At the first moment Hermione thought he were a stranger and keeping with both hands to the blanket, she made a squeak and sat up in bed, staring at the naked - no, not entirely, but only wearing a light blue towel around his middle section - man who'd just appeared in the bedroom. Although Hermione certainly wasn't used to men - neither familiar nor strange ones - in a bedroom she was supposed to sleep in, she couldn't deny that this certain man was a definitely handsome representative of his male mankind. The long, well-defined and - for a male - amazingly straight legs, the small thighs, the flat belly, a well-muscled chest and broad shoulders gave him the appearance of a dancer and the head above the handsome body wasn't bad either: Surrounded by a shining halo of dark golden hair, shoulder length and curling slightly at the ends, the stranger had the broad forehead of someone who was used to deep thinking. A few fine lines, already carved in the skin, told that he sometimes wrinkled his forehead by doing so. His sleeves showed the sensitivity and vulnerability Hermione adored in men, especially when it came in contrast to a patrician nose, high cheekbones, a generous, but firm mouth and - in this case surrounded, but not hidden by a short, auburn beard - a strong chin, showing that the owner of this features wasn't only a man who knows what he wanted, but also was in use with getting it.
Hermione swallowed and looked in the eyes of the man who now - slowly, but with grace - came to the bed. Although the blue of these clear eyes was deeper and more intense as Hermione was in use with, the sight was familiar. Hermione had looked into his eyes during the entire afternoon and evening. She'd got strength and warmth and courage from them. And even now, as these eyes looked out at her from a younger face, Hermione thought she'd see something like love in them - fatherly love, caring love, protecting love.
He was the first to speak. "I told you," he said, sitting down on the bedside, "I'd improve my appearance a bit for you ..."
"That's certainly an improvement!" Hermione burst out - and blushed in the same moment, slapping her hand over her mouth. Heavens - this had been a true Ron! Even he wouldn't have found something more tactless to say at this moment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean ..." Hermione began to stammer.
Albus smiled and tugged at the blanket. "May I ...?"
"Of course! It's your bed after all!" Hermione cried.
"It's ours now, Hermione," she corrected her kindly, slipping under the blanket and stretching next to her. "And for the improvement of appearance - I'm glad you approve. I don't expect someone your age to like my old self ..."
"But I don't find ..." Hermione searched for a word and couldn't find one. "You're always quite a sight and an impressing figure, but ..." Once again words failed her. "Sorry, I'm babbling nonsense," she finished lamely.
"The situation could make for it," Albus said, turning at his side, looking at her. "But you're doing amazingly well, considering the circumstances."
Hermione felt almost insulted by his praise. "What did you expect?" she asked him, but didn't wait for an answer. "You've saved me from a fate really worse than death - and I don't mean this literally. Losing my magic would have been worse than dying. And marrying Malfoy would probably mean death. So you're saving my life - and I'm well aware that you do so at great personal costs. I will have to live up to that and I will do so as I've promised only a few hours before."
