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Of Wolves and Ravens by fenriswolf
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Of Wolves and Ravens

fenriswolf

Of Wolves and Ravens

by FenrisWolf

Disclaimer - I don't own anything, J. K. Rowling does - damn it.

~~~~~

AUTHOR'S NOTE - First of all, an apology for how long it's taken me to get this chapter out. I've beens struggling with a massive writer's block, where it seems everything I type is pure crap. This chapter's been restarted three times already, and I'm STILL not happy with it.

For those who read this before, this chapter may be a bit confusing, as the Lyonnesse storyline has been abandoned as unnecessary to the overall plot. This one isn't a lot better, but there's less distraction involved. Hopefully, once I hammer my way past the block, this will begin to flow again. Thanks for your patience!

PS - I hope this makes up a bit for the dark nature of my last fic. This Ron is much closer to how I see him after the books…

~~~~~

Chapter Eight

~~~~~

"Want to fill us mere mortals in on the secret?" Ron asked, feeling a bit miffed at the fragmentary conversation. "I mean, it's pretty and all, but hardly the luxury vacation spot you said we were off to. What are we doing, camping out, Muggle style?"

"Not exactly," Harry said with a smile. Drawing a deep breath, he spoke in a formal tone. "Hermione, Ron, everyone, as the lord of the manor, I bid you welcome to Caer Crochenyddion, the ancestral home of the Potters." As he spoke the formal words, a soft glow rose from the ground upon which they stood and enveloped the rest of the members of the group, causing their skins to tingle. In a few moments the tingling passed and with it the mists that obscured the valley faded away, revealing the imposing castle nestled into the rocks on the far side, its towers and battlements rising out of the trees that cloaked the rolling mountains rimming the valley floor.

~~~~~

Ron was the first to break the surprised silence that greeted Harry's words. "Whoa…what did you call it, Caer Croaking…?" he asked, his eyes huge as he took in the imposing structure.

"Caer Crochenyddion," Harry repeated with a smile. "It basically means 'Castle Potter' in the Old Tongue."

"Bloody Hell, Harry," Ron said, not even noticing his wife's dig in his ribs at the profanity as he took in the ornate structure rising in the distance, its architecture reminiscent of the design work that had gone into Hogwarts Castle. "Why didn't you ever tell us about it before? The place is incredible!"

"Because until very recently I didn't know it existed," Harry admitted. "It was hidden away centuries ago for safety reasons, and then its location, and the means to get here, were somehow lost."

"Hidden?" Ron scoffed. "How do you keep something that bloody big hidden, under a tea cozy?"

"Honestly, Ron, didn't you learn anything in class?" Hermione scolded, dropping easily into the bantering, bossy tone of their school days. "With the right charms you can hide anything, even something the size of a castle. Look at how the Muggles are kept away from Hogwarts!"

"Yeah, but wizards can see through those charms without any trouble," Ron pointed out. "I couldn't see a thing until Harry told us…oh." he finished as he made the connection. "This is like Grimmauld Place, isn't it?"

"It's similar," Harry admitted. "The charm's key passes automatically to the head of the Potter line, so it doesn't have to be renewed each time the custodianship passes on. It took me a bit of time to get used to the idea, let me tell you, but Charkas explained how it all worked."

"Who's Charkas?" Hermione asked, echoing the curiosity of the others.

"That's a question that will be better answered after we get to the castle proper," Harry replied, taking her hand and beginning to lead the way down a narrow path that meandered away from the standing stones. "Trust me, I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."

"Bit of a stroll, isn't it?" Remus mentioned, judging the distance across the valley. "I've done a bit of hiking in my day, and I'd say we're a good three to four hour's walk from the gates."

"Oh, it's not quite as bad as all that," Harry smirked as they arrived at second, far smaller circle of standing stones, these no more than a meter in height and enclosing an area perhaps six meters in diameter. When he was certain everyone was within the circle he placed his hand on a palm-sized depression in the surface of the stone that was facing the castle.

An instant later there was a flash of blue light and the group found themselves standing in a similar circle about a hundred meters from the entrance to the castle. "There's a network of these scattered throughout the forest and mountains hereabout, pretty handy since you can't Apparate to someplace you don't have the coordinates for. Like the concealment charm, it's keyed to the Potter bloodline so not just anybody can wander along and use it. Only problem is that until you have them memorized, it's easy to get turned around, at which point it can take a while to sort out where you are in the system."

"Interesting," Narcissa commented, examining the concentric whorls incised into the surface of the pillars that comprised the circle. Unlike the starting point, these were a bit over two meters tall, and more regularly shaped. She tapped a manicured nail against the stone, and felt the slight tingle of the magic it held as she traced the whorls across its surface. "I've seen references to systems like this in a treatise on types of magic that have fallen into disuse, and there are remnants of a couple of them in the Highlands, but I didn't think any of them were still functional."

"Probably because one of the elements necessary to maintain them was missing," Harry said cryptically.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, but he just smiled again.

