Revenge of the Squib

Ella Marie

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 26/04/2006
Last Updated: 26/04/2006
Status: completed

Sequel to Of Heartburn and Yellow Canaries. How far will the Squib go to get the happy ending she so desperately desires?

Chapters

1. When Shippers Attack

1. When Shippers Attack

Summary: Sequel to Of Heartburn and Yellow Canaries. How far will the Squib go to get the happy ending she so desperately desires?

Author's Note: First, as always, I must thank Ben for never failing to help me and encourage me, especially when it comes to writing. He's always there to work his magic, and words simply cannot express my gratitude or love for him.

Second, this is the sequel to my first attempt at being funny, Of Heartburn and Yellow Canaries. This is yet another attempt and hopefully, it will be as successful as its predecessor. Again, I must warn you to read with caution.

Third, please leave a review telling me how much you love and/or hate this fic. I absolutely adore and appreciate each and every comment/review left for any of my writings. Please do not hesitate to swear at me, worship me, let me feel the wrath of your canaries, etc. Thank you!

Disclaimer: It's the Squib's.

Revenge of the Squib

The time has come.

A manic smile appeared upon a pale face, the corners of lips turned downward with mad delight.

The time has finally come.

All Hallow's Eve, the anniversary of so many endings and so many beginnings. This particular Halloween would mark both a beginning and an ending. This Halloween would go down in history.

A manic chuckle replaced the manic smile on the pale, feminine face, lips turned even farther downward. But it soon stopped short at a peculiar thought.

What other Halloween had gone down in history?

The Squib, after a moment of confusion, just shrugged, unable to remember. It really didn't matter, anyway. No other Halloween could compare to this one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Halloween was always bittersweet for Harry. It was the anniversary of his parents' deaths, but it also marked the day when he and his wife became friends in their first year at Hogwarts.

Besides his years at school, he had never celebrated the holiday. Before Hogwarts, he had always been forced to stay at the Dursley house with Uncle Vernon for company while Aunt Petunia took Dudley out for trick-or-treating.

At Hogwarts, however, most of his Halloweens were rather interesting. In his first year, he saved Hermione from a mountain troll; in second year, he attended to a Death-Day party in a dungeon filled with ghosts and hosted by one of the school's very own, before finding Mr Filch's cat, Mrs Norris petrified and accompanying a cryptic message; third year was most interesting when an escaped prisoner who later turned out to be his long lost godfather attacked the Fat Lady in the moving portrait guarding Gryffindor House; and in fourth year, he unwillingly and unwittingly became a champion for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the Triwizard Tournament. He spent two more years at school, but those holidays were, thankfully, a bit more peaceful.

Ever since the war, which had ended on this day, he had never had any interest in the holiday. But this year, his wife decided that they would celebrate “properly” and enjoy themselves. She insisted that everyone should have a true, trick-or-treating experience.

“Hermione, I'm really too old for this,” Harry told her, feeling ridiculous as he dressed in his costume.

“You're never too old to enjoy Halloween, Harry,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes, but there was a smile on her face. “It'll be great fun, I promise. You'll love it.”

“But… these tights!” he exclaimed, doing an odd sort of jig. “They itch! And why must they be green?”

“Because Peter Pan wore green, obviously,” she said almost tonelessly, not even bothering to sound exasperated.

“Did he?” Harry mumbled, uninterested.

Hermione stared at him incredulously, her mouth slightly open. “Haven't you ever read it? Seen it, at least?”

“No…”

Her jaw dropped farther and her eyes widened even more. “You haven't seen it? Ever?”

“I don't think I'll ever stop surprising you,” he said on a sigh.

“We must watch it!”

“I don't think I want to watch a bloke prancing about in green tights,” he said. “This is painful enough.”

“Rubbish,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “We're watching it. The story is truly magical. I cry every time I see it.”

“Nope, can't do it. You know how bad I am with crying women!”

“You'll have to suffer.”

Harry heaved a resigned sigh. He never won anymore. Well, that isn't to say he won very much before he married his best friend, but he never won these days. Remember that, kids, marriage means you lose. Always. No exceptions. Got it? Good.

