As the three eldest Weasley siblings melted into the sparse crowd, their place was taken by another trio before whom all gave back to a respectful distance. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Flitwick smiled as one, Flitwick embellishing his greeting with a courteous bow from atop his floating cushion.
"Professors," Harry and Hermione said almost together, flashing each other an amused look as their voices overlapped. His own smile broadening, Dumbledore tutted softly with a brief shake of his silver mane.
"Must I remind you again that we are no longer your professors?"
Harry smiled graciously, but Hermione seemed to fluster just a bit.
"It's going to take some practice," she said. "It just seems...I don't know...disrespectful..."
With a chuckle of amusement, Dumbledore said, "You continue to hold to Muggle convention. Granted, students must display to their professors the courtesy which is their due, else the school could not function. But among equals, the truly enlightened do not stand on such formality. And so far as respect, there are many who address me by my various titles -- Professor, Headmaster, Supreme Mugwump -- who have not an ounce of respect for me. Respect comes not from a label. Respect either exists, or it does not. And none here has ever given me cause for doubt, least of all you and Harry."
Harry secretly thought that he, at least, had done more than a few things in his school days which would not bear up under the light of such scrutiny. But perhaps Dumbledore made allowances for the sins of youth, marking such actions as the product of enthusiasm and immaturity rather than disrespect. Through it all, however, Harry had never doubted in his own heart that he would sooner snap his wand and live forever as a Muggle than do anything that would tarnish the mutual respect between himself and Dumbledore.
Harry saw that Dumbledore had Summoned a box from the gift pile, directing it with his wand to hover in place between himself and Harry.
"This is rather too heavy to rest on your lap," Dumbledore remarked. That said, he twirled his wand casually, producing a low, sturdy wooden table onto which the box settled with the lightness of a dandelion puff.
The box was not wrapped, but bore a removable lid decorated with a crimson bow. Harry removed the lid, and the sides of the box fell aside to reveal a stone bowl upon which curious runes stood out in relief. Most of the younger guests, Hermione included, did not recognize the object. For Harry, recognition was immediate.
"A Pensieve!"
Hermione's eyes widened with interest.
"You told me about the Pensieve you fell into," she said to Harry. "I was never quite able to imagine what one looked like. But you said Dumbledore's was full of swirling gas or liquid. This one is empty."
"Of course," Dumbledore said. "It is waiting for the two of you to fill it with your memories. I expect you will amass a good many with the passing years. Today will be but the first of many. And I hope and pray that you will have naught but good memories to place herein."
"But," Harry said to Dumbledore, "I thought you had to actually remove a memory from your mind to place it in the Pensieve."
"That is its chief function, yes," Dumbledore said. "To store those memories which would otherwise overwhelm our senses if kept inside us. But a Pensieve can be employed in many ways. Allow me to demonstrate."
Dumbledore touched the tip of his wand to the side of his head. It came away trailing what appeared one of the old wizard's long silver hairs. In fact, the silvery thread was a memory. Dumbledore placed it in the Pensieve and swirled it around. At a nod from the Speaker, Harry and Hermione leaned over the edge of the stone bowl and peered into the now misty pool. A scene resolved itself within the swirling liquid. A miniature Harry and Hermione were sitting in the Headmaster's office, their mouths moving soundlessly. The newlyweds saw the tiny figure of old wizard smile, and they beamed in concert with their diminutive selves within the bowl. They recognized this scene as being the moment they had first informed Dumbledore of their betrothal. The Headmaster was in the process of congratulating them. He shook their hands in turn, his ancient face shining with the exuberance of a schoolboy. Looking up now, the living counterparts of the Head Boy and Head Girl in the Pensieve saw an identical smile lighting the face of their Speaker.
"Observe," Dumbledore said. He plunged his wand into the midst of the scene in the Pensieve. Very crisply he said, "Mitos!"
Harry and Hermione gaped in surprise. The memory floating in the stone bowl quivered for a moment. It began to spread out, flowing like a puddle of jelly on a plate. The ends re-formed smoothly, leaving only a thin strand joining them before it parted. Amazed beyond words, Harry and Hermione saw that there were now two identical scenes swirling within the Pensieve. Nodding meaningfully, Dumbledore lifted one of these twin tapestries with his wand. It emerged from the bowl as a silvery thread, which was promptly restored to the old wizard's snowy head.