"Come inside and you'll get your answers." He led the way the short distance up the flight of rough-hewn stone stairs that led from the circle to the castle entrance, pausing briefly in the flagstone outer courtyard until everyone had joined him. He then turned towards the archway, and the sound of bolts being withdrawn and the tumblers of locks shifting echoed through the doors. The noises stopped and a moment later the doors swung silently inward. Harry turned to his guests and with a small bow, said formally, "My friends, my beloved, I bid you welcome to my home."

The entrance hall was high-ceilinged, with massive. age-darkened timbers supporting the floor above. The flagstone deck of the outer courtyard gave way to parquet wood floors of a rich, buttery oak, the walls paneled in turn with walnut and mahogany, their broad expanse broken up with decorative moldings that framed the tapestries and paintings that added splashes of color. A large staircase led upward to the second floor of the castle, and several archways held doors leading to the rest of the ground floor.

All this was noticed peripherally, however, as the attention of Harry's guests was drawn to the small figure standing in the center of the open doorway. The bald head, batwing ears and large, bulbous eyes marked the being as kin to the house elves, but there the similarities ended. For one thing, he was a full head taller than any elf they had ever seen, and for another, his skin was a deep, nut brown, not the unhealthy grey typical of house elves. But even more surprising, this elf, if elf he was, was wearing clothes; not the pathetic tea towel ensembles worn by the enslaved elves, but real clothing made with obvious care and attention to detail. The tunic, jerkin and trews were vaguely medieval in style, but there was nothing theatrical about their appearance. They had the comfortable, slightly worn look of clothing that a person wore every day, and they suited the small being perfectly.

The large eyes found and locked on Harry's face, and the rest of the party jumped a little as he spoke. "Greetings, Lord Potter; I see you and your guests have arrived safely. Is this your total party, or should my people be expecting other arrivals?"

"Hello, Charkas, good to see you, too," Harry replied. "This is everybody that's coming this time around. I hope that doesn't disappoint you too badly."

Harry's friends were amazed as for the first time in their lives they heard the sound of full-bodied elfin laughter. "Oh, they'll be a bit disappointed, Lord Potter; after so many years, there has been great excitement in the Hill at the idea of having Potters around again. Still, even a handful is better than none at all." Charkas snapped his fingers and a half dozen more like him popped into existence, each wearing simpler variations on his own wardrobe, which on closer inspection could be seen to be covered with intricate but subtle embroidery. "These good elves will guide your guests to their chambers; if I could have a word or two with you...?"

"Of course, just give me a moment first." Harry turned and smiled at his surprised guests. "Hermione, the rest of you, if you'll follow your guides, they'll show you to the guest quarters that were prepared for you. I promise you'll find everything you could need, and I'll be along in a few minutes."

"Harry," Hermione demanded, "You promised me an explanation--!"

