Of Wolves and Ravens

fenriswolf

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 11/06/2004
Last Updated: 01/09/2004
Status: in_progress

Sequel to 'Cupidity'. Harry and Hermione are finally a couple, and the person who helped them get together may have found love as well. Everybody should be happy for them, right? WRONG! The Golden Couple make some people nervous and others jealous, and as for that other matter, well, no mother of his is going to come home with fleas, or worse, puppies, not if Draco has anything to say about it...

Chapters

1. Prologue

2. And it begins

3. Time for a talk

4. Decisions, decisions

5. Fun in the Sun

6. The Plot(s) Thickens

7. Chapter Seven

8. Author

9. Chapter Eight

1. Prologue

Of Wolves and Ravens

by FenrisWolf

AUTHOR’S NOTE – This is a sequel to my story, ‘Cupidity’, and trust me, if you haven’t read that one, you’ll have a hard time figuring out what’s going on. Please be patient, I really hadn’t planned on this, but the characters had other ideas. I have no clue what they’re going to get up to…

~~~~~

Chapter One

~~~~~

The mood in the room was somber to the point of clinical depression. Black bunting was draped on every portrait, the candles floating above the tables had been replaced with thick, ebony pillars that burned fitfully, and all the shades on the gas jets had been changed to glass the color of freshly shed blood. The incense that was burning was laced heavily with musk and myrrh, and suggested embalmers and Egyptian tombs. The background music was a dirge that resonated in the lower registers, more felt than heard, an organ piece played from the grave. Even the weather outside the room seemed to share the atmosphere, as thick, black clouds wept a slow, steady downpour that chilled the air.

The occupants of the room seemed to soak up the atmosphere like a comforting balm. Dressed universally in mourning garb, unflattering robes and Victorian style dresses in shades of black and grey, they sat hunched in their chairs, neither offering nor receiving comfort. Here and there muffled weeping could be heard, but for the most part they were silent.

A door opened and closed, and a final member of the congregation made her way to the front of the room, coming to a halt behind the black-draped podium centered there. She raised the gavel and rapped three times, calling everyone’s attention to her words. “This emergency session of the Unofficial Harry Potter Fan Club is now in order…”

~~~~~

“Muther, I can’t believe you’re going out with that…that…person again!” the nasal voice whined.

“What was that, dear?” Narcissa replied absently as she tried another pair of earrings, determined to find the perfect pair to go with her new robes. They were her one weakness, her secret vice; she had literally thousands of pairs, from knut-to-the-dozen plastic ones to ornate, solid gold pieces looted from a Scythian tomb. She’d started collecting them when just a child, and to the best of her knowledge still owned every single pair she’d ever purchased, borrowed, received as a gift or stolen. She preferred drop earrings, ones with a bit of flash to attract the eye, but even simple studs were fine, so long as the stones in them were of high enough quality – say for instance, like the three carat Marquise cut Alexandrite gems that shifted from purple to green and back again with the changing light…

Thinking of those caused her to finger them briefly, but she set them aside with a sigh. Too dressy by far, especially since Remus had told her to keep her wardrobe restricted to something that was ‘casually elegant’. Well, maybe another time. If things continued going so well, there would be many opportunities in the future to display her collection.

Privately, Narcissa didn’t really think her choice of obsessions was all that frivolous. It wasn’t like she collected hundreds of pairs of shoes like that silly Muggle, what was her name, Marcos? I mean, with robes, how often did a witch get to show off her feet, and how many wizards were foot fetishists anyway? She personally could only think of one, and he sort of had an excuse. What else was someone as short as Flitwick going to fixate on, a woman’s kneecaps?

Earrings, though, they made sense, especially when the witch was someone like herself, with a slender, graceful neck and delicate, shell-like ears just screaming to have attention drawn to them. And then there was the genteel art of playing with one’s earrings as one talked to a wizard, a very subtle way of directing his attention to just how delectable her ears were, and how the column of her neck swept down to her shoulders, and the décolletage beyond…

“Mu-ther! Are you listening to me?” Draco sputtered, drawing Narcissa out of her daydream. He stood just outside the door to her chambers (the wards she’d put in place wouldn’t allow him to enter) and glared at her, his balled fists braced against his hips in what he thought was a manly gesture. Actually it made him look like a pompous git, but as he was a pompous git, the look worked for him.

Finally settling a pair of seventeenth-century French earrings comprised of cages of 18k gold filigree surrounding iridescent pink Baroque pearls from the West Indies, she allowed her attention to return to less pressing matters. “Yes, Draco, was there something you wanted?”

“Yes! I wanted to know if you were going out with him again!” her son demanded, his pasty complexion actually taking on a hint of color as his blood pressure rose. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Not that it is any business of yours, but yes, I am going out to supper with Professor Lupin,” Narcissa replied calmly, though inwardly she sighed. These little confrontations were becoming tiresome, and her hopes that her son would grow used to the idea of her having a social life again post-Poppa, as slight as they were, were proving fruitless. If anything he seemed to grow more incensed every time she went out with Remus, not less. Of course that might have had something to do with the last time he had barged into her bedroom (prior to her erecting the wards) to find her in the middle of a pre-breakfast shag with her old schoolmate. Being a lycanthrope seemed to do wonders for one’s stamina…

That little incident seemed to be in the forefront of her son’s mind as well. “I won’t have it, I say! You’re making us a laughingstock, trailing around after that werewolf like…like…like a bitch in heat!”

“Woof, woof,” she replied, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

“MOTHER!”

“Do try and get used to the idea, Draco,” she said airily, picking up her cloak before heading off to the mansion’s Apparation room. “I enjoy Remus’s company a great deal, and surprising as it might seem to you, he enjoys mine. I have every intention of continuing our relationship, and there is nothing you or anyone else has to say on the matter. Now, if you will excuse me, I do not wish to keep my date waiting.” With that she breezed past her son and down the stairs, idly humming the tune to the Muggle song, “Werewolves of London”.

Draco glared at his mother’s receding back and muttered to himself, “We’ll just see about that, Mother dear. Yes, indeed we will…”

~~~~~

Harry looked up from his desk as his extremely aggravated subordinate burst through the door, with the unfortunately all too common as of late sound of his secretary’s protests following him. “What’s the problem, Q?” he asked, though he was afraid he already knew the answer.

“Chief, you have got to do something about her!” the excitable head of the research department blustered. “I think I’ve been awfully patient about this (well, he hadn’t, but that was actually irrelevant), but this time she’s gone too far!”

Harry sighed. When had things become so complicated? Oh, right, when he found True Love and settled down to live Happily Ever After. Idly he speculated as to the possibilities of resurrecting the Brothers Grimm just so he could kill them for writing those damned fairy tales. If the head of the Unspeakables couldn’t indulge in a little Necromancy for his own amusement, who could?

But back to the matter at hand. “What is it this time?” he asked. “Is she making suggestions for performance enhancing improvements again?”

“Worse! She just walked in on a meeting with two of my senior researchers and told them the project they’ve spent two years and around a hundred thousand Galleons on is a dead end, and will never work! Rosencrantz and Gildenstern are livid! They’re not used to having their work questioned, and she didn’t even go through channels to do it. Now they say they won’t continue without some sort of apology. I’m at my wit’s end over there!”

“What was the project?” Harry asked, curious as to what could cause such a fuss.

“I can’t tell you,” Q said, his tone miffed. “Need to know, and all that; you understand.”

Harry was puzzled. “If it’s that hush-hush, how did she find out?”

“I have no idea,” Q admitted, his hands pulling at his already untidy hair. “Security on the project was supposed to be airtight; even I don’t get updates, just funding requests.”

“So did you ask her how she found out about it?” Harry pressed.

Mumble-mumble.

“What? I didn’t quite get that last bit.”

“She said she couldn’t tell me her sources,” Q admitted, his tone decidedly put out. “Said it was ‘need to know’.”

Harry smothered a snort of laughter, knowing his subordinate wouldn’t appreciate the irony of the situation. “All right then, next question: was she right?”

“It’s not a matter of being right, it’s a matter of following channels, of working within system!” Q replied, his tone defensive even to his own ears.

“So, she was right?” Harry asked again.

“All right, yes, she was spot on, when isn’t she spot on when she pulls one of these stunts? But, Chief, she’s got to stop stepping on people’s toes. The way feelings are running, if she’s not careful she’s going to punch one button too many, and it won’t be pretty…” Q’s voice tapered off as Harry’s amused expression vanished, and the face that had made life a living hell for the members of T.I.C.K.L.E. surfaced.

“I am quite certain you did not just suggest to me that someone in your department might represent a threat to her,” he said, his voice cold. “I am equally certain you did not mean to suggest that if such a threat did exist, you would not defuse the situation, especially since, regardless of the feathers she has ruffled, EVERY such intervention she has performed has been for the good of the staff and the Department as a whole. And I am absolutely positive that, if such a situation evolved and you did not feel capable of handling it, you would bring it to my attention so that I could deal with it.”

Oddly, Harry’s terse warning seemed to brace Q’s resolve. “That’s what I just did, Chief. I’ve smoothed things over as much as I can, but I’m only one person. I won’t be held responsible if things keep going on the way they have.”

Harry mentally backed up and examined the situation and Q’s attitude, and finally sighed. “All right, I’ll talk to her. I don’t know how much good it will do; she can be incredibly stubborn when she gets the bit in her teeth and she knows she’s right.”

“If anyone can do it, you can, Chief,” Q said encouragingly. “You did get her to say yes, didn’t you?”

Harry just snickered. “I don’t know if I convinced her to say yes, or she convinced me to pop the question; then again, which of us do? I’ll talk to her, but don’t expect miracles.” After all, he hadn’t been able to really win an argument with Hermione since they were in first year, why should now be any different?

~~~~~

At the sound of someone knocking at his office door, Big Bad stuffed the latest pile of reports into one of his desk drawers, glanced around to make sure that no signs of his currently distracted nature were evident, and then called, “Come!”

The door swung inward and S.U.C.K.R. slunk into the room, his posture a clear warning of his news. “No luck, yet?” Big Bad asked anyway; the forms must be observed, after all.

“Not sure,” his intelligence officer admitted. “I hadn’t realized how much we’d come to depend on the Ravenclaw Sisterhood, and now that Granger has been invited to be an honorary member, she’s off limits. We’ve even lost our agent inside Potter’s office as a result.” At his superior’s quirked eyebrow he elaborated, “She was rewarded for her earlier work with a sponsorship. I’m assuming she’s still reporting to them, but we’ve been cut off.” He looked at the supreme commander of T.I.C.K.L.E. expectantly. “I’m guessing your efforts with Narcissa went no better?”

Big Bad sighed. “You guess correctly. All she would say was that with Potter happy and Granger grateful, her reasons for getting involved were eliminated. She also suggested we make do as best we can and return to business as usual.”

“And are we? Going back to ‘business as usual’?” his spy asked, eliciting a snort from his superior.

“Of course not; we’re Dark wizards, it’s against our charter to behave ourselves. Now, what about a subcontractor? Any progress there?”

S.U.C.K.R. shrugged, not meeting Big Bad’s eyes. “No more than we expected, at least at first. All the homegrown teams passed, and a few were downright offensive about it. Steed, for example, was extremely rude in an old-school sort of way, and I think Mrs. Peel was considering sharpening the claws of her catsuit – on me. Hyde said he had to wait for his partner to make a decision, and then of course Jekyl said he had to wait until Hyde was there to respond. And Moriarty said he had too much of his own work to do, and suggested I try a seven per cent solution, whatever that is.” He glanced through the rest of the report, and then tossed the whole thing in the dustbin, which munched away quite happily. “It’s the same all across Britain, B.B. None of the local talent wants to disrupt the current status quo; even those who know the peace is only temporary prefer it to the alternatives.”

Big Bad had picked up on the qualifier. “You said, ‘at first’?”

“Well, when all the domestic options tapped out, I sent out feelers to our affiliates on the Continent. For a while it looked like we were going to draw a blank there, too; cunning masterminds seem to be like aurors, never one around when you want one. However, we finally received word back from the Venice organization. Seems they have a freelancer who’s done some good work for them in the past, and he’s available, for the right price.”

“Money’s no object, if he does the job. What’s the bloke’s name?”

“Scarabus, Doctor Niccolo Scarabus.”

~~~~~

All righty, there’s intro. As I said, don’t expect chapters to come out at the rate they did for Mindgames. That was the result of a rabid plot bunny; this is my way of relaxing when writer’s block keeps me away from my other project. If you like it, keep an eye out and I’ll update every week or so, faster if the mood strikes. With the great response to Cupidity, this one has a lot to live up to…TTFN!

Fenris

P.S. – I have become a review junkie, feel free to support my habit…

2. And it begins

Of Wolves and Ravens

by FenrisWolf

Disclaimer – I don’t own anything, J. K. Rowling does – damn it.

~~~~~

Chapter Two

~~~~~

“Doctor Scarabus, so good of you to come,” Big Bad said unctuously. This fellow might be their last chance; it wouldn’t hurt to butter the old boy up a bit.

The elderly wizard smiled graciously, settling into the proffered chair as if it were a throne. “Thank you, though in all honesty I must say that the retainer your agents tendered to me made it difficult to resist,” he replied, his black eyes twinkling from beneath his heavy eyebrows.

The chief wizard of T.I.C.K.L.E. felt the velvety texture of Scarabus’s voice wash over him like a balm, and for some reason was reminded of a favorite uncle who used to read children’s stories to him as a lad. Mentally he shook himself, and brought his attention back to his gently smiling guest. ‘If the spell he can cast with mere words is any indication of his power, he just may be able to do the job’, he mused. To Scarabus he said, “Did our agents fill you in on the nature of the contract we wish you to undertake?”

“Only in the most general of terms,” the white-haired wizard replied, his clean-shaven face smiling and friendly. “You are concerned that events you set in motion have slipped beyond your control, and wish to make certain that your interests are not…adversely impacted…by the results. Is that essentially correct?”

Big Bad was amazed; Scarabus’s ability to describe T.I.C.K.L.E.’s predicament in concise terms without once admitting that he was in fact being asked to undermine the happiness of the world’s most powerful wizard was mesmerizing. Still, better to be sure they understood one another. “That’s it, more or less. Now, we don’t necessarily want to see anyone get hurt, we just don’t want to be hurt ourselves. If you can arrange our safety without sabotaging what we accomplished, so much the better.”

Scarabus nodded, steepling his fingers as his deep-set eyes grew serious. “Yes, I do believe I see your difficulty. Still there are ways to approach this that you may not have considered; sometimes it takes a viewpoint from outside the problem to see the solution.” He removed his yarmulke-like wizard’s cap and scratched his head, disarranging the neatly bowl-cut white locks as he did so.

“If I do accept this task, I must have complete freedom of operation; no one looking over my shoulder, no one questioning my methods.” He smiled to ease the sting of his words as Big Bad frowned. “It is no reflection on your organization, I assure you; I have lived to the ripe age of 160 by keeping my own counsel and protecting my secrets. As for the effectiveness of my methods, well, one does not live as long as I without making enemies, but I am here and they are not.”

