The Witches
Disclaimer: JKR owes Albus and Minerva. I owe
their marital status, unless JKR decides to announce this officially in an
interview 
Roald Dahl owes ‘The Witches’.
~*{AD/MM}*~
“Good evening, my dear”, Albus muttered to his wife,
slipping underneath the thick covers.
“Hmmm”, came the mumbled reply.
He watched her with a slight smile of amusement. She was sitting against the
pillows, reading a book. There was a deep frown between her eyes and her lips
were set in a thin line. Every now and then she made a soft, angry sound
through her nose.
Eventually she lowered the book and looked up, her eyes blazing. “This is absolutely outraging”, she
exclaimed exasperated.
His grin widened a little. “What is, dear?”
“This Muggle writer”, she answered, waving the book
frantically. “He writes about witches and how one can recognise them. It’s
absolute nonsense. And he’s a children’s author no less!”
Albus caught a glimpse of the book cover. “Ah yes,
that would be Mr. Roald Dahl. I’m familiar with his
work”.
“Listen to this”, Minerva continued angrily, flipping through the pages. “Ah
here:
Witches are not actually women at all. They look like women. But in actual
fact, they are totally different animals. They are demons in human shape. That
is why they have claws and bald heads and queer noses
and peculiar eyes, all of which they have to conceal as best they can from the
rest of the world”.
Minerva closed the book and turned to her husband. “Can you believe that? It’s
actually insulting. Witches are nothing like this…”. She was about to say more,
when she noticed he was shaking with laughter.
“Albus, it’s not funny”, she told him sternly.
“Tabby”, he answered, taking the glasses from her nose. “Why do you care? He’s
a Muggle, what does he know?”
“But still”, she muttered stubbornly. “It’s a matter of principal…”
“Alright then”, Albus said brightly, his eyes
twinkling madly. “Dearest, stick out you tongue, please”.
“What?” Minerva asked bewildered. “No… I will do no such thing”.
Meanwhile Albus was staring intently at her mouth.
“Never mind dear, there’s no need for it any longer. I can see very clearly
that it isn’t blue”.
She could only blink.
“Furthermore”, he continued, moving closer to her, “the last time I checked you
were in the happy possession of ten beautiful shaped toes, with nails painted
in Gryfindor colours, if I remember correctly”.
“True”, Minerva replied.
He caught her hands and pressed a kiss to each fingertip. “You also have ten
perfect fingernails”.
He eased her down a little. “By my knowledge, you do not have a sinister
looking handbag”.
She giggled involuntarily when he kissed the tip of her nose. “Do you think
children, wizard or Muggle smell like… what was it
again…? Oh yes…, dog droppings?”
“No, I don’t”, she answered grinning, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“And, most importantly”, he concluded, bringing his hand up to stroke her hair,
“you are most defiantly not bald or in need of a wig”.
“Thankfully”, she whispered, just before he pressed his mouth against hers. He
kissed her slowly and leisurely for a long time, cradling her closely against
him.
“Indeed, there is only one possible conclusion…”, he
muttered a some time later, while trailing a path of gentle kisses in her neck.
“What’s that?” she asked smiling, turning her head to grant him better access.
He only answered when he was finished nuzzling the hollow in her throat. “You’re
not a real witch…”.
“What? Excuse me!” she cried indignantly, pushing him away. “What is that
suppose to mean?”
“Well… I merely meant… honestly, I didn’t mean…”, he
stammered.
She grabbed the book from her nightstand and tossed it to Albus’
side. “You know what Albus? Both of you are as bad as
the other. Goodnight!”
And with those words, she turned around, blew out the candle and snuggled
deeply under the covers, leaving her dumfounded husband to stare at her back.
*done*