"And you'll have one, I swear," he soothed, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Just let me see what it is Charkas wants, and I'll be right with you."

~~~~~~

True to his word, Harry shortly arrived at the suite in which he and Hermione would be staying during their vacation. The sitting room was large and comfortably appointed, and the other two couples were waiting as well. "Right, then," he said cheerfully as he closed the door behind him. "Where do I begin?"

"You can start by telling me…us…about Charkas and the others. You know how I feel about House elves!" Hermione fumed.

"And I respect and agree with your feelings on the matter, Hermione," Harry said calmly in the face of his fiancée's bad temper. "I swore a long time ago that I'd never own a house elf, and I've kept that oath."

"But what about-?" she asked, waving in the direction of the doors.

Harry smiled. "Well, that's going to take a bit of explaining, but first of all, Charkas and his people are Hill elves, not House elves."

Hermione's expression went blank for a second, and then she frowned. "Wait a second, I know that name…"

"You should, or you would if you read the Quibbler," Luna interjected. "Hill elves are what the House elves were before they were enslaved. There have been lots of sightings of them in some of the remote mountain ranges; the Himalayas, the Andes, the Appalachians…"

Harry cleared his throat before Hermione could bristle too much. "Yes, well, I don't know about survivors elsewhere in the world, but there are definitely Hill elves in Wales. My ancestors signed a treaty with the ones living here, which is why Caer Crochenyddion is in such good condition. They've been caring for it all these years, waiting for the Potters to return."

Hermione's frown had only lessened slightly. "All right, so they're Hill elves, not House elves," she admitted, "but Harry, they're still bound to you…aren't they?" she finished as he shook his head.

"No, the hill elves are no one's slaves, and I almost pity the poor bastard who tries to do it to them. They know what happened to the others of their race, and let me tell you, I had a rough go of it the first time I came here as a result!" he chuckled, but they could tell he was serious. "No one had used that gate in a couple of hundred years, but they still have a bell in their council hall…amazing place, I'll have to see if I can set up a visit for you…that sounds whenever it's activated. Needless to say, I had barely gotten a decent look at the castle when I had a welcoming committee ready to blast me to smithereens if I wasn't supposed to be here. I really wish Tommy had tried something here; they might not have been able to technically kill him, but immortal tree moss is still tree moss.

"Anyway, once Charkas established I was, indeed, a Potter, they were overjoyed to see me. Seems the first Lord Potter got them out of a bad scrape with some beasties that were feeding off them and were immune to their magic. He killed off the beasties, and in turn they signed a treaty with him and helped him build, maintain and protect the castle. They in turn received the aid and protection of a family of powerful wizards whose magic worked differently than theirs."

He picked up ornately chased goblet off one of the tables, turning it in his hands. "They also got a several thousand year jump in their level of technology. Hill elves aren't terribly innovative, and their society was still late stone age, what's the term, Hermione, 'Neolithic'?" At her nod he continued, "Well, that all changed when they helped build the castle; they may not be innovators, but show them something once and they catch on fast! That first Potter brought his family through the gate, apparently there were a lot more of them in those days, and they and the hill elves got along famously."

His smile became a bit wistful as he continued, "They have a tradition of ballads and song cycles about those days; I heard a few of them when they threw a welcoming feast for me." His gaze locked on Hermione and his smile brightened. "You were dead right, love; there is no excuse for wizards not treating the other races as equals. The arrangement between my family and Charkas's people proves that, if nothing else."

Hermione considered Harry's words and smiled as she recognized the truth behind them. There had been nothing servile about Charkas and the other hill elves, she realized. Respectful, even deferential where Harry was concerned, but none of the automatic groveling she was used to seeing from the enslaved house elves. "Too bad we can't get the house elves back home to accept the same sort of arrangements," she grumbled. S.P.E.W. had collapsed not long after she left Hogwarts due to her inability to interest any of the elves in freedom, and she still smarted from the failure.

"I thought about that," Harry admitted. "I even brought Dobby here one time, to see if the hill elves would have any better luck than I did breaking the bindings enslaving him."

"Hang on," Ron said, "I thought you tricked Malfoy into freeing him years ago, didn't you?"

Harry shook his head. "Dobby is technically free, yes, but he's still bound by the same magic that enslaves the rest of the house elves. His compulsive need to be a servant, to punish himself if he even thinks about contradicting or betraying his 'master', all that's part of the enchantments that enslave all the house elves. Even his freedom is a sham; look at what happened to Winky when Crouch freed her. Freedom for a house elf is supposed to be the ultimate punishment, a kind of living death. The only reason it didn't work that way on Dobby was that the Malfoys had treated him so badly that even freedom was preferable to staying in their service."

Hermione's eyes had lit up as Harry explained the reason for Dobby's presence; she had reluctantly accepted that her quest for house elf freedom would continue to go nowhere so long as the elves remained incapable of accepting the concept, something the geas that bound them into servitude wouldn't allow. "Have they made any progress?" she asked hopefully, only to have her hopes dashed as he shook his head.

"That's what Charkas wanted to talk to me about. The geas binding Dobby is completely resistant to anything they can do. Charkas said it's because it's such an old spell, it's worked its way into the house elves' makeup. That's why Dobby looks so different from them; it's in his blood. The most they've been able to do is figure out how to prevent the same thing from ever being done to them, but that doesn't help the ones currently under its effects."

Harry realized the sobering effect his words were having on the group and cleared his throat. ""I guess I didn't think my surprise through as clearly as I should have; this is supposed to be a fun vacation for everyone, not a rehash of past injustices. If you all would prefer going to a regular resort, I'll understand…"

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry!" Hermione scolded, hugging his arm. "We all wanted to 'get away from it all', as the expression goes, and you don't get much more 'away' than this. What I've seen of the castle and the lands around it seems beautiful, and I'd love to explore it with you. And I certainly want to get to know Charkas and his people better. You'll see, this will be a perfectly lovely vacation!" The others nodded and murmured their agreements, and Harry smiled.

"Well, then, that being the case, why doesn't everyone get settled into their rooms, and then I'll give you all a tour of the castle and the grounds. Oh, and be prepared for a bit of an extravagant feast tonight; I'm afraid Charkas is insisting on a welcoming celebration, and trust me, when hill elves throw a party, watch out!"

~~~~~

True to his word, Harry conducted a tour of the castle, pointing out some its more unique features in addition to its more traditional appointments. Like a great many ancient homes in Britain, Muggle or Wizard, the castle had undergone a number of renovations in its lifetime as the times changed and the needs of the occupants changed with them. The forbidding stone curtain walls that had originally presented an unbroken façade to potential attackers had been pierced and softened by the addition of large, high-arched windows, many of them glazed with ornate stained glass. Wood paneling and intricate parquet floors had softened the once chill and utilitarian inner chambers, with beautiful, hand-woven rugs providing islands of warmth. Long galleries lined the inner courtyard, providing sheltered access to the various rooms of the first floor of the castle.

Harry explained that the overall plan of the castle was a flattened octagon with two long sections connected to six shorter ones. The longer sections contained the public areas, the dining hall, library, even a game room, while the smaller sections contained the various specialized rooms necessary to keep a castle running, workshops, storerooms, kitchens and sculleries. The upper floor of the castle was devoted almost entirely to living quarters, with bedchambers and common rooms similar to the various houses of Hogwarts. The towers that served to connect the outer walls of the castle were split evenly between additional storerooms and spiral staircases that connected the floors as well as leading to the battlements.

