rather indignant with her -- he'd gone to rather a lot of trouble and been denied her company for three weeks, and he felt as though he'd explode if he couldn't get through it all.

"This isn't really a negotiation, you know," Elizabeth said gently.

"Then what in blue blazes is it? For three weeks all I've heard --"

"Do you know why?"

"Bloody-minded stubbornness."

"Partly. Because I wanted to do this one last thing for Aunt Rachel to the letter," she said quietly. "And I wanted to be certain that I could tell you wholeheartedly, without any regret, and without regard for any of the... admittedly attractive things you seem determined to provide me."

Well, that was different, then. Albus was rather ashamed of his fit of pique, although he was still in danger of lunging across the table and kissing Elizabeth within an inch of her life, out of pure frustration.

"Temper's from Mother," he offered weakly.

"I know, she sent me a long list of your defects --"

"Bugger Mother," he said indignantly, incensed at the complicity between his mother and Elizabeth.

"-- including the swearing, but I knew about that."

"You said 'Bugger Nellie,'" he accused.

"You're a bad influence."

He buried his face in his hands.

"I just need to hear it, Albus," Elizabeth said, and he could hear her struggling not to laugh. "Just the once."

"Hear what?" he moaned.

Elizabeth sighed.

"Ask her to marry you," someone offered in a stage whisper, from the back room.

Albus swivelled in his chair and stared disbelievingly at the door to the little kitchen.

"Ask her to marry you, you lummox, and tell her you love her while you're at it," the shop-owner desperately hissed.

"Oh, bloody --"

"Never done this before, have you?"

"No, I haven't," he shouted testily, "and I'll bloody well never do it again, either --"

"Albus."

Elizabeth lay her hands over his, clenched in the table-cloth: he was horrified to note that she was laughing openly, now, tears standing in her eyes.

"Every woman dreams of hearing it," she explained, "and the why. It's just the protocol."

"I thought is was understood, that night on the roof," he said, bewildered.

"And so it is. It's just a tradition, dearest."

"The book didn't mention that."

"Book? Oh, Albus.... You didn't read some ridiculous piece of drivel to -- to prepare yourself, did you?"

"Yes," he admitted grumpily, "Curious Business Habits and Social Customs of Muggles and How to Succeed at Them."

"What was the publication date?"

"1853, or thereabouts."

She tried valiantly not to laugh. Unsuccessfully.

"No wonder you think it's a transaction," she finally gasped. "Albus... that's rather out of date. And it only ever really applied to the upper classes."

Albus ground his teeth, and resolved to burn the bloody book totally and utterly to ashes. Providing he could smuggle it out of the Ministry Library, of course. Perhaps even if not.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you so," Elizabeth apologised gravely, when she'd regained her composure. "I just assumed it was the same."

"It may well be, for all I know," Albus said moodily, and finally gave up any pretense of competence and confidence whatsoever. "Mother's right, I'm useless at things like this."

"No, you're not," Elizabeth said patiently. "It doesn't matter, anyway. Drink your tea, and tell me about the cottage."

"It does matter, blast it -- Elizabeth, will you marry me?"

"Yes, Albus."

"An oblivious, blithering idiot more than twice your age, with a temper and no common sense whatsoever?"

"Yes, Albus."

"Because I love you, quite desperately, and I've waited a long time for you, you specifically, and if I have to wait much longer I shall burst at the seams."

She pinked up rather nicely at that, though he couldn't tell why, and said, "I'm very glad, because I love you too."

"Do you?" he said intently.

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes, Albus, really."

The room went very quiet: the shop-owner, alarmed, peeked out -- and then had to fortify herself with a cup of tea.

Thank heavens I closed the shutters, she thought. I'm awfully glad he finally spit it out, but if anyone should see two of my customers kissing each other quite so desperately....

---

15 December

Mr Dumbledore, sor:

Sorry, but we ain't a-goin' to finish on yer house by the 20th inst., owin' to the diskivery of a nest of Glumbumbles in the east wall, there. Exterminnater sez it may take a week to kill off the lil buggers, an' thinks as you may have a problem with pixies in yer attic, too.

Regards,

Algie Monahan

"Bugger and Blast," Albus moaned, and propped his head in his hands, elbows planted on the bar in the Hog's Head. "'Forth, I need your help."

Aberforth grunted ("What's new?"), pulled the letter over, read it laboriously -- and guffawed.

"It's not funny," Albus cried. "I've got the date set and the blasted Muggle license sorted, and now this."