The head of T.I.C.K.L.E. recognized the truth of his guest’s words, but another question occurred to him. “If you operate in this manner, how will we arrange payment in a way that is mutually agreeable?”

At this Scarabus negligently waved a hand. “It is a matter of little import. I will need a small fund for operating expenses, and the balance of my fee may be placed in an escrow account at Gringotts, its release dependent on the satisfactory conclusion of my task.”

Big Bad blinked in surprise. “Aren’t you concerned that you might be cheated?”

Scarabus shrugged. “Not particularly; for some reason, very few people feel the urge to try and deny me what is rightfully mine. Your pardon,” he said abruptly, and made a small gesture with his hand. Instantly a platter holding two goblets and a chilled decanter appeared on the desk. “I find that negotiations often leave me parched. Pumpkin juice?”

The crimelord shook his head and swallowed nervously at the casual display of wandless magic. He didn’t know which idea was more disturbing, that Scarabus had Summoned the platter right through the wards that supposedly protected the premises, or that he had conjured the items out of thin air without the use of a wand. Either way, the ease with which it was done spoke of tremendous power. No, Scarabus probably didn’t have to worry too much about someone cheating him…

~~~~~

Narcissa made her way across the floor of the restaurant and towards the bar, struggling to resist the urge to tug on the hem of her extremely short skirt. Hermione had gone with her to pick it out, and while she knew rationally that what she was wearing was perfectly acceptable among Muggles, by Wizarding custom she was practically naked. The deep red silk barely reached mid-thigh, for Circe’s sake, and the skin tight waist and scoop neckline made it abundantly clear that marriage and childbirth had had absolutely no effect on her figure, other than to perhaps give a slightly more womanly roundness to her hips and breasts than in her Hogwarts’ days.

Still, she had to admit that it was strangely liberating to put aside the all-enveloping robes that were considered appropriate evening wear for a respectable woman in the Wizarding world. Certainly the reactions of the Muggle males were gratifyingly appreciative, and she smirked as one girl gave her escort holy hell for looking at someone else besides his date.

She scanned the bar, looking for a particular head of salt-and-pepper hair, and tried to hide the hint of nervousness she felt at venturing wholly into the Muggle world. It wasn’t completely alien to her; there were any number of establishments that blurred the lines between the two sides, but in most cases the Muggle appearances were camouflage, wizards and witches playing dress-up and emulating their peculiar neighbors. But Remus’s condition and the attitudes of Wizarding society towards it meant that he had spent a fair amount of his life living wholly as a Muggle, and he was comfortable there, so much so that he wanted to share it with her.

Narcissa finally spotted the person she was looking for, and she chuckled evilly as she beheld the results of the compromise she’d demanded before agreeing to meet Remus for a Muggle date. If she was going to have to dress the part, then by Merlin so was he, and that included doing something about that roughly chopped, shaggy mess that he called his hair. He didn’t have Harry’s excuse of rogue accidental magic to fob it off on, just a lack of concern for his appearance and the absence of the funds to do something about it. Well, neither of those excuses was going to wash anymore, and she’d called him on it.

At her insistence he’d made an appointment with her favorite stylist, Raoul, and the results were nothing short of phenomenal. Instead of the overlong mass that always looked as if he just hacked it off with a pair of shears whenever it became annoying, his hair was now neatly trimmed, with just enough styling gel to give it control without looking artificial. At his temples it was swept back, taking full advantage of the streaks of grey that made him look distinguished, while at the same time exposing what she thought was one of his sexier features, the slight pointing of his ears that was a side effect of his lycanthropy. On top and in the back his hair was long enough for its natural waviness to emerge, and Raoul had added some highlights to blend the streaks of grey into the whole in an appealing manner.

All in all Narcissa thought he looked incredible, and from the looks some of the unattached Muggle women were giving him, she wasn’t the only one to feel that way. She was suddenly reminded of something Hermione had told her, how she was constantly having to restrain herself from running her finger’s through Harry’s messy black locks, and looking at Lupin, she could finally sympathize with the younger woman.

She paused for just an instant to appreciate his outfit; low heeled black ankle boots (he was quite tall enough without artificial lifts, thank you), a pair of black leather pants she loved to see him wear, especially on those occasions when she happened to be walking behind him, and a long sleeved cambric shirt of deep forest green with a collar that accentuated his broad shoulders, and open just enough at the throat to show a touch of the thick mat of soft, grey hair that covered his chest. She shivered as the memory of how that hair had felt against her skin, and smiled. Yes, Muggle clothes definitely suited him…

A moment later she was standing beside him, the small smile still playing about her lips as he completely ignored the trashy brunette who was trying to chat him up. She suppressed the urge to let her smile turn into a smirk as the bar tart stomped off in a huff. “You look incredible, Narcissa,” Remus said, his eyes travelling appreciatively over what her dress revealed, and his expression displayed a hint of the hunger that thrilled her.

She felt a slight blush climb her cheeks, and wondered once again how it was he was able to slip through her defenses so easily. “Thank you,” she replied, her eyes deliberately lingering on his new hairstyle. “You look pretty good yourself. Didn’t I tell you Raoul was a genius?”

It was his turn to blush, a phenomenon she found endlessly amusing, especially now that she could see it extending to the tips of his ears. He took a sip of the frothy white concoction sitting before him, grimacing slightly at its taste. “First time I saw myself in a mirror, I thought I was looking at Gilderoy Lockheart,” he muttered.

“Well, I think it’s perfect,” she declared, allowing her impulse free reign as she quickly ruffled the top. He laughed and batted at her hand, but she slipped aside and reached for his glass. “Whatever are you drinking?” she asked, taking a sip of the sweet, coconutty mixture.

“Something Harry suggested when I told him where we were meeting,” Remus answered, his tone slightly puzzled. “He said that if I was going to play to the cliché, I should do it properly.”

Narcissa thought about it for a second, but finally shrugged. She had no idea why dinner at Trader Vic’s should be a cliché, but there were so many oddities about Muggle culture, it wasn’t at all unusual not to catch one. “What’s this called?” she asked as she took a second sip, and almost sprayed the mouthful across his face when he replied, “A Pina Colada.”

She struggled to keep from laughing, but refused to clue her date in on the mystery, much to his annoyance. She’d had no idea that Harry possessed such a wicked sense of humor; perhaps it was a side effect of his recent foray into happiness. Still smiling, she took her date’s arm as he escorted her into dinner, her steps bouncing to the catchy song that now kept playing over and over again in her head…

~~~~~

Draco threw the investigator’s report on the floor in a fit of pique, the sheets of parchment vomiting out of the folder in a cream-colored wave. Bad enough that his mother was lowering herself by cavorting with someone the Wizarding community didn’t even accept as being wholly human, but now he was seducing her into enjoying Muggle society. If word got out that a Malfoy (he refused to acknowledge her name change back to Black) was actually partaking of Muggle culture, and worse, liking it, he would be a laughingstock.

What made matters even more unbearable was the limited number of options he had for dealing with the situation. He could bluster and bellow all he wanted, but he might as well try and stop an avalanche with his tongue as convince his mother to change her course of action once her mind was made up. Trying to use force to convince her was even more pointless, and carried a significant risk as well; he’d tried to cast the Cruciatus curse on her just once, and had given it up as a lost cause when she told him to stop tickling her. Imperio had been an even worse disaster; she’d reversed it on him, and not only had he squawked like a peahen for days, she’d served him the eggs he’d laid for breakfast…no, the use of magic against his mother was right out.

That left getting rid of Lupin as the only option, and that wasn’t a particularly attractive idea, either. Not that he felt any qualms about putting down the mangy cur, far from it, but even he recognized that taking personal action might prove hazardous to his health. Draco was under no illusions as to how much protection from her wrath Narcissa’s dubious maternal instincts might grant him, especially when measured against how happy her little affair seemed to be making her. But even if he managed to avoid having his mother decide to retroactively terminate her pregnancy, there was still the matter of Lupin’s family, specifically his in-all-but-name nephew, Harry Potter.

Potter. Merlin, how he hated that name. It wasn’t fair that such a plebian sounding patronymic should be attached to someone so powerful. Merlin Ambrosius, Taliesin, even Albus Dumbledore, those were names that rolled off the tongue and resonated with strength, but Potter? Even Draco’s gardener had a more imposing sounding name. And Harry, for god’s sake! Not a decent Alexander, or Caesar, or even Harold! Just plain old Harry Potter, the most powerful wizard in the world…

No, if he wanted Lupin out of his perfectly groomed, bottled blond hair, he’d have to be subtle. Another mark against the blighter, he HATED being subtle. Oh well… “Booger!” he shouted.

“Yes, Master Malfoy, sir?” a high-pitched voice responded from the area behind his knees.

“Gah! How many times do I have to tell you, appear where I can see you?” Draco snapped at the Malfoys’ sole remaining house elf.

“Booger is very sorry, Master Malfoy, sir; Booger will try to remember, but Booger is very busy, and sometimes Booger forgets—”

“All right, all right, I get the point,” Draco said testily. “Booger, I have a job for you, a very important job. So important I want you to drop all the other jobs I’ve given you in order to complete it.”

Booger’s face brightened. “Booger can stop polishing the insides of the chamberpots with his face? Thank you, Master Malfoy, sir!”

Draco blinked; he’d told the house elf to do that when he was seven, he’d no idea the disgusting little creature was still obeying that order. Still, that did explain the aroma that seemed to follow him everywhere… “Yes, Booger, you can stop. I need you to talk to all the other house elves, the ones who serve the right kinds of people. I need you to find out a name for me, the name of someone new to Britain who is of interest to me. Ask about someone brought here to do special work, the kind that no one talks too much about.” There’d been a rumor floating around the brothels that someone had imported a new, powerful hit wizard into the country. Draco needed to know if that was true, and if so, what his name was so he could contact him about a possible sub-contract.

Booger’s head was bobbing up and down, his ugly face (as if house elves had any other kind) split by a huge grin. Not only was he off chamberpot duty, he was going to get to travel all over Britain on his new job. There were a LOT of house elves in Britain, and Booger would have to talk to them all. Of course, house elves had much faster ways of sharing information, what one knew they all could know if they wished, but Master had said talk, so talk he would. Sooner or later one of his fellow slaves would mention the name Scarabus, and then he could tell Master what he wanted to know…

~~~~~

That’s it for Chapter Two. Anybody recognize our new villain yet? I’ve tried to be as clear as I could…a box of chocolate-covered Snozzberries to the first person who guesses…thanks to everyone who fed my review habit, I am a happy review junkie…

3. Time for a talk

Of Wolves and Ravens

by FenrisWolf

Disclaimer – I don’t own anything, J. K. Rowling does – damn it.

~~~~~

Chapter Three

~~~~~

“Hermione, I’m home! Are you decent?” It was a fair question; ever since their little adventure on the St. Tropez beach, the two of them had fallen into a game of ‘Who can shock who?’ all planned with, or so Hermione claimed, the intention of keeping their attitudes flexible for their upcoming honeymoon. Harry didn’t know about how flexible their attitudes were, but a day didn’t go by that he didn’t thank the Hundred Little Gods for Hermione’s newly revealed obsession with yoga…

“I’m in the kitchen, Harry!” Hermione called back. For the time being they were both calling Hermione’s apartment home; Harry’s ‘pad’, while comfortable enough, was fairly limited in its amenities, and for the sake of her library alone it made far more sense for him to move than to shift Hermione’s things. Besides, it wasn’t as if Harry hadn’t been picking up half of the rent on her place all along, a little tidbit of information that had been the focus of their first major fight post getting together.

Harry had spent an uncomfortable week sleeping on the couch until she cooled down, but once she did, that was the end of it. Actually, considering how strong-willed they both were, there had been very little friction involved in the transition from best friends to lovers. Well, that wasn’t precisely true, Harry thought with a smirk. There’d been lots of friction, but only in a good way, and besides, that’s what flavored massage oils were for.

Stopping briefly to hang up his cloak and neatly deposit his stack of scrolls in his office (learning to be less slovenly had gone a long way towards ensuring the continuance of good vs. bad friction), he followed the sounds of running water and clattering pans with a certain amount of dread. If the noise was any indication, his fiancée was feeling domestic again, which meant that he was going to have to manfully play guinea pig for one of her ‘experiments’.

As far as Harry was concerned, any doubt that the Master Planner of the Universe had a perverse sense of humor was dispelled the first time he sat down to a Hermione-cooked meal. Nothing else could explain the unarguable fact that, of all the sources and materials in all the reference libraries in the world, the one type of book from which Hermione Granger was incapable of absorbing knowledge was a cookbook.

Nor did personal instruction seem to make a difference; he knew from listening to Ron’s tales of woe in the past that Molly Weasley had attempted on several occasions to take Hermione under her culinary wing, in the hope that she might be able to prepare a few of her son’s favorite dishes. Mrs. Weasley’s skills with domestic charms were legendary, and while she might use magic to replicate some of the more common laborsaving devices, the actual preparation of the food was as Muggle as it came. She claimed it tasted better that way. Unfortunately Hermione had no better luck under private tutelage than she did with a book in her hand, and after Ron’s desperate pleas for mercy, Molly gave it up as a lost cause.

Now that didn’t mean that anyone sitting down at Hermione’s table faced a choice between starvation and food poisoning, far from it. So long as the preparation was done solely by charms or transfiguration, Hermione could ‘cook’ a meal to put a House Elf Master Chef to shame. But take away her wand and put a measuring spoon in her hand, and all bets were off. That didn’t keep her from trying, and one of the few downsides to their new intimacy was that Harry was no longer allowed to duck and cover when she found that new recipe that surely would turn out better this time.

Harry sighed as the sight of piled ingredients, bubbling pots and simmering pans confirmed his worst fears. Hermione stood next to the stove, one hand busily stirring a large kettle while the other hand supported the open book she was studying intently. Her hair was held away from her neck by an oversized plastic clip, and she was in one of her comfy loafing-around-the-house outfits comprised of a pair of soft, baggy sweatpants that hung low on her hips, and one of his old Muggle tee shirts, a little worn and frayed and around two sizes too big for her, which was fine by Harry. He never understood the preference for tight-fitting clothing some men voiced, loose garments made it far easier to go exploring during a really good snog session…

“Dinner should be ready in about half an hour, Harry,” Hermione said brightly, not turning away from her work. She carefully set the cookbook down and, stretching up on her toes, grabbed a jar from the collection of spices on the top shelf of the cabinet. Three precise shakes into the pot she was stirring later the jar was returned to its place, and another step had been completed without mishap.

Harry resisted the urge to come up behind her and devour her neck, never a good idea around someone working with pans filled with scalding hot concoctions, and especially not when the cook was as disaster-prone as his girlfriend. Instead he snagged a bottle of butterbeer from the cooler and took a seat on the far side of the kitchen table, close enough to watch her but far enough away that there should be no way he could unwittingly trigger an accident. “So, what’s for dinner tonight?” he asked casually, hoping to get a feel for just how strong a stomach remedy he was likely to need later.

“Fettuccini Alfredo with oyster sauce,” she replied absently, and then continued before he could speak. “And yes, I remembered to take the oysters out of their shells this time, and yes, I checked the expiration dates on all the dairy products, and yes, I checked the pasta for weevils, and yes, I copied all the measuring abbreviations out in longhand…anything else?”

Harry chuckled as she catalogued all the things that had contributed to earlier disasters and smiled. “No, love, not a word. I know you’re far too stubborn to give up on this; you’ll keep trying until you succeed.”

A small smile played around her lips and she glanced at him before returning to her work. “No whinging, Mr. Potter, you knew very well what you were getting, the good and the bad, when you seduced me.”

“Far more good than bad, Ms. Granger, and just who seduced whom? I seem to vaguely recall someone else’s robe hitting the floor before mine did…I could be mistaken, of course; I believe I was suffering a severe shortage of blood flow to my brain right about then…”

She laughed and threw him a saucy wink over her shoulder before returning to her work, and he grinned. Lord, she was stubborn! A small frown briefly crossed his features; her stubbornness was part of what made her so special, but every once in a while there was a backlash. Her culinary disasters were just one example; the early days of S.P.E.W. and the piles of rejected knitted hats had been another, and the developing problems with Q still another. Atrocious cuisine he would consume out of love, the flaws with her crusade for House Elf Rights had been resolved, and as for the latest problem, they would talk it out like they always did.

Finally reaching a point where she could safely turn away for a minute, Hermione grabbed her own bottle of butterbeer and perched on the chair opposite Harry. “So, how was your day?” she asked, her eyes bright. Yes, they’d talk, Harry thought as he returned her smile, but not until later in the evening. Right now the moment belonged to the two of them, friends and lovers who had found each other at last, and the rest of the world could go screw itself…

~~~~~

After dinner they sat in front of the fire, relaxing and enjoying each other’s company. Much to his surprise (though he’d never admit it, he valued his skin) the meal had been quite good. True, the noodles had been a bit starchy, the oysters a bit rubbery and the sauce a bit thin, but no worse than many a Muggle restaurant served on a daily basis. It might not have been anything that any self-respecting house elf would serve to a master, but it was far better than many a Muggle newlywed ever saw, and Harry was properly appreciative. It seemed that, here at least, Hermione’s stubbornness was paying off.