“I really don't want to do this,” he said with a pout.

“Oh, for Godric's sake, Harry, will you cut it out?” she said, sounding mildly frustrated. She was sitting on the bed, applying make-up that she had borrowed from Luna. “You're going to have a fantastic time, end of story.”

“Yes, dear.”

A few minutes passed in silence while Harry stared at his reflection in the mirror. He looked absurd. And his bits itched uncomfortably.

“My bits are itchy and uncomfortable.”

“Maybe you should see a Healer about that.”

“It's the bloody tights!”

Hermione giggled as she put the cosmetics up and stood to don her costume. Turning away from the mirror at last, Harry watched his wife as she removed her bathrobe. His mouth fell open involuntarily, struck yet again by the beauty of her body.

“Don't,” he gasped as she made to put the fairy costume on.

“What?” she asked, looking at him quizzically. “Do you want to wear it?”

He ignored the comment; there were more pressing issues to deal with right now. Literally.

Moving toward her, he pulled her into his arms and her brows raised at the feeling of the pressing issue. He leaned forward to kiss at her neck, humming deeply against her soft flesh.

“But…” she whimpered, “your bits are itchy and uncomfortable.”

He stilled against her, sighing exasperatedly. “It's your fault,” he murmured into her neck.

She giggled again. “We don't have time, anyway, Mr Potter. Ron and Luna will be here any moment.”

“They'll understand.”

Rolling her eyes, she pulled away just enough to kiss him. “When we come back, we can have some fun, but only if you're a good boy.”

He sighed again, narrowing his eyes at her grinning, teasing lips. “You enjoy torturing me, don't you?”

“Well, yes, obviously.”

“You should go as a dominatrix, then, Hermione.”

Hermione shrieked in surprise and hid behind Harry at the sound of Ron's voice. He was standing in the doorway of the entrance to their bedroom, grinning smugly and dressed like a prize idiot in purple sufi pants and a red fez. Luna stood next to him, looking stunningly strange in a pink harem girl's outfit, with her fluorescent skin, blonde hair, and protuberant eyes.

“Ron, you git!” Hermione shouted shrilly. “What do you think you're doing? I'm starkers!”

“That, you are,” he said, still grinning insufferably. “There's no point hiding behind Harry, love. You know how skinny he is. And, hot damn! That's a nice arse!”

“Luna, for Merlin's sake, will you control your husband?” she asked, sounding both angry and desperate.

“I'm sorry, Hermione, but we are allowed to openly appreciate other people's appearances,” said Luna dreamily. “He is right, though. Your arse is rather nice.”

“Get out!” shouted Hermione, and she hit Harry in the arm as he started to laugh.

“It's not that big of a deal, you know,” Luna continued in the same tone. “I look at Harry all the time. Those tights do look great on you.”

“Harry, you git, will you do something besides laughing your bum off?” his wife hissed through angrily gritted teeth.

He obeyed, like a good husband. “Come on, you guys, let her finish getting ready.”

Luna made to turn and leave, but Ron stood rooted to the spot, unabashedly staring at Hermione's exposed backside. Harry looked at him with raised brows.

“Ron!” he shouted after a moment, causing his friend to snap out of his reverie. “Get the fuck out.”

Ron opened his mouth to grumble as he and his wife left the room, but Luna decided to shut him up before he even began, by shoving him against the hallway wall and kissing him roughly.

Harry went to the door. “You'd better clean up any mess you make. If I find any Essence of Weasley anywhere, I'm hunting you down.”

The couple ignored him, too busy dry-humping one another to care, so he slammed the door shut and turned to face his wife, who was finally putting her fairy costume on. Disappointment made Harry's face fall.

“Why'd you put it on?” he groaned.

“I told you, we don't have time.”

“But… but they're doing it!”

“When we get back, darling.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking along the dark pavement lit only by magical pumpkins that floated and issued multi-coloured sparks in the village of Godric's Hollow, Harry beamed as he argued and boasted good-naturedly with Ron over how many sweets they had each received. Their wives walked behind them, the bushy-haired one rolling her eyes and the blonde trying to belly dance as she walked, seemingly completely oblivious to her husband and friends.

