A/N: As usual a big thanks to CC (the now completed author of BBB - I'm so jealous) for the many copy/pasted IM conversation about this chapter, and her brilliant insight. If you're not reading PS's Lily Stories - and why you are not I simply don't know- there's a flashback to the Marauders in this chapter I can only hope lives up to her standard. I also left a plot hole for her - that she is aware of - perhaps she will tell us what happened in a later installment of Lily. There will be a bit of technical information in this with regard to the Japanese artistry that is Mokume Gane metalworking. I did not invent any of it, merely used what history and Samurai craftsmanship left for the world. If you haven't figured it out yet - I have a degree in History and love science, I'm pretty sure that comes through in some of these updates. At the end of the chapter I'll give you a link to a mokume gane designer so you can see if what I described met with the picture in your head. Chapter 17-Christmas at Hogwarts
"Harry!" a voice blasted through his subconscious, lodging a thumping heart in his throat. He snapped his eyes open and bolted upright. It didn't take long to determine what the matter was. In fact, there was nothing the matter at all. It was Christmas morning, and Ron and Harry sported the grandest collection of gifts they'd ever received. "Look at this!" Ron continued happily.
Harry couldn't help but smile. He never truly experienced Christmas until his arrival at Hogwarts, yet Ron was the one who would nearly combust at the prospect of brightly wrapped packages. His gifts stood no chance; Ron was ferocious in his assault. The remains of the meticulously wrapped gifts showered the dormitory as Harry mused. This was the one time of year Harry always pondered the importance of family, friendship, and love. Interestingly, those thoughts always shanghaied his consciousness at the one moment Ron could never understand.
"Aren't you going to open yours?" Ron said incredulously.
Harry turned his attention to the weight of gifts sitting on his legs. The pile did seem more impressive this year. The remaining thoughts of Christmas sentiment evaporated as he joined Ron in the destruction. They rifled through their stack together, both showing the other each successive gift as they opened it. They received the traditional knitted jumper from Mrs. Weasley. Additionally, they received matching scarves, hats and gloves as well. As was her tradition, each of the pieces was emblazoned with their first initial. As Harry looked over the pile, he realized many of the gifts were from the Weasley family.
"Ron?" he asked holding up two more packages in question.
Ron laughed. "I guess mum is feeling a bit guilty for having to spend Christmas working for the Order." He scrutinized his remaining presents and looked back to Harry. "I didn't have the heart to tell her Ginny and I were more than happy to stay here." He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously. However, an odd silence fell between them at Ginny's name. Harry picked at the wrapping of Dumbledore's gift - undeniably a book of some sort - before Ron continued. "I got something for you," Ron said triumphantly.
Harry looked up just in time to catch the gift Ron tossed between their beds. Ron sat up on his knees as Harry looked over the small box. He waved his hands impatiently, urging Harry to dispense with the standard decorum. He willingly complied. He tore the wrappings off to reveal a simple velvet box. He flipped open the lid and stared, dumbfounded, at the gift.
"Do you like it?" Ron asked excitedly.
"Like it?" Harry replied in a stunned voice. "Ron, it's bloody fantastic! But…"
Ron released the breath he'd apparently been holding and interrupted him. "I was a little worried, I'll admit. That's about as close as a guy gets to buying jewelry for another guy; but when I saw it; I just knew you had to have one. All the World Cup players have them."
Harry hopped from him bed and waltzed to his trunk. He rummaged through to the bottom, where his Quidditch robes were folded neatly. He pulled them out and popped the clasp off the front, tossing it aside mindlessly. Ron looked over Harry's shoulder as he replaced the clasp with the one from the box. It was an ornate gold double locking clasp. The left side depicted a roaring lion head while the right showed a seeker in pursuit of the snitch. "Heart of a Lion" was inscribed around the Gryffindor mascot, while the inscription on the right, not only denoted Harry's name, but appeared to be charmed to keep a running tally of his record. Harry held the robes in front of him allowing the morning sunlight to sparkle against the clasp.
"Ron," Harry sobered, the grin sliding from his face. "How did you…I mean where did you get…"
"…the money?' Ron finished the sentence for him. Harry, thoroughly relieved that Ron saved him from having to ask the whole question, nodded in agreement. This was the second major purchase he'd known Ron to make. His new Quasar was more expensive than the latest Nimbus. Harry, always concerned about flaunting his fortune in front of his best friend, had avoided asking him how he'd come to pay for it. In this instance, the words leapt from his mouth before he'd had the chance to stop himself. "Let's open the rest while I tell you the story," Ron said brightly.
***
Hermione had waited long enough. Best friends or not, she was not going to hang around in the common room all morning while breakfast grew cold downstairs. She entered the Great Hall to find it nearly deserted. Hogwarts was always devoid of most students during the holiday. This year was no exception. Staying over for the holidays was not a new experience for Hermione. She had done so during their second year and again last year. But, the cause for her attendance was markedly different.
It had been nearly two months since her parents were killed. Everyday was slightly easier than the one before. But some days her heart ached with the loss. Regardless of the gifts heaped at the foot of her bed, she knew upon waking this morning - this would be one of those days. Attempting to shake the thought from her head, she examined the table and picked up a fork. She was so engrossed in preparing her Belgian waffles with precisely the right fruit and cream topping, she didn't notice Harry and Ron enter the hall.
"Happy Christmas, Hermione," Ron said brightly as he kissed her on the left cheek.
"Happy Christmas, Hermione," Harry echoed as he concurrently kissed her on the right.
"Happy Christmas," she replied with a warm smile. She might have been the empath, but her best friends always seemed to know exactly what she needed.
"Did you open your gifts?" Ron asked excitedly.
"Yes, thank you for the book, Ron," she replied sincerely.
"Are you going to read it?"
"Have you forgotten who you're talking to?" Ron and Hermione laughed together as the boys loaded their plates. Hermione hadn't been surprised that she'd received a book from Ron, but the book itself was exquisite. It was leather bound and exceeded 500 pages. The parchment was adorned with hammered gold leaf filigree. Even if "A Comprehensive History of Quidditch" was not atop her reading list, the stunning appearance of each page would ensure her interest in finishing the content. "It really is beautiful, Ron. Thank you."
"You're welcome, Hermione," Ron replied warmly. "What did you get from Harry?" he said, inclining his head in Harry's direction.
"Well, I-er," Hermione began.