Elsewhere, unfortunately, was a different matter. “Hermione?”

“Hmmmm?” she replied, snuggling closer. They were fast approaching the ‘dessert’ portion of the evening, and if he wanted to keep his wits about him, he’d have to start talking before she…too late. Her lips were on his neck and her hands were wandering towards interesting places, but with a tremendous burst of willpower he managed to arrest the proceedings. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

“Right now?” she pouted. “And I was just thinking about trying out for Seeker again…”

Harry felt his brain try to seize up but manfully fought his way back to coherence. “We can hold tryouts for as many positions as you’d like…later,” he said firmly, disentangling himself. “Hermione, this is important.”

She huffed and rolled her eyes before sitting up straight. “Oh, all right, I guess I knew this was coming,” she replied. “This is about what happened in the Research department, isn’t it? I suppose Q came to see you?”

“Did you expect anything less? According to him, Rosencrantz and Gildenstern are ready to walk out in protest over your interference with their work.”

She just snorted. “That type always does the martyr to science act well,” she said. “I wonder if Creative Histrionics is a required course at Uni when you go for your doctorate?” She smiled and patted his arm. “Don’t worry, Harry, those two will never quit on their own…not that it wouldn’t be better for everyone if they did.”

“What do you mean?”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, her gaze ducking away for a second. “Harry, do you trust me?”

He stared at her, amazed and just a little insulted that she would ask. “That’s a hell of thing to say; of course I trust you! I’d trust you with my life, you know that!”

“Then will you promise me that what I’m about to tell you will stay between us, no matter what?” she pressed, her eyes searching his.

Harry opened his mouth to toss off a flippant answer, and then realized how serious she was. He paused and gave the question the serious consideration that she deserved. Finally he answered, choosing his words carefully. “I promise that I will not reveal what you tell me to anyone else, unless by keeping silent I run the risk of causing someone else harm, and I promise that if I do come to that decision, I will tell you first before I speak to anyone. Fair enough?”

Hermione thought about his words for a moment, and then nodded. “I can live with that; thank you, Harry.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “You know I’ve been exploring job opportunities at the Ministry, seeing which openings best suited my talents?”

Harry nodded; the various departmental headhunters had gone into a feeding frenzy when she sent in her application. Hermione’s reputation had only grown since their days at Hogwarts, and the various divisions were all vying for the coup of having Hermione Granger’s name on their masthead.

“Well, obviously I want to work where I can accomplish the most good, so I started researching the mission statements of the different divisions.” At this point Hermione’s tone shifted to one of incredulous disgust. “Harry, the bureaucracy within the government is—is—unbelievable! I know, that sounds silly coming from a Muggle background, but honestly, Muggle government is a shining example of efficiency compared to the way wizards run things.”

She paused and went to her desk, coming back with a stack of folders over a foot tall, each one filled to bursting with reams of paper. “What’s all this, then?” Harry asked.

Hermione set them down with a small oof and frowned. “These are the prospectus I compiled on the different divisions, trying to work out the organizational charts and how the various responsibilities of overseeing the Wizarding world are divided. In the 500 years since the Ministries were established, it’s all become rather convoluted. And then there’s this,” she said, lifting the top folder, which only seemed to hold a single sheet of paper.

“What’s that?” Harry asked, curious.

“This is all I could find out about the Unspeakables by going though channels,” she replied, holding up the paper for Harry to read. On it were four words, written in plain, block letters: ‘MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS’.

Her fiancé frowned as he turned the single sheet of parchment over in his hands. “Damnit, I told them—sorry, Hermione, I specifically told all my subordinates that you had been given full clearance. As soon as I get in tomorrow, I’ll collect a few heads and see about getting you the records you requested.”

“Um…don’t bother.” If anything, she seemed even more nervous.

“Excuse me? My subordinates defy a direct order and you tell me ‘don’t bother’?” he asked, his eyes widening.

“Oh, well, of course you want to straighten your people out; you’re right, they shouldn’t be allowed to think they can get away with something like this. What I meant was, don’t bother with the records. I already have them.” She rose and left the room, returning a few minutes later with a large, leatherbound volume. She sat down next to Harry, the book in her lap, and Harry noted that a large circular design was embossed into the cover.

It took a few seconds to make sense of it; three figures were interlaced in the old Viking ‘gripping beast’ style, each one taking up one-third of the pattern. After a bit of work he recognized wings, beaks, and talons, and a nagging suspicion formed in the back of his mind. “Hermione, those wouldn’t be…ravens, would they?”

She sighed. “Yes, they are, and to answer your next question, yes, it came from the Sisterhood.”

Harry felt a bit of a headache coming on. His feelings about the Ravenclaw Sisterhood were mixed, to say the least. As the head of the Unspeakables, he was required to regard any large, efficient, and only quasi-legal secret organization with all due suspicion. As just Harry Potter, he knew he owed them a debt of gratitude he could never repay for the wonderful woman who even now seated next to him with a look of concern on her face.

Then there were the other complicating factors to consider. Due in part to their efforts on his behalf, his best mate was now married to a Sister (and deliriously happy), his unofficial uncle and the closest thing he had to family was dating a Sister, and his fiancée was becoming close friends with the same.

Harry looked at the book again and rubbed his temples, trying to reach some decision. If, as he suspected, that book was a prospectus of the inner workings of the Unspeakables, then the Sisterhood represented a major security risk, which he should correct. It was common knowledge in the Intelligence departments that the Ravenclaws kept tabs on such things, but it was more or less overlooked because they were usually extremely circumspect about with whom they shared their knowledge. Letting such a book out of their possession represented a major change in their normal methods. Clearly, he needed more information… “Can you tell me how you came to have that?” he asked, keeping his tone neutral.

Seeing that he was still willing to listen, Hermione relaxed just a bit before answering. “A couple of months ago I was having lunch with Narcissa, and I told her about the stonewalling I was getting from some parts of the Ministry. I was really just blowing off steam, I’d planned on talking to you that evening about it, but she asked me to give her a couple of days to see what she could come up with though her sources.” She shrugged. “I figured it couldn’t hurt to see what she managed, and if it kept you from having to play the heavy with the people you have to work with, so much the better.

“That weekend she Flooed me and asked me to meet her via portkey. When I arrived I found myself at a large manor house; I’m not certain where, other than somewhere on the coast, as I could smell the ocean. There was a meeting of the Sisterhood’s Inner Council going on, and I had been invited so they could ask me a question.”

“What did they want to know?”

Hermione looked a bit puzzled. “They wanted to know what the Sorting Hat said to me when I was Sorted, whether it had said anything beyond putting me in Gryffindor. When I told them the hat had suggested that I’d do well in Ravenclaw, but that I insisted on being placed in Gryffindor, some of them became excited. Narcissa asked me to wait outside, and a few minutes later they called me in and offered me an Honorary Sisterhood.”

“Which you accepted.”

“Which I accepted,” she admitted. “Harry, it’s not what you think; I haven’t sworn some sort of blood oath or become a Ravenclaw version of a Death Eater, I just promised to treat with them as honorably as they treated with me. And Harry, they do have a lot to offer. That book was just one example, they specialize in gathering and collating information.”

Harry sighed. “Hermione, I won’t pretend I’m thrilled with this, because I’m not, but it’s not my place to tell what or what not to do. Just…be careful, please? I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

She smiled and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Harry, I don’t want anything to happen to me, either. Besides, Narcissa is watching out for me.”

“Not the greatest of confidence builders, there,” he said drily, and she punched him lightly in the arm.

“You know perfectly well how much we already owe her,” she scolded, “and Remus adores her. She’s really very nice, once you get past the prickly defenses she uses to keep people at bay.”

“I know, I know,” he relented. “It’s just that every so often the little fact that she’s Draco Malfoy’s mother rears up and bites me on the nose. Silly of me, I guess.”

“Not silly, Harry,” Hermione disagreed, “and it might help you to know that Narcissa probably is even less happy about their connection than you are. I think she considers Draco to be a lost cause, and if it’s one thing I’ve learned about her the last few months, is that she hates to fail at anything.”

“Yeah, that does help a little,” he admitted. “All right, no more Inquisition about your involvement with the Sisterhood, and unless something happens to suggest they present a threat, I won’t ask for any details about your contacts with them. That being said, can we move on to what Q was talking about?”

“Well, let’s see…you know I’ve been vetting the various departments, we talked about that earlier. One of the things that bothered me was, in addition to the basic inefficiency of the way things are organized, there also seemed to be a lot of funds flowing into the Ministry, much more than the penurious salaries they pay would account for. So I did a little checking, and discovered case after case of large amounts of funds being allocated for research, with very little to show for it. And once a program gets rolling, there doesn’t appear to be any kind of oversight in place to terminate it when it’s no longer useful. Would you believe there’s still a study group investigating the feasibility of disguising wands as buggy whip handles?”

“You’re joking!”

“I wish I was; and Harry, it’s even worse in your division.”

“I get the feeling I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear,” he replied, his expression darkening.

“And you’d be right,” she agreed. “The Unspeakables receive more funding on a per capita basis than any other division, but the average pay is a good 25% below the rest of the Ministry. All those funds have to going somewhere, and thanks to the Sisterhood, I now know where it is.”

“Let me guess; Rosencrantz and Gildenstern?”

“They’re two of the worst, but they’re not the only offenders. The only research departments you have that actually seem to produce results in keeping with their expenditures are those overseen directly by Q. There are at least a dozen others that he’s in charge of on paper, but that are autonomous to the point of absurdity. They don’t even have to tell him what they’re working on, just file annual requests for funds along with a deposition that their work is ‘progressing’.”

“Wonderful,” Harry muttered. “So how did you find out—?”

“Harry…” she said warningly.

“Sorry, conditioned reflex,” he apologized. “Instead of how, can you tell me what you found out? Like, what the Shakespeare Twins are working on?”

Hermione took a deep breath. “According to the papers I received, they’re working on a project designed to, and I quote, “explore the possibilities of expanding the boundaries of theoretical transfiguration and charms formulae based on flaws determined to be preexisting within accepted Ptolemaic Theory.’ End quote.”

“Huh?”

His fiancée chuckled. “Sorry, I forgot you haven’t had any training in translating Egghead. What they claim to be working on is a whole new branch of magical theory based on the discovery of a significant flaw in existing scientific theory. The potential advances in would be extraordinary, and would revolutionize magic as we know it.”

“But that’s fantastic, Hermione!” Harry said, feeling excited at the prospect, before his thought processes caught up with his emotions. “All right, drop the other shoe.” She tried to give him an innocent look, but he just snorted. “If that’s all there was to it, you wouldn’t have gone off on them, and Q wouldn’t have been hammering on my door. What’s the catch?”

“Well, there is one thing…it can’t work.” She grinned as he looked at her in shock. “Zero. Nada. Zilch. And what’s more, they know it can’t work, and have known from day one.”

You’re sure about this?” he asked.

“Pretty sure,” she replied. “You see, the whole system they’re talking about is built on one concept that was postulated by a very small group of wizards in the 1400s, that there was a small flaw in Ptolemy’s original work.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. He knew that tone from their days at Hogwarts, when Hermione would pull out some small tidbit of knowledge that would like as not prove he and Ron had wasted hours on three or four feet of homework that would now have to be done from scratch. He hadn’t enjoyed it then, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to enjoy it now. “All right, I’ll bite; what was this small flaw?”

“Oh that; just that the Earth isn’t really round, it’s flat.”

“WHAT!?!”

~~~~~

AUTHOR’S NOTE: We have a winner! blif00 correctly identified the origins of the inspiration for Doctor Scarabus, and wins the chocolate covered snozzberries…

Kind of an awkward place to break, but I wanted to post this tonight, and it was stop here or go on for another thousand words. More to come, I promise!

4. Decisions, decisions

Of Wolves and Ravens

by FenrisWolf

Disclaimer – I don’t own anything, J. K. Rowling does – damn it.

~~~~~

Chapter Four

~~~~~

“Oh that; just that the Earth isn’t really round, it’s flat.”

“WHAT!?!”

~~~~~

The various division chiefs and their underlings looked around the meeting room nervously; it was the first time in close to a decade that any of them could recall such a complete meeting being held, with not only the head of each division present, but the heads of their various and sundry projects as well. It made quite an imposing group, and most of the people present were a bit stunned by the evidence of the bureaucracy that was overwhelming the Unspeakables Department.

What made some of the more entrenched parchment pushers nervous were the barely repressed expressions of glee on a few of the people present. The gadfly commonly known as ‘Q’ was the most obvious about it, but some of the others who were known to rail about the ‘dead wood in the department’ were also showing signs of thinly veiled mirth. Clearly, something was about to happen, and by the prickling many of them felt on the backs of their necks, it wasn’t going to be good.

The double doors of the room slammed open and the Head of the Unspeakables Department walked, no, strode through, the heavy material of his robes swirling about him. Instead of his usual attire, he was wearing the official uniform of his office, the one he was known to wear on only three occasions; when attending formal Ministry functions, when testifying before a court…and when witnessing executions. A few of the brighter people in the room caught the symbolism, and those with guilty consciences swallowed nervously. Chief Unspeakable Potter was in a Bad Mood, and when that happened, unpleasant events usually followed.