"My memory is now restored to me," Dumbledore smiled warmly. "Nor shall I ever want to be without it, as I treasure it deeply. But it now resides in the Pensieve as well. In this same manner, you may add whatever memories you choose without erasing them from the canvas of your minds. One of the benefits of this procedure will become evident if you are fortunate -- if that is indeed the proper term," he added with a chuckle, "to live so long that certain of your most cherished memories grow cloudy with the passage of time. In such a case, you have but to enter the Pensieve to revisit that memory in its full, undiminished clarity.
"And, of course, on that day when your children and grandchildren ask you to recount this most happy and joyous occasion, you need not suffer the constraints of fumbling for the proper words. You need only invite them to enter the Pensieve with you so that they may experience it for themselves."
"But we can't show them -- " Harry began, his words terminating abruptly with a magical finality.
"No," Dumbledore said. "Those memories can never leave your minds. Merlin's enchantment will hold them fast within each of you. Indeed, my very presence here -- even unto the bestowing of this gift -- must ever remain unrecordable. But you will still have memories and to spare, will you not? And not even the most powerful Obliviate spell can penetrate the magic of a Pensieve to subvert its contents."
"I can't imagine a better gift," Hermione said, "than to hold the memory of this day forever. Thank you, Albus."
Harry shook Dumbledore's hand, whereupon the old wizard magicked his present from the small table (which promptly vanished) and spirited it onto the ground next to the others.
Dumbledore now stepped aside as Flitwick stood up on his cushion, his eyes level with those of Harry and Hermione, and hovered before them. He bowed smartly, his hand extended.
"Congratulations, both of you," he squeaked as each shook his hand in turn. "I knew Hermione was destined for greatness from the first day she entered my classroom. It was no surprise to me when I learned that the two of you were engaged. We all knew that Harry's destiny was written beforehand, of course. But it was problematical as to who would eventually come to share that destiny with him. I don't fancy myself a matchmaker, but I knew from the start, if there was ever a witch who could stand beside Harry in full equality, it was Hermione Granger."
"Thank you, Filius," Hermione said warmly. To her surprise, she found it quite easy to speak his name. But then, she reasoned, Charms class had always held a special place in her thoughts, having been the scene of some of her greatest triumphs at Hogwarts. Charms always seemed to come easily to her, whether conjuring portable, waterproof flames or casting Summoning and Banishing spells. Her first magical achievement had been the Levitating Charm, which was but the first of countless scholastic triumphs she would earn for Gryffindor house (not to mention saving her life in the girls' loo at Halloween, forming in the process the first bonds of friendship and love between her and her eventual husband). That was not to say Hermione did not revere Minerva McGonagall as her mentor and inspiration in nearly all things magical. But, judged purely within the walls of a classroom, none held so fond a place in her heart as did Flitwick. Hence his presence here today.
Hermione was now aware that Flitwick was reaching into his robes, his hand emerging with a smallish object reminiscent of a gobstone. The sunlight played curiously upon its polished surface, and Harry and Hermione stared with equal fascination.
"This," Flitwick said with evident pride, "is a very special magical object, seldom spoken of, and even more rarely seen. It is -- a Hearthstone."
This revelation impressed Hermione considerably more than it did Harry.
"I've read about them," she said, her eyes fixed on the stone resting upon Flitwick's open palm. "They're extremely rare. The Charm that powers them is among the most difficult in the wizarding world. It can take up to a year to Charm one properly, and most magical folk don't seem to want to go to the bother nowadays.
"Did you Charm it yourself, Filius?"
"Indeed, I did!" Flitwick said, his pride like a tangible aura surrounding his beaming face. "Ten months, less two days. I could have finished sooner, of course," he added quickly, as if to leave no doubt that his skill in the matter was beyond reproach. "But I wanted it to be absolutely perfect!"
Plucking the stone from his palm, he held it up between thumb and forefinger and appraised it with deep satisfaction.
"Flawless!"
As Flitwick handed the stone to Hermione, who was growing more fascinated by the moment, Harry asked, "What does it do, exactly?"
A glance at Hermione revealed to Harry that she clearly knew the answer. But neither she nor anyone else present was about to deprive Flitwick of his moment of glory.
"This stone must be placed behind the topmost stone of your hearth," Flitwick explained, clearly relishing his role as teacher, even apart from school. "At precisely midnight on the first full moon of the year, the stone is set into place. The two of you then link hands and touch the stone with your wands, speaking an incantation which I will teach you. Once this is done, a spell will permeate your home and yourselves. From that moment, and for as long as you reside in its presence, it will be impossible for either of you to tell an untruth to the other for a dishonorable purpose."
