Deeds not Words

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: This is a sort-of continuation from Melting the Darkness - but about five years later. Just thought I’d post this while I’m in the middle of writing March for Ron’s Diary. I AM getting on with that I promise, but lots of little plot (Easter) bunnies kept hopping round and round my feet for this fic….

Chapter One: Meetings and Memories

Harry paused for a moment at the bottom of the drive and read the sign again.

S.P.E.W. Headquarters

Proprietor: Hermione Granger

He shook his head and grinned to himself; she’d finally done it. He wondered how many emancipated house-elves were living under her roof just now.

He walked up the drive, carrying his broomstick. As he reached the front door he heard raised voices.

‘Dobby! For goodness’ sake! You can’t just force the house elves to take the clothes! They have to get them from their masters!’ Hermione was saying in an exasperated voice.

‘But Mistress, Dobby only hid the clothes to free them! Mistress did so too, when Dobby worked at Hogwarts…’

‘That’s beside the point – I realised that was the wrong thing to do years ago. And I wish you would stop calling me ‘Mistress’, it’s such an outdated term! We’re all equals now…’

Harry decided the moment was right to interrupt, before Hermione began one of her famous rants about elf rights. He rang the doorbell (which gave a sonorous clang) and stood back. Hermione ripped open the door impatiently.

‘WHAT…oh! Harry!’ she finished, a grin of delight spreading across her face. ‘What on earth are you doing here? Come in, come in!’ She ushered him into the untidy hallway, and through to what might have once been an imposing dining room, but now looked like a cross between an office and a rubbish tip.

Dobby looked as though he was about to burst with excitement.

‘Oh, Harry Potter! Dobby is indeed glad to see you! How is Harry Potter, sir? Is his head better now?’ Dobby asked, his round eyes widening with concern.

‘Yes Dobby, no need to worry; my head’s fine,’ replied Harry heartily, subconsciously running his hand over his scar.

‘Dobby will get Harry Potter some tea,’ Dobby said, bustling out.

Hermione gestured vaguely towards a dusty armchair covered with bits of parchment.

‘Have a seat Harry,’ she said, perching herself on the edge of an ancient desk, ‘and tell me what’s going on! I haven’t seen you in a month.’

Harry sat down and looked around appraisingly. Cobwebs festooned the once magnificent chandelier hanging from the roof. Everywhere there were stacks of grimy books and rolls of parchment. A few homemade posters hung at odd angles from the walls, proclaiming ‘Think Elf Not Self’ and ‘Houses for Elves Not Elves For Houses’.

‘Well Hermione, I like what you’ve done with the place,’ said Harry, his eyes twinkling. Hermione glared at him.

‘Oh very funny. It’s part of the policy here that no elf has to do any housework unless they get paid. And as I’m not quite making enough money to pay anyone yet…’ she waved her hands at the surrounding mess.

‘Anyway, I think some of them sneak downstairs before I’m up sometimes and clean the house. I wish they wouldn’t, but it’s an issue we’re addressing at our Group Meetings: The Twelve-Step Program To Working For Wages…’

‘You were wondering why I was here,’ interrupted Harry quickly, before he got the breakdown of each of the twelve steps.

‘Well, go on…what is it? Is everything all right with Ron? Has something happened to Ginny and Draco?’

‘Calm down Hermione! Everyone’s fine. No, the reason I’m here is there’s a reunion dance in two weeks at our old barracks in Ilfracombe. Our old battalion is getting back together – at least what’s left of it,’ added Harry, a shadow passing across his face.

The battalion that Harry, Ron and Draco had fought in had been severely decimated throughout the War. Only the fiercest and most skilful witches and wizards had survived.

Hermione looked sadly at him. ‘ So many will be missing, Harry. Are you sure you feel up to it?’

‘I think it’ll be good for me. To draw a line under what’s happened, to remember the old days, to remember who’s missing and what we owe them. I don’t think it’s a bad thing.’

Hermione frowned slightly as she remembered the awful time Harry had gone through after he killed Voldemort on the battlefield. It had been terrifying for all his friends to see him fighting the all-encompassing depression that had descended on him. Things had been so dark for him that he had spent a year in St Mungo’s, rarely accepting visitors. Five years on, Hermione still worried about him when he was in stressful situations.