Harry came to a stop at the head of the table; his icy gaze pinioning his subordinates in their seats, and without preamble began to speak. “Two weeks ago, information critical to the smooth, efficient operation of this department was brought to my attention, information which I have since confirmed though independent means. Apparently I have been too focused on threats from outside my department to become aware of the rot that is threatening it from within. That is about to change.”

Harry’s glare made more than one person squirm as he continued. “Some people seem to have come to the conclusion that a research position is a cushy sinecure where an unending stream of Galleons flows in, and nothing of any worth needs to flow out. As a result of this attitude, far too many of the people who are out on the front lines, risking life and limb to protect the Wizarding community, are struggling to make ends meet and support their families. This is also going to change.

“The rot is going to be eliminated, and the dead wood pruned, even if I have to personally wield an axe to do it.”

He took a deep breath to calm himself, and then opened the folder that had been waiting on his desk. “Three days ago I met with the Wizengamot in closed session to explain my concerns and suggest a solution, a solution which was, after some debate, accepted by a majority of the members.

“As you should all be aware, the Wizengamot is ultimately the body responsible for the allocation of funding to the various departments. Prior to this they have relied on an honor system and the integrity of the various department heads to prevent corruption and abuse. The Wizarding community places great store in personal honor, due in no small part to the power we individually wield. Unfortunately, as the Muggle saying goes, ‘power corrupts’. The evidence I was able to place before them convinced them that the honor system was no longer feasible.

“As a result of the Wizengamot’s deliberations, a new department has been created specifically to oversee how allocated funds are being disbursed, to ferret out cases of gross negligence, fraud and embezzlement of Ministry funds—”

Suddenly a voice exploded from the end of the table. “This is an outrage! How dare you cast aspersions on our integrity!”

A second voice hissed at the first. “Gildenstern, shut up!”

“I will not shut up!” Harry’s eyes tracked down to the end of the table where a portly wizard with graying hair and a florid complexion was glaring at him in a manner that reminded him eerily of Vernon Dursley. “We all know what this is really about, don’t we? That little chit of Potter’s stuck her nose in where it wasn’t wanted and got her knuckles rapped for her troubles, and now she’s looking for some payback! Got her boyfriend to drum up some impressive sounding nonsense so she could crack the whip over us.” People on either side of the choleric wizard were backing out of the potential blast area, but he didn’t seem to notice as he continued his tirade. “Lucius was right, can’t trust a one of them to do what’s proper, stupid, jumped-up Mud—”

RIBBIT.

Harry cleared his throat to attract the room’s occupants’ attention, most of who were staring with varying degrees of horror at the Giant African frog with the leprous grey skin that now squatted in the chair previously occupied by the blustering wizard. “I normally dislike doing that, but I wanted to finish my opening remarks before opening the table to debate. Once I finish my statement, I will return Mr. Rosencrantz to his—yes?” he asked sharply as a hand was tentatively raised.

“Um, I’m Rosencrantz: he’s Gildenstern,” a short, mousy looking wizard said timorously, one hand gesturing vaguely at his colleague, who was even then snapping at flies.

Harry just shrugged. “Whatever,” he said casually. “Now, as I was saying, a new Auditing department has been created. It is comprised of a team of Auditors who will perform the actual investigations, and a coordinator who will direct their activities. Allow me to present the new Chief Coordinator, Ms. Hermione Granger.”

Large, slimy amphibian or no, there were more than a few dark looks and mutters directed at the young woman who entered the room to stand calmly at Harry’s side. He gave everyone a few moments to get over his or her initial reactions, and then spoke. “Ms. Granger is well aware that there will be questions raised as to her suitability for this position, as well as the circumstances by which she obtained it. Consequently, she has asked to speak to you today as, as per my request, the Unspeakables will be the first department to face a full Audit.”

The whispers and looks slowly settled down as Harry took his seat and Hermione continued to stand. Finally the room stilled and she said, “Most of you know who I am, either through personal contact or by reputation. As such, I am not even going to dignify Mr. Gildenstern’s accusations with a response. What I am here to do is to tell you what to expect from my department, and what your options are.

“First of all, I, personally, will not be conducting any of the audits. I freely admit that I do not as of yet have sufficient knowledge of Wizarding accounting and banking procedures to conduct a fair, rapid and accurate audit of a section’s financial dealings. My skills lie in examining the parameters of each section and department’s mission statements for signs of potential problems, at which point the Auditing teams will step in. They will report any evidence of mismanagement and abuse to me, and I in turn will refer such cases to the Wizengamot along with my recommendations for the appropriate actions. Questions?”

She nodded at Harry, and the obnoxious frog returned to its even more obnoxious original form. Unfortunately for Gildenstern, he did so in the middle of swallowing a particularly large and annoying bluebottle fly, and the wizard looked a little green at the sensation of buzzing wings traveled down his now human throat.

Someone cleared their throat, and Hermione directed her attention to where Q was now standing. Unlike many of his colleagues, he was delighted by the idea of the Auditors, but he wanted a few matters cleared up as well. As such, his tone was anything but confrontational when he asked, “Ms. Granger, who exactly will be conducting the audits being run by your department?”

“I’m glad you asked, Q. Obviously we need people who are familiar with all aspects of Wizarding finance, both legal and illegal. With that im mind I requested and received permission to hire Auditors from Gringotts Bank on Diagon Alley.”

The room was momentarily stunned. “You hired Goblins to investigate wizards?” someone finally squeaked.

“No, I hired professionals with the necessary skills to perform their jobs quickly and efficiently. What comprised their ethnic background was irrelevant, as it had no bearing on their jobs,” Hermione declared, her tone brooking no argument.

Mutters and whispers ran around the table again for a few minutes. When they died down, another department head spoke up. “McSwain here; Procurements. What sort of appeals process is in place? We don’t have to automatically accept the findings of the audit, do we?”

“Of course not, the right of appeal is guaranteed in the Auditing Department’s charter.” she gave them a few seconds to digest that, and then added, “However, I will also tell you that any appeal will be testified to under Veritaserum, and the rules against self-incrimination will not apply. Any criminal activity, on either side, that is revealed during the appeals process will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the Wizengamot’s powers.”

There were a few more questions and some dark muttering, but the majority of the people present were actually decent, hard-working wizards and witches who were more than a little tired of seeing the occasional bad apple getting away with murder. None of them were terribly thrilled with the idea of having goblins sniffing around their work, but most felt it was a small price to pay for weeding out the culls.

Most, but not all. “So, Chief Coordinator Granger,” a sneering voice drawled, “I suppose my colleague and I are going to be the first to be audited, purely by happenstance?”

Harry saw the expression on his fiancée’s face and leaned back with a smirk. This should be fun…

“Why, no, Mr. Gildenstern—”

“I’m Rosencrantz, he’s Gildenstern,” the former frog grated, spitting out a bit of wing that had lodged between his teeth. “And it’s Research Fellow, not Mister.”

“No, actually, as of 9am, it’s ‘Mister’, and if Rita Skeeter has her way, by this time tomorrow it may as well be ‘Mud’,” Hermione replied with an evil gleam in her eyes.

“What do you mean?” the wizard blustered, as nervousness began to claw at him. “What does Skeeter have to do with this?”

“Why, she happened to be canvassing the Wizengamot when I presented my case for the Auditor’s Department. They were all quite fascinated to hear how you had spent 5 years and half a million galleons attempting to prove, for the sake of your theories, that Ptolemy was wrong and the Earth is really flat.”

The rest of the room roared with laughter as the two mortified wizards squawked. When the noise died down, Harry stood as Hermione sat. “You two are through. By order of the Wizengamot you are sacked, and your ‘research’ is terminated. You will find your personal effects boxed and waiting for you in the lobby. As Ms. Granger indicated, you may of course file an appeal, but I’d advise against it. As it stands, all you are losing is your cushy jobs, but if what I suspect is true comes out under Veritaserum, well, just because the dementors are gone doesn’t mean Azkaban has become a seaside resort.”

Rosencrantz and Gildenstern rose to their feet and stalked from the room, their expressions wooden as they avoided everyone’s eyes. Harry noted that while Q and those like him seemed pleased by the turn of events, there were a few like the departing pair who looked extremely put out, and were glaring daggers at his fiancée. ‘This is not going to be pretty,’ he thought grimly.

~~~~~

“Harry, it’s going to be all right,” Hermione said, and he noted a hint of exasperation creeping into her tone as she tried once again to allay his concerns. “I’m a big girl now, I know what I’m getting into.”

“It’s not that, Mione,” Harry sighed. “I’m not upset because I think you haven’t thought through what could happen, I’m upset because you got dragged into doing this at all.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, a puzzled frown on her face.

“It was bad enough when you gave up a job you loved at Stonehenge so you could join the Ministry, just so you could be closer to me—no, don’t deny it; I’m not being bigheaded, you told me yourself that was one of the reasons you turned in your notice to Stonehenge. I didn’t object because I knew that you’d thought about working there before, and that with the resources the Ministry had to offer you could do fantastic things. And I’ll admit to being selfish enough to want the woman I loved working nearer to me so I could sneak into her office for a lunchtime shag every so often.” He grinned wickedly at her as she blushed, but then his expression turned serious again.

“This, though…Hermione, you hate bureaucracy, I don’t know how many times I listened to you bitch about the hoops you had to jump through at Stonehenge just to get the resources you needed to do your job. Now you’ve volunteered to head a department of nothing but parchment pushers, devoted to overseeing other parchment pushers and funding artists?” Harry saw the stubborn set of her jaw and winced; this was turning out to be a harder sell than he’d thought. “That’s not for you, I know that’s not why you worked so hard during Hogwarts. I don’t care how screwed up they are, the Ministry can go hang before I let you give up your dreams. They aren’t worth it!”

Hermione took in Harry’s earnest expression and cocked her head as she asked, “Is it my turn now?” At his nod she continued, “First of all, Harry, I know you’re trying to do your Protect Hermione thing, and while it’s very sweet, it can be a bit annoying. Or don’t you think I have the right to make my own decisions?”

“Erm…” Harry said intelligently, knowing instinctively that this was one of those questions women always asked that no man could ever answer correctly.

“Never mind,” she said, letting him off the hook. “The point is, I know exactly what I’m doing. Would I rather be doing research on charms, transfiguration, even potions, than this? Of course I would! But the way things are now, I’d never derive any pleasure from it. Oh, I could manage it; my time at Stonehenge was good training for that if nothing else, but how much satisfaction would I have, knowing the mess everything was in, and knowing that I could have done something to correct it, but did nothing? Especially since I have a resource available to me that most don’t?”

A green flame torch flashed to life behind Harry’s eyes (A/N: sorry, couldn’t resist…). “The Sisterhood?”

“Exactly. They helped me with the Unspeakables; I think they’ll help me again. They hate this sort of thing even more than I do, if that’s possible.” She smiled and her voice took on an odd tone. “The struggle against the Dark is more than grand victories and carting Death Eaters off to Azkaban, Harry. It’s also the thousand little battles that are fought each and every day as people choose between doing what is right and what is expedient. I choose to do what’s right.”

He peered at her suspiciously. “When did you start channeling Dumbledore?” he asked, unable to resist looking for the tell tale twinkle.

Hermione laughed. “Ever since he retired as headmaster he’s popped out at the oddest moments,” she admitted, her eyes—dammit!—twinkling at him.

“Well, it’s damned creepy,” he grumbled. Bad enough to have the image of Ron and Luna together burned into his brain without imagining looking down at Hermione in the throes of passion and—gah!

She just laughed and kissed him soundly. “Please don’t worry, Harry, I do know what I’m doing, honestly. And it’s not like I have to dedicate my life to this. Six months, a year at the outside, and I’ll have the Department running smoothly enough to hand the job off to someone else and get back to my real work.”

Harry sighed inwardly; damn the woman was stubborn, not that this was any real surprise to him. Once her mind was made up, nothing short of an Apocalypse was likely to change it, and for some reason those had been confined to Southern California in recent years. But just because she was determined to follow through on her plan (which he grudgingly admitted was a good one), didn’t mean he was going to drop his guard. If Rosencrantz and Gildenstern were any indication, there were going to be some very upset academicians over the course of the next year, and some of them made the average Death Eater look like a cute and fluffy bunny by comparison. If she was determined to lead this crusade, he would be watching her back and making sure no one tried to turn her into another Jean D’Arc. He preferred his fiancée remained soft and inviting, not black and crispy, thank you very much. Speaking of which…

“All right, love, we’ll do it your way,” he agreed, wrapping his arms around her for a hug. Suddenly he swept her off her feet and flung her over his shoulder, and then headed for their bedroom at a jog. “H-a-a-r-r-y!” Hermione squealed as his name was jolted out of her.

“”Me Potter, you Jane,” he corrected in his best caveman voice. “Time to shag like monkeys!” Her throaty laughter echoed down the hall as they proceeded to seal the end of their argument in their favorite manner.

~~~~~

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I know, not much action, and not as much humor as I like, but I’m still setting the stage and waiting for everyone to tell me what the hell’s going on. I just found out a couple of old friends are coming back from their vacation in the Alps just in time to help out…well, you’ll see.

Reviews are the crunchy goodness in the smooth and creamy peanut butter of my life. Please help me stick my tongue to the roof of my mouth…

5. Fun in the Sun

Of Wolves and Ravens

by FenrisWolf

Disclaimer – I don’t own anything, J. K. Rowling does – damn it.

~~~~~

Chapter Five

~~~~~

Bounce.

Bounce.

Bounce.

SPROING…

Remus watched with admiration as his lover performed a perfect jackknife and entered the water with hardly a ripple. He’d been more than a bit surprised when she showed him the regulation Olympic swimming/diving pool that was hidden away behind Malfoy Manor, but as usual she’d had a perfectly logical, rational answer for its presence.

“I know very well that most wizards frown on exercise as being something that Muggles do, but just because we live longer doesn’t mean we enjoy better health,” she’d explained after he first saw her in the water. “Swimming happens to be one of the most effective forms of exercise, providing a workout for the whole body while causing the least amount of wear and tear to the system.” Then her eyes had developed that wicked gleam he was learning to appreciate. “Of course, there’s one other form of workout that’s even better, but until recently I didn’t have access to the proper…exercise equipment.” That remark had led to some interesting moments exploring the wonders of cardiopulmonary stimulation, as well as an appreciation of a Muggle invention called a Jacuzzi.

And speaking of appreciation; some might have considered the simple, one-piece suit Narcissa wore almost dowdy, but it fit her like a second skin and he had absolutely no difficulty in picturing what lay beneath it. A stray fragment of a lecture delivered by Professor McGonagall during his school days surfaced in his thoughts. “Be aware, students, that successful transfiguration hinges on your ability to completely and accurately visualize the intended results; the clearer your visualization, the greater your chances of succeeding.”