"I haven't given it to her yet," Harry interjected flatly. Hermione caught Harry's eye and smiled. She'd been a bit concerned. After rummaging through the mélange of gifts on her bed, she had not happened upon one from him. She'd gone so far as too look under the bed and between the sheets, but still came up empty. He matched her grin and she felt her cheeks blush inexplicably.
"Never mind, I don't want to know," Ron said dismally. Harry's head snapped in his direction and he rolled his eyes. When Hermione's gaze fell upon Ron, now solely interested in his porridge, she realized his insinuation.
"Wha-Ron!" she scolded, feeling the heat of embarrassment rising in her cheeks. He looked up, clearly attempting to contain his laughter. It didn't last. As soon as their collective eyes met, they dissolved into laughter together, Hermione harmlessly slapping both Harry and Ron on the arm. They tucked in to breakfast together, avidly discussing their Christmas plunder and their plans for a holiday devoid of classes and professors.
They'd sated their hunger and engaged in a rather animated conversation over the remains of their breakfast when the discussion took a noticeable turn. "Happy Christmas!" Ginny sang as she took a seat next to Ron. The rather obvious, and abrupt, cessation of their conversation was replaced with friendly, but guarded, reciprocal sentiments. Ginny hadn't missed the awkwardness of the situation. She looked to each of them speculatively as she buttered her toast.
"Is something wrong?" she asked cautiously.
"Well," Hermione began unsteadily.
"No. Nothing's wrong Ginny," Ron interrupted. He shot Hermione a nearly instantaneous, and threatening, glare as he sipped his pumpkin juice. While she hated to admit it, Ron was probably right. This was not the place to have this conversation. They were in the Great Hall, and while sparsely attended, there were others about who might hear their conversation, and frankly enough of that had been done already. Hermione donned a manufactured smile and continued, "Well…we were just trying to decide what to do with our holiday; especially since we're all together."
"What about that project you're working on with Dumbledore? You should have loads of time to work on that," Ginny offered simply. Hermione looked suspiciously toward Harry and back.
"Perhaps," Hermione replied. Ron shuffled along the bench and pushed his plate away hastily.
"I need to go." He rose from the bench decidedly.
"Where are you going?" Ginny asked.
"Down to the pitch," Ron replied, giving a fleeting glance to Harry and Hermione. "I've got an idea for a new strategy and want to work it out on the board before I lose it." He didn't wait for a reply. He turned as quickly as his sentence ended and made his way from the Great Hall.
"He's acting a bit odd isn't he?" Ginny asked, shrugging her shoulders and reaching for the marmalade.
"Yeah," Harry said warily. Hermione didn't have to see the look on his face to know what he was thinking - or feeling for that matter. Harry's trust in Ginny was as tenuous as Pansy Parkinson's chances at winning a beauty contest.
***
"Do you think he really went to the pitch?" Hermione asked as she and Harry climbed the stairs to their dormitory.
"If he's not here, then yes," Harry replied. He believed it too. He'd known Ron too long, and too well, to not understand him. Not unlike Harry, a jaunt on a broomstick was all the elixir they needed when faced with a dilemma. Ron faced one now.
Harry had no siblings, so he didn't truly understand the function of that relationship any more than he understood how real families are supposed to interact. Intuitively, he knew that the entire situation placed Ron in an impossibly difficult position.
On one hand he had his sister. He probably knew her better than anyone in the world. He knew what she was and was not capable of. He also loved her, and if anyone understood how that emotion could taint one's rational thought, Harry did. On the other hand, he had the closest thing to hard evidence a group of disjointed 17 year-olds could manufacture. If he was to believe his friends, and one seemingly reliable, and unbiased source, Ginny lied. And what's more, she was the prime and most obvious suspect, for a rather egregious miscarriage of loyalty.
Harry knew Ron well enough to know he did not think his sister was capable of that. But he also knew Ron. Part of Ron believed it. It made too much sense. The problem lie in the fact Ron didn't want to believe it, and from his behavior at breakfast appeared to be digging in his heels.
Harry pushed open the door to his room and found it empty. Confirming his suspicions, he stepped to the window and peered out toward the pitch. Ron was there. The singular form peeked out between the stands as he flew in repetitive circles around the circumference of the stadium.
"So what did you get me?" Hermione whispered in his ear. Harry felt a shiver slip down his spine as her warm breath played at his neck. She slipped her arms around his waist and laid her head between his shoulder blades. He'd been looking rather intently out of the window, but suddenly couldn't remember why. "Do you remember last Christmas?" she said dreamily. Harry turned in her arms and wrapped his around her shoulders.
"How could I forget?"
"Prove it."
Harry lowered his head and captured her mouth with his. He pulled her tightly to his chest and ravaged her lips with a passionate kiss. He tangled his fingers through her hair, keeping her lips firmly pressed against his and deepened his advance. Their tongues danced with each other as he began walking her backward toward his four-poster bed. As the back of her legs gently brushed against the warm mahogany frame, she whimpered almost inaudibly. Without forethought of consequence, he pressed her back until she was lying under him.
"I don't remember it quite like that," she said cheekily, gasping for breath as she broke the kiss.
"I do."
"You didn't answer my question."
Harry smiled broadly. For as much as he loved kissing Hermione, he was an insufferable gift giver. He'd given so few gifts in his life; he'd always taken significant pleasure in watching people open them. Last year, he lasted only seconds past the stroke of midnight before presenting Hermione with her Christmas present. He'd at least extended that to a few hours this year. He kissed her quickly as hopped up from the bed. After foraging in his trunk, he produced a simply wrapped package and walked back to the bed. He sat down on the bed and handed it to her expectantly.
She turned it over in her hand, inspecting its edges and guessing at its content. "Gee, I'm going to make the wild assumption that this is a book," she said nonplussed. Harry chuckled.
"It's a special book." She looked at him questioningly and returned her attention to the package. With a few swift movements the wrapping was discarded and she turned the book over to reveal the title, "Fairy Tales Do Come True; a Modern Witch's Guide to Planning the Perfect Wedding."
For a few torturous seconds, Harry thought he'd made a terrible mistake. Hermione didn't say anything. She looked at the title, her mouth agape, and ran her fingers over the sparkling lettered title. It was only after she looked up, and he looked into her glistening eyes, that he realized he'd hit the proverbial home run.
"Oh, Harry," she said, her voice wavering.
"I promise it won't make a single snide comment about procrastination." She snapped her head to his, making a futile attempt to look annoyed with the insinuation. "You haven't bought a dress; your hair's a mess!" Harry chirped in a sad imitation of his homework planner. Hermione giggled. "Less is more….expensive," he continued. She laughed heartily and pushed him over on the bed, tossing the planner aside. She straddled his legs, attempting to tickle him, and for the most part he allowed her to think she was getting the better of him. But there was one devastating flaw in her plan to tickle him into submission, he was stronger and faster than she was.