"Dishonorable," Harry repeated thoughtfully. There was no inflection upon the spoken word, but the look that passed from the younger wizard to the elder was clearly questioning.
"Permit me to illustrate," Flitwick said. "Should you come home late from work one night, and Hermione asks you where you've been -- if, say, you'd been doing something you shouldn't, like gambling, drinking, carousing, or somesuch -- you will be unable to lie to avoid your just desserts."
With a nod and a smile, Harry said, "But if I'd been planning a surprise party for Hermione's birthday, and she asked me what I'd been up to..."
"You would be free to lie through your teeth," Flitwick chuckled with obvious delight. "You would be lying for unselfish reasons. Only such untruths as would cause harm are stymied."
"To make so many fine distictions..." Hermione said, caressing the smooth stone in her hand as she regarded it with an appreciation bordering on awe. "I don't believe there's another wizard in the world who could have worked so intricate a Charm, in ten months or a hundred."
Flitwick inflated with pride, but almost immediately his face grew earnest.
"Lies and deception are worms which eat at the foundation of any relationship. You may, of course, decline to employ the stone. Some, in fact, find such an object an insult to their integrity and to the sincerity of their vows. But it is my experience that there is nothing so terrible, so harmful, as a lie. Howbeit, the decision rests with you."
Hermione looked at Harry, who eyed the stone in Hermione's palm before taking her free hand in his.
"It's easy to promise that no silly argument or misunderstanding will ever come between us," Harry said. "But I don't want a careless word spoken in the heat of the moment to cause you even a moment's pain. Not if I can prevent it. Even sitting here now, I still feel like a thief, stealing you away from some wizard who deserves you far more than I do. If I'm going to be the kind of husband you deserve, I'm not too proud to take all the help I can get."
Harry folded Hermione's fingers around the Hearthstone and covered both her hands with his. He searched her eyes, which in that moment seemed deep enough to drown in.
"I'm the luckiest witch in the world," Hermione said an almost unbelieving tone. "If anyone needs this stone, it's me. I sometimes feel like I could tell you how much I love you a thousand times a day, and it still isn't enough to really make you understand."
Harry felt Hermione's hands tighten beneath his, holding the Hearthstone in a grip that could not have been equalled by the foreclaws of a hippogriff. Then, just as suddenly, her fingers relaxed. Her hand opened, allowing Harry's to cover her palm and the stone nestled therein. Both of them turned to face Flitwick.
"You put a lot of work into this, Filius," Harry said. "I promise, it won't have been in vain."
"We promise," Hermione said, her smile returning like the sun emerging from behind a cloud. "Thank you."
Flitwick essayed a grandeloquent bow, smiling broadly as he floated away on his Charmed cushion.
Minerva McGonagall, her spine stiff as an iron rod and her face scarcely less rigid, now stood before Harry and Hermione. Harry reflected that he had seen generals in parade dress that looked less imposing than the Hogwarts Transfiguration teacher and head of Gryffindor house. Her hands were empty, leading him to believe that she, like Flitwick before her, bore something small enough to conceal upon her person.
Without a word, nor a twitch of her stony face, McGonagall reached into her black velvet dress robes and produced a small crystal phial, its narrow mouth sealed with a rubber stopper. At first glance, the phial appeared to be empty. But closer examination showed it to contain a single, all but invisible object.
"Is that a hair?" Harry wondered aloud, his eyes narrowed to mere slits behind his glasses.
"Maybe it's a Veela hair," said Fred Weasley, who had finished preparing the fireworks with his twin, and whose caprice remained undaunted by his brief state of voicelessness.
"Yeah," George chimed in. "She's going to pop it into a goblet of Polyjuice and do a dance for you!"
"It is a thread," McGonagall said sharply, ignoring Fred and George, whose mother was now glaring at them venomously. "To be precise, it is a thread from the Hogwarts Sorting Hat."
There were a few gasps of amazement at this revelation, one of which came from Hermione.
"Well you may react so," McGonagall said. "More than a millenium has passed since Godric Gryffindor took the hat from his own head and enchanted it to serve as official selector for Hogwarts' four houses. The very thought of vandalizing so revered an object, even to the removing of a single thread, has always been...well...unthinkable. It was only after much internal turmoil that I approached the Headmaster with my...proposal. As this phial bears witness, I was granted permission to remove a single loose thread from the very edge of the hat brim."