“Thank Merlin for Creative Visualization,” he breathed as the lithe, athletic, and gloriously wet figure of the woman he suspected he was more than a little in love with climbed the ladder, her face alight with a happy smile that had less and less of a smirk every time he saw her. He thought he was finally becoming accustomed to the idea of actually being involved with someone, but every so often the realization that the person in question was one Narcissa Black, the former Mrs. Malfoy, came as a surprise to him.

Then again, that he was relaxing within the precincts of Malfoy Manor at all was something of a surprise, considering how strongly Draco felt about the ‘cur’ dating his mother. Oh, he’d been there before, but usually he Apparated directly to and from Narcissa’s private rooms, without ever seeing the rest of the house so as to avoid any unfortunate encounters with her son. This time it was different; apparently the unpleasant young man was off for a couple weeks attending to some sort of ‘personal business’, which left the huge, sprawling edifice empty save for its sole remaining house elf and of course Narcissa herself. That was an opportunity that was just too good to waste, and her son had been gone for less than an hour when a slightly harassed-looking werewolf with perfect, if graying hair appeared courtesy of a portkey made from a cobalt blue margarita glass…

~~~~~

“Thank you for agreeing, Remus,” she said as they separated from her welcoming kiss, surprising herself with the almost shy tone that was in her voice. “I know it was awfully short notice, but Draco only told me he was leaving a few hours ago. He leaves the manor so seldom these days, I didn’t know the next time we’d have a chance to spend some time together here.”

“It’s not the short notice that’s bothering me, Narcissa,” he replied, trying to set her mind at ease. “Things are rather slow at the Ministry right now, so my superior was happy to let me use up some of my accrued leave time. Unfortunately, once my superior was done agreeing, my ‘nephew’, who happens to share the same body as my superior, had to grill me about where his ‘Uncle Remus’ was off to in such a rush.” He ran an aggravated hand through his hair, tousling it in a manner that made Narcissa’s fingers twitch with the need to refamiliarize themselves with its silky texture. Her attention returned to his words as he asked plaintively, “Did you have to make the portkey out of a glass with the Malfoy crest etched on it? Harry didn’t stop grinning the entire time I was in his office.”

Narcissa chuckled throatily and distracted her lover by letting her hands give in to their impulse. They worked their way through his thick hair and to his neck, where they scratched at the base of his skull. Remus’s eyes half closed at her ministrations and an odd sound, something between a growl and a purr that was more felt than heard, vibrated in his chest. The first time she heard/felt that sound it had made her knees weak and her knickers damp, and this time was no exception. “Do you really wish I hadn’t sent you that portkey?” she asked, her body molding itself to his as she felt the other sign of his reaction pressing against her stomach.

“That all depends,” he rumbled, his eyes flickering golden for a moment before he buried his lips against her neck.

“Depends…on…on what?” she asked a little breathlessly.

“On just how far it is to your bedroom in this huge pile of masonry,” he replied, scooping her up in his arms.

As it turned out, it wasn’t far at all.

~~~~~

That had been three days ago, three days of companionable togetherness interspersed with really great sex. Now the weekend was upon them, and unbeknownst to Lupin Narcissa had another little surprise lined up.

As her heart rate lowered and the world came back into focus around her, she noted from the position of the sun overhead that it was approaching noon, and regretfully disentangled herself from her lover’s arms. Climbing nimbly from the Jacuzzi (and uttering a surprisingly girlish squeak when Remus swatted her firm ass) she picked up her fluffy, terrycloth robe from where it had been warming in the sunlight and slipped it on, studiously ignoring the very realistic wolf call coming from the vicinity of the hot tub. “You might want to consider climbing out and slipping into something a bit less comfortable, dear,” she said, glancing archly over her shoulder.

“Now why would I want to do that?” Remus asked lazily, his arms draped across the edge of the tub as the water swirled and frothed around his naked form. “I’m quite comfortable right where I am.”

“Maybe because some of us don’t want the sight of your hairy backside burned into our brains,” another voice replied. Remus’s head snapped around, his eyes widening at the sight of his ‘nephew’ standing at the glass doors leading into the manor.

Muttering an oath about certain people’s senses of humor, he scrambled out of the Jacuzzi and lunged for his robe, flinching at the sound of an appreciative whistle and a feminine squeak coming from the direction of the manor. With the robe safely belted and his shredded dignity once more intact, Remus turned to glare as Harry and Hermione approached, him with a grin and her with a blush, and then groaned inwardly as he spotted Ginny Weasley bringing up the rear, an appreciative smirk on her face. “Looking good, Professor!” she called.

“All right, what are you lot doing here?” he mock-growled, his arms crossed in what he hoped was an intimidating manner, but Harry just shrugged.

“No idea; I was informed a couple of days ago by my better half that we had plans for the weekend, and that barring a return of Moldie Shorts, I had better be there.” He smirked as his fiancée huffed slightly.

“Actually, Harry,” she clarified, “what I said was that we had to be there, and that if Riddle popped back up I expected you to stuff him back under his rock in record time so that we wouldn’t be late. Honestly!”

Remus turned his attention to his girlfriend and lifted an eyebrow. “Narcissa? Care to enlighten a befuddled old werewolf?”

Narcissa’s head emerged from the towel she was using to wring the excess water from her hair and snorted. “If you’re old, Remus, I shudder to think what it would have been like if we had…um…gotten together while we were in school. I would have had a hard time explaining to Professor Flitwick why one of his students couldn’t walk on a regular basis.” She smiled evilly at his blush and Ginny’s bray of laughter, and heard Harry mutter to Hermione, “That really was too much information…”

“The reason?” Remus asked again, refusing to be distracted.

Narcissa smiled, her hand caressing his cheek affectionately. “Sorry, my dear, I couldn’t resist. As to why we’re here, well, I know it’s a couple of weeks early, but I thought we all might like to celebrate our mutual first year’s anniversary together.” ‘And this way, if these two dense males have forgotten, their memories will have been effectively jogged before the fact,’ she thought to herself smugly.

Her suspicions were confirmed by the puzzled look on her boyfriend’s face, though it was obvious by Harry’s expression that he’d made the connection. “St. Tropez?” was all he said, and she nodded.

“Very good, Harry; it’s been a year since Hermione went on her vacation and you followed her. And while our meeting wasn’t quite as…volatile…as yours and Hermione’s, that’s when Remus and I started seeing each other as well.” She noted Ginny’s puzzled look as Harry and Hermione both blushed furiously. “The somewhat garbled reports I’d received had me thinking that my plans to get these two together were falling apart. I was just about to knock on Harry’s door at what would have been a very awkward moment when Remus interrupted me.”

“Oh…OH!” Ginny replied, a lascivious grin on her face. “Y’know, Hermione, you never did give me any juicy details about that first time. Ready to spill yet?”

“From what I could hear through the silencing charms, I’d say that question would have better been asked of Harry,” Remus drawled, determined to get the younger man back for his earlier teasing. His efforts were rewarded when Hermione hid behind her hair with an eep and Harry turned bright red.

“If we’re all quite through bantering each other into the ground, what are our plans for the day?” Harry asked when he felt he could trust his voice again. “It’s too nice a day to be cooped up inside.”

“Well, we could always have a backyard barbecue,” Hermione suggested, to the puzzled looks of three of the people present. “You know, steaks and corn on the cob on the grill, ice tea and potato salad…?” She continued to get blank looks from Narcissa and Ginny, though it looked like Remus might have some idea what she was talking about. “Harry? You don’t mind doing the cooking, do you?”

Her fiancé snorted. “Who do you think had grill duty at the Durlseys?” he asked in return. “These poor sods don’t know what they’ve missed; shall we show them?”

Narcissa cleared her throat. “Excuse me, but what are you on about?” she asked.

Remus replied before Harry could speak. “It’s all right, I think I know what they’re talking about. It’s a Muggle way of preparing food in the summertime, though I think it’s more popular in the Colonies than it is here. It involves preparing as much of the food as possible over an open fire, preferably with heavy spices to cover the occasionally charred taste of the meal.”

Harry sniffed. “I’ll have you know that any charring done will be intentional, and will only enhance the flavors. Mione, do you want to take care of the drinks and side dishes while I do the grill?”

“Certainly, Harry. Narcissa, where do you want me to set up the table?”

Their hostess was coming back nicely, though she was clearly still a bit mystified by the whole thing. “If I understand you two correctly, the grassy area by the croquet pitch should be fine,” she replied, gesturing towards a shady patch of lawn beyond the pool.

“Perfect,” Harry agreed. “Let’s see now…” He glanced around, and then walked over to a large ornamental stone planter that was under an open patch of sky to one side of the lawn. A quick pass of his wand transformed the planter into a large barbecue made of red brick, large enough to easily handle a side of beef. “Hmmm, too much,” he muttered, quickly reducing it to more manageable proportions. Another pass filled the waiting bed with chunks of seasoned mesquite, and a whispered “Incendio” soon had them blazing merrily away.

Meanwhile Ginny and Narcissa watched bemusedly as Hermione conjured up a large trestle table with sturdy, padded benches. The table was quickly covered with a red-and-white checkered tablecloth, and a number of chilled pitchers and covered dishes quickly appeared. They listened as she muttered to herself: “Let’s see, iced tea, lemonade, pumpkin juice, pasta salad, potato salad, tossed greens, cheeses, biscuits, rolls…Harry! What exactly are you cooking?” she called, raising her voice. “I need to know what condiments we’ll need!”

Harry was busy checking the fire, making sure the bed of coals was spread evenly. “For our friends who’ve never had barbecue? Steaks of course; what kind I won’t know until I talk to my supplier.” He turned to the lady of the house. “Narcissa? Could I talk to your house elf for a moment?”

“Of course, Harry. Booger!” she called to the air, to be quickly rewarded by a loud crack. “Yes, mistress?” the little house elf asked.

“I believe Mister Potter has some questions for you, Booger,” she replied, pointing him towards her guest.

Harry nodded at the last remaining Malfoy elf. He didn’t look as downtrodden as Dobby had, but he was still wearing the obligatory pillowcase garment that all house elves used in lieu of real clothes. “Booger, could you contact Dobby and ask him to come to me here? I wouldn’t ask, but I need a favor.”

There was a loud crack as a familiar smiling figure appeared beside Booger. “Harry Potter has only to ask, and Dobby is glad to oblige, Harry Potter, sir!” Dobby said, his homely face split by a wide grin.

The years had wrought their own changes in the little elf. Aside from his evident happiness, the biggest change was in his clothing. It had taken a fair amount of time in the Restricted section, but once set on a course of action, Hermione was almost impossible to discourage, as Harry could attest. The dusty volume she’d finally located hadn’t been disturbed in centuries, as most wizards had little or no interest in the lives of the house elves prior to their enslavement.

Hermione, however, was interested, and in the book she’d found a description of the clothing worn by the elves prior to being forced to become House elves. The ensemble was very Medieval in appearance, not surprising considering it dated back over twelve hundred years. She’d transfigured some fabric into the required garments, and gifted Dobby with them on Boxing Day. He had gone through his usual emotional meltdown at the idea of anyone giving him a gift, but once that was past, had quickly accepted the outfit as the new uniform of his freedom.

Harry looked down at his odd friend and smiled. “Dobby, we’re having another barbecue. Think you could pop into the kitchens at Hogwarts and scrounge us up some nice, thick steaks, something suitable a group of hungry witches and wizards?” Dobby nodded and prepared to snap his fingers when Harry added, “And Dobby? Be sure to bring a few extra, and ask Winky if she’s busy. Least I can do is cook for you as well, if you’re supplying the meat.”

Dobby rolled his eyes at this further evidence of eccentric, unwizardly behavior, but he’d finally learned to accept that where such matters were concerned, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were a law unto themselves. He vanished with a pop, and Harry turned his gaze to his hostess.

“I hope you don’t mind me doing that; Dobby has made tremendous strides since breaking tradition and becoming a free elf, and I like to reinforce those changes whenever possible.”

Narcissa frowned, not in an angry manner, but deep in thought. “I’ll admit the idea of free elves makes me uncomfortable, not because of any feelings of superiority, but because of what history teaches us can happen when a horribly oppressed people regain their freedom. The wizarding world has its flaws, but it’s still my world and I don’t relish seeing it torn apart.

“However, breaking bread with two of your friends who happen to be house elves is hardly a harbinger of the Apocalypse, so no, I don’t mind all that much.

~~~~~

In the end, the arrangements turned out to be far less stressful for all concerned. Dobby indeed returned with Winky, but the insecure little house elf was in no way prepared to sit down with her ‘masters’ in a social setting. At Narcissa’s suggestion, Dobby conjured an elf-sized replica of the picnic table out of sight of the one the wizards would use and then ordered Booger to entertain his guests.

Some time later, the meal having gone off without a hitch, Harry sat in one of the chairs by the pool and watched appreciatively as Narcissa, once again clad in the one-piece suit she preferred, showed a swimsuit-clad Hermione and Ginny (though not as scanty ones as those they’d worn at St. Tropez) the finer points of diving. A slight frown crossed his features as his gaze locked on Hermione’s trim form on the low board. “Sickle for your thoughts?” Remus’s voice asked, and he turned his attention to the older wizard. Seeing his old professor in a pair of surfer shorts and a Hawaiian shirt was a bit of an outré experience, but the look suited him.

“Hermione’s new job,” he admitted, and Remus’s frown matched his.

“I thought she was making great progress,” he said, his own gaze travelling to the young woman standing at the tip of the board while Ginny called out encouragement. “All the people I’ve talked to at the Ministry have been thrilled with what she’s accomplished in such a short time.”

“It’s not the ones at the Ministry I’m worried about, it’s the ones who are no longer there thanks to her work,” Harry explained.

“Has she been receiving threats?”

“That’s what worries me; she hasn’t,” Harry explained, smiling faintly at his friend’s disbelieving look. “Look, we both know she’s stepped on a lot of toes and ruffled more than a few feathers on this job. Whether anyone acted on them or not, there should have been some sort of reaction from the ones who got sacked. A few of them, like that first pair, Rosencrantz and Gildenstern, didn’t just lose their jobs, they saw their reputations destroyed as well. But there have been no threats, no efforts to sabotage her work; hell, she hasn’t even received a Howler since the Wizengamot made her department official. That’s not natural. Someone is up to something, and I don’t like not knowing what it is.”

“So if I understand you correctly, the fact that there’s no sign that anyone is up to something is proof positive that someone is up to something?” Lupin asked incredulously.

“Yup.”

The older wizard shook his head. “Sounds to me like Mad-Eye’s ‘constant vigilance’ is getting to you, Harry; you’re getting paranoid.”

“In the words of the Sage, ‘Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you’,” Harry answered with a smirk, and then turned serious. “Just…keep your ears open, will you? Hermione only has three months to go until she hands the department over to its new chief, I don’t want anything happening to disrupt that.”

“All right, Harry,” Remus agreed. “I’ll put the word out, and I’ll talk to Narcissa; she can ask the Sisterhood to look into it as well. I take it you haven’t mentioned this to Hermione?”

“No, I didn’t want to worry her until I had something concrete; she’s busy enough right now not to be wasting her time calming my fears if I am being paranoid.”

A loud splash drew their attention to the pool, and Harry smiled and waved as his fiancée surfaced, a huge smile on her face. They watched appreciatively as Ginny performed a swan dive off the high board, and then Remus continued, “A piece of advice, Harry; you’ve come a long way, but you still have problems with sharing your concerns with those closest to you. You did the same thing in school when you were dealing with Voldemort; Hermione didn’t like it then, and now that you’re a couple, she’ll like it less now. Talk to her, Harry; even if nothing comes of your worries, she deserves to know.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably; he knew Remus was right, and that he needed to tell her what was bothering him. She’d already begun to pick up on it, and if he wasn’t careful she’d figure it out before he came clean. The resulting argument wouldn’t be pretty, especially since he’d already promised to stop hiding his feelings from her. “All right, Remus,” he sighed. “I’ll talk to her when we get home. If she’s going to bite my head off, I’d rather it happened in private.”

“Good,” Remus replied, relieved. “Now let’s enjoy the rest of the day; plenty of time for doom and gloom later.” He strolled over to the pool, scooped Narcissa up in his arms and then, laughing, jumped into the water with her as she shrieked.

Harry rose from his chair to join his friends and smiled, reflecting that his friend had the right idea. There would always be time for doom and gloom; the hard part was making time for the things that made putting up with the doom and gloom worth the effort. For now, he would take the old werewolf’s advice. “Carpe Diem,” he whispered, and dove into the water to take the woman he loved in his arms.