"Ah!" she yelped as Harry flipped her suddenly onto her back. He had reversed their positions and Hermione quickly found herself in the situation she'd been before asking for her gift. Interestingly to Harry, she didn't find any reason to stop him this time.
She snaked her hand around the back of his neck and pulled his head down. She didn't protest as he allowed his body to press fully against hers as their lips locked in a fiery kiss. They wrapped themselves together so tightly, Harry had a difficult time comprehending where one body stopped and the other began. He could feel the pounding of her heart through both of their chests. Interestingly, it seemed to beat in time with his.
A familiar sensation began to rise through him. He couldn't stop his hands from roaming over her skin. He couldn't stop his head from spinning. He couldn't stop the desire he had to explore her body in a way he never had. For all these things, she didn't seem to mind.
Not once had she broken their embrace. If anything she'd curled herself around him tighter and more passionately than she ever had. She didn't protest when he slid his hand under her jumper, and the gasp that caught in her throat only served to encourage him forward as his hands found her breasts. She arched her back against his hands and slid her own hands under his shirt, dragging her fingers along his back. He wasn't sure if her fingers made his skin stand at attention, or if the mere heat of the situation was to blame, But had he been so inclined, he could've felt each hair on the back of his neck tingling from her touch. They rolled together toward the foot of the bed and Harry smiled inwardly as she gasped again.
He quickly realized this gasp was different. She broke the kiss and winced.
"What's the matter?" Harry asked, fully terrified he'd done something wrong. "Did I hurt you?"
"Not you," she replied, shifting around on the bed and pulling something out from under her. Harry leaned up on his elbows and furrowed his brow. She was holding another Christmas gift addressed to Harry.
He rolled off of her, sliding to her side as he studied the package. It was small and he didn't remember seeing it among the pile from the morning. It was a simple antiqued box. Its clasp had long-since oxidized and the dry brown leather cracked at nearly every corner. In all, it was a rather unimpressive trinket and Harry's attentions were far more consumed with other matters. He carelessly tossed the box to the side and intended to resume his prior engagement.
Hermione stopped him with a swift motion of one hand. "What are you doing?" she asked incredibly as she planted her palm in his chest.
Harry wiggled his eyebrows playfully. "Just picking up where we left off," he said wryly.
"You're not going to open it?" Hermione asked.
"I find you a bit more interesting than an old leather box," he said, unable to keep his eyes from gazing along her exposed skin. He didn't have long to soak in the sight of her. She placed one finger under his chin and forced his eyes back to hers.
"Harry, open the box," she demanded. Harry's shoulders slumped and he sighed dramatically.
"This is going to drive you around the bend until I open it, isn't it?" Hermione nodded feverishly. "All right, but for the record, I'd rather be opening something else." He ducked as best he could to avoid the playful smack that was already careening toward him before he finished his sentence. He smiled broadly as he realized his comment left Hermione speechless for one of the few times in her life. He flopped onto his back and reached across the bed where he'd tossed the box. Hermione propped herself on her elbow and watched him closely.
With one last smile to Hermione, Harry popped the small latch on the box and it creaked open. The first thing he noticed was a hand-written note that had been rolled tightly and fell from the box as he lifted the lid. Absent-mindedly he placed the box to his side as he unrolled the parchment that sat on his chest. The smile slipped from his face immediately as his eyes crossed the first line of text. He knew this handwriting too well.
"Harry, what is it?"
"It's from Aunt Petunia."
Hermione shuffled along his side until she could peer across his shoulder to read the note. She fell silent as they read the note together.
Harry,
I thought it only appropriate to send these to you. I won't say how I managed to get them to Hogwarts only that I had a bit of help. I would love to tell you a wonderful story of how they came to be in my possession. However, I don't have such a story to tell. I can tell you only that these arrived on my doorstep the evening after you did. I know they were theirs only because I remember her describing them to me. She wanted so desperately for me to be a part of their day and I was too stubborn to oblige. Sadly, I never saw them exchanged.
I imagine you'll find good use for them.
Petunia
Harry stared at the note, reading and re-reading it until he'd nearly memorized the words. It was easier to read this note than look in the box. It didn't take a nuclear physicist to figure out what Petunia had sent him. In all honesty, he wasn't sure he wanted to see them at all.
His life had never been easy. It some instances it was purely terrible. But, after coming to Hogwarts seven years ago, learning who he was, and even what he had to do. He'd grown accustomed to himself. Since falling for Hermione, his self-esteem had improved as never before. Whereas his first eleven years (and arguably a few more) were replete with a longing for parents he couldn't remember, his most recent months had found him accepting of his fate, and theirs. He'd come to terms with his loss and become more independent in his thoughts and actions than he ever had. He'd finally felt like, "Harry Potter" rather than "The Boy Who Lived" for months, and he'd grown familiar with it.
"Harry?" Hermione said cautiously. "Are you okay?"
He nodded his head in assent and dropped the note back to his chest. He searched his mind for an appropriate response. He wasn't sure how to put any of it into words. "Just when I think I'm over it," he said quietly, his voice trailing into silence.
Hermione nodded her head as her fingers played with the thread of his jumper. "I know," she whispered. He turned his head to look at her properly and saw the same look reflected in her face as must've been plastered across his.
"I know you do," he replied honestly. He trailed a finger along her jaw line, finally allowing it to play in the few strands of hair that had escaped her plait. Her eyes connected with his and she cast a furtive glance to where the box laid abandoned at his side.
"Can I?" she asked respectfully, inclining her head to where it sat. Without removing his eyes from hers, he grasped the box in his hand and gave it to Hermione. She took it from his hand reverently and pulled up the protective silk cover. She gasped audibly. Her hand flew to her chest and her eyes glassed.
Harry hadn't been the least bit interested in seeing what was inside the box. Conversely, he was rather glad Hermione asked to see it first. It was somehow easier to have her unveil his parent's wedding bands than to do it himself. However, her reaction peaked his curiosity. They were either horribly ugly and she was dreading the prospect of being asked to wear one, or they were beautiful and she was about to descend into one of those "girl" moments he'd only seen the likes of Pavarti Patil and Lavender Brown embrace. Either way, having seen her reaction, he was compelled to look inside as well.
Of the two possibilities, it was the latter.