‘Hermione – I’m going whether you think it’s a good idea or not. I just thought you might like to come along too.’

‘It’s good to see you’re still as stubborn as ever,’ retorted Hermione. ‘Of course I’ll come along. Is it a dressy-up type of thing?’ she asked, absent-mindedly running her hand through her hair, making it stand on end.

Harry smiled slightly. Hermione had never been the type to worry too much about her appearance. Although he had always thought she was pretty, his eyes tended to be distracted by the out-of-control hair, the worn out robes and the frumpy skirts that she seemed to have a never-ending selection of. Today’s choice was a pleated tweed monstrosity, which reached just past her knees. Harry suspected that Hermione had inherited her wardrobe directly from Professor McGonagall.

‘Well the battalion members will be in Ministry-issue robes. I think it says ‘dress robes’ on the invitation – here.’ He took an embossed card out of his pocket and handed it to her.

‘I was going to owl you, but I thought I’d come up and take a look at the old Malfoy place instead. I bet Lucius would be turning in his grave to know that a ‘mudblood’ had bought it and was setting up a house-elf shelter here! What’s Draco had to say about it?’

Ginny and Draco had finally got married that year just after Christmas, after being together for five years, and had spent the last six months touring Europe for their honeymoon.

‘Ummm, nothing much yet. I think he got my owl when they were in Germany, but I just got a note back saying ‘Good riddance. Watch out for the gargoyles and let Dobby have the best room.’ So he’s taking it quite well…’

Harry shook his head in disbelief. ‘That guy never ceases to amaze me. He and Ginny have bought some kind of cottage in Yorkshire. They’re going to breed and train post owls. Can you even imagine Draco living in a cottage in the middle of nowhere, cleaning up owl droppings?’

Hermione smiled indulgently. ‘That’s love for you…I bet when you find the right girl, you’ll find yourself living in the last place you expected. And while we’re on the subject, how many of your ex-girlfriends are going to be at this dance thing anyway?’

‘One or two maybe,’ said Harry, blushing to the roots of his hair. He might have been one of the most eligible wizards of his generation, but he was still disarmingly awkward around girls.

‘Hmmm, I bet Lavender’s going to be there. She was about the only girl in our year you haven’t gone out with Harry,’ teased Hermione. ‘Maybe it’s her turn now!’

‘I never went out with you either, if you’ll remember,’ replied Harry.

‘Yes, well, I don’t count. We’ve always just been friends…’ Hermione flushed slightly, remembering a couple of moments they had shared before all the horror of the war had separated them; Harry hugging her after untying her from a binding spell placed on her by Draco*; Harry kissing her during a snow fight at the Weasleys’. She was saved from her embarrassment by Dobby coming back into the room carrying two slopping mugs of tea.

‘Here it is Harry Potter sir! Dobby remembers how he likes it! Three sugars and lots of milk – isn’t that right sir?’

‘Oh…thanks Dobby. That’s great,’ said Harry, taking a sip of his excruciatingly sweet tea.

‘So, how’s the Aurors Department?’ asked Hermione, her face returning to its normal colour.

‘Fairly busy – we’ve been having some trouble with a vampire that’s turned up near Godric’s Hollow. He swears blind that he’s a vegetarian and only drinks tomato juice, but we’re not taking any chances. And Tonks has transferred to the Norwegian Ministry temporarily to train their Aurors on Concealment and Disguise, so we’re a bit short handed just now.’

‘And Ron? Have you seen him recently? He’s terrible at keeping in touch.’

‘Yeah, I saw him last week. He’s coming to the dance as well. Not that he’ll be able to dance much.’

‘Well, he never was much of a one for dancing. Remember how annoyed Padma got with him at the Yule Ball?’

‘Yeah! And do you remember how surprised everyone was when you turned up with Krum? And with your hair all fancy?’

Hermione smiled at the memory. Maybe she should try that hair potion again…

‘Well,’ said Harry, surreptitiously pouring the rest of his tea into a dying house plant, ‘I’m going to have to get back. I’ve got a report to hand in about that vampire, and I’ve got to make sure there’s cover for the Diagon Alley Hag-Watch tonight. It’ll take me too long to fly - can I Floo from here?’