~~~~~

AUTHOR’S NOTE – Sorry it took me so long to update, but this story is being more difficult that I’d expected. Speaking of which, don’t expect the next chapter any time soon, as I’m having a hard time finding out just what Draco, Scarabus, and the Unofficial HP Fan Club are all up to…besides no good, that is. Thanks for the reviews, and for sticking with me on a bumpy ride…

6. The Plot(s) Thickens

Of Wolves and Ravens

by FenrisWolf

Disclaimer – I don’t own anything, J. K. Rowling does – damn it.

~~~~~

Chapter Six

~~~~~

Draco scowled at the piece of parchment in his hands, reading the directions for the fifth time in as many minutes, before turning and making his way up the garbage-strewn passageway that led behind the shops of Knockturn Alley. Things he was just as glad it was too dark to see clearly scuttled out of his path, and the noxious fumes of rotting organic matter wafted upward with every step he took. He gagged as something unusually ripe squished beneath the soles of his shoes, and he silently resolved to dispose of his entire outfit the moment he returned home. He wanted nothing around to remind him of the depths to which he’d sunk in pursuit of his goals.

Two sharp turns and a flight of rickety stairs later he was standing before a grime-encrusted door, any trace of its original color, or even material, buried under centuries of encrusted mold, dirt and soot. His lips writhing fastidiously, he raised one gloved hand and knocked in the prescribed pattern: tap-tappitytaptap, tap, tap.

It was only a matter of seconds until the door swung inward, surprising Draco with its silence. Apparently the door’s poor maintenance was cosmetic only, and he spotted the shine of freshly applied oil on the sturdy hinges and latch mechanism. The figure that opened the door was equally out of keeping with its surroundings; instead of the sort of bullyboy usually employed by people who conducted their business in the back ways of Knockturn, this fellow’s appearance was neat and clean, almost foppish, and he smiled and bowed unctuously as he beckoned Malfoy to enter.

Draco applied his best ‘I’m-a-Pureblood-and-my-shit-doesn’t-stink’ sneer to his face and followed his guide, his robes billowing in a poor imitation of his former Potions master’s style. As they moved away from the door the passage steadily became less malodorous, the signs of neglect and decay fading as they moved into the structure. By the time they reached the next door the surroundings had become quite pleasant, in a reeking-of-dark-magic sort of way. The servant smiled and nodded, directing his charge to pass through the mahogany portal.

The room Draco entered was extravagantly, if somewhat bizarrely decorated. The overlying motif seemed to be a cross between an Oriental opium den and a taxidermist’s nightmare, with the furnishings alternating haphazardly between the two. An overstuffed Victorian fainting couch with an overabundance of red fringe was sandwiched between a set of end tables fashioned out of a pair of Galapagos tortoises. The ubiquitous elephant leg umbrella stand was in one corner, but the unknown taxidermist had apparently subscribed to the ‘waste not, want not’ school of decorating, which meant that the rest of the elephant cropped up throughout the room, often in an extremely disturbing fashion. As if that weren’t enough to give one the shudders, the traditional tiger skin rug that normally held position before the hearth had been replaced by something with bristly hair and eight compound eyes. The rest of the room was adorned in similar fashion, with threatening bric-a-brac struggling to find room on every surface, often battling for position with the stuffed carcasses of unusual and outré animals from around the world, both magical and not.

All that was missing to make the room complete was a maniacal husband and his vaguely vampiric wife, or at least their seven-foot tall butler. Instead, the room’s sole occupant was a white-haired wizard with a clean-shaven face, ornate velvet robes and piercing black eyes. He was sitting in a large wingback chair, its chief structural support being the tusks of the aforementioned elephant, while its ‘wings’ were comprised of the beast’s well-tanned ears. All in all it was a truly horrid looking thing, yet its occupant appeared completely at ease. “So good of you to come, Master Malfoy,” he said, he voice warm and friendly.

“Doctor Scarabus?” Draco questioned. At the elderly wizard’s nod he continued. “You’re a difficult man to locate,” he said, his tone a bit petulant. “I’ve been trying to contact you for months.”

“It suited my plans to delay our meeting until certain other elements were in place,” Scarabus replied, his own tone not even remotely apologetic. “And before you ask, no, those elements need not concern you. They have no bearing on the reason you requested this meeting.”

“How do you know why I wanted to see you?” the younger wizard asked truculently.

“Come now, Master Malfoy, what sort of diabolical dark wizard would I be if I did not investigate my potential employers before meeting them? You do seek to employ me, do you not?” he asked, his eyes glittering beneath his heavy brows.

“Yes, I seek to employ you,” Draco replied through gritted teeth.

“There now, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Scarabus asked in a jovial manner that set Draco’s teeth further on edge. “Now then, I will need some facts; I understand your problem involves your mother’s current social life?”

“It involves the thing she insists on shagging every chance she gets, and her throwing in my face my inability to stop her!” Malfoy snarled viciously.

“Yes, that part did puzzle me a bit; after all, you are Master of Malfoy Manor, you could just throw her out if she refuses to behave—”

“I’m not the master,” Draco muttered.

“I’m sorry, what did you say? These old ears of mine…” Scarabus apologized.

“I said I’m not the master. My mother is still Mistress of the House.”

“Really? But surely, when you reached your majority, control of the house devolved on you. You’re what, 25 now?”

“I’m six.”

Scarabus blinked, and then shook his head. “I really must have my ears checked. It sounded like you said you were six years old.”

“Legally, I am. My birthday is February 29th.”

“Oh, dear…”

Wizarding law had a number of peculiarities due to its necessity of dealing with the magical aspects of various events. One of the places where this was most evident was in the way the law dealt with matters of legal majority. Because of things like Astrology, Numerology, and a bunch of other ologies too numerous to mention, a witch or wizard reached their majority not at their seventeenth year, but at their seventeenth birthday. Now in most cases that made little difference, but every four years a few wizards were unlucky enough to arrive on the twenty-ninth of February. Since their actual birthdays only came once every four years, as far as the law was concerned they ‘aged’ at one-quarter the speed of everyone else. It was considered very unlucky to be born on that particular day, and most witches did everything in their power to avoid delivering on such an inauspicious date. still, such births did happen, and apparently Draco’s was one of them.

Scarabus suddenly frowned. “Odd; by my reckoning that should make you several years younger or older than Harry Potter, shouldn’t it?”

The young wizard flushed. “Mother didn’t want to care for a child so soon after graduating, and neither did father. So they Moebiused me.”

“Ah.” It was a practice that had fallen out of favor in recent years, but in centuries past it was the custom for young pureblood couples to have their children early while they were healthy, and then raise them later. To accomplish this, the newborn was placed in a Moebius bottle, a sort of magical stasis chamber, to be ‘birthed’ at a later date when raising a child would be more convenient. Technically Draco would have two birthdays, the day he was actually born, and the day he was ‘decanted’ to begin his life. It was the sort of thing that gave inheritance solicitors nervous breakdowns, which was one of the reasons the practice had fallen out of favor as magical medical care improved.

Draco was now thin-lipped with frustration. “Mother and father never signed the documents necessary to make my decanting day my legal birthday. I know father thought it would make it easier to control me, and I suppose Mother feels the same way. She lets me run things as Master of the House, but where it comes to her own life, I have no power over her. That’s why I’ve come to you.”

“And what, exactly, am I to do? Do you wish me to convince your mother to give you your freedom?” Scarabus asked, one eyebrow arched.

Draco snorted. “No one convinces my mother to do anything she doesn’t want to do; even my father had to control her with a blend of Imperio curses and domination potions. Now that’s she’s free of him, she’s established wards and protections that will warn her the moment anyone tries to coerce her to do anything. No, I have another task for you.” He paused briefly for dramatic effect. “I want you to kill Remus Lupin.”

~~~~~

Draco made his way back out of Knockturn Alley’s twisted paths, feeling very pleased with himself. He’d found someone willing to risk Potter’s fury at having someone he considered family murdered; what’s more, the old wizard seemed to have no fear of Potter himself, so perhaps he might end up getting a two-for-one deal out of the situation.

Not that he could remember the exact terms of the deal…Draco paused for minute, feeling puzzled. He knew he’d agreed to something in return for Scarabus resolving his problems, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember just what he’d agreed to…or for that matter, what the old wizard had promised to do. He felt vaguely troubled about that for a moment, until a voice whispered to him that it didn’t really matter. The unfortunate situation of Narcissa Black cavorting in sin with Remus Lupin would be dealt with, of that he was sure…

~~~~~

Harry stalked down the corridor to his office, his face closed and shuttered in a manner that told those of his subordinates who knew him to keep the hell out of his way. Two more! Two more ex-researchers gone missing, and the pattern that was emerging was worrying him.

The auditing department’s pruning of the dead wood had been as brutal as it was efficient. Even the various division heads had been stunned by the number of what the Yanks would call ‘pork barrel projects’ that had been uncovered over the last few months. Hermione’s position as coordinator of the auditing teams had been even more demanding than she’d expected, to the point where Harry had offered and she’d reluctantly agreed to postpone their wedding, so as to relieve some of the pressure under which she was working. Of course in typical Hermione fashion the extra time had meant she’d worked twice as hard as before, in order to justify ‘disappointing’ Harry.

Finally, though, the end was in sight. Another three weeks and she’d be handing the department off to her second in command, of all people Percy Weasley. Harry had been skeptical when she told him she’d requested his transfer, but as usual she’d known exactly what she was doing. Percy had learned his lesson about forming his own opinions rather than parroting those of his superiors, and he’d been almost insanely grateful to be rescued from his dead end position in the Centaur Liaison Office. He’d settled in easily, and his stiff, formal manner actually made him an ideal wizard for dealing with the prickly goblins. Combined with his determination never to be played for a sucker again, Percy approached every job like a terrier with only one rat, and he was going to make damned sure that rat was dead before he let go.

No, neither Hermione nor Harry had any qualms about her replacement, which was going to make her transition to her new job far less stressful than it could have been. After months of comparing opportunities, staff and facilities, Hermione had settled on a research position at the Cures for Magical Maladies Department. An affiliate of St. Mungo’s, the CMMD’s focus was on those ailments that had plagued wizardkind for centuries beyond count. Things like Vampirism and Lycanthropy were only poorly understood, and only the most primitive of treatments had been developed for them.

Hermione’s ability to synthesize raw data and produce new approaches made her perfect for the job, and she’d approached the department head with the idea for a new research project. Harry didn’t know any of the details, as she’d said she wanted to surprise him, but the department director had seemed enthusiastic. If only they didn’t have this other business hanging over their heads…

To date, three score research wizards had been disciplined, reassigned or released, and already the changes in morale and productivity in the various divisions was marked. According to the reports, of the thirty who had actually been released from their positions, four had retired, eight had found similar jobs in the wizarding world’s version of the private sector, and four others had changed careers completely.

And twelve had vanished.

Harry sat down behind his desk and pulled out the list of missing wizards. Unsurprisingly, Rosencrantz and Gildenstern were at the top of the list, but there were other names now. Greengrass, Nott, Zabini, the list went on; all wizards steeped in learning and power, and everyone a Slytherin.

“I hate being right,” he muttered.

A knock sounded on the frame of his door. “Wotcher, Harry!” a familiar voice called.

Harry’s frown disappeared and a huge grin appeared in its place. “Tonks! When did you get back? And how was Romania?” he asked with a smirk.

Tonks gave an exaggerated shudder. “Just this morning, and don’t ask. Good thing I’m a metamorphmagus, or I’d be growing my hair back for a year!”

If possible, Harry’s grin grew wider. “Oh? Charlie’s dragons getting a bit frisky, were they?”

Tonks wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out at him. “Ha, ha, very funny; if I’d known he expected me to stay with him at that dratted camp of his, I never would have gone; I think one of the Hungarian Hornbacks was jealous of me!” She crossed to his desk and craned her neck to get a look at the parchment unrolled before him. “So what had you all worked up a minute ago? I haven’t your expression looking that black since before you and Hermione wised up. What is it, problems with the guest list?”

He looked at her blankly for a moment, and then made the connection. “If only it were that simple,” he snorted. He then proceeded to giver her an over view of his concerns, ending up by handing her the list.

Her sometimes flighty exterior notwithstanding, there was nothing wrong with Tonks’s skills as an Auror. The list of names was instantly recognizable; while none of the people on it had been Death Eaters themselves, many of them had had family members who were. Having the people on this list vanish from sight was not a good sign. “So, what are you going to do?” she asked at last, handing the list back.

“Besides trying to get Hermione to be more careful and watching her like a hawk? There’s not much I can do. None of these people have committed a crime; for all I know they could be together at a pity party on Pago Pago.”

“But you don’t believe that.”

“Not for one bloody second,” he admitted. “Someone is up to something, I can feel it, but without any activity to measure against, how do I know when and where to react?” He glared at the list, and Tonks flinched nervously as the parchment turned brown and started to smolder. “I hate being the reactive one, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Hermione doesn’t want me to know, but I can tell she’s worried about it, too.” The smouldering paper burst into flame and quickly reduced itself to ash, leaving a sooty residue on the top of Harry’s desk. “I just get so sick of all this shyte!” he snarled.

Tonks nodded, and reached out and gave one of his clenched fists a friendly squeeze. “You want me to see if I can find anything out?” she offered. “It’s been a while since I tried out some new faces; I could do a bit of pub crawling, see what’s being whispered…”

Harry looked up at her, his expression both guilty and hopeful. “Are you sure, Tonks? You still have another week’s leave due to you, I don’t want you selling yourself short…”

“Pfft!” she puffed, waving a hand. “With Charlie back at work and me here, I’d be bored to tears with nothing to do. Besides, I have a vested interest in making sure nothing happens to Hermione.” At Harry’s puzzled look she smirked. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to be someone’s bridesmaid? I’m the only person I know who can color coordinate her hair to her bridesmaid’s gown, no matter what color it is!”