Two bands, equal in width, but sized for a man and woman, sat next to each other in the box. They were not so much identical, but mirror images of each other. The design was unimposing. As a matter of fact, the rings had little "design" to them at all. They were simple, rounded edge bands, with no adornments or filigree. Any such additions would've detracted from the beauty of the metal itself. Simple rivers of colored metal danced together in a mirror imaged pattern flowing straight through the band itself. Harry could make out the color of at least three different metals all harmoniously connected to each other, yet standing individually enough to draw its own attention. They had a very natural, earthy, quality to them. Although obviously made of some forged metals, the pattern nearly approximated that of a smooth wood grain. Harry had never seen anything like them, apparently Hermione had not either.
"They're beautiful," she whispered. Harry nodded silently. He sat up alongside Hermione and reached for his mother's ring. With a simple tug, it pulled out of the box and rolled it around between his fingers watching the soothing streams of metal continue to trail out of sight endlessly. He broke the trance to look at Hermione. She was intently studying his activity and awoke from her reverie when he took her hand in his.
"No!" she gasped. "I couldn't. Harry, this was your mother's ring," she argued.
"Yes," he affirmed quietly. He grasped her hand firmly, not allowing her to pull it from his, "and I don't think there's anyone else in the world she'd most like to have it but you." He slipped it on her finger, amazed at the perfect fit. She raised her hand in front of her, completely mesmerized by the look of it, and oblivious to what Harry was doing. She didn't startle from her abstraction until his fingers, clad with matching metal, laced through her fingers. He pulled her hand down, feeling the cool metal of her ring against his hand; hearing the musical sound of the metals brushing against each other as they hadn't done in years. When her eyes finally drew from their hands and locked with his he noticed the chocolate hue of her eyes glisten from her welling tears. He wasn't one to be overtly sentimental, but something about this moment encouraged the words to leap from his mouth without reserve. "I love you so much," he said softly.
"I love you too," she replied hoarsely as the tears slipped down her cheeks. Harry wiped her cheek with the back of his hand and they both returned to their previous endeavor with renewed enthusiasm.
***
Harry and Hermione, hands intertwined, walked into the Great Hall for Christmas dinner. Although she'd done her best to tame it, Hermione's hair was as disheveled as Harry's always seemed to be. They didn't have much time to right themselves before heading to the Great Hall and Harry, for one, couldn't decide if he was happy with Dobby or angry with him.
Both he and Hermione had completely lost track of time. Good intentions aside, amid the passion of the moment, no doubt encouraged by rogue teenage hormones, they'd nearly broken their promise to wait until their wedding night to consummate their relationship. Harry had reached the point of no return, at least that's what he thought it was, when two gigantic green orbs and wildly flapping ears appeared at their bedside. He would've never guessed someone so small, could ruin something so good, so quickly.
It took Harry nearly ten minutes to stop Dobby from throwing himself against the wall in self-punishment before he finally calmed him enough to talk, Dobby merely indicated that the elves had prepared a special meal and he wondered where "Mr. Harry Potter" was. When he'd gone to Gryffindor tower, Harry was sure he'd gotten an eyeful more than any other house elf in Hogwarts history. He was also convinced the blush, still not faded from Hermione's cheeks, might be emblazoned there forever. Neither Dobby nor Hermione could look squarely at each other after the encounter. Dobby merely snapped his fingers and vanished as Hermione hastily grabbed Harry's jumper and pulled it over her head - eyes tearing.
A smile broke across Harry's face as he looked over the guests for Christmas dinner. He had a feeling Remus would be there - and he was - sitting next to Tonks at the large round table that replaced the conventional house tables during the holidays. While he and Hermione had replaced the rings in the aged leather box, Harry couldn't bear to part with it. If Petunia couldn't tell him the story, he was relatively assured the last of the famed Marauders could.
Harry knew nearly everyone at the table. As usual, very few students had remained. Aside from those he already knew about, he was surprised to see two others in attendance. Merc Thompson was talking animatedly with Professor Flitwick and a face he'd nearly forgotten silently caught his attention from across the table. Mark Evans was loading his plate and talking to Professor Dumbledore.
"'bout time you two showed up," Hagrid said brightly. Hermione's face reddened even more as she and Harry settled in next to Ron. Although several of the guests were suppressing obvious grins, Harry noticed Ron's expression remained as stony as it was when they'd arrived.
"Now that we are all in attendance, let me be the first to wish everyone a happy Christmas," Dumbledore said warmly. Everyone raised the glasses in front of them and toasted the sentiment. After the formalities, the conversation became casual and light.
"Merc, you didn't tell me you were staying over. Where's your dad?" Hermione inquired.
"Alchemy convention," she said flatly. "If he could invent a charm to allow him to work 24 hours a day, he'd have done so already." She smiled.
"What about your brother? Didn't he ask you to spend the holiday with him?"
"I didn't ask. My niece or nephew is due any day and I didn't want to intrude. Besides, as I understand it, very pregnant witches don't make for amicable company." She chuckled to herself and returned to her potatoes.
"What about you Mark?" Ginny asked casually. Harry's ears perked up and he focused his attention on the first year student.
"Oh, well…" he began. "My family doesn't really understand me these days." He looked around the table and clarified. "They're muggles." Harry's interest grew. "So I thought I would stay here and catch up on some homework."
"I didn't know you were a muggle-born," Hermione interjected.
"I don't know that I am," Mark replied nonchalantly. "I'm adopted. I never knew my birth parents." That stopped the conversation cold. Luckily, Dumbledore was quick to step in.
"Mark is also the oldest first year student we've had in years. Unfortunately, even Hogwarts must maintain some standards of enrollment. Mark's birthday falls only one day beyond our cutoff."
"You're from Little Whinging aren't you?" Harry blurted out. Mark nodded.
"I'm the same one from the park your cousin used to beat into oblivion," he said embarrassedly.
Harry's heart went out to him. That was something he could relate to. "Well, don't feel bad about that. I spent ten years of my life being beaten up by him." Mark snapped his head up with a curious expression on his face. Harry stifled a chuckle. It constantly surprised him that people thought he was invincible just because he was the "Boy Who Lived." He leaned toward him covertly and continued. "When you go home this summer, tell him I said hello and show him the handle of your wand. I promise he'll never bother you again. If you'd like to see him run, just mutter a few nonsensical words that mean exactly nothing." Mark smiled brightly and Lupin nearly choked on his pumpkin juice.
"Remus are you alright?" Tonks said as she slapped him on the back. He nodded, coughing the juice from his windpipe.