After showing them through the ground floor, Harry led the way out into the formal garden that occupied the central courtyard. Several shade trees dotted the carefully manicured lawn, with ornamental stone benches placed conveniently for wanderers to take a break out of the sun.

They were standing and chatting under one of the trees when a high-pitched cackle preceded the appearance of a small, sapphire blue figure flitting through the air. "Ow! Bloody hell!" Ron shouted as the Cornish pixie yanked his hair in passing. "What's one of those vermin doing here?"

Remus swatted at the flitting shape as well, but it dodged easily out of his path and dove at the women, earning a shriek of wrath from Narcissa as it yanked at her hair as well. Hermione whipped out her wand to stun the little pest, but Harry put out his hand to stop her. "Wait and watch," he said, his eyes fixed on the darting blue shape.

Suddenly a grey blur shot across the courtyard and catapulted off of one of the benches, intersecting the pixie's flight path with a shriek and a crunch as it dropped to the ground. A moment later the slender, furred shape was sitting calmly on its haunches, cleaning its paws, the crumpled form of the dead pixie at its feet.

Hermione knelt and stared at the odd-looking cat - for cat it was - and reached out to tentative stroke its fur. "It feels like velvet!" she gasped as her fingers touched the crinkly pelt. "Harry, what is he?"

"That, my dear, is a Cornish Kneazle," Harry said with a smug tone. Suddenly several more of the slender, wiry felines appeared in the courtyard, bounding across the lawn like furry bolts of lightning. "One problem the hill elves had when I found this place was an infestation of pixies; for some reason they're resistant to hill elf magic, so they were trying to eliminate them by using traps and such, without much success. I took a quick run down to Cornwall to see how the wizards there were dealing with the little beasts, and was introduced to one of these amazing fellows." He stretched out a hand and his guests watched, fascinated, as the nearest feline shape elongated itself against the pressure until it was almost a meter long counting its whip-like tail. Its oversized ears twitched, and the brilliant golden eyes above its roman nose slitted closed with pleasure as a rumbling purr resonated from its throat.

Ron flinched as a solid weight landed on his shoulders, and then relaxed slightly as the sound of purring filled his ears. He reached up and gently scratched behind the ears of the Kneazle, smiling as he felt the velvety texture of the plush pelt for the first time. "Feels weird, but kind of neat, too," he admitted, grinning as the purr grew louder under his ministrations. He glanced over at where Hermione was now rubbing the belly of one of the other Kneazles, and a wicked gleam appeared in his eyes. "Maybe you could trade Crookshanks in on a newer model," he suggested, earning a sniff from her as the others laughed.

~~~~~

Big Bad frowned as S.U.C.K.R. entered his offices. Lately it seemed if all his lieutenant brought him was bad news, and from his expression, this time was not going to be any different. "So, still no word on them?"

"Not a peep," his spy-sorry, "intelligence operative"-replied glumly. "They gathered at Granger's flat, and then took a portkey somewhere, but we have no idea where they ended up…and there was something weird about the portkey, too."

"Weird how?" Big Bad asked irritably; he hated how S.U.C.K.R. dragged his reports out, but he'd never had much luck breaking him of the habit.

Apparently his displeasure made some impression, though, as the flow of information sped up. "Well, the surveillance team had a portkey tracing spell in place, figuring they had about a 50/50 chance of locking onto their destination, but whatever protective charm Potter used, it was a lulu. Not only did it short out the trace, the backlash fried every single bit of information they'd gathered, including wiping the memories of the team that was on duty. The only reason we have anything at all is that the shift had changed just before the portkey activated, and the off-duty shift was far enough away not to get toasted."

Worse and worse; even Potter's passive magic was costing him operatives, and that was assuming it was even his work. Granger was equally capable of coming up with some powerful, obscure charm that the average wizard had never heard of, and that was before she got connected to the Sisterhood. Now? Maybe Narcissa had the right idea after all…

Big Bad voiced this idea to S.U.C.K.R., who shrugged. "I can't say I haven't thought the same thing, B.B.," he admitted. "I know the idea of the Potter/Granger team is scary, but let's not forget what Potter did to You-Know-Who when he went after her." Both wizards shuddered; it had been years since the final battle, and they were still finding bits and pieces of Voldemort in odd places. The latest had been an ear, discovered by a cleaning crew working on Lord Nelson's statue in Trafalgar Square. "We may just be better off in the long run if we leave them alone, and write off any losses as the cost of doing business."

The head of T.I.C.K.L.E. sighed; things had been so much simpler before he had deposed the former High Wizard. He'd managed his own Dark business interests, paid his dues into the organization's coffers, assassinated the odd associate, and otherwise done things the way a proper Dark Wizard should. Now he spent all his time worrying about who was plotting to replace him in the high chair this week. He had to admit, being a Council member jockeying for position amongst his peers had been a lot more fun than riding herd over the whole unruly lot had proven to be.

Not to mention, he seemed to be missing out on some of the fringe benefits. S.U.C.K.R. had reported just last week that a cadre of attractive young women were working their way through the entire council and shagging their brains out, apparently for the sole purpose of convincing them not to disturb Potter's 'domestic bliss'. He wouldn't care about that so much, except that for some reason he'd been left off their list.

Something else occurred to him, and suddenly a feeling of impending doom roiled in his stomach. "What about Scarabus? Can we call him off?"

S.U.C.K.R. looked nervous. "We haven't heard from him in a month. The last word we received was that his plans were in place, and that he was just waiting for the 'right opportunity' to put them in motion."

Big Bad digested those words; they had a hit wizard out there whose instructions, he realized, were vague to the point of absurdity at best, and a primed wand pointed at their own heads at worst. They had no idea what he was going to do or when he was going to do it, but the odds were pretty good that whatever it was he had planned, it was going to Piss Harry Potter Off. "We are so screwed," he moaned.