Harry joined her in a brief laugh, and then sighed. “All right, Tonks, I’ll admit to being a lot happier knowing you’ll be looking around. Just…be careful, okay? I have a really bad feeling, like I know who’s behind all this, but I just can’t place them.”

“No worries, Harry, you know how careful I am,” Tonks replied, somewhat spoiling the effect by tripping over her own footprints in Harry’s thick carpeting.

Harry watched her pick herself up and make her way out of his office, her stride confident, and he sighed. “Yes, I know how careful you are, Tonks, I just hope you’re careful enough. I hope we all are.”

~~~~~

Blaise Zabini rapped the gavel smartly and intoned, “This meeting of the Unofficial Harry Potter Fan Club is now called to order.”

Actually, the true name of the group, coined by one of its founders, was the ‘Our-families-would-kill-us-if-they-knew-but-we’d-really-like-to-shag-his-brains-out Harry Potter Fan Club’, but that was too cumbersome for regular use. So the Secret Unofficial Harry Potter Fan Club was born. Some people might have considered the idea of a second such club a bit superfluous, but there was one huge difference: SUHPFC was comprised entirely of Slytherins, both current and former.

Blaise looked out at the gathering of glum faces and sighed. It wasn’t as if any of them had ever really had a shot at Harry; even setting aside house rivalries and the little matter of some of the Slytherins being Harry’s mortal enemies, there was the ultimate obstacle to Ultimate Harry-ness; Hermione Granger. She’d been smart enough to set her hooks into him before the Hogwarts Express reached Hogsmeade their first year, and Gryffindor or no, Blaise had to admire the way Granger had never let go. Even when she was involved with that Weasley (and no one could figure that one out!), she still kept Potter on a leash; Zabini rather admired her for that.

But so long as he’d stayed single, there was still a chance one of them might snag him. There’d been every sort of scheme, plot and machination hatched to bring that about, both in school and after. Barring that one incident with Cho Chang, all his attention had been focused on his bushy-haired friend, and the others hadn’t stood a chance.

The question was, what did they do now? With Harry and Hermione finally admitting they were crazy about each other and getting married, the chances of SUHPFC’s mission statement being fulfilled had gone from remote to nonexistent; hardly seemed to be a reason for meeting anymore. Of course, one could still dream…Blaise herself had any number of items whose performance characteristics were vastly improved by the visualization of a pair of intensely green eyes, not to mention the rest of the package…

She shook herself out of that particular fantasy and turned her attention back to the meeting. “As you all know, our last quarterly gathering was somewhat somber due to the news that became public just the week before. Unfortunately, there has been nothing reported to cast any doubts on the validity of those reports. Oh, and before I forget, Daphne, thank you for your devotion and hard work in producing the monthly update scrolls. I think I can safely say I’m saying I speak for all the members when I say we appreciate your efforts.”

Daphne nodded, accepting the praise as her due as any good Slytherin would. She opened her mouth to speak, but a strident voice interrupted her. “So, what are we going to do about her?” it asked.

“Do?” Blaise asked, shifting her gaze with a slight sneer to Pansy Parkinson. “I don’t quite understand your question, Pansy. If you’re suggesting we should somehow be interfering with their wedding, there’s nothing we can do, nor should we.”

Blaise frowned at Pansy’s angry splutter. She’d never understood why Parkinson had joined SUHPFC; her contempt for Harry had been universally accepted. Then she’d come back from a long weekend in Draco Malfoy’s company, walked up to Blaise and asked, “Where do I sign up?” while Draco glared daggers at her back. Blaise never did learn what happened that weekend, though hearing Pansy mutter about ‘wanting someone who didn’t think a cat o’nine tails was foreplay’ painted an image she could have well done without.

Parkinson had gotten her temper sufficiently under control to speak. “Are you serious? We’re actually going to let him pollute his bloodline further with another mudblood? Wasn’t it bad enough that his mother was one, without repeating the mistake?”

Blaise rolled her eyes, and noted with a bit of satisfaction that most of the other members were doing the same. “In case you missed the owl, Pansy, that whole line of Pureblood purity and perfection went out the window when Potter offed your precious Lord Voldemort—who was a half blood himself, if I recall correctly…”

“Lies! All lies! The Dark Lord was a god—”

“He was a goddamn pain in the arse!” Blaise snapped. “Now sit down and shut up so the rest of us can get on with things!” She glared at Pansy until she subsided and then, satisfied, continued to speak. “Now, barring insane notions of sabotage, are there any suggestions for what, if anything, we should do to show our support for them?” A hand appeared at the back of the room. “Yes…?”

“Artemis, Artemis Gordon,” the blond woman replied. “I know the perfect gift we can give them, all things considered.” At everyone’s (well almost everyone’s Parkinson was still sulking) expectant look, she continued. “We can help make sure the wedding takes place as planned, with no interruptions.”

Blaise frowned as a murmur ran around the room. “I take it you have a reason for thinking it might not go as planned?” she asked.

Artemis nodded. “I overheard my uncles, Rufio and Matthias, talking. Their brother has apparently brought in a hit wizard from Italy, specifically to break up the happy couple.”

“No!” “How terrible!” Those bastards!”

Blaise shushed the other Slytherin women and turned her attention back to Artemis. “Well, you’ve known about this the longest. I’m guessing you have a plan?”

The smile on Artemis’s face grew wicked. “As a matter of fact, I do…”

~~~~~

AUTHOR’S NOTES – Muahahaha! The Slytherin fan club just sort of snuck up on me; I certainly didn’t expect them to be helpful. Hope you enjoyed it, and more will follow soon!

7. Chapter Seven

Of Wolves and Ravens

by FenrisWolf

Disclaimer – I don’t own anything, J. K. Rowling does – damn it.

~~~~~

AUTHOR’S NOTE – Part I – Sorry about the long delay between updates, but a bad case of writer’s block leavened with a small dose of Real Life has been getting in the way.

This chapter is pretty much pure fluff, as the next one or two are likely to be, depending on how the inspiration strikes me. Speaking of which, there is a bit of smut this time around, nothing too hot and heavy, but enough to kick the rating up a little. Not normally something I write, as I’m not terribly good at it, but the plot bunny insisted…

~~~~~

Chapter Seven

~~~~~

Harry looked around at his cleared desk with satisfaction. It had taken a certain amount of Herculean effort, but he had finally cleared the backlog of files and reports waiting for his perusal, and for the fist time in what seemed like months, nothing was lurking in the ‘IN’ box, waiting to bite him on the arse. Now, if he could just make his escape before anything else happened…

He flinched as a knock came at his door, then visibly relaxed when his secretary entered without anything in her hands. “All set, Chief?” she asked. “Anything else you needed to tell me before you take off?”

Harry thought about it for a moment, and then shook his head. “Can’t think of anything, Trixie,” he replied. “You already have the instructions I wrote out, so unless something has cropped up that needs my attention…?”

Trixie shook her head firmly. “Nothing has, and I made it clear to the rest of the staff that nothing had better,” she said firmly. At Harry’s raised eyebrow she giggled. “I told them you needed this break, and if they couldn’t handle their jobs for a measly two weeks without you looking over their shoulders, maybe they were in the wrong line of work.”

Harry shook his head and chuckled resignedly. One of the few downsides to his fiancée’s aggressive work ethic was the way many of her female co-workers had begun modeling their attitudes after her. On the plus side, it had significantly improved the efficiency of the departments where they worked, but it had resulted in some…interesting clashes as witches who had accepted the wizarding world’s entrenched chauvinism began asserting themselves. “I’m sure that went across well,” he remarked drily.

Trixie flipped her hair in an airy fashion that was very much her own, and then answered in a tone that was eerily like Hermione’s, “Well, if they can’t handle it, maybe they should be doing something else.”

Harry laughed again, holding up his hands. “Pax, pax! So I take it I can leave as planned?”

“Any time you’re ready, Chief,” she said firmly. “We’ll hold down the fort, you go have fun!”

“Thanks, I intend to do just that,” he smirked, and with a slight pop Apparated to his home.

~~~~~

The sound of the front door opening and closing pulled him from his efforts in the bedroom. “Finished at last?” he asked at the sight of his tired fiancée collapsed on the couch.

“Finally!” she agreed, doing the unheard of and kicking off her shoes in order to prop her feet up on the coffee table. “I don’t know who’s fussier about protocol, goblins or Percy. He just had to have the head of each auditing team in to speak to him personally and accept the changeover, and of course they all had to make little speeches accepting the change, which all sounded the same. I thought I’d go mad!”

Harry chuckled and sat down beside her, pulling her legs into his lap and eliciting a moan as he began to massage her feet. “But you’re through with them? The changeover is complete and Percy is in charge?”

“Oh…umm…yes, everything’s in…oh, gods, don’t stop…order, Percy has the auOH!” she cried as he hit a particularly sensitive knot. She continued to make whimpering noises as his hands worked their way up her calves, digging into the pressure points and releasing the tension. As tight as her muscles were, he knew that the tensions of her last days on the job had been getting to her. He looked up and saw her watching his hands; her lower lip caught under her teeth, and grinned. Pausing in his ministrations he rose, laying her legs carefully on the couch. “Roll over,” he directed, and she eyed him warily.

“Harry, what do you have on your mind…” she asked.

“Nothing too dodgy, I promise you,” he said, smiling, and after a moment searching his face for any sign of his Marauder ancestry cropping up, she sighed and complied.

A moment later she eeped as the couch transfigured under her, raising and flattening itself out into a professional massage table. “Harry, what are you—?” she started, and then gasped as her clothes vanished, replaced by a sheet that was warmed to keep any chill off of her.

“Relax, Mione,” Harry directed, his hand summoning a bottle of massage oil from the bedroom. “You’re wound tighter than a harpstring, and one of the things we learned in Auror training was physical therapy. Just think of this as the first step in our vacation. You can hardly enjoy our time off if you’re wound up in knots.” He poured a generous dollop of oil into one palm, and then cupped his other hand over it, feeding a bit of magic into the confined space to warm the liquid. He then spread the heated oil across her shoulders, enjoying the contented sounds she made as his strong fingers worked the knots out of her tense muscles.

Hermione moaned as Harry’s thumbs dug into the sensitive pressure points along her shoulder blades, the sharp jolts of pain turning into pleasure as the knotted muscles and nerves relaxed. She felt herself melting as his talented fingers worked their way down to the small of her back, and as the tension drained away she felt the general feeling of exhaustion that had been plaguing her drain away with it, leaving behind it a languorous energy that tingled in the pit of her stomach before beginning to work its way outward.

Her back finished, Harry returned his attentions to her legs, starting once more at her feet and calves, the heated oil allowing him to do a more thorough job. As he worked his way upward he noticed that the moans she was making were changing, becoming less a matter of released pains, and much more a sign of increased pleasure. One particularly long sigh caused him to smile. “I take it you’re enjoying this?” he murmured, his hands working their way higher than any respectable masseur was likely to travel.

The sheet was bunched at her waist now, and a glistening layer of oil covered the magnificent perfection of her firm ass. She was almost humming as he kneaded the oil into her cheeks, and then gasped as one of his hands dipped between her legs to cup her nether lips. His fingers, already slick with oil, slid easily into her, delving into the moist heat he found waiting there. His other hand moved forward and cupped one of her breasts, the round globe cradling in his palm as his fingers spread their slickness across her hardened nipple. Her breath hitched, becoming ragged as his wand hand displayed the dexterity that had made Harry Gryffindor’s star seeker, stroking and tweaking the nub of her swollen clit. He leaned forward and trailed small bites down the oil-slick column of her neck, adding to her sensory overload. Within moments she arched her back and cried out, her fingers gripping the edge of the massage table as her orgasm tore through her, her vaginal muscles clamping painfully around his fingers as they continued to plunder her center.

When her vision cleared and her pulse steadied, Hermione rolled over on her back and looked up at the smirking face of her fiancé. “Not that I’m objecting,” she said, her voice still slightly unsteady, “but what was that all about?” The after shocks of the pleasure he’d just given her were still jangling along her nerves, and she shivered as his jade green eyes wandered over her nakedness, a hungry gleam growing in their depths.

His gaze returned to her face, and his smirk took on a decidedly smug cast as he answered, “You’ve been really wound up over the last couple of weeks getting everything put together for the changeover, and I couldn’t think of a faster way to relieve your…‘tensions’…than a good massage.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him, one hand reaching out to pull him a bit closer. “That went above and beyond the usual massage, Harry,” she pointed out rather needlessly. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you,” she added, pulling him close and covering his mouth with hers for a brief but passionate kiss.

When they came up for air Harry discovered his breathing was almost as ragged as his fiancée’s. Her eyes fixed on his, a hungry light flickering in their depths. “In fact, there’s only one thing wrong with this entire situation,” she continued, and he gasped as she leaned forward and nibbled at his earlobe before whispering, “I think you’re wearing entirely too many clothes…”

She gave a little shriek as he suddenly scooped her oil-slick body up off the table and turned towards their bedroom. “Brilliant deduction, Miss Granger,” he said with a smirk as he deposited her in the center of their bed and then stepped back. Pulling his wand, he pointed it at himself and muttered, “Divestus,” leaving himself gloriously naked before her burning gaze. “Now, let me see if I can come up with a reward to equal your brilliance.”