He wiped a tear from his eye and cleared his throat. "Sorry, If I didn't know better I could've sworn James Potter just possessed Harry." That comment got a laugh from nearly everyone at the table except Snape.
"He did have a way with boosting morale," McGonagall said thoughtfully.
"Usually at someone else's expense," Snape derided.
Dumbledore interjected before Snape could continue. "I'm afraid Hogwarts cannot withstand another invasion of practical jokes such as occurred during your time here Remus. However, I am concerned about the students. Since I have students and professors present from every house, I'd like to ask for your advice." The table grew quiet and everyone focused their attention on the headmaster. "I feel a lack of morale among our students that I've not felt since the dark times. It seems everyone is on edge. I wonder if any of you have noticed the same?"
Many of the professors nodded silently; Madam Pomfrey the most vigorous in her response. The students didn't appear to know what to say. Harry certainly felt on edge, but he, Hermione, and Ron (and arguably Ginny) were privy to far more information than the scant others surrounding the table. He wasn't sure if his stress was merely attributable to the prophecy or if it was part of a great school issue. His answer came from another source.
"It's noticeable in Ravenclaw," Merc said unequivocally. "I think," she looked at Harry regretfully, "that everyone understands this is Harry's last year. I don't mean to be insensitive Harry, but everyone seems to be holding their breath until June." Harry didn't know what to say.
"Way to not be insensitive, Thompson," Ron said simply. Her expression didn't change in the least as she locked her eyes on Ron, silently challenging him to a war of willpower. Ron broke first. He turned his eyes back to his plate and snatched another roll from the basket in front of them.
"I do not believe you're being insensitive Ms. Thompson. I think your sentiments are shared by a greater number of students than you know," Dumbledore said encouragingly. "So the question becomes, what can we do to alleviate some of the stress?"
"Cancel exams!" Ron piped up excitedly. Nearly every professor at the table glared at him in response.
"Do something fun!" Ginny said brightly. "Something to take everyone's mind off of what's happening out there."
Harry and Hermione looked at each other questioningly. He wasn't entirely sure about Hermione, but he was having a hard time deciding what to make of Ginny. She was acting no differently than she had been all year. That led him to believe that Ron had not said a word to her about their suspicions. He didn't want to believe that she could lie the way Merc insinuated; but at the same time, all the evidence, for as circumstantial as it was, pointed directly to Ginny as the leak. He shook his head, trying to clear the thought as Dumbledore continued.
"I believe you are right Ms. Weasley. I was considering reinstating an old tradition Hogwarts has not embraced in years." He looked around the table, a twinkle returning to his eyes. "The Valentine dance." Tonks began slapping Remus on the back again as he choked on his juice for the second time that evening. After he cleared his throat, he looked around sheepishly.
"Sorry," he said embarrassedly.
"That's quite all right Remus," Dumbledore said. "I think its rather fitting that you attend the dance, given the fact you're part of the reason we stopped having them." All eyes fell on Lupin who shuffled in his seat uncomfortably.
He looked at Tonks innocently. "I promise I had…practically…nothing to do with it." The table burst into laughter such that no one seemed to notice Snape toss his napkin on his plate and leave the room.
***
"One day you'll have to tell me what that was all about," Tonks said as she and Remus traversed the hallway toward her room.
"I don't know that I have the strength to tell you that story," he said laughingly.
"You wouldn't be worn out would you?"
"I might be."
They reached the door together and Tonks turned to face him. She kissed him softly. "Thank you for walking me back."
"Anytime."
"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, turning to unlock her door. He grabbed her around the waist as she pushed it open. Burying his face in the crook of her neck he nibbled on the warm skin of her shoulder. He felt the goose bumps break out along her arms and smiled.
"Just a little something to remember me." She turned her head along his chest and giggled softly. "Good night," he said releasing her.
She walked into her room on unsteady legs and turned to face him. "Good night," she replied with a lopsided grin. He winked at her impishly as the door clicked shut and he was left in the hallway alone. He turned around and leaned against the wall, thinking briefly about the strange normalcy of his life, before another voice caught his attention.
"Remus?"
He opened his eyes and looked to the intruder. "Harry!" he replied brightly. "You know, Head Boy or not, you don't need to do rounds when there's no one here."
Harry laughed. "I'm not doing rounds. I wanted to talk to you."
"How did you know I was still…wait… never mind. That was a stupid thing to ask," Remus said, answering his own question before Harry could manage a word. The Marauder's Map, sticking out of his back pocket was answer enough. He pushed off the wall and began walking the corridors with Harry. "So what did you want to talk about?"
"I was wondering if you could tell me a bedtime story," Harry said with a smirk. Remus, thoroughly confused, stopped in the corridor and looked at his former prodigy.
"A what?"
Harry chuckled. "Sorry, I couldn't resist. I never had a bedtime story before." They resumed their walk through the corridors. "I received a gift from Aunt Petunia today. I was hoping you could tell me about it."
Remus stopped. Several things about Harry's last sentence caught his attention. Not the least of which were the words Aunt Petunia and present appearing in the same statement. Moreover, he wondered what Petunia could've sent him that Remus would know anything about. It all left him with only one conclusion, if had to be something of the Potters. He was about to ask the obvious question when Harry pulled a familiar box out of his pocket.
Thankfully respiration is an involuntary system, if left to his own accord, Remus would've suffocated, having completely forgotten to breathe. He reached out and took the box from Harry's outstretched hand. He knew what was in it. He'd been with James when he bought them. Although part of him dreaded the memories that would undoubtedly bombard him, he was compelled to open to the box.
It creaked open to reveal Lily and James' wedding bands and a menagerie of memories galloped through his consciousness. Interestingly, Remus' first reaction was not one of sorrow, or loss, but of pride and happiness. "She was right," he whispered softly.
"Who was right?" Harry said curiously. Lupin looked up to Harry and shook his head.
"Lily. Not unlike your Hermione, she tended to be right most of the time. I must say your father and Sirius didn't appreciate it as much as I did." Remus chuckled under his breath.
"What can you tell me about them?" Harry asked, looking into the box in Remus' hand.
"It's a bit of a long story."
"I've waited a lifetime to hear it."
Remus looked into the familiar green eyes of his best friend's wife and thought back to their seventh year at Hogwarts.
*
"Come on!" James hissed as he waited by the common room door, invisibility cloak in hand.
"Hold on to your knickers, Prongs!' Sirius chided as he appeared at the bottom of the dormitory staircase. "Are we ready to go?"