“Ewwww! Jelly slugs!” exclaimed Ron, who shuddered disgustedly at any mention of anything sluglike, whatever it might be, abandoning the argument over who had more Droobles.

Harry, feeling extremely jovial despite the fact that he (as well as his three companions) had been asked to sign autographs at each house they had stopped at, laughed and said, “Well, here, I'll trade you the slugs for the Cockroach Clusters.”

“Ewwww!” said Ron again. “No! I'll trade you for the Droobles and nothing else!”

Harry chuckled. “You're shit out of luck, then, aren't you?”

“Boys, boys,” said Hermione with an exasperated laugh. “That's quite enough.”

“How lovely,” said Luna suddenly, pausing mid-dance and pointing at the dark street. “A parade!”

Down the road, a massive amount of people, currently rather hard to see, but noticeable, were marching toward them. They were also chanting something unintelligible. Harry and Hermione tried making out their faces and costumes, but it was too dark.

Taking Ron's hand, Luna led him out onto the edge of the pavement and started jumping up and down, cheering.

Harry looked at Hermione, grinning and holding out his hand. “I didn't know there was going to be a parade! Come on!”

Hermione returned the grin and took his proffered hand, following him out onto the street which was now crowded with trick-or-treaters, both young and old. They fought their way to the front to stand with Ron and Luna, but Hermione lost a shoe in the process.

Pulling her hand out of Harry's, she looked around for it. “Harry, I've—” she began, but stopped short when she looked up and didn't see him. “Harry? Harry!”

She could hear the parade coming closer and knew she wouldn't be able to find him until it was over, so she continued the search for her shoe. “Dammit,” she muttered, as she tried moving through the crowd.

“Death to Harmony! Death to Harmony! Death to Harmony!”

Pausing in her hunt, she looked up and out at the street as the marchers steadily approached.

“Death to Harmony!”

They were dressed in black, badly made robes with big, red letters on the front: RHR.

“Death to Harmony!”

Hermione stared in disbelief. She almost laughed, but somehow couldn't. Her heartbeat quickened, and she tried convincing herself to not go mad. Maybe I'm just being paranoid… yes, that's all.

“Harry!” she shouted again, but her voice was drowned out by the marchers' mantra.

“Death to Harmony!”

“Harry!” she tried again, pushing past the people in the crowd, forgetting her shoe, trying to get to her husband.

Just as she caught sight of his Peter Pan costume, an enormous wave of relief washing over her, she tripped over someone's foot and fell out onto the street with a yelp, ripping her stockings and scraping her hands and knees ever-so-gracefully.

Strong hands lifted her up off the ground almost immediately. She went to wipe her pained tears away, but her hands were suddenly bound behind her back.

“Hey… hey! What are you… Let me go!” she ordered as the masked person pushed her along with the crowd of marchers.

“HARRY!” she screamed at the top of her lungs before all went black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“HARRY!”

He had been looking for Hermione for several minutes, wondering where the hell she had gone. At the sound of her terrified scream, a sound he had nightmares about even to this day, a sound he had convinced himself he would never have to hear again, he started and automatically reached for his wand.

Pushing through the few people in front of him, Harry looked wildly around in search of her, panic coursing through his veins like a steady poison. Ron and Luna were on his heels.

“Harry, what the fuck?” asked Ron. “Trying to liven up this damnably dull parade, eh?”

“Hermione's in trouble!” he shouted in reply as the marchers continued to chant, now gathering in a tight circle in the centre of the street.

“Where the fuck did she go?”

“Ron, will you shut the fuck up? I don't fucking know, all right! One minute, she was behind me, and the next… Fuck, where the fuck did she go?” Harry was speaking incredibly fast, looking frantically around with his wand drawn.

Near the throng of robed marchers, he spied a familiar face. The woman grinned at him maliciously before turning abruptly and covering her blonde hair with the hood of her black robe. He frowned at her, moving forward quickly, but just as he made to tap her shoulder, she, as well as the similarly dressed throng, vanished.