He climbed into bed with her, and very shortly his leanly muscled frame was almost as slick with oil as hers. She gasped as his lips wandered over the places his hands had caressed just minutes ago, and her last whispered comment before her rising passion and the feel of his rock-hard cock inside of her drove all coherent thought from her mind was, “Brilliant…”

~~~~~

Several hours later a smug Harry and a tired but smiling Hermione sat across from each other at the kitchen table, each picking at the light meal he’d prepared earlier and kept under preserving charms. Hermione chased a last bit of salad around her plate before asking, “So, are you still not telling me anything about where we’re going on our vacation? Aside from the fact that wherever it is, we’ll be sharing accommodations with Ron and Luna, not to mention Remus and Narcissa?”

“Nope, I don’t want to spoil the surprise; I can promise you that you’ll enjoy it, but that’s all,” Harry replied, his tone firm.

“That’s all very well,” Hermione answered, her tone becoming slightly acerbic, “but Luna, Narcissa and I need some idea where we’re going so we know what clothes to bring.” She sniffed at the sight of his somewhat tatty bathrobe. “You boys may be content with two robes and a change of underwear, but we girls actually like dressing appropriately for a given occasion.”

Harry put on an affronted expression. “Hey! This robe is a collector’s item!”

“Those are your old Quidditch robes, Harry,” she said patiently, “and while some of your more ardent fans might squeal at the thought of them, those of us not driven spare by your semi-divine nature can see them as the grotty old things they are.”

“‘Semi’-divine?” Harry asked, one eyebrow quirked.

“Yes, ‘Semi’,” Hermione replied with a smug air. “Any chance at convincing me of your true divinity was destroyed by your consistent failure to remember to put the toilet seat down in the loo.”

“Argh! Found out at last!” Harry cried out melodramatically. “The Power He Knows Not, improper bathroom etiquette! Poor Tom, if he’d only known…”

Hermione snorted. “Stop trying to change the subject. Are you going to at least give me a hint? Think carefully, your continued status as the Boy Who Lived may depend on your answer…” she finished, only half-joking.

Harry picked up on the underlying tone, and finally realized that she had a valid point. Hermione, Luna and especially Narcissa would not appreciate being put in a situation where they were expected to make do with whatever wardrobe happened to be handy, especially if their surroundings ended up calling for an outfit they owned and had been waiting for an opportunity to wear, only to have said outfit feeding the moths at home because they hadn’t known to pack it. And while neither Hermione nor Luna were the clotheshorses that Narcissa was, they both enjoyed getting dressed up on occasion, and would not feel kindly towards being denied the opportunity to do so properly if it occurred.

That being the case, Harry listened to his finely honed survival instincts and came up with an answer. “I’m still not giving away the surprise,” he said first, “but I will tell you this much; pack as if you were planning on going on another one of those bed-and-breakfast holidays you like so much, with stopovers in at least one or two major cities where you might go out for dinner and dancing, keeping in mind that it might be in the Wizarding world, or among Muggles. As for the climate…mmm, think of Scotland, or the Isle of Skye in the summer; warm days, cool nights, soft weather.”

Hermione’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Oh, now you really do have me curious! Are you sure you can’t give me any more hints?” she asked, giving him her best lost-little-kitten look.

“Nope, not another word,” he said firmly, though it took all his willpower to resist. “You know enough to be prepared, any more would spoil the surprise.”

“Hmph. Spoilsport,” Hermione grumbled, but Harry could tell her heart wasn’t in it. And even if it was, he knew that the surprise would be worth it. And once they were back from their vacation, they could finally get serious about planning that wedding…

~~~~~

Ron looked from perusing the Quidditch section of the Daily Prophet (he still remembered his shock when Harry told him Muggles divided their attention between half a dozen major sports and as many more minor ones; as far as he was concerned, it was just more proof of the absolute superiority of his sport of choice) and smiled as Luna fluttered about their flat, gathering together everything she felt they would need on their vacation. Ron wasn’t sure they would need either the mosquito netting or the tiger traps, but whatever made his wife happy was fine by him.

His wife. He, Ronald Bilius Weasley, was married, and to the most brilliant, wonderful girl he could imagine. Much better than he deserved, he knew, but she seemed to fancy him. Well, she always was a bit odd; being madly in love with her didn’t blind him to that. Speaking of which… “Hun, I don’t think we’ll be needing those Nautilus diving helmets,” he said when he saw her lifting the gigantic, glass-fronted seashells from the closet.

“You never know, Ronald; we might be staying on the lost continent of Atlantis, and it tends to be a bit damp there this time of year,” she replied as she shrank the shells down to pocket size and added them to her pile of loot. “Now, what outfits would you like me to pack?”

Ron looked slightly perplexed. “How should I know? You’re the one who talked to Hermione, didn’t she give you some idea what you’ll need?”

“Yes, Ronald, and all that is already packed and ready to go. I am asking you what outfits you would like me to bring.” She was rummaging through the closet as she spoke, and he caught a few of the words she was muttering to herself, “…must ask Narcissa to return that red riding hood and whatever’s left of the basket of ‘goodies’…”

He finally realized what she was talking about, and a slight frown creased his brow. Ever since that first time in the inn, he’d enjoyed, participated in, and occasionally initiated their forays into role-playing, but lately what he had thought of as an amusing and creative way to add a little spice to their lovemaking seemed to be turning into an obsession for his gorgeous partner. Ron was the first to admit he was no marvel of introspection, but Luna’s attitude was starting to worry him. She never seemed to just want to be herself when she was with him, and he was beginning to feel a bit concerned.

He set aside his paper and crossed to where she was standing, her head still buried in the closet, and slipped his arms around her waist. “Oh, good,” she said, not turning around, “now that you’re here, you can help me choose. Should I pack the Satyr and the Wood Nymph, or would you prefer the Fisherman and the Water Sprite?”

“Neither,” Ron said firmly, pulling her away from the closet. “The only costumes I want to see on this trip are those of the Husband and Wife Madly in Love and Desperate to Shag Each Other’s Brains Out.” He smirked and nuzzled her hair. “Besides, it’s the outfit you look best in.”

Luna mumbled something in a soft voice, and he caught just enough of it to understand her words. He turned her around by her shoulders and tried to look into her face, but she had her eyes downcast. “Bored?! Bloody hell, Luna, when have I ever said anything to make you think that I was getting bored?” he asked, completely shocked by her words.

She continued to refuse to meet his eyes as she answered in a subdued tone totally out of keeping with her normally upbeat attitude. “It stands to reason, Ronald; I know that I ambushed you and seduced you and stole you away from Hermione, and when you proposed I was very surprised but I was hardly going to let such an opportunity pass even though I knew all along I wasn’t what you really wanted—” the patented Lovegood stream of consciousness was brought to a screeching halt when Ron forced her chin up with his hand and covered her lips with his.

When they finally broke the kiss in order to pull in some much needed oxygen, Ron continued to hold his wife’s now sparkling gaze. “Now you listen to me, Mrs. Weasley,” he said firmly, enjoying the slight shiver that went through his wife’s body when he used her new surname, “Yes, you surprised me and bewitched me, and thank Merlin you did!” He grinned at the startled surprise that replaced her usual slightly dreamy expression. “Love, you not only saved me from making a mistake that would only have ended with three people being miserable, you woke me up to the utterly brilliant witch who’d been in front of me all along, only I was too thick to notice. You may confuse me, befuddle me, and in a ruddy wonderful way exhaust me; but one thing you will never do is bore me.”

He pulled her close for another kiss, one that was more heated, and in which she was a more willing participant. When they paused again he continued, “Now, then, all this dress-up stuff? I’ll admit it’s a lot of fun, but that’s only because the sexy witch inside the costumes drives me absolutely crazy no matter what she’s wearing, and the sexiest thing she wears is when she’s wearing nothing at all.”

He grinned at her blush, and she finally smiled back at him. “Do you really mean that, Ronald?” she asked, her eyes searching his. “You don’t feel any regrets about marrying me?”

“You just leave those costumes right where they are, and I’ll spend every minute of our vacation proving just how little I regret anything about our marriage, Love,” he said firmly.

“That might be a bit awkward, Ronald,” she replied, her tone now back to her usual delightfully matter-of-fact one. “I believe Harry and Hermione are planning on doing some things together, and we will need to stop having sex for a little while each day in order to join them…unless, of course, you think they will want to join us?”

Also as was usual, it took Ron a few seconds to work through his wife’s somewhat convoluted thought processes and understand what she was suggesting, but once he did his traitorous Weasley complexion kicked in for its part in displaying his embarrassment. “Uhhhh, no, I don’t think either of them are the ‘sharing’ type,” he answered, blushing brightly.

Luna paused for a moment, and then nodded. “I believe that perhaps you’re right; that really was quite astute of you.” She smiled and slipped her arms around his neck. “You are so handsome and funny, sometimes I forget just how brilliant you are as well.”

Well, there was only one way he could respond to a comment like that, and Gryffindor that he was, Ron seized the initiative and scooped his wife up in his arms, and ignoring her token struggles, carried her off to their bedroom, where he proceeded so show his deliciously odd wife all sorts of things at which, he felt he could say without false modesty, he was indeed quite brilliant.

And if the interruption meant that a few things they had intended on packing got left behind, neither of them really gave a good damn.

~~~~~

Narcissa stood in the hallway outside the door to Remus’s flat, her magically enhanced ‘overnight bag’ (with more storage space than a flotilla of steamer trunks, and as heavily packed) slung over one shoulder and paused, taking a moment to inventory her appearance before knocking. The witches’ power wardrobe she’d affected as the indomitable Mrs. Lucius Malfoy was a thing of the past, saved for those occasions when it was really necessary, and now she dressed to please herself, and to please the man she loved. It also didn’t hurt that after decades of wearing the confining (and, she admitted, absolutely stodgy) wizarding fashions, she was quite enjoying expanding her selections into the world of Muggle fashions.

The severe hairstyle she’d formerly affected had been replaced with something more casual, her long, platinum blonde hair drawn back into a ponytail while a few tendrils framed her face in a soft, fetching manner. Her makeup was simple, a light foundation with a hint of blush and a bit of eyeshadow, enough to enhance her natural beauty without overpowering it. Her slender neck was accentuated by a simple pearl choker, their pale pink color matching the peach of her sleeveless blouse, its brushed silk material tucked into the soft white cotton culottes she wore. Simple but sturdy sandals completed the outfit, their low heels subtly giving her calves an extra bit of definition. As a finishing touch, her toenails had benefited from a pedicure and were lacquered with the same polish as her fingernails, a subtle reminder that, no matter how casually she might be dressed, she was still Narcissa Black, a confident, wealthy and powerful woman.

Her quick knock brought the sounds of someone stirring about in the flat, and a few seconds later the door swung inward. Once again Narcissa felt her heartrate jump just a little at the sight of her lover, and his appreciative expression as his eyes traveled over her figure brought a hint of warmth to her cheeks.

Remus, she noted, was also dressed for their impending vacation in Muggle fashions, and her insistence that he replace his shabby, worn-out garments with decent clothes had definitely paid off. Even in their school days, with his frayed robes and constantly wearied air, he’d been what the gossip brigade had considered a potential ‘hottie’; now that he was taking better care of himself, and what was more, feeling more self confidence, he had graduated from promising material to major eye candy. So much so that Narcissa had found it necessary to mention ever so discreetly to a few of her Sisters that no, she didn’t believe in ‘sharing the wealth’.

Her musings had carried her across Remus’s threshold and through the first perfunctory remarks, but feeling his strong arms enveloping her and his firm lips pressed against hers was guaranteed to snap her out of her reverie. “So,” she gasped as they both came up for air, “I gather you’re as anxious to start this vacation as I am?” She pressed up against him, and felt the pressure of his ‘anxiety’ against her stomach. “I’d say that was a definite yes,” she purred, arching her back a little to let him know she was aware of his interest.

Remus growled low in his throat and nipped lightly at her ear. “What can I say, Narcissa, you bring out the beast in me.” His lips trailed down her neck, and her breath caught as he nuzzled the hollow at the base of her throat.

“You say that like it’s a—oh, my!—a bad thing,” she replied, regretfully pulling away a little as the palm of his hand cupped her breast, causing her nipples to stiffen. “Remus, love, there’s nothing I’d like more, but…what’s wrong?” she asked as she realized he’d tensed up.

“What did you just call me?” he whispered, his eyes wide.

Narcissa was puzzled by his question and replayed her words in her mind, and then tensed herself as she realized what she’d said. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she tried to temporize, but he was having none of it.

“Don’t play around, Narcissa, not about this,” he said firmly, holding on to her arms so she couldn’t pull away. “I know what you said; what I don’t know is whether you meant it or not.”

Narcissa found herself unable to meet his piercing gaze. “Do you want me to mean it?” she whispered, and realized she was both terrified and thrilled at the idea of hearing his answer. It was a new feeling, one that she wasn’t sure she liked, but at the same time wondered how she’d lived so long without feeling it.

“I think, perhaps, that maybe I do,” he breathed, and she felt a thrill of pleasure at the amazed happiness that was evident in his voice. “I definitely think it’s something we need to talk about. This evening, when we have some time to ourselves?”

“That sounds…good,” she agreed, mildly annoyed at herself at how unsteady her voice sounded, but all in all far too happy to give a good goddamn. She moved in and gave him another brief but fierce kiss, and then smiled. “In the meantime, we’d better get over to Harry’s and Hermione’s before they leave without us.” Yes, she definitely was looking forward to this vacation…

~~~~~

Harry returned to the living room where his fiancée and their four friends were waiting, a long, narrow mahogany box in his hands, the size and shape reminiscent of the kind used to house expensive carving sets. “I know you’ve all been very patient…well, reasonably patient,” he amended with a grin as Hermione huffed, “in letting me keep my little surprise. I think I can promise that you won’t be disappointed. Now that we’re all here I can activate our portkey, and you’ll all finally get to see where we’re going.”

“Is that what you’re using as the portkey, that box?” Ron asked with a touch of surprise. He was far more used to the traditional odd bit of rubbish that most wizards used for portkeys.

“Actually, the portkey is inside; it’s kept in the box because it functions as much as a passport as it does a portkey.” With that he opened the box and lifted out a delicately carved baton of aged ivory, its color the deep buttery yellow that came from centuries of handling. The baton’s ferrules were of intricately worked gold, and every square centimeter of the surface of the baton was carved with Celtic interlace, the complicated design worn smooth in places from being handled.

Harry watched with interest the various reactions of his friends upon seeing the baton. Remus looked intrigued, Ron puzzled, and Luna had the same expression of dreamy interest she always had. Hermione looked intently at the object, as if the sight of the baton awoke a fragment of memory she couldn’t quite track down. Suddenly she gasped. “That can’t be…is that what I think it is?” she said, shocked, but Harry shushed her before she could say more.

“If you think you know, don’t spoil the surprise for the others,” he admonished her. “We’ll be leaving in a couple of minutes anyway, and if you’re right, well, you can help me explain things when we get there.”

“When we get where, Harry?” Hermione asked, clearly nettled at Harry’s indulgence of his urge to be mysterious.

“Just grab your things and I’ll show you, Mione; I swore you wouldn’t be disappointed, and I meant it. Everyone ready?” At their nods he continued. “All right, just like a regular portkey, everyone touch the baton…Portus!” There was a kaleidoscopic swirl of light, and then the living room was deserted.

~~~~~

The disorientation of the portkey spell quickly passed, and the group of people looked with delighted surprise as their host watched their reactions with pleasure. They were standing between a pair of rough-hewn granite pillars, similar in shape and scale to those that comprised the inner ring at Stonehenge. Unlike the famous structure of Salisbury Plain, these stood on the edge of a stand of verdant forest, and other stones were partially visible among the trees. In the other direction the ground dropped away gradually, only to rise again in the distance into a landscape that was slightly reminiscent of the Scottish highlands where they’d spent so much of their youth. The early morning mist, so common to such terrain, obscured most of the valley floor, and added a blurred, out-of-focus look to the craggy mountains rising on the far side.

“Harry, it’s magnificent,” Hermione sighed, entranced by the beauty of the surroundings. The morning sun cast a golden light over the entire scene, giving it the air of an Impressionist painting.

“I know, I couldn’t believe it the first time I saw it, either,” Harry replied, a faraway look on his face. “It still feels like someone’s going to come along, tap me on the shoulder and tell me there’s been this tremendous mistake.”

“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.

~~~~~

AUTHOR’S NOTE – Part II – As promised, some fluff, some fun, a bit of smut, and not much else. Next time, their vacation, everyone gets to have some sex, Remus and Narcissa get to talk, and if I get to it, SUHPFC will play a few games with the members of TICKLE. Thanks for your patience, I hope you stick around for the rest!

8. Author

AUTHOR’S NOTE – Just a quick word and a filler to hold the place in the queue of the chapter that was deleted. For those of you who read the original, the Lyonnesse them has been discarded. I trust that his will work better.

Fenris

9. Chapter Eight

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!)