"Ready? Moony and I have been ready for ten minutes! You spend more time on your hair than the 'princesses' combined!" James snapped.
"Well I'd hate to leave the tower with my hair looking like yours," Sirius replied.
Remus cleared his throat. "Might I remind you we'll be under an invisibility cloak and no one will see you leave the castle, let alone the tower. That's if we ever get moving."
"Too right!" James said throwing open the portrait hole door and climbing to the corridor entrance. He stopped, surveying the corridor, before motioning Remus and Sirius to join him. After each had clamored through, James threw the invisibility cloak around them and they took off for Hogsmeade.
"Now tell me again why Peter didn't join us?" Sirius said, biting the head off of a chocolate frog as they waltzed through Hogsmeade.
"He said he some moonlight catch-up work to do, if you get my meaning," Remus replied solemnly.
"Right," James said sarcastically. "He thinks we'll get caught."
"We are walking right down the middle of main street Hogsmeade at night. We should at least use the cloak if we intend to not draw attention to ourselves," Remus suggested.
"Bullocks. It would be more conspicuous if strange voices floated by these people when they couldn't see us," Sirius said throwing a grand smile to a young witch walking by. He spun on his heel to watch her pass entirely before falling back in step with the others.
"Well, we won't be in Hogsmeade for long," James said, his steps drawing to a close in front of the Hogsmeade floo stations. James pulled out a bag of floo powder and they each took a pinch. With a sly grin to his friends, he threw the powder into the fire. The simple dancing flames erupted from their resting place and turned green as James shouted "Diagon Alley" and stepped in. Remus and Sirius quickly followed behind.
"So where is this guy?" Remus said, coughing and brushing the soot from his robes.
"It's this jewelry shop across from Florean Fortescue's," James said excitedly. "Today is the only day of the year he leaves his shop in Japan. I nearly fell out when I heard he was coming to Diagon Alley!"
"And here you deride my attention to personal grooming, Prongs. You know more about this jewelry maker than is allowable for the male gender," Sirius said sarcastically.
"He's not a jewelry maker. He's a master sword maker in the Japanese samurai tradition. He just realized his metalworking techniques could bring in quite a bit of money in the private sector," James replied knowingly.
"And you would have this money?" Remus asked guardedly.
"I have my own means," James replied, eyes twinkling, as they bell to the jewelry shop heralded their entrance. They walked in together amid the crowd of perusing witches and wizards. Several cases were set up along the east wall displaying the unique style of jewelry created by the small Japanese artisan set up at the back corner of the shop. Upon seeing him speaking to a gathered crowd, James swiftly moved in to listen.
"I invented this technique to adorn the weaponry of the samurai. It is called Mokume Gane. Literally translated, it means 'wood eye metal.'" The assemblage of wizards leaned in to see the finished product.
"It looks like wood grain," a graying wizard remarked.
"How do you get the different colors?" another asked.
"I use different metals - gold, silver, platinum, titanium, even copper. They must be non-ferrous metals in order to blend properly."
"How do you get them to blend?" Sirius asked, surprising Remus with his interest in the subject.
"Muggles must use pressure and heat to laminate and solder and fold the layers together. It is why they've never perfected the technique as I have. Being a wizard affords certain luxuries they do not possess. However, my exact process is a well-guarded secret." The artisan explained.
James, Sirius, and Remus leaned in closer, as did the other spectators, as the artisan tapped the laminated bar stock with his wand. It sliced through the middle and splayed open to reveal a unique blend of swirling, complementary metals. Remus ruffled his brow as he inspected the two halves of the segmented bar stock.
"They're mirror images of each other," he observed.
"Yes," said the artisan with a smile. "Not only are they mirror images of each other, each piece is entirely individual - like a human fingerprint. There will never be another like it."
"It's perfect," James muttered reverently. Slowly the artisan shifted his eyes until they lay upon James. His face broke the simplest of grins.
"You are interested in wedding bands are you not?" James' eyes flew from the metalworkers hands to fix on his face. Remus stifled a laugh. It was the same look James showed every time he was nearly caught Marauding by Filtch.
"I, er," he stammered.
"Mokume gane rings are soul mates - fired from the same combination of material, virtually identical, yet entirely opposite." James continued redirected his stare to the metal as the artisan spoke. "Tell me about your soul mate."
James looked up startled. He looked between Remus and Sirius. Remus waited to hear his answer. In all their discussions, marauding, prank-playing, they'd never really had a serious conversation about their feelings. What seventeen year old boys do. Yet something about their purpose there, the wonderment in his eyes, and the atmosphere of the shop told Remus he was about hear James speak from the heart - possibly for the first time in his life.
"Well, she's about five and a half feet tall and has fire red hair and green…"
"No," the artisan interrupted. "Tell me about her," he emphasized. James took a deep breath and a dreamy look overcame his features. Remus noticed the glassy look in his eyes as he began to answer the metal smith.
"She is my soul mate," he said quietly. "She's the strongest person I've ever met, strong enough to stand up to me. She has never let me out the easy way, nor has she settled for anything less than what she knew I was capable of. She's stood in a ring of fire with me and never once been burned." Remus' eyes were fixed squarely on James while the man behind the counter seemed to only pay partial attention while collecting metals from the table. "She's the most beautiful and intelligent person I've ever met -except for when she's screaming at me." James stifled a laugh. "And we can explode at each other, like fireworks hailing the New Year." Sirius nodded silently. "But amid all that, she's changed too. She's grown, she'd adapted to me and the incredible circumstances we've faced together. Above all, she's never complained. She's never backed down. She's never pre-judged anyone or failed to offer the benefit of the doubt. She's the most noble person I've ever met." The artisan pulled another piece of stock from under the table. "I've been completely mesmerized by her since the day I first saw her. She's magnetic - my polar opposite - and I don't want to imagine a single day without her."
Remus felt the heat prick the corners of his eyes. He had never once heard James speak so eloquently, he'd really never thought it possible. But then again, he never asked the question. In all honesty, it made him a bit jealous of James, and a bit sorrowful for his own situation. Who could ever think to love someone like him - like that?
He looked past him to Sirius who appeared similarly touched by the sentiment. But his expression changed the instant he realized Remus was looking at him and a grin crept from the corner of his mouth. "Tell us how you really feel, Jamesy." James shot him an exasperated look while Remus stifled the impulse to join in Sirius' barking laughter.
"If I may?" the artisan said, drawing their attention back to the bench and waving his hand over the assortment of metals he'd collected while James spoke.