Turning abruptly to face Ron and Luna, panicked anger in his vivid eyes, he shouted, “It was the Squib! The bloody fucking Squib!”

Ron blinked at him. Luna simply stared. Ron took a bite out of a Honeyduke's chocolate bar. Luna… well, Luna simply stared.

“Can't've been,” said Ron at last, talking with his mouth full (Harry could just hear Hermione exclaiming, “Ron, that's disgusting!”). “They were using a Portkey, weren't they?”

“So what?” asked Harry. “Look, it was her! I swear to fucking Godric, it was her.”

“How do you know Hermione's in trouble?” asked Luna serenely.

“She screamed.”

“What did she scream?” asked Ron.

“She screamed my fucking name, all right?”

“Maybe she was just trying to find you,” suggested Luna.

“No! No, no, no,” he insisted, running a shaking hand through his messy hair, failing to notice his green hat falling off in the process. “She was scared, okay? I could hear it in her voice.”

Ron took another bite of chocolate. “So what the fuck are we waiting for? Let's go find her.”

“Where do we start?” asked Harry, absolutely frightened by the horrible sense of helplessness that was beginning to overwhelm him.

“Well… we could contact the Ministry and find out where their Portkey was headed, as well as ask for back-up, just in case it becomes necessary…” offered Luna in her same, other-worldly tone.

“We don't have time,” said Harry irresponsibly and sounding rather maniacal with impatience.

“To the bloody fucking Squib's house, then!” said Ron, drawing his wand at last. There was excitement in his blue eyes as he tossed his half-eaten chocolate bar aside; he always loved a good fight.

Harry nodded in agreement. “Right.”

“Hermione would go to the Ministry and get the facts first,” Luna insisted.

The boys ignored her.

Moments later, Harry, Ron, and Luna appeared at the front door of the Squib's Scotland home.

Luna, shivering in her thin harem costume, made to knock on the door. Harry, however, impatiently pushed past her and entered, abandoning all sense of propriety in his desperation to get to his wife. His friends followed him, taking in their surroundings, the grandeur of the massive house.

“The door wasn't locked,” Harry whispered frantically, turning to look at them. “Why wasn't the fucking door locked?”

“Maybe she forgot?” asked Ron, looking at his best friend as if he was worried for the state of his mental health.

“No, she wouldn't forget. She's too afraid of the shippers.” He turned back around, scanning the dim foyer warily.

“The what?”

“The - oh, never—”

“Are they pirates?” Luna asked.

Harry didn't answer her. In fact, he didn't even hear her. A robed figure suddenly stepped out of the shadows and stood before them in the vast hallway.

“Hello, Potter,” said the person, lowering his hood. He looked faintly familiar. His gaze shifted to Ron, to Luna, and then back to Ron, both of whom were standing slightly behind Harry. “OH MY GOD!”

All three of them jumped at the boy's sudden outburst, raising their wands as he rushed toward Ron.

“Ron? Ron Weasley? OH MY GOD! I'm so gay for you!”

Everyone, including the strange guy, gasped at the unexpected confession. And then Harry realized where he had seen him before. He didn't know his name, but he and Hermione had seen him here, at this very house, saying the word “delusional” over and over between mad gigglefits with some red-haired girl.

“That's hot!” Luna exclaimed after a moment.

“You're WHAT?” came a shout, and another person stepped out of the shadows. She lowered her hood, revealing red hair, and glared at the boy with venom in her eyes. It was her! The crazy girl Harry had seen cackling about delusions!

The boy looked at her and he seemed, to Harry, like a dog with his tail between his legs. “Er,” he said intelligently. “Erm… I mean… love, I mean only if you're there, too.”

Ron whimpered, looking positively petrified. The hand holding his wand up was shaking.

The girl's venomous eyes softened and she smiled. “Oh, well, I suppose that's okay, then,” she said.

“What do you say, Ron? I can call you Ron, right?” the boy asked, looking disturbingly excited.

Harry would have laughed, had the situation not been so terribly serious.