"It would be a unique keepsake," Ginny observed, remembering her own fateful Sorting six years ago this very day. Indeed, excepting only the Grangers, every member of the wedding party, Dumbledore included, held an equally treasured memory of a new life begun at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, initiated by the donning of the Sorting Hat.
"So it would," McGonagall returned. "If that were all it represented. But not for so maudlin a purpose would I have countenanced the defiling of Hogwarts' most sacred icon."
It was with no small reluctance that McGonagall pulled the stopper from the phial and was about to shake the thread into her open palm. But she quickly shoved the stopper home as a light breeze sprang up, tugging at a single hair escaped from her tight bun and sending it dancing across her face.
"Filius," she said without looking up, a forced calm in her voice, "can you do something about that wind?"
Flitwick made a hasty pass with his wand, squeaked, "Placidus." Instantly the wind ceased, blocked by the invisible barrier placed around the participants by the tiny wizard's incantation.
With a curt nod toward Flitwick, McGonagall shook the thread onto her palm, the phial vanishing thereafter with a muted 'pop.' She held the thread aloft, regarded it respectfully for a moment, then touched it with the tip of her wand as she muttered a soft word which even Harry and Hermione, leaning close, could not make out.
The crowd let out a collective gasp. McGonagall was suddenly holding an exact replica of the Sorting Hat, complete to the last rip and tatter.
"Oh my goodness!" Ginny exclaimed. "You've -- you've cloned the Sorting Hat!"
Most of the guests found Ginny's remark wholly incomprehensible. But Hermione, who had participated in many a Muggle-related conversation with Ginny in recent years, nodded, her own interest now piqued.
"Not quite, Miss Weasley," McGonagall said with a thin smile. "But not too far amiss. I commend you on your astute observation. I think I can expect great things from you in Transfiguration this year."
Treating the newly-conjured hat with only a touch less reverence than she would have accorded the original, McGonagall handed it to Harry and Hermione, who demonstrated an equal respect as they held it between them carefully.
"This copy does not share the enchantment of the true Sorting Hat," McGonagall announced. "It cannot think, nor speak -- nor, thankfully, sing."
This last remark resulted in a few low chuckles from the crowd, and Hermione lifted her hand to her mouth to hide a smirk. She had always suspected that McGonagall regarded the Sorting Hat's yearly song to be of little value to the Sorting Ceremony, if not an outright waste of time. Perhaps the Deputy Headmistress' age had distanced her from the thrill and wonder of the Sorting experience. But if that were so, how explain Dumbledore's undisguised delight at the song every year? He was easily twice McGonagall's age (though, in spirit, the old wizard sometimes seemed quite as young as the students inhabiting his school).
"However," McGonagall continued, "the two hats are magical cousins, so to speak. This hat is infused with a very special enchantment entirely its own. But rather than explain, I believe I shall let the hat itself demonstrate. If one of you would be so good as to put it on."
"You do it, Harry," Hermione said, pushing the hat away. "I don't want to mess my hair, especially after Molly worked so hard de-tangling it."
"Your hair looks -- " Harry began, but he was cut off as Hermione caught up the hat, swept it high and slammed it down over Harry's head, to the accompaniment of scattered laughter and not a little appause.
"What do I do?" Harry asked, his voice muffled by the hat, which his wife had jerked clear down to his chin.
"Simply relax and empty your mind," McGonagall instructed.
"Ronniekins should be a natural," Fred called out. "His mind is already -- " But Fred's words were cut off abruptly, as if a Silencing Charm had just been used on him.
As Harry obeyed McGonagall's instructions, the dark lining of the hat seemed to expand. The darkness itself was receding, as if a tiny flame were slowly growing brighter, its light more expansive. The darkness was breaking up, defining itself into images -- walls, windows, a ceiling, furnishings...people..."
Harry cried out with a suddenness that made Hermione recoil in alarm.
"Harry? What is it?"
"It's..." Harry stammered, his voice still muffled by the hat covering his mouth. He gave the hat a tug, raising it up and over his nose. "It's Hogwarts!"
Hermione's worried expression exploded into one of wonder.
"I'm in the Entrance Hall," Harry said as he felt Hermione's hands clutch excitedly at his robes. "The doors are open...I can see into the Great Hall. The teachers are having lunch. It looks like -- yes, Professor Sprout is having a mild row with Snape."