‘Yes – just got back on the Network. Took them two months though!’ said Hermione.

‘They obviously need you back at the Ministry to organise things.’

Hermione watched as Harry picked up his broomstick and wandered over to the enormous fireplace. His Aurors robes suited his skinny frame. The strains of the last few years had taken their toll, and there were a few premature lines around Harry’s eyes. The eyes themselves remained brilliantly green behind their glasses and his generous mouth smiled easily, lifting the sadness from his face. Although not conventionally handsome, people couldn’t help being attracted to his unusual looks and infectious laugh. Most distinctively, his black unruly hair now contained a streak of pure white – a final legacy from Voldemort.

Hermione sighed inwardly. Would she always have the remains of a teenage crush on this boy?

Harry grabbed a handful of Floo-power. ‘Bye Hermione! There’s a Portkey going to Ilfracombe from Diagon Alley on the night of the dance. You should come round to my place first and we can go together – alright?’

‘Fine. See you then.’

Harry stepped into the fireplace and disappeared in a flash of green fire.

***************************************

Ron stood at the door of his shop and watched the world go by.

It had been a slow afternoon, with the heat of the day keeping people away from Diagon Alley. Still, the younger witches were wearing skimpier robes in an attempt to get a tan, which meant that Ron had plenty to look at.

And looking was probably all he would ever be able to do.

Not much of a success with girls at the best of times, Ron’s self confidence had received a crippling blow when he had lost his right leg from the knee down in a Death Eater attack during the war. Although he had a wooden replacement, he was always extremely aware of people looking at him.

He had long ago given up his idea of being an Auror, especially after Fred and George had started calling him ‘Mini-Moody’ because of his leg. Instead, he had turned to his passion for games of all kinds, and opened his shop: Weasley’s World of Games and Gadgets. He sold all sorts of games, from wizarding chess sets carved from the finest marble, to miniature Quidditch games, with tiny players that really flew. The latter was his own personal invention, and he would spend hours whittling the figures out of wood and enchanting them to perform all sorts of amazing feats on the Quidditch pitch.

He watched lazily as a particularly attractive witch walked towards him. She had her hair swept up in a series of curls and tendrils, and her deep pink robes skimmed her figure in a most satisfactory manner. To Ron’s astonishment, she appeared to be waving at him. He looked behind him quickly to make sure she wasn’t waving at someone else, and then raised a hand tentatively.

‘Ron! It’s me!’ cried Hermione, launching herself at him for a hug.

‘Hermione! I didn’t recognise you there…’ Ron laughed, squeezing her tightly.

‘I could tell – you were looking at me like I was actually a girl,’ teased Hermione.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t make that mistake again. What are you doing here?’

‘I’ve come to collect you and then we’re both going up to Harry’s. You are still coming to the dance, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, I’ve got my uniform in the back. Can you watch the shop while I get changed?’

Hermione nodded and settled herself in the doorway of the shop. She heard a ‘clunk’ and some swearing as Ron struggled to untangle his robes from his wooden leg.

‘So who do you think will turn up tonight?’ she called over her shoulder to him.

‘Dunno really,’ replied Ron a bit breathlessly as he wrestled with the buttons on his uniform. ‘Draco and Gin are going to be there, and Fred and George. Luna Lovegood, Lavender, Colin Creevey…ummm…not Dennis of course. Or Padma and Parvati.’

A dragon had killed Dennis Creevey during the battle of the Isle of Drear. Padma and Parvati had both died when Death Eaters had attacked the battalion’s temporary barracks in Germany. Ron had lost his leg in the same attack.

Hermione looked thoughtful. She had not been involved in hands-on fighting until the last months of the war, as she had been working in the Department of Mysteries decoding the enemy’s owl messages. Sometimes she wished she had been on the front line like many of her friends had been.

‘I hope Harry doesn’t let tonight get to him too much,’ continued Ron, hopping over to a chair so that he could fasten his leg back on. ‘It’s bound to be a bit, y’know, depressing.’

‘I tried to tell him that, but you know what he’s like,’ Hermione said. She looked at Ron as he stood up. ‘You look great Ron!’

Ron swelled a little with pride and smoothed his robes.