"Told you you should have waited until the New Year," Aberforth said smugly.

"Oh, stuff it."

"No, admit it, didn't I say, 'Albus, I've a funny feeling you should wait until next year'?"

"Yes, all right? But half the time your 'funny feelings' are wind," Albus retorted.

"That's a low blow, Albus, you know my gut's never been the same since I ate that blasted goat."

"'Forth, please -- I need help," Albus begged.

Aberforth stared at his intensely miserable brother and took pity on him, for perhaps the first time since the silly idiot had got his head stuck in a badger-hole at the age of seven.

"Let me deal with it," he said with a long-suffering sigh. "Can't help with the cottage, but at least you'll have a roof over her head until it's ready. I 'spose you still want me to hare off to London too, do you?"

"Yes," Albus said in great relief, "with your best glower."

"'wyn'll be naffed, you know -- sure you shouldn't ask her too?"

"You know she'll have a funny turn and cry, make everybody miserable," Albus shot back. "I'll make it up to her later."

(Albus adored Agwynna, but she fussed entirely too much for his comfort. Albus wanted Elizabeth firmly and inextricably in his arms before subjecting her to his formidable sister and her lively brood.)

---

December 21st, 1918

Two gentlemen -- to use the term loosely, given their somewhat eccentric Muggle clothing -- pulled up in a taxi before 407 Cheyne Walk at ten o'clock, and the younger of the two, whose beard was just beginning to streak with white, clambered out, ascended the stoop, and knocked sharply at the door.

Nellie opened it.

"Miss Thompson, please," Albus said.

"Who's callin'?" Nellie demanded arrogantly, though she remembered him quite well from Armistice Day.

Albus bent and shoved his face as close to hers as he could bear.

"Her fiancé," he said sweetly, and then gave her the same raspberry-tongued, cross-eyed look that had got her knickers in a twist the night he'd Petrified her.

Nellie gaped at him like a fish.

"It's quite all right, Nellie," Elizabeth said from the stair, buttoning her gloves as she descended. "We'll be back shortly."

Nellie swung her bulk around to face Elizabeth.

"You -- you can't go out like that, Miss, it's --"

"It's what?"

"You've left off your mourning -- that's indecent, that is --"

"It's indecent to wear black to ones' wedding," Elizabeth corrected her.

"Wha --?"

"Back in an hour," Albus said pleasantly as he took Elizabeth's arm and helped her down the steps, to the pavement.

"You can't -- you -- you know Miss Rachel said you can't -- I'll 'ave the solicitor on you, I will --" they heard Nellie bawl from the top of the steps as Albus helped Elizabeth into the taxi.

"What a cow," Aberforth said succinctly as Elizabeth settled in beside him. "Don't say much for your auntie's taste in servants, Sister."

"Register's Office, King's Road," Albus informed the driver as he sat. "Elizabeth, my brother, Aberforth. Swat him if his hands wander."

Aberforth promptly bent and kissed Elizabeth's cheek, and slipped his arm about her shoulder.

"Welcome to the family, and condolences on the snoring," he said gravely as the taxi pulled away from the kerb.

"I do not snore," Albus said indignantly.

"You will," Aberforth said, and pointedly snuggled Elizabeth a little closer.

"'Forth, would you mind terribly removing your arm from my wife?"

"Not your wife yet," Aberforth said with a straight face. "Fair game."

He behaved like a gentleman nonetheless, and Elizabeth didn't have to swat him once.

---

The solicitor was waiting when they returned -- a little late, Aberforth having insisted that they stop for a wee drink on the way -- and had on his most officious face.

"Miss Thompson, what is the meaning of this? I was under the impression that you understood the terms of your aunt's bequest perfectly --"

"Mrs Dumbledore, if you please, Mr Havistock," Elizabeth said calmly. "My husband Albus Dumbledore, and his brother Aberforth," she added with a nod to each, by way of introduction.

Albus smiled pleasantly, and Aberforth glowered.

"I really cannot allow this," Havistock stuttered. "You're free to apply to the courts to break the Will, of course --"

"I've no intention of doing that, Mr Havistock. To put it bluntly, and no doubt as my husband would express it, bugger Aunt Rachel's wishes, bugger the house and contents -- except what's mine, personally -- and bugger the allowance," Elizabeth said, quite serenely.

Albus nearly pissed himself at the shock on Havistock's face.

"I am removing my things -- my clothing, books, music -- and a few things of my mother's, and you may dispose of the estate as Aunt Rachel wished."