Ron whimpered again, turning his head to look at his best friend. “Harry… these crazy Americans want me to have a threesome with them…”

“Foursome,” Luna piped in.

The Americans looked at her blankly for a moment.

“You must be Luna.”

“Four's a crowd.”

“Look,” Harry interjected angrily, “I don't have time for this! I'm here to find my wife! Where is she?”

The boy looked at him again with a scowl on his feminine face. “Why should we help you, Potter?”

The girl elbowed him in the ribs oh-so-subtly and whispered, “We're supposed to help him. Don't be stupid.”

He blinked. “Oh. Right. Yes. We know where she is. Follow us.”

That was way too easy, thought Harry, but he followed the Americans down the hall with his wand at the ready.

“Honestly,” the girl was saying as they turned down another hallway. “That was so dumb of you.”

“Will you shut up, little miss perfect?” said the boy.

“How dare you—” she tried to continue, but was cut short as the boy grabbed her and shoved his tongue down her throat.

Harry, Ron, and Luna stood there, staring and feeling rather disgusted. It was sort of like a train wreck. You really want to look away, but there's some sort of sick and twisted fascination.

“HEY!” shouted Harry after a moment, ignoring the nausea. “Will you two cut it out and fucking take me to Hermione?”

They ignored him.

“Oy!” shouted Ron. “Take us to Hermione!”

They pulled apart immediately and stood straight, blushing and panting.

“Sorry, Ron, can't fight the sexual tension. I'm sure you know how it is,” said the boy with a stupid grin.

“We'll take you to her now,” said the girl.

Ron grinned, puffing his chest out a bit as they continued walking. “Isn't that awesome? I have some kind of power over them…”

“Yeah, it's great,” said Harry irritably, not looking at him, but keeping his narrowed eyes fixed on the two Americans in front of them.

“When are we going to have the foursome?” asked Luna.

“Here we are,” said the girl, stopping in front of a wall with a green and silver tapestry.

Harry and Ron blinked. Luna stared.

The Americans blinked back. The boy nudged the girl. “Push on it, will you?”

“Stop bossing me around!”

“You do it to me all the-”

Harry let out a growl and moved past them as they fell into another snogging fit. He pushed on the wall, wondering if it was a secret doorway. It wouldn't budge. He moved to his right and was about to press the wall again when he heard a shuffle of two pairs of feet as the Americans stumbled, a click, and then Ron and Luna screaming. Turning quickly, Harry saw only the snogging couple.

Ron and Luna had disappeared.

“What the fuck?” he muttered, looking wildly around, trying not to panic, trying to ignore the strange sounds coming from the weird couple.

And then he saw a square-shaped hole in the floor. Warily, he approached, looked down. All was black. It reminded him of his first year at Hogwarts, getting past Fluffy to jump into a dark, indentically-shaped hole in the ground, previously hidden by a trapdoor.

He knelt beside it. “Ron?” he shouted, his voice echoing. “Luna?”

There was no answer, just a feminine moan that echoed in the darkness. Hermione.

“Ron? Ron, are you okay? Ron, wake up!” Hermione suddenly yelled, sounding panicked. “Luna, stay with him. I'm going to find a way out of here.”

“There isn't a way out,” a new voice echoed up. The Squib. “You're stuck here.”

“HERMIONE!” Harry yelled.

“Harry?”

“Oh, just in the nick of time,” said the Squib. “I guess there's something good about him… he's punctual.”

Harry didn't hesitate; he jumped into the hole. Wind rushing in his ears, he fell, but in his desperation, he did not seem to fall fast enough. He needed to be with Hermione. The Squib had taken her… what else did she plan to do?

Finally, he made contact with, not the ground, but a mattress. Hitting it at such a speed was less than pleasant, especially when it rejected his weight, throwing him onto the hard, stone floor. There was a mighty crack as he landed on his right ankle.

“Bloody fucking Merlin! Sodding piece of—”

“Harry!” Hermione rushed over, throwing herself on him. He let out a hiss of pain, but his wasn't the only hiss to be heard. Several snakes or several angry people must be in the room with them.