‘You’ve forgotten something though,’ Hermione said. She walked over to the shelf behind the counter and picked up a medal from its case. ‘You should wear your Order of Merlin.’

Ron fastened his Order of Merlin – Second Class to the front of his robes and offered Hermione his arm.

‘Let’s go and get Harry.’

*********************************************

The Ilfracombe Barracks were alight with music and laughter by the time Harry, Hermione and Ron arrived. The main hall had been decorated with multi-coloured banners and fairy lights. An enchanted grand piano played popular tunes while the band tuned up their instruments. A table with enough food and drink to feed a thousand people had been set up along one wall, while chairs and tables were grouped around the dance floor.

‘Hey! Over here!’ called an excited voice. Hermione looked up to see Ginny standing up from a table of people and waving madly. She looked tanned and happy after her extended holiday. Freckles rioted across her nose and cheeks.

‘Goodness me, Granger, you are looking rather delectable tonight,’ drawled a familiar voice. Hermione immediately recognised her friend’s new husband, Draco Malfoy.

‘I could say the same about you,’ smiled Hermione. Draco looked impeccable in his Ministry-issue robes, his Order of Merlin shining from the lapel. He too was tanned, his hair even blonder than usual. He and Ginny made a stunningly attractive couple.

‘How are you? Did you get my owl from Italy? Oh, Hermione, it was lovely…’ Ginny dragged Hermione away to get a drink, babbling animatedly.

Harry felt shy all of a sudden. He quietly took the nearest available seat, right next to Lavender Brown.

‘Hi Harry,’ she said seductively, looking at him from under her lashes. ‘Do promise me a dance later, won’t you?’

‘Oh! Ummm that would be…nice,’ Harry finished weakly. He was going to have to get drunk tonight if he was expected to dance.

‘Where’s Luna?’ asked Ron abruptly.

Lavender looked annoyed to have the subject changed.

‘She’s here somewhere. Looking weird as usual,’ she sniffed.

‘Why isn’t she sitting with us though?’ persisted Ron.

Lavender looked at him as if he was stupid. ‘Well of course she won’t be sitting with us. Don’t you know? She’s…’

Lavender was interrupted by the Master of Ceremonies making an announcement.

‘Good evening ladies and gentlemen!’ he beamed at the crowd. ‘Welcome to our Reunion Dinner. Tonight for your enjoyment we have not one but TWO wonderful bands ready and waiting to get your feet moving! We also have a guest speaker tonight, Mr Harry Potter, recipient of the Order of Merlin First Class, and defeater of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!’ The Master of Ceremonies paused for applause.

Harry choked on his drink – why had no one told him he was expected to make a speech?

‘So without further ado, our first band will begin. I present to you: The Sirens!’

There was an uproar of clapping and cheering as four witches ran onto the stage. Two picked up guitars while another settled herself behind the drums. The fourth, dressed in a strange array of floating skirts and ribbons stepped up to the front of the stage. There was something familiar about the witch’s long pale hair and round sorrowful eyes.

‘Is that…Luna?’ asked Ron in wonder, but no one heard his question as she began to sing.

‘Come away, come away death,

And in sad cypress let me be laid

Fly away, fly away, breath;

I am slain by a fair cruel maid…’

‘She might have chosen something a little more cheerful,’ murmured Hermione, rolling her eyes.

‘This was number one in the Wizarding Wireless Weekly Round Up last week,’ muttered back Ginny.

Some of the slightly more inebriated witches and wizards were attempting to dance and twirl each other around. Ron stood stock still, gazing at the stage.

‘Wow,’ he whispered to himself.

‘A thousand thousand sighs to save

Lay me O where

Sad true lover never find my grave,

To weep there!’ Luna finished in a flurry of sliding guitar riffs.

The crowd cheered. Someone threw a flower, which landed at Luna’s feet.

‘Thank you,’ she said solemnly, lifting the flower and tucking it behind her ear. She turned to the rest of her band, nodded, and they launched into the next song.

‘Sing along if you know this one!’ she cried, dancing around the stage like a whirling dervish. ‘Twas brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogroves…’

‘Sing along?’ spluttered Harry. ‘Are those even real words?’