"What's that?" James inquired.
"This," he picked up a gleaming silvery stock of metal, "is platinum. It is one of the most beautiful of all metals. It is exceptionally resistant to wear, yet is curiously malleable. This is titanium." He pointed to another raw metal. "It is a brilliant metal and is most commonly used in fireworks. This one is white gold. Gold is among the most noble of all the metals. It does not react to other metals and is therefore among the most stable. And this," he produced a grayish metal from a hidden drawer in the table. "This is cobalt. When combined with the others, especially platinum, it produces a magnetic charge. When the bar stock is divided they become polar opposites."
"So the rings will be attracted to each other?" Sirius said incredulously.
"Decidedly so," he replied. He looked back to James, asking permission to begin his work. Remus, like his friends, couldn't speak. James merely nodded his head in assent as the metal smith set to work. Nearly an hour later, they were leaving the shop together. James stumbled out of the doorway, nearly sprawling into the street.
"Prongs, haven't you memorized what they look like by now?" Sirius asked. James did not reply. He merely continued to gaze into the antiqued box. Remus looked at Sirius knowingly and they laughed as they began walking to the Diagon Alley floo station. They were so enraptured with the experience they never noticed who was standing in front of them until it was too late.
"Oh! I'm sor-" Remus' voice quickly stopped. The trio was staring directly into the glittering eyes of Albus Dumbledore.
There was no way around this one. The Marauders (at least three of them) had been caught. Remus racked his brain quickly trying to devise some plausible excuse for why three Gryffindors, one of which was head boy, would be in Diagon Alley when they were supposed to be tucked in their beds at Hogwarts.
He wasn't coming up with anything.
The heat was burning his face and he glanced sideways toward Sirius, hoping he'd have conjured the answer by now. If it was possible, Sirius looked more translucent than Sir Nicholas. Remus couldn't raise his eyes to the headmaster and he didn't want to face the nagging I-told-you-so that was destined to echo from Peter's mouth. He shuffled his feet from side to side, feeling the seconds of awkward silence stretch into an eternity.
"Well," Dumbledore said serenely.
"Er,"
"Well," Remus and Sirius spoke simultaneously.
"I trust your business here is done Mr. Potter."
"Yes, sir," James said in a peculiarly bright voice. Remus looked at him inquiringly and was met with the oddest expression. James was beaming. In his confusion he drew his eyes to Dumbledore who seemed strangely pleased as well.
"It has been a long time since I've laid eyes on Denbei Shoami's work. May I?" Dumbledore asked, looking furtively toward the box in James' hand.
"Certainly." James handed over the box immediately and peered over the top to catch another glance.
"Magnificent. I expected nothing less."
"Thank you, sir - for everything," James said quietly.
"It was my pleasure. I saw you take such little interest in magical history. I could hardly pass up the opportunity to introduce you to Denbei after you showed such attention to the Akita prefecture and samurai weaponry. His talents in folded metal are among the most prized in the wizarding world," Dumbledore explained as Remus' surprise increased.
"And the most expensive," James replied sheepishly.
"I do not doubt the time it will take you to repay your debt." Dumbledore smiled warmly. "But, I think I'll know where to find you." He winked. "Now, I suggest you return to Hogwarts while Mr. Filtch is still detained by that unfortunate outbreak of rhinotitus. It will be wearing off in less than fifteen minutes." He acknowledged the boys warmly and breezed past them into the shop.
"Dumbledore gave him the money?" Harry said incredulously.
"It turned out to be more of an advance," Remus clarified. "You can imagine the questions we had on the way back - not the least of which was why your father led us to believe we were pulling off the greatest escape yet."
"What did he say?'
"He didn't have to say anything. It was clear to both Sirius and myself, that he'd done it merely to prank the both of us; and a bloody good job he did too. I nearly went into cardiac arrest when I saw Dumbledore." Remus laughed at the memory. "He went on to tell us about the Order. Being head students, James and Lily saw a bit more of Dumbledore than we did. He'd already described the organization to them and extended an invitation to join upon the conclusion of their studies." His eyes trailed into the distance and his face grew solemn. He turned to look at Harry properly. "I've never forgotten how he described your mother. I've never forgotten his speechlessness at the finished product. He was as in love with those rings, and everything they symbolized, as he was with Lily."
Harry looked back to the box. After studying the rings for a moment, he snapped his eyes back to his former mentor. "Earlier you said my mum was right about something? What was it?" The smile evaporated from Remus' face and the twinkle in his eyes extinguished on cue. Unlike the last, he didn't seem eager to answer this question. "Please," Harry prompted.
Remus took a breath and slid his hands into his pockets. "Lily was a seer." Harry didn't respond. In the awkward silence, Remus felt compelled to continue. "She once told me she'd seen that Halloween." His voice grew dark. "It was shortly before we learned of the prophecy, just after they were married. She never told James; she didn't want him to worry. But she assured me, if that day bore the slightest resemblance to what she'd seen in her visions, she'd find a way to safeguard their wedding bands before nightfall."
Remus shook his head and closed his eyes regretfully. "I always thought she'd had it wrong. I figured since they didn't come to me, she wasn't as prepared for that night as she thought." He looked back to Harry. "I didn't figure on her sending them to Petunia." His faced ruffled into a painful smile. "But I guess it makes sense; those rings are a symbol of their love and commitment to each other." Harry looked away. "So are you, Harry. It was only right to keep you both together."
***
"So you did go with the Quasar,' Merc shouted up from the snow-dusted pitch. Ron was putting his broom through a rather rigorous series of tests but stopped at the sound of another voice. He looked down, hovering over the pitch, to see Merc standing beneath him, broom in hand.
"What are you doing here?"
"Apparently, we had the same idea for this balmy Christmas evening," she said looking around at the empty stadium. The sarcasm was not lost on Ron, he was freezing.
"I'd planned to be here alone."
"I can leave," Merc turned and looked toward the stadium entrance. "But, we might be able to help each other if I stay."
Ron furrowed his brow and looked at her incredulously. "What? You plan to teach me all the finer points of Quidditch?" Merc mounted her broom and floated up next to him.
"Are you quite through?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"There's no one here to impress, Ron. You hardly know me and I hardly know you and we're clearly not interested in each other. So you can stop playing Captain Machismo anytime," Merc said with growing frustration in her voice.
"You've got some nerve," Ron said, his voice colder than the biting air.