"What first, Sister?" Aberforth said, staring Havistock down.

"The boxes in the attic will be worst, I think -- they're clearly marked. And then the trunk and boxes in my bedroom. You are free to examine everything, of course," Elizabeth told Havistock as Aberforth shot up the stairs, "but I've prepared an inventory, and I believe it should match the one you took after Aunt Rachel's death in every particular."

She handed the list to Havistock.

She seemed to have matters well in hand, so Albus went upstairs to help Aberforth carry down the boxes to the van that waited outside.

There was a depressingly small pile when they were done -- a large trunk of clothing, three crates of Elizabeth's mothers' things (including her best, non-mobile china), five large boxes of books and sheet music (Albus was particularly impressed with those), and the gramaphone.

"The key, Mr Havistock," Elizabeth said calmly, and handed it over. "I trust you'll have no further need to contact me -- in fact, I should prefer that you didn't. Good luck, Nellie," she added to the red-faced maid, "and a word of advice -- if you wish to spy on your next employer more stealthily, I should use part of your reward to get those adenoids fixed. Good-day."

She swept from the house and waited at the kerb: Albus tipped his hat to Havistock and Nellie, and joined her.

Aberforth threw another glower at Havistock, and then stepped over to menace Nellie.

"Bloody informer," he growled at her. "Enjoy it while you've got it -- it won't last long," and he slouched out of the house to join Elizabeth and Albus, who were deep in conversation.

"What did you mean, her reward?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "Her bequest was doubled if she caught me out."

"Bloody -- why, in Merlin's name, didn't you say? I could've badly hurt you if things hadn't turned out."

"Don't matter," Aberforth said practically. "And the manky cow's going to lose most of it on the gee-gees, anyway. Now look, you two, you toddle off and enjoy yourselves -- I'll take care of this lot, and supper'll be ready for you at seven." He paid the van driver in advance, hopped into the back, and the van took off down the road.

(The van driver would be very confused when he pulled up to an empty house in Hampstead and found absolutely no trace of his passenger or the load.)

"Well, what shall we do?" Albus said, faintly nervous.

"Whatever you like," Elizabeth said calmly.

He bit his tongue so as not to shock her with the first thought that popped into his head.

"Er.... I've always wanted to see a cine-scope," he ventured.

(That seemed harmless enough.)

"Come along, then," Elizabeth said with a smile. "I'll show you where the Walham Green station is first -- not that you need to know now."

"Where will the proceeds from the house go?" he asked as they walked further south-west along Cheyne Walk.

"The RSPCA and the Reverend Fuller," she said.

"I hope a cannibal eats him," Albus muttered, and Elizabeth laughed.

"I hope not. Even a poor cannibal doesn't deserve that much indigestion."

---

Rather later, when the novelty of the cine-scope had worn off, Albus bent and whispered in Elizabeth's ear.

"I, ah, didn't tell you before, and I should have done, that there's a slight problem with the cottage."

"Oh?" she said, eyes fixed on the screen.

"They found an infestation of Glumbumbles -- it'll be another week before it's ready."

"Glumbumbles?"

"Nasty little insects, they drip melancholy. The workers can't paint the walls until they've, ah, smacked the little buggers into oblivion."

"I see. So we'll stay with Aberforth, or Mother?"

"Aberforth, though we ought work in a visit to my sister, as well." (He wasn't brave enough to take Elizabeth back to his mother's -- at least not yet, not on honeymoon, because.... Well, never mind.)

"Oh. That's all right, then."

"You're not angry with me?" he asked, amazed.

"Whatever for? Were the Glum-thingeys your doing?"

"Certainly not."

"There you are, then."

Albus very nearly did something disgraceful in a public place. (Not that it would particularly matter -- he noted with growing discomfort that several couples were hiding in the darkest corners of the cinema, involved in doing very nearly what he'd wanted to suggest in the first place.)

"Are you certain? I mean, even I know ones' own home would be preferable for honeymoon to a room above a pub...."

"Albus, does Aberforth have decent furniture?"

"As decent as one can expect when Aberforth is part of the equation, I suppose," Albus said doubtfully, thinking of the particularly explicit and vigorous painting of Leda and the Swan in one of the Hog's Head's second-floor rooms.

Merlin's beard, did I remind Aberforth to hide that?

"I mean," Elizabeth said patiently, "is it a comfortable bed?"

Albus froze in shock. He had not expected anything like that from his shy, quiet Elizabeth.

"W-- well, it's the best room," he stuttered. "I suppose it's the most comfortable to be had...."