‘Come along Mrs. Malfoy,’ said Draco standing up. ‘Lets go and show these idiots how to dance.’ He grabbed Ginny’s hand and towed her protesting onto the dance floor.

‘How about that dance Harry?’ said Lavender, her head tilted coyly to one side.

‘Um,’ Harry had time to say before Lavender had pulled him to his feet.

Hermione settled back in her chair and smiled as she watched Draco and Ginny dance. They fitted together perfectly in a rhythm that came of the years they had been together. She could see Draco whispering something into Ginny’s hair and Ginny laughing into his shoulder as they swayed to the music. As happy as she was for her friend, a hard knot of sadness formed in her stomach as she wondered if she would ever be that close to another person.

She watched Harry attempt to hold Lavender at arms length, while Lavender persisted in snaking her arms around his neck and pulling him closer to her. He couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable if he tried.

Ron had stumped his way to the front of the stage, and was standing transfixed in front of Luna, a glass of fire whisky forgotten in his hand.

As the song ended, Luna paused for a moment in her whirling dance and looked down at him.

‘Ronald!’ she said. Gravely she took the flower from her hair and handed it to him. Then, in a flurry of skirts she danced back across the stage and began a furiously fast song, causing the crowd to erupt into cheering.

Ron limped back to the table, looking more than a little shell-shocked.

‘Why didn’t any of you lot tell me?’ he asked grumpily.

‘Well, it’s not a secret Ron. She is actually quite famous you idiot! We just assumed you’d know,’ said Ginny.

‘Well I didn’t alright? At least, I never put two and two together. I thought that her and me would, you know, someday…’ he stopped, looking miserable.

‘And why not now?’ demanded Hermione. ‘Why don’t you go and speak to her afterwards? She always had a soft spot for you.’

‘How can I? With this,’ Ron waved his right leg, ‘and that.’ He gestured towards the roaring crowd. ‘Give me a bloody break Hermione!’

‘Oh Ron! As if Luna’s going to care about something like that! Stop feeling sorry for yourself and just try it!’

‘Oh, so you think I’m SORRY for myself do you?’ Ron yelled, ‘Well thanks a million Hermione! Next time I lose a limb I won’t bother you with the details, OK?’

‘That isn’t what I meant and you know it! Honestly Ron, you are impossible…’

‘It’s nice to see that Granger and Weasley still fight like a married couple,’ remarked Draco. ‘I’ve never understood why you two don’t just get on with it and go out with each other.’

Ron and Hermione stood glaring at each other for a moment, before bursting into giggles.

‘No thanks very much Draco,’ chuckled Ron. ‘Hermione’s more like a bossy older sister than a girlfriend.’

‘I would strangle Ron within a week,’ added Hermione. ‘Not exactly very romantic.’

Draco shrugged gracefully and turned to Ginny. ‘All that dancing’s made me a little, er, hot,’ he said running his hand up her thigh. ‘Do you fancy a bit of fresh air?’

Ginny nodded. ‘You look very hot, you poor thing,’ she agreed, her mouth curving into a seductive smile. She took his hand and led him out of the hall.

‘Well, that’s a record,’ observed Harry as he returned to the table. ‘They lasted a whole hour and a half before they had to sneak off and have sex!’

Ron looked as if he was about to be sick. ‘Harry! Shut up will you? Are you trying to make me ill?’

On stage, Luna was finishing up her set with another frantic song. Fred and George were down at the front of the stage; wildly jumping up and down and bashing into everyone around them. One of the dark haired guitar players was swinging her guitar violently round her head, and Luna had kicked her shoes into the crowd while she continued her frenzied dance. She slid slowly to the ground as the song ended, and the drummer hurled her sticks into the packed bodies on the dance floor.

The Master of Ceremonies bustled onto the stage, a worried look on his face. Plastering on a fake smile, he began to applaud them.

‘Ah! Wonderful, wonderful! Please folks give a great round of applause for The Sirens!’

The crowd erupted again. Luna sat up and pushed her long hair away from her face, looking amazed that there was a crowd there at all.

‘We’re going to take a break now, so help yourself to the banquet we’ve got for you! There’ll be more music soon, so don’t go anywhere!’