~~~~~

WARNING: Smut begins here!

~~~~~

Harry opened his eyes and smiled as he beheld the bushy brown hair of the young woman lying beside him in the bed. Every time he woke up he was briefly sure that his entire life with Hermione was a dream, an impossible fantasy, and every time he saw the proof that it was real lying beside him, he marveled at his good luck. Sure, he had his youth, wealth, and power both magical and temporal, but all of that had meant nothing once he realized how he felt about the girl who had become the center of his universe. To the public he might be the Savior of the Wizarding World and the Defeater of Voldemort, but to her he would always the boy with the baggy clothes and the broken glasses, just as to him she would always be the slightly buck-toothed, bushy-haired know-it-all looking for a lost toad-and neither of them would have it any other way.

His reverie was interrupted by the feel of her stirring beside him. "Good morning," he murmured, leaning over to kiss her bare shoulder.

"Mmmm," she sighed, turning over and slipping her arms around his neck while her lips sought out his for a tender kiss. "Sleep well?" she asked softly as they parted.

"Always when I'm with you," he replied, earning a wider smile.

"Good answer," she said, her lips returning to his more aggressively as she molded herself to him. She always felt so secure when she woke up next to him in the morning; she was quite sure that her bed had never been that perfect, toasty temperature before Harry had come to share it with her.

She'd always been a restless sleeper, as if her busy mind couldn't allow itself to rest even at night. As a child she'd often been awakened by the cold night air to discover her blankets crumpled on the floor, a habit that had followed her through school and into adulthood. Now, cherished and safe in her lover's arms, the only times their blankets ended up on the floor was when their passionate lovemaking flung them out of the way. Speaking of which…

Harry's mind snapped fully awake as a small, warm hand circled his manhood, its length rock-hard as it often was first thing in the morning. "I see someone else is awake," Hermione murmured slyly as she slowly began to stroke him to even greater attention. Her bushy hair disappeared from view as she slipped beneath the covers, and he gasped as a warm, wet mouth replaced her hand in its ministrations. Her tongue swirled around his crown, rolling his foreskin back as she took as much of his cock into her mouth as she could, her hands returning to caress the portion of his length her mouth couldn't manage.

He held out as long as he could, his hands fisted in the sheets, knowing how much she loved to torment him, but after a few minutes he knew that if he didn't move it would be over too soon. Flipping the covers away he slipped out of her mouth, silencing her petulant "Aawww" by pulling her up and covering her mouth with his own. The taste of his precum on her lips drove him mad; he trailed his lips down her throat, moving on to capture one of her hardened nipples in his mouth. One hand sought out her other breast as he suckled and nibbled at his treat, and he was rewarded by her happy squeak as his other hand found the moist folds between her legs. Her squeaks turned to moans as he plunged first one, and then two fingers within her while his thumb rolled across the swollen nub of her clit.

Delightful as her nipple was, he knew something even more delectable awaited him, and he trailed kisses down her stomach, earning little shivers from her as he flicked his tongue across every sensitive spot. Then he reached his goal, and her moans climbed to a shriek as his tongue joined his fingers in plundering her cleft, savoring the taste of her arousal. His hand shifted and his thumb moved aside, allowing the far more flexible length of his tongue to swirl and flick around the swollen button that was sending waves of pleasure through her. Suddenly her hips were bucking up against his face as the muscles of her vaginal walls clenched around his fingers, her hand hands locked painfully in his unruly hair as the waves of her orgasm rolled through her.

Harry followed her urging as she tugged at his hair, moving up to capture mouth with his, the taste of her juices still on his lips as their tongues intertwined. "Now, Harry," she growled and he happily complied, positioning his length at her entrance and than sheathing his cock inside her warmth with one long stroke. Instinctively her legs snapped up to encircle his hips, the position relaxing her muscles to accommodate his girth. She moaned as he began the slow dance of sliding in and out, withdrawing until just the tip was still within her heat before plunging forward again, stretching her deliciously. Every time they made love she was amazed all over again at his dimensions, and at the ease with which she accommodated him.

Even as the electric shocks of her building orgasm shivered through her, Hermione's active mind refused to shut completely down. She remembered the giggling discussions that went on between the seventh year girls, when it was decided that the most devastating words a woman could say to her lover would be "Is it in yet?", and knew that those were four words that Harry would never hear from her. Her fingernails were digging into his back, and suddenly she shifted, unlocking her heels from behind his tight butt and rolling him over to where she was rising above him and controlling the pace, speeding up the strokes and shifting the angle of attack, her hands holding onto his as she arched backwards, his pelvis thrusting up to hers, she could feel the size of him deep inside of her as her orgasm clenched about him, bringing him over the edge as well as she felt him pulsing and emptying himself within her…

~~~~~

Narcissa stood at the window of their room, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun on her skin as she looked out on the lands that Harry's ancestors had called 'home'. The welcoming feast the hill elves had thrown for the Potter's prodigal son had been an eye-opener, especially for a pure-blooded woman who had grown up around the poor, enslaved race of house elves. Someone who didn't know their history might think they were looking at two different species, rather than one race divided by an ancient curse.