“Harry? Are you all right?” she asked, almost maniacal with fear.

“Yes, fuck, shit, piss, arse…”

“Harry, stop it,” she ordered quietly. “Can you stand up?”

“I'd rather not,” he said, teeth gritted against the pain shooting up and down his leg.

“Just hold onto me—”

“STOP! STOP!” someone screamed. “My eyes! My eyes! It burns! Someone separate them! Please, dear God, separate them!”

Harry blinked and looked up just as Hermione stood in front of him, drawing her wand. Two massive robed figures were approaching them, but stopped immediately at the sight of her wand.

“What? Can't you duel?” Harry asked spitefully. “Hermione, where the fuck are we?”

“No, Harry, they can't duel. They're Muggles,” replied Hermione, glaring at the Crabbe-and-Goyle-shaped creatures whose faces were hidden in shadows. “And we're beneath the Squib's home, if you hadn't noticed.”

“How did Muggles get a bloody Portkey?”

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” shouted the same insane person as before.

The Squib stepped out of the shadows. “That's enough!” she hissed. She looked a little… well, insane. Her blonde hair, once only slightly questionable, was all over the place, and a few locks seemed to be missing, as if she had torn chunks of it out in her apparent madness.

“You!” Hermione roared, keeping her wand at the ready. “What on earth is this all about?”

Despite the fact that her stockings were torn and stained with blood and dirt, her once beautiful costume now in tatters, and her hair almost as crazy as the Squib's… Harry couldn't help finding his wife incredibly sexy with that intimidating tone she took with the Squib.

“This is about you and him!” said the Squib, pointing at Hermione and Harry, the latter of which was trying to stand again.

“What do Ron and Luna have to do with this, then?” asked Hermione.

“Everything,” the Squib answered, most helpfully.

“What?” asked Harry and Hermione simultaneously.

“Silence!” ordered the Squib. “Do not speak simultaneously!”

Harry and Hermione blinked.

The room was completely silent except for Ron's pained moans coming from behind them, until Harry made to stand. Hermione, noticing this, moved to help him.

“Stop it, Granger!” the Squib shrieked. “Leave him alone!”

Hermione turned, stared at her for a long, tense moment. When she finally spoke, the hatred in her words mirrored the hatred in her eyes.

“Eat me.”

Harry stared at his wife in utter disbelief. So did the Squib, as well as everyone else in the dungeon-like room. Ron stopped whimpering. Luna stopped sniffling. A very frightening, uncomfortable silence descended over them as Hermione turned to her husband, who continued to stare at her incredulously, helping him to stand. No one stopped her.

Everyone seemed to understand that when Hermione Potter was vulgar, she meant business.

Pointing her wand at his ankle, she muttered, “Ferula!” and a bandage immediately wrapped itself around the injury. There were several gasps from their Muggle audience and Harry thanked her quietly.

“We're leaving now,” said Hermione, facing the Squib once again.

“Oh, no you're not,” she replied, taking a step closer to Hermione. “You can't.”

“Are you daft?” asked Harry hatefully. “Have you forgotten we're wizards?”

“I haven't forgotten anything,” she said. “Except why today was so significant, but anyway!”

“We can apparate, you stupid bint,” said Ron, rubbing the back of his ginger head.

“No, you can't,” said the Squib with a triumphant smile and tone that only made her seem more insane.

Harry closed his eyes, tried to disapparate, but he felt gravity push him down, keeping him there. He looked at Hermione, panicked. She looked back at him, the emotions in her eyes mirroring his. Fuck, they seemed to think together.

Hermione faced the Squib and her many followers again. “You have a wizard helping you, don't you? Who is it?” she demanded.

The Squib ignored her. “Why aren't you taking care of Ron? Harry's fine now! Go to Ron!”

Hermione laughed, masking her worried eyes. “No, Luna is taking care of him.”

“Who is Luna?” the Squib asked impatiently, pulling at her hair.

“Er… his wife, maybe?” suggested Harry sarcastically.

The people around them hissed again.

“Both must die!” a voice shouted.

“Death to Harmony!” another cried, starting another round of chanting.