He walked off the stage, ushering Luna and her band in front of him like a mother hen with her chicks.

Harry felt butterflies start in his stomach, as the time grew nearer for him to make his speech. He cursed his useless assistant at the Ministry for forgetting to pass the message on to him before the dance. How could he make a patriotic speech about a war he had hated? How could he stand up there and expect people to applaud him, when others had sacrificed their lives?

Hermione leant towards him.

‘Don’t worry Harry. Just say what you think,’ she said softly. ‘Just tell the truth. That’s all anyone would expect from you.’

Harry gave a small smile and reached out to squeeze her hand. ‘How do you always know the right thing to say?’ he asked.

‘Because I can read your mind,’ she replied, squeezing his hand back. Lavender appeared back at the table, carrying two drinks. She barged rudely between the two of them, breaking their linked hands.

‘Here’s your drink,’ she said shortly, banging the glass down in front of him. She looked at Hermione. ‘Ahem!’

‘Sorry Lavender, I’m in your seat. Speak to you later Harry.’

*******************************************

Harry stepped up to the stage nervously and cast the Sonorous spell. He could see a sea of expectant faces staring up at him.

‘Um.’ He began; twisting the napkin he had jotted some notes down on. Nice start Harry. That’s got them on the edges of their seats.

‘The purpose of this reunion was to bring old friends together,’ he began hesitantly. ‘But as the night goes on, it is clear that we are here for another reason: to commemorate our friends who cannot be with us tonight.’

He paused, gathering strength from the focused attention of the audience.

‘The war was a mad, brutal, awful struggle. The waste of human life was so terrible that some thought victory was scarcely discernible from defeat. I admit that in my darkest moments, I thought this too.’

Hermione felt tears catch in her throat as she watched Harry, his face filled with pain. He looked much older than his twenty-three years as he continued.

‘Now I realise this isn’t true. For out of the war came a lesson which goes beyond the horror and the tragedy. It was a lesson about ordinary witches and wizards – and the lesson was that they were not ordinary. They were heroes.

I may have felt guilty for surviving. But those of us who did survive have the task now of remembering and making sure those who come after us remember. We have to make certain that the brave deeds of our friends are never forgotten. I think that the Muggle poet Laurence Binyon said it best:

They went with songs to the battle, they were young;

Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.

They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted:

They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.’

There was a silence after he finished speaking. Then the audience one by one got to their feet as they applauded him.

Harry stepped down from the stage hurriedly, eager to hide the emotions welling up in him. He rushed quickly past his table and out of the hall, trying to pull himself together.

Hermione got up as if to go after him, but Ron stopped her.

‘Leave him just now,’ he said kindly. ‘You’re all tearful and snuffly, and you know how he hates to get emotional.’

Hermione nodded and wiped her eyes hastily on the back of her hand. ‘I know,’ she agreed. ‘Oh Ron, poor Harry. He takes these things to heart so much.’

‘Well, cheer up because the next band’s coming on and I’m going to try and dance. So you can have a right old laugh at that!’

‘Idiot,’ she said affectionately, punching him lightly on the arm.

The announcer was back on stage. ‘And now, for our final act of the night. They’ve just finished touring Britain and have had three hits in the Wizarding Wireless Weekly Round Up. It’s…Darien Hawke and the Hippogriffs!’

The band exploded onto the stage to immediate screaming from the crowd. As the guitarists strummed a few experimental notes, Darien Hawke himself strolled to the front of the stage, with the fluid, careless grace of the supremely confident. He was tall and lean, with deep blue eyes. As he stood there, he scraped his hand over his stubbly jaw and shook the dark curls out of his face.

‘Oooh,’ breathed every female in the room as one.

‘It’s wonderful to be here,’ he said, making every girl in the room think he was speaking exclusively to her.

‘Y’know, people can be so selfish these days man,’ he drawled. ‘They only think of themselves. That’s why we’d like to dedicate our first song to Elf Rights. Let me hear you shout! What do we want?’

‘ELF RIGHTS!’ screamed back the crowd.

‘When do we want them?’

‘NOW!’

‘Alright! You guys are cool. Let’s go!’ His band leapt into the first song as he shook his hair back and started to sing.