Hill elves, it seemed, loved a party, and any excuse at all could be used to cut loose and have a good time. That this excuse was no excuse at all, but a genuine celebration welcoming Harry's guests made the occasion that much sweeter. It had been more than a bit surreal to both be served by and dine with the diminutive beings, but there was no denying their intelligence or their dry humor, both characteristics Narcissa greatly admired.

And the entertainment! Narcissa had fond memories of attending the ancient Bardic competitions held in Wales as a young girl, not the Muggle ones, but the ancient Druidic festivals that wizards still celebrated. There she had heard poets and harpers spin magical illusions with word and song, and watched the High Druid baptize the champion with sacred mead from the Horn of Inspiration, but even the skilled wizarding bards could have learned a trick or two from their hill elf counterparts.

When the High Bard of the hill elves sung the great cycle that told of the forming of the bonds between the elves and the Potters, she saw in her mind's eye the defeat of the Dark creatures, the sharing of blood between the chief of the elves and the first of the Potters, and the raising of the castle. When the bard's apprentice sung his journeyman's piece, about the hill elves longing for the return of their friends, she felt the tears roll down her cheeks along with every other person's in the hall. And when the elf pipers and drummers began playing their celebratory jigs and reels, she found herself, along with the rest of the guests, dancing to happy exhaustion with her laughing lover.

~~~~~

The memories of that dancing merged with the present as she felt the strong arms of her lover steal around her waist. She leaned back into his embrace, feeling the sculpted muscles of his chest pressing into her back through the thin material of her gown, and realized from the pressure of something else against the cleft at the top of her buttocks that Remus was completely, one could even say gloriously, naked.

A devilish smile twitched at the corners of her mouth as her right hand slipped behind her back and pounced, eliciting a gasp as she encircled the base of his shaft and began to slowly stroke him. "I see someone has suffered no ill effects from a night of revelry," she whispered huskily as she felt him grow thicker and longer under her ministrations.

"One of the fringe benefits of lycanthropy; in addition to increased stamina, there's those incredible recuperative powers," he growled, running his hands up her flat stomach to cup her full breasts, his blunt nails teasing her nipples erect as she shivered against him. "Probably the only thing that's kept me alive these last few months, as you know damn well," he continued, his hands rising to slip her gown off her shoulders. She released his length long enough to allow the silk to drop to the floor, and then turned in his arms, her eyes now locked on her prize.

"Mmm, I see Mr. Perfect is ready to play," she murmured, using the nickname she'd bestowed on Remus's 'package' the night of their first date at Trader Vic's. The term was certainly accurate as far as she was concerned; Remus was significantly above average in length, though somewhat thinner than the norm. Since Narcissa had always been unusually 'tight', that made him an excellent fit no matter what position they tried. Woof woof, indeed…a mischievous gleam appeared in her eyes as she sank to her knees before him, trailing her nails through the thick mat of hair covering his chest. Muttering the charm that Luna had blithely passed on to her two sisters the night before, she set out to surprise her lover with a new weapon in her repertoire of boudoir games.

"Narcissa, what…oh…my…god…" Remus moaned as first the crown of his penis and then his entire length slid into her mouth and down her throat as the charm blocked her gag reflex. The feel of him pressing into her esophagus was indescribable, and she felt him resisting the urge to buck against her mouth as his sac brushed her lips. It seemed impossible, but she discovered her instructions to be accurate as she continued to breathe comfortably through her nose despite the unusual occupant of her mouth. Her tongue glided along the underside of his shaft, tracing the corded veins that fed its tumescence, and the vibrations of her chuckling nearly sent him over the edge, his hands fisted in her hair.

She was trying to decide which tune she was going to try humming when Remus crossed some threshold of stimulation. With a wet pop he slid from her mouth and pulled her to her feet, ravaging her mouth with his as he lifted her bodily in his arms and swung her to their bed. She landed with a mild "oof!" of surprise, only to have him instantly join her, his hands and mouth everywhere in his fever of lust. He discovered the moist warmth between her legs and elicited a delighted shriek as his tongue plunged into her, lapping up her juices like a man parched with thirst discovering the Holy Grail. Narcissa felt her own crescendo building, building, and then he was between her legs and buried to the hilt, his length reaching places and causing sensations Lucius had never aroused. Quickly they reached the rhythm of long, slow thrusts that both enjoyed, building their excitement as his hungry growls blended with her excited moans until with a final, powerful thrust he drove her over the edge, her voice screaming his name providing the spark he needed to join her in their release…

~~~~~~

Luna sat near the head of their bed, her knees drawn up to her chin, the warm flannel of her nightgown covering her to her toes, and watched her husband's softly snoring body as it lay sprawled next to her. Her nervousness over certain aspects of this vacation had only grown during the previous evening, not lessened as she had hoped, and it had been a with a great deal of hidden relief that she had watched Ronald dancing himself into oblivion on horn after horn of the strong, sweet mead the hill elves favored. She loved him desperately, and the idea of performing her 'wifely duties' was never a duty at all, but a pleasure bordering on the spiritual.