"And you've got a choice," she replied. "I intended to get some practice this evening. Obviously, so did you. I'm a chaser, you're a keeper. You can either send me out - and I'll go since you claimed the pitch first - or you can knock that chip off your shoulder and beat the hell out of Slytherin next week." Silence hung in the air. "Your decision."
He couldn't remember ever being spoken to that way. Nor could he really remember someone pinning down his exact purpose with such a fine point. She'd called his bluff and he knew it. With a gravid heart, Ron agreed to the company. As much as he hated to admit it, it was far more difficult to defend the hoops by enchanting the quaffle yourself. He also had the nagging compulsion to ask her about his "tells" as a keeper. After her fifteenth goal he finally did just that.
He was quite impressed with her demeanor. She was able to score on him rather easily, but had no qualms in explaining exactly how she was beating him. She had no pretense of withholding information or trying to maintain the upper hand. He figured the only justification she could've made to herself is that Ravenclaw had already beaten Gryffindor - so she didn't need to keep it secret. They were both in their final year and would never meet in organized competition again. That, and she appeared to loathe Slytherin as well, Ron couldn't help but warm up to her with that realization. After ninety minutes of drills, discussion, and strategy, Ron finally outlasted her.
"Well," she began. "Thanks for letting me hang around. This was fun. I'm dead tired though. I should head back." Ron dropped to the pitch beside her and dismounted his broom.
"I think I'll do the same." He looked at her apologetically. "Thanks for staying." She smiled warmly.
"Care to walk me back?"
Ron grabbed his bag and threw his broom over his shoulder. "Lead the way."
They walked in silence for a few minutes, quietly trudging up the path to the castle. "So, I have to know," Ron began.
"Ah, I wondered how long it would take," Merc interrupted knowingly.
"It's driving me crazy thinking about it."
"He thinks about me?" she said almost inaudibly.
Ron stopped in his tracks. "No, I don't!" he retorted.
Merc stopped a few steps in front of him and turned - her face alight with embarrassment. It became rather evident to Ron that he was never intended to hear her last comment.
"It's just your name," he softened. As quickly as he recognized her humiliation, it was replaced with something more familiar.
"It's a well guarded secret," she said sarcastically.
"It's your name." Ron rebuffed.
"And I'll be forced to memory charm you if you ever find out what it is." She cocked her head to the side and looked him over. "I must tell you charms are not my forte. How do you feel about believing you're a Peruvian fruit bat with an inferiority complex?"
"What?" he asked confused.
"Let's change the subject," she replied hastily.
"Fine." Several things about this conversation were bothersome to Ron. Primary among them is why he always seemed to trip over his tongue or say something wrong in her presence. It wasn't this hard to talk to Hermione. Why should her friend be any different? Yet, he invariably ended up saying something he shouldn't, or something he felt terribly guilty over. He searched for a neutral subject to continue the good humor they'd left the pitch with. "So your dad is an alchemist. What's your mum do?" Ron resumed walking toward the castle.
Merc's footsteps fell in line with his. "She passed away."
Well, that was a cheerful change of subject!
He searched for the appropriate words to say aloud while chastising himself for not having thought there may be a reason why her mum was never mentioned. As it was, both of his best friends were without their parents. It would seem he'd grow accustomed to the idea that not everyone's family is as decidedly traditional as his.
"It's okay. She passed away a long time ago; during the dark times, just after I was born. I don't remember her. My brother is a bit older than me, so I was essentially raised as an only child." She giggled. "He only had experience with boys, bless him. But I can't complain, I'd never have learned to play Quidditch or collect mud slugs without him."
"You played with mud slugs too?" Ron said disbelievingly.
"Doesn't everyone? You know if you squish them below the thorax…"
"Their heads explode!" they chimed together laughingly. Ron spent the next few minutes reminiscing over childhood activities in the back garden as they began climbing the steps to the castle. Even he had to admit, the evening, although unexpected, was rather enjoyable. He was just about to say something to that effect.
"So have you spoken with Ginny about her summer?" she asked guardedly. Ron's head snapped to attention and he looked at her without responding. "I guess that's a 'no,'" she whispered.
"I have no intention of speaking with Ginny about her summer. She's my sister and I refuse to think about her like you do," he said scathingly. He looked down the darkened corridor toward Gryffindor tower feeling inordinately guilty yet again. He wasn't being entirely truthful. In matter of fact, he had spoken to Ginny just after breakfast when he'd returned to the tower to change. It was a brief conversation he'd not even shared with Harry or Hermione, but the compulsion drove him to the question when they ended up alone in the common room.
"Ginny I need to talk to you," Ron said flatly.
"What about?"
"When I told you about Operation Ferret, you promised me you wouldn't say anything to anyone." Ginny's expression became noticeably perplexed.
"I didn't," she replied. Ron looked at her skeptically. "I didn't!" Her voice rose angrily. "Why would you think I would do that?"
"Well, someone leaked that information and it nearly got Fred and dad killed!' Ron bellowed. Ginny backed away from her brother, shaking her head in amazement.
'And you think I am the leak?" she said disbelievingly
"Well, the three of us certainly didn't say anything. I'm the only one thick enough to have talked about it!"
"You talked about it to me!"
"And apparently that was my mistake," his voice grew distant. Ginny's composure began to melt and Ron saw the tears spring to her eyes.
"I'm telling the truth," she reiterated with an unsteady voice.
"Really, Ginny?" The sarcasm was dripping from every word. "If you're so keen to tell the truth, why don't you tell me how you really spent your summer." If Ron didn't know better he'd have thought a Dementor swept into the room. Ginny grew as white as the drifted snow and the breath seemed to escape her lungs entirely. She stared at Ron, her mouth was hanging open and the silence between them was deafening. However uncomfortable the situation was, it didn't last. Although obviously caught off-guard by his question, she regained her composure quickly. Her face grew dark and her voice chilled the room.
"Why should I tell you? You wouldn't believe me anyway."
With that she stormed up the dormitory tower and disappeared. He didn't know what to think. He wanted to believe her, but something inside him was nagging at his subconscious. He left for the pitch shortly thereafter to either figure it out, or drive it away.
"Ron? Are you alright?" Merc asked quietly, drawing him from his thoughts.
"I'm fine. I need to go. Good night," he said with finality. He turned and walked off, his footsteps echoing along the stone walls and drowning out the sound of her reciprocal farewell.
A/N:
If you're interested in the inspiration for the wedding bands…it comes from what my husband wants for our 10 year anniversary. This is a link to the designer our jeweler carries…I hope I did them justice: http://www.georgesawyer.com/html/colorpallet.htm
Vleigh