Hermione wasn’t taken in by the blatant good looks of the lead singer. The bass player intrigued her though. He was very tall with messy blonde hair, a snub nose and a determined mouth. Around his neck was a leather shoelace with a silver Elf Rights symbol hanging on it. He seemed strangely familiar…

**********************************************

It was the end of the night, and a few people were the worse for wear from too much wine. Fred and George had organised a sing-a-long on the grand piano, which involved a group of about fifteen people singing the rudest songs they could think of. They had just started a chorus of The Ferret Song to annoy Draco, who was steadfastly ignoring them.

‘I've got a ferret sticking up my nose
I've got a ferret sticking up my nose
How it got there I can't tell
But now it's there it hurts like hell…’

Ron was methodically working his way through every drink left on the table, while Ginny was determined to throw Draco over her shoulder.

‘I can SO pick you up!’ she was declaring. ‘Can’t I Ron? C’mon Draco, I’ll carry you home, you’re pissed!’

‘I’m pissed am I?’ asked Draco, raising an eyebrow. ‘You’re not even slightly drunk then?’

‘She’s bloody plastered!’ said Ron, sliding under the table.

Lavender hadn’t given up on Harry yet. ‘Y’see, the thing about Seamus…’ she slurred, draping an arm around his neck, ‘the thing about him was he drank too much. Not like you Harry – you can handle your drink. That’s a very, very attractive quality in a man…’

Harry rested his spinning head in his hand momentarily. What was the silly cow going on about? And where was Hermione? For some reason, he really wanted to talk to her.

Suddenly, he caught sight of her standing by the stage, speaking to some tall blonde haired man with a turned up nose and battered dragon-hide jeans. The man was leaning over her, nodding and talking intensely. Hermione was obviously in full-on rant mode about something, her arms gesticulating wildly, her drink slopping unnoticed out of the glass.

Staggering to his feet, he went over to eavesdrop, ignoring Lavender’s protests.

‘…and it was just so true what he said,’ Hermione was saying. ‘We are all too selfish! But I think that if we keep promoting the need for equal rights for elves then eventually something’s going to happen, don’t you?’

‘Absolutely,’ said the blonde haired man, looking at Hermione with extreme concentration. Hermione squirmed a little under his gaze. ‘Why didn’t I notice you were this pretty at school?’ he asked in wonderment. Suddenly, he grabbed Hermione round the waist and leaning her up against the stage, he kissed her.

How bloody dare that guy kiss Hermione like that! Harry swayed a little – he was drunker than he had thought. He was going to put a stop to this…

‘Harry…what are you doing?’ asked Lavender flirtatiously winding an arm around his waist. She saw what he was looking at and laughed. ‘Gosh, that’s Zacharias Smith. Good for her! It’s about time she stopped hanging around you like a lost puppy. You shouldn’t encourage her.’

‘It’s not like that! We’re friends, best friends. She doesn’t feel like that about me,’ Harry protested.

‘Well, even if she did, it looks like she’s over it now…’

He could feel the old depression beginning to creep over him. He didn’t want to go home alone. He looked at Lavender who was nuzzling drunkenly into his chest. Why not? She was as good as anybody. She was pretty and chatty, and they had a lot of the same friends. He slung an arm around her shoulders and began to steer her out of the hall.

‘See you later mate!’ called Ron from his position on the floor. Harry raised a hand to him before stepping out into the night.

**********************************************

*See ‘Melting the Darkness’ my other fic. It also explains why Hermione was able to buy the Malfoy Manor. If you care!

Luna’s first song – ‘Come away death’ is a song by William Shakespeare from Twelfth Night – Act II scene IV.

Luna’s second song is the first few lines of The Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll in ‘Alice through the looking glass’. If you haven’t read it, go and read it now. Go on…

Harry’s poem was ‘For the Fallen’ by Laurence Binyon, written in 1914.

‘The Ferret Song’ was written by Graham Chapman and John Cleese of Monty Python.

The Sirens - In Greek mythology, the Sirens are creatures with the head of a female and the body of a bird. They lived on an island and with the irresistible charm of their song they lured mariners to their destruction on the rocks.

To my betas Tawny Spitfire and LisaGrint2 for pointing out my grammar mistakes and generally being good eggs…