'Yes, but how long until he gets bored?' the little voice in her head whispered. 'How long until he starts looking somewhere else for those needs? He will, you know he will…'

"No, he won't," she whispered to herself. "Ronald loves me, he's told me so again and again."

'But he never rejected your games before, did he?' the voice reminded her. 'He used to enjoy all those little acts you put on.'

"He said they were getting in the way, that he just wanted the real me," Luna replied, but the answer sounded pathetic even to her, and the voice pounced on her uncertainty.

'That's what he said,' it gloated, 'but what he meant was that he was so bored that not even your little charades can excite him any more.' The voice, an amalgam of all the girls who had teased her in school, most especially Cho Chang, sniffed in disdain. 'It's no surprise, really; why should he enjoy making love to a skinny board of a girl like you?'

Luna whimpered, huddling into her bedclothes as the tears rolled down her cheeks. Her dreamy, unfocused mannerisms notwithstanding, she was like every other young girl when she entered puberty, alternately terrified and excited by the changes her body was undergoing. While she had never been interested in boys, plural, she had always had a crush on one boy, ever since he beat up a pair of Muggle boys he caught tormenting her one day. She was nine, and he was ten, and from that day on she'd been in love with Ronald Weasley.

So she watched, and she waited, and when the girls in her dorm began to shed their chrysalises and turn into butterflies, she waited to do the same. But she never became a butterfly; she was named after a moth and a moth she stayed. She grew taller, and her hips flared to the point that no one would mistake her for a boy, but she remained gawky and angular, not pleasantly curved and rounded as she knew the boys preferred. Her breasts sprouted between her second and third year, but after sprouting they stopped, forlorn little weeds while the other girls became gardens of delight. She never noticed how her coltish legs and swan neck arrested some boys, or that her dirty blond hair had turned into a waterfall of soft waves cascading down her back. She wanted to be a butterfly, and she never recognized the ghostly, luminescent beauty that was hers.

She didn't, but others had, and one young man in particular had been captivated by it. Luna was so wrapped up in her argument with the nagging, doubting inner voice that haunted her, she didn't notice the slight stirring in the bed next to her, the sound of her husband waking up and smiling as he turned to greet his wife. She didn't see his smile falter as he saw her hunched form on the bed, or his expression turn to one of alarm as he beheld the tears rolling down her cheeks from behind her closed eyes. So completely immersed in misery was she that she didn't react to his movements at all, not until she felt his strong arms settle around her. She gasped and tried to pull away, but he held on, determined to find out what was troubling her.

"Luna, Love, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" he asked softly. When she shook her head silently he sighed. "It's me, isn't it? I did something monumentally stupid again, right? I knew I shouldn't have drunk all that mead, who knew that house-uh, hill elves were party animals…"

Luna shushed him before he got too far. "No, Ronald, it's nothing, just me being silly is all. I promise you, no one was offended when you asked Charkas's wife if she had a sister." She smiled at his feigned look of horror, and tried to move out of the circle of his arms. "Honestly, nothing is the matter. I was just…I just had a bad dream, that was all it was," she finished, trying to come up with an excuse for her tears that he would accept.

At first she thought she was safe as his worried expression faded, but then it transformed into something else almost worse from her perspective. "A bad dream, eh?" he asked, his voice deepening slightly. "Well, it is a husband's duty to protect his wife from any danger, even nightmares. And I know the perfect thing for chasing away nightmares; never let it be said that Ronald Weasley ignored his duties as a husband…"

He started to pull her close for a kiss, but his unfortunate use of the word 'duty' in connection with making love to her set off all her insecurities again, and she crumpled into his arms, sobbing. "Bugger! Something is wrong, isn't it? Luna, tell me!" he demanded, his hands holding her close as he cast about frantically for some clue as to what was the matter. Are you sick? Is Pop okay?", he asked, thinking about her father. Something else occurred to him and he flinched, placing a hand on her stomach. They'd been talking about starting on matching his mother and father's efforts in the progeny department, and she'd been to see the mediwitch just before their vacation. At the time she'd insisted everything was fine…"What about…?" he asked, rubbing her gently.

"Nothing is wrong, Ronald," she insisted, bringing her tears under control and pulling out of his arms. "I'm just feeling a bit out of sorts this morning; perhaps something I ate at the feast didn't agree with me." She patted his cheek, and said a little wistfully, "Don't worry, you can always perform your duties later on, if you really feel like it."

Ron was never going to be voted Mister Sensitivity in the wizarding world, but he'd still come a long way from the clueless young man with the 'emotional range of a teaspoon', especially where his wife was concerned. Eyes narrowing, he reached out and captured her wrists, preventing her from rising from the bed.