“Yes… both much die,” the Squib murmured, smiling and rubbing her hands together evilly.

Hermione moved closer to Harry, her hand grasping his arm tightly. He felt her gaze on him, but he kept his eyes trained on the Squib, even as he spoke. “Don't worry,” he whispered so that only his wife could hear. “Go make sure Ron and Luna are okay. I'll distract them so you can remove the wards.”

“Both must die,” the Squib said again, as her followers continued their mantra.

“Harry,” Hermione whimpered quietly.

“Go. Do it now,” he insisted, still not looking at her, but he could sense her reluctance.

“You think you can kill us, eh?” said Harry loudly, moving away from his wife and taking a few, slow steps toward the Squib, upon whom his gaze remained fixed. “And how, exactly, do you plan to do that?”

“Burn him at the stake!”

“Hang him!”

“Drown him!”

“Force him to read Ron/Hermione fan-fictions and nothing else for the rest of his days!”

Harry gagged. He heard Ron laughing and Hermione saying, “Shut up, Ron!” behind him.

“Silence!” the Squib ordered as her crowd tittered. “Look at them! They're bickering!”

“Awwww! It's true love!” the followers cried in unison.

Ron flinched at the sound of their words. “What the bloody fuck?”

“Just ignore them,” Hermione whispered. “Luna, did you heal the wound on his head?”

Harry began to pace, trying to ignore both his nausea and the soreness in his right leg. He started to laugh, trying to take the attention away from Hermione, Ron, and Luna.

“What is so funny, Potter?” spat the Squib, glaring at him. “You're distracting us from Ron and Hermione. Why must you always do that?”

Harry continued to laugh. “It's all quite funny, really,” he said, looking around at the lot of them. Some were tall, some were short, some were thin, some were not. The tiniest person there stood very close to the Squib, completely still. Though he could not see the person's face, he could feel the eyes boring into him. Shuddering a bit, he looked at the Squib and spoke again.

“All of you are funny,” he said, knowing he must look ridiculous in his torn green tights. His bits, by the way, were still rather uncomfortable. “I mean, you honestly think you can kill one of us?” He paused to release another incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “Do you even know who we are? What we've done?”

“You're a home-wrecker!” one of them shouted.

The tiny one flinched and looked around suddenly.

Harry blinked and, after a moment, laughed again. “Incorrect. I am—”

“Expelliarmus!”

The spell rushed past Harry and hit Hermione, sending her across the room where she hit the stone wall and fell to the floor. Her wand went flying in the opposite direction.

“Hermione!” Harry yelled, running toward her as Ron and Luna stood with their wands drawn. As Harry knelt beside his wife, he heard Ron's astonished shout.

“Ginny?!”

Harry helped Hermione to stand. He made sure she was all right before turning, letting Ron's shout sink in. Ginny? What was Ginny doing there? He looked around until he spotted the long mane of flame-red hair. She was the small person, staying close to the Squib.

“Hello, Harry,” she said with a sweet smile, lowering her wand.

“Er, hi,” he said, staring at her with a confused frown. “What are you doing here, Ginny?”

“She's with us,” said the Squib, draping an arm around Ginny's petite shoulders.

“Ginny,” said Ron, lowering his wand as well. “Are you mad? Is this some sort of joke?”

Ginny spoke to her brother, but she kept her eyes on Harry. “It's no joke, Ron. I'm with them. You should be happy.”

“Isn't she perfect?” said the Squib, sounding like a mother boasting over her child's straight-A exam results. “She wants to make her brother happy!”

“Why would this make me happy?”

“We're going to give you the one thing you've always wanted,” Ginny said.

“Errr,” said Ron, his confused frown matching Harry's. “And what's that?”

“Hermione, of course,” she replied, still gazing at Harry.

Ron blinked. Harry and Hermione blinked and moved closer to each other. Luna simply stared at her sister-in-law.

“Ginny, what are you talking about?” Hermione asked. Her brown eyes were filled with worry at the sight of her seemingly deranged friend, her fingers digging into Harry's arm painfully.