"Then stop worrying," she said comfortingly, and reached over to pat his knee. "It will work out beautifully -- don't get in such a state."

Albus had an uncomfortable feeling that Elizabeth was going to take to married life far more easily than he'd expected, and was filled with anticipation and dread.

---

"What are you still doing down here, you fool?" Aberforth growled at Albus.

"She went up a bit ago," Albus mumbled. "Just giving her time to... you know. Get ready."

"Idiot. You're just going to take it off her," Aberforth said practically. "Or you should."

"'Forth!"

"You know, I never understood that about you," Aberforth said bluntly as he started to clear away the supper-dishes. "No problem snogging away in any available corner, hands flying every which way, but as soon as it came down to putting the Quaffle through the hoop you'd go all 'Sorry, not proper, it's been great fun, though.' Merlin's balls, Albus, you might've been able to write your own manual by now."

"It wasn't right before now," Albus said defensively.

"Bollocks. Two adults, sincere desire -- most natural thing in the world."

"I don't mean that, I suppose for some people it is. I just think it's for keeps, that's all."

Aberforth sighed, stopped working, and sat.

"I suppose you need advice."

"Not from you, I don't," Albus said with a glare.

"Contrary to my reputation, I know a bit and I'm quite successful," Aberforth said patiently. "I'm just a damned sight more discreet than you ever were."

Albus mumbled something.

"What?"

"I said, Mother beat you to it. Sent me a disgracefully explicit letter."

"Not the one where she tells you to --?" Aberforth said, and wriggled his fingers suggestively.

"Yes. It was absolutely humiliating.... What, you got it too?"

"Fifty years ago, yes. Well, I can't top that."

"No, there's no possible way."

"Seems to work nicely, though, in case you were wondering."

Albus glared at him again.

"Just tell her you love her, idiot," Aberforth said. "It's obvious she loves you, and they all have this way of knowing what a fellow needs -- it's the Goddess in 'em, I suppose -- so don't worry about you. Just take it slow and enjoy the build-up and the cuddles, and it'll be all right."

"'Spose," Albus muttered, and rose from the table. "Good-night, 'Forth."

"I'm sure it will be."

Albus was too preoccupied to glare at Aberforth's parting shot: he simply trudged up the twisty little steps that led to the second floor.

"Idiot," Aberforth muttered, and resumed his cleaning.

Two minutes later there was a creak on the stair, and a soft voice called down, "'Forth?"

"What?"

"Thank you for the ceiling."

Aberforth had nipped upstairs while Albus and Elizabeth dined, and had charmed the chamber ceiling with a clear, star-lit sky.

"Don't stare at it all night, idiot," he growled up.

"We won't. 'Night."

"Good - Night."

The stair creaked again, and Aberforth heard Elizabeth murmur something -- and Albus, laughing, repeat the no-staring injunction -- and then the door-latch caught, and he heard no more.

Well, at least one of us has managed to make Mother happy, Aberforth groused to himself as he took the dirty dishes to the kitchen, and winced when a loud and nervous giggle -- from Albus -- wafted down from the best bedchamber, directly above. He grinned to himself, and then he sobered.

Poor sod. I know she'll make him wildly happy, but there's going to be the devil to pay, later.

Albus had apparently shucked off his Muggle clothes in record time, even for him, for Aberforth heard the floorboards of the bedchamber creaked portentiously as he climbed into bed.

So much for the idiot's nervousness.

Aberforth grabbed his cloak from the peg at the back door, and fled. The bloody dishes could wait: the idiot had forgot to cast a Silencing Charm on the bedchamber, and Aberforth was not going to hang about and listen to that, no matter how progressive his views. He suspected that Albus would be very appreciative of the experience and very vocal: one had to set the boundary of brotherly concern somewhere, and putting up with that was most definitely on the wrong side of the line.

He brightened considerably, though, when he remembered the fine bit of mischief he'd contemplated earlier: a little bird had told him Reg Weasley and some of the lads from the Ministry were plotting an outrageous ruckus at the cottage to embarrass Albus, not knowing about the change in venue.

He pulled his wand from his sleeve and trotted toward the other end of the village.

Yes, that's the ticket. Boils for Weasley, the jealous little blighter, and I'll improvise on any other thick blokes who dare show up. A few of those pixies hexed onto their privates might be fun.

Aberforth reckoned that might go a long way toward relieving the ache in his heart and his envy at the sweet, silly idiot's happiness.

And it did.

---