"Now waited just one bloody minute, Love," he said firmly, holding her in place, "I thought I'd made my position clear some time ago; certainly some of the…uh…positions we've tried should've told you so, anyway. I love making love to you. I love the feel of you in my arms; in the kitchen, in the hallway, on top of the bloody bookcase, I don't care. I made you leave those outfits at home because I wanted to spend my vacation shagging like bunnies with my incredibly sexy wife, not a dress-up doll, and no matter what stupid words come out of my mouth, that will never be a duty! What do I have to say to prove that to you?"

Luna mumbled something under her breath, and Ron snorted. "Now why the bloody hell would I want Hermione when I could have you, Love? She and Harry are perfect for each other and I couldn't be happier for them, just like you're perfect for me."

Luna's eyes finally met his as she frowned. "I've seen how wizards look at her, Ronald. Just because I am a happily married heterosexual doesn't mean I can't appreciate the equipment someone else has, equipment which, I might add, I am aware I am lacking."

Mentally crossing his fingers (he wasn't a saint after all), Ron smiled. "Hermione's okay, Love, but she's not you. And besides, sure she's got a bloody great rack, but have you thought of the downside?" Luna frown deepened as she shook her head, and he chuckled. "She's pretty athletic, is Mione, and, well, I get enough bludgers to the head playing Quidditch, if you get my meaning," he grinned cheekily.

Luna's high-pitched, hysterical laughter tinkled through the bedchamber. "Oh, Ronald, you still are the funniest man I know!" she gasped, smiling at last. After her laughter stopped, her gaze shifted downwards to her 33A-cup chest. "You really don't mind how little there is?" she whispered, still feeling a bit insecure. She gasped as his large, callused hands reached out and slipped into the gap at the front of her gown, each one cradling a small breast perfectly in its palm. Her nipples reacted to the familiar texture of his Quidditch-roughened calluses, springing erect in excitement.

"Why don't you let me show you just how much I like them, Love?" he asked hoarsely. Biting her lip in anticipation she nodded, and he moved his hands up and slipped her nightgown off her shoulders. Slowly she rose until she was upright on her knees, the flannel nightgown now pooled across her calves. Ron rose up as well, pleased as always at how tall she was. Her proportion of legs to torso was different enough from his that in this position she could rest her head on his shoulder, a pose she slipped into with comfortable familiarity.

The pose was just a transition, however, as Ron's hands slid from the relaxing circling motions they were making in the small of her back and drifted downwards, slipping under her white cotton knickers and cupping the cheeks of her ass. She gasped in delight as he gave them a fond squeeze before pulling her forward to feel the very solid presence of his erection where it strained against the silk of his boxers. "See what you do to me?" he growled in her ear. "I can't think of you without that happening. Good thing I don't perch on my broom like a parrot, one look at you in the stands and I'd fall off…"

She chuckled throatily, the soft laugh he loved, the one that only he got to hear, as it only happened when she was aroused. Her own long-fingered hands were wandering as well, teasing the scattering of red hair on his chest, tracing the patterns only she could see connecting his freckles like the constellations of the heavens, and continued down to follow the snail trail leading to her own 'Throne of Tara' as she liked to call it. "I see the High King's scepter is ready to be wielded," she said with a smile as she stroked him gently before giving the base a quick squeeze.

"Careful of the Crown Jewels, Love; they're part of the National Trust, they are," he replied, chuckling. Soon her knickers had joined her gown on the floor, the bright red silk of his boxers providing a splash of color across the pastel flannel. Luna reclined on the bed as Ron moved above her; this was not a time for adventurous positions from the Kama Sutra, or games and skits with costumes and props. It was a time for a man to reaffirm his love for his woman, and that woman to show her love for him in return.

Luna felt the slow building of her orgasm growing within her as her hands caressed the face of her husband straining above her. When first she'd come to his bed he'd been impatient and a bit inconsiderate, slamming away at her as hard and fast as he could, not because he was brutal or coarse, but because he just didn't know any better.

Slowly she'd guided him to what pleased her the most, sometimes discovering it at the same time he did, and whatever his failings as a student at Hogwarts, at this she would always award him an Outstanding, in Practical as well as Theoretical. She moaned, arching her back slightly as she felt the first wave of pleasure coming, cresting quickly as he deliberately slowed his pace for her and added his hand to her center, gently stroking her clit as he continued to move within her tightening walls. His pace quickened and so did she, the next wave carrying her higher still as her nails dug into his firmly muscled shoulders. Still he held himself back, bringing her to her third and greatest climax, wringing a scream from her throat as the shockwaves of the orgasm twitched along her nerve endings, the sensory overload almost, but not quite, enough to mask the sensation of his hot seed spilling within her.

As their heart rates slowed and her vision cleared, Luna was stunned to see that her husband's eyes were wet with tears, the faint tracks of them clear on his ruddy cheeks. "Never doubt that I love you, Luna," he whispered. "Never, ever doubt that again, my moon goddess, my Love."

~~~~~~

Fin (for now!)