“We've brought you here to make you see reason,” said the tiny redhead. “It wasn't supposed to be like this, you see.”

“And this is reasonable?” asked Hermione. “Kidnapping me and luring Harry here is reasonable? Telling Ron you can give me to him, especially when we're married to other people, is reasonable? Ginny, what is going on? Why are you being like this? What's wrong?”

“You are what's wrong, Granger!” Ginny snarled, suddenly not looking nearly as beautiful as usual. She made Harry think of a red-headed veela. “All along, you've been in the way! Constantly at Harry's side! I never got a chance! You were always right there with him! You wouldn't leave him alone! You wouldn't let me have my chance! Had you let me, we wouldn't be here right now! You would be with Ron and I would be with Harry, and we would be happy! One big, happy, Weasley family! But, no! You had to change things! You couldn't do things as they should have been done!”

“Hey! Don't talk to Hermione like that…” one of the shippers argued meekly.

“Shut up! She deserves it!” another countered, and the rest of the shippers made their agreement known by shouting and nodding.

Hermione tried to ignore them as she kept her eyes focused on Ginny. “You aren't making sense, Gin… listen to yourself. I never stopped Harry doing anything in his romantic life—”

“What about his date with Cho Chang?” someone shouted.

“That was unavoidable!” said Hermione. “It was the only chance we had to meet with Rita Skeeter. Besides, I never forced him.”

“I know Harry wanted a chance with me,” Ginny said. “And you stopped him, didn't you? I saw the way he looked at me after he and Ron caught me snogging Dean Thomas.”

“What?” said Harry, blinking stupidly. “That was heartburn!”

“Heartache!” shouted the Squib.

“Why are we pointing the finger at Hermione? She is at fault, but not as much as Harry fucking Potter over here,” said a gruff voice from the back of the crowd.

“Yeah! He's the one that's always coming between Ron and Hermione!” another agreed.

“Wait a minute. Harry has done nothing wrong!” Ginny shouted, her eyes still on him. “It's Hermione! She's to blame!”

The Squib patted Ginny's shoulder before stepping in front of her. “That's enough, dear,” she said, and Ginny visibly forced herself to calm down.

Remaining close to Harry, Hermione stared at Ginny incredulously. “I haven't done anything,” she said sadly. “I've not kept Harry from you in any way. I wouldn't do that.”

“Of course you would!” shouted Ginny, getting worked up again. “You've been mad for him forever! But I'm sorry, Hermione, it's unacceptable. You need to wake up and realize that he's not meant for you. He's meant for me, and you're meant for Ron.”

“Hear, hear!” the army of shippers yelled.

Harry was gazing at Ginny, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he pulled away from his wife and took a step toward the other woman. Hermione stared at him in disbelief, whimpered his name. He ignored her.

“There's one problem, Ginny,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him, her big, brown eyes filled with hope. “And what's that, Harry?” she asked coyly, batting her long eyelashes.

“I don't love you,” he said in the same tone as before. “Not like that.”

She stared at him, her pretty mouth opening slightly. It took her a moment to speak. “But… but, Harry! Of course you do! You just don't see it yet! She must have brain-washed you!”

He stared at her blankly for a moment and then laughed. “No… no, she really hasn't.”

“Harry is getting in the way again!” an anonymous shipper yelled. “Why haven't we killed him yet?”

“Yeah!” roared the rest of them, except Ginny, who, at last, looked away from Harry to look at the Squib confusedly.

“I've been wondering the same thing,” said the Squib, pushing Ginny out of the way as she moved closer to Harry.

Hermione made to run to Harry but someone grabbed her arm and held her back. Before she could put up a proper fight, she heard Ron's urgent whisper in her ear.

“Here's your wand,” he said, handing it to her. “Luna took care of the wards and has gone to get help. No one's noticed yet.” She nodded and made to get to Harry again, but he held her fast. “I want you and Harry to get the hell out of here. Now. I'll take care of them.”

“Ron, we couldn't possibly—”

“Do as I say, for once, you stubborn twit,” he muttered.

Before she could argue, he moved away from her. Wand at the ready, she ran and stood in