"What are they saying?" Ron asked, leaning closer in interest.
"Dunno," Harry said. "There's no sound."
"That will come with time," McGonagall assured Harry. "It's like learning a spell, or mastering a broomstick."
"That was a snap," Harry said, remembering his first time on a broomstick as if it were yesterday, how he had taken to the air as if born to it. "This is going to take a while. Hang on -- I'm getting a word here and there. It looks like Professor Sprout is trying to convert Snape to vegetarianism. He doesn't seem to be taking too kindly to her arguments."
"Can't say as I blame him," Ron said.
As Hermione had recently taken Professor Sprout's advice and cut back on meats in favor of vegetable-dominated meals, she toyed with the notion of rebutting Ron's statement. But her fascination with Harry's virtual tour of Hogwarts quickly supplanted all other considerations.
"I'm getting the hang of this," Harry said. "All I have to do is think where I want to go, and it's like I'm actually walking the halls of the school. With practice, I should be able to go anywhere I want."
"Almost anywhere," McGonagall amended. "Certain areas were excluded from the Charm. Teachers' offices and private chambers are off-limits, as are lavatories and bathing facilities -- and, of course, dormitories."
A loud snapping of fingers interrupted McGonagall's enumerations.
"Darn it," Dean said. "I was going to borrow the hat so I could look in on a sixth-year Ravenclaw I was dating last year, but never mind."
Ron laughed out loud, oblivious to a disapproving look leveled at him by his mother (which distraction gave George the opportunity to remove the Silencing Charm from his twin).
"Ooh, I wish I could see," Hermione said enthusiastically. "Oh, bother my hair! Give me the hat, Harry!"
"No need, Hermione," McGonagall said pleasantly. "Simply take Harry's hand and close your eyes." When Hermione did so, McGonagall added, "Who wears the hat controls the journey. You will merely be a 'passenger.'"
"So, where to, Hermione?" Harry said. "Just think of me as your magical chauffeur."
"Hmmm," Hermione said. "How about...the library?"
"Oh, who didn't see that one coming?" Ron laughed, to which accompanying chorus even Molly contributed an amused chuckle.
Seeing Harry's shoulders vibrating silently, Hermione demanded, "Are you laughing at me under that hat, Harry Potter?" Her tone was menacing, but the light touch of her hand in his belied the implied threat.
"Who, me, love?" Harry said, tugging the brim of the hat down to cover his mouth. "Wouldn't dream of it."
"Don't make me use the Hearthstone," she warned.
"That won't work here," Harry countered.
"It will if I stuff it down your throat!"
Harry pulled the hat off, adjusted his glasses so that he could look over the rims and into Hermione's eyes. Their hands were still linked, and Harry gave Hermione's palm a gentle squeeze that melted her stern mask into a visage of helpless surrender.
Cradling the hat in her lap, Hermione turned to McGonagall and said, "Thank you so much, Minerva. After having found so much happiness at Hogwarts, I couldn't quite deal with the prospect that I might never see the school again. But now -- "
Hermione's throat constricted, as if she were herself choking on the Hearthstone with which she had teasingly threatened her husband. Harry gently took the hat from her lap, set it aside, and wrapped his arms around her. He held her for long moments until her quiet trembling subsided. Hermione's arms encircled Harry in a grateful hug, which a part of him hoped would never end.
"Hey, now, none o' that!" Seamus reprimanded as the younger guests all snickered. "Plenty of time for that stuff tonight. Some of this lot still have presents to hand out. Right! Who's next, then?"
There was some restrained activity as the crowd shifted, but before anyone could step forward, there was a sharp report as an unexpected figure appeared suddenly in the space vacated by the three professors.
Harry and Hermione nearly fell off their high-backed chairs.
Author's Note: If anyone outside the U.S. is wondering, this week's delay can be blamed on Thanksgiving last Thursday. Things should be back to normal until Christmas, when chaos will rule in its uniquely festive fashion. Until then, it's full speed ahead.
Aside to KypDurron: As regards John Williams, it was his two Harry Potter soundtracks that prompted his use here. In fact, the notion was that, since there cannot be a HP movie in a world where Harry actually exists, the music composed for the egg is the HP theme music itself, written here solely FOR Harry.
I hope everyone is continuing to enjoy the magical presents. Three more await next time. Until then, thanks for
reading.