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traintracksTitle: Well Beyond All That
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
traintracks
Pairing(s): Dumbledore/Sorting Hat, (Dumbledore/Grindelwald, Dumbledore/Flamel)
Rating: R (for wrongness)
Words: ~315 (and thank Merlin no more)
Summary: Seriously?
A/N: Fortorino10154 without whom this staggering work of genius would not exist. All comments should be directed to her privately.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore put down his magazine of knitting patterns and sighed.
He was feeling...off. He was feeling...strange.
Not even ten-pin bowling night with Hagrid had cheered him.
True, it was a dodgy year altogether whatwith the return of Voldemort, the death of a student, and an unseasonably hot summer on its way.
Dumbledore sighed. Because still, that wasn't entirely it.
He felt itchy. He felt bored. He felt...
It had been decades since Gellert. Decades since Nicholas.
Decades for all of it.
He looked around his empty office in tired frustration.
He had tricks, of course. Charms and phials of enhancements and many a fantasy and memory at his disposal.
And he had pornographic parchments. Oh, did he have pornographic parchments.
But he was truly feeling well beyond all that tonight.
He was feeling bereft. He was feeling old.
And he was feeling way too bloody randy.
So with a mumbled apology to next Autumn's first years, not to mention the item in his sights, Dumbledore took up the trusty hat, fondling its mangled brim reluctantly.
"So it has come to this," the hat growled at him.
"And so it has," Dumbledore replied, unfastening his trousers.
"I suppose you'd like me to sing during it again," the hat huffed.
"No, I don't believe that will be necessary, thank you," Dumbledore told it.
And as he entered its dark folds and held it tight around himself, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, envisioning knitting patterns and a game of strikes and Gellert's unmatched mouth and Nicholas' spry fingers and too many lonesome firewhiskeys on too many frosty cold nights -- and he desecrated the hat.
For the hat, more than anyone, more than anything, was what was necessary at this moment.
The hat always gave help to those at Hogwarts who asked for it.
Even if they didn't deserve it.
Author:
traintracksPairing(s): Dumbledore/Sorting Hat, (Dumbledore/Grindelwald, Dumbledore/Flamel)
Rating: R (for wrongness)
Words: ~315 (and thank Merlin no more)
Summary: Seriously?
A/N: For
torino10154 without whom this staggering work of genius would not exist. All comments should be directed to her privately.Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore put down his magazine of knitting patterns and sighed.
He was feeling...off. He was feeling...strange.
Not even ten-pin bowling night with Hagrid had cheered him.
True, it was a dodgy year altogether whatwith the return of Voldemort, the death of a student, and an unseasonably hot summer on its way.
Dumbledore sighed. Because still, that wasn't entirely it.
He felt itchy. He felt bored. He felt...
It had been decades since Gellert. Decades since Nicholas.
Decades for all of it.
He looked around his empty office in tired frustration.
He had tricks, of course. Charms and phials of enhancements and many a fantasy and memory at his disposal.
And he had pornographic parchments. Oh, did he have pornographic parchments.
But he was truly feeling well beyond all that tonight.
He was feeling bereft. He was feeling old.
And he was feeling way too bloody randy.
So with a mumbled apology to next Autumn's first years, not to mention the item in his sights, Dumbledore took up the trusty hat, fondling its mangled brim reluctantly.
"So it has come to this," the hat growled at him.
"And so it has," Dumbledore replied, unfastening his trousers.
"I suppose you'd like me to sing during it again," the hat huffed.
"No, I don't believe that will be necessary, thank you," Dumbledore told it.
And as he entered its dark folds and held it tight around himself, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, envisioning knitting patterns and a game of strikes and Gellert's unmatched mouth and Nicholas' spry fingers and too many lonesome firewhiskeys on too many frosty cold nights -- and he desecrated the hat.
For the hat, more than anyone, more than anything, was what was necessary at this moment.
The hat always gave help to those at Hogwarts who asked for it.
Even if they didn't deserve it.
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no subject
Date: 2013-11-03 05:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-11-03 05:25 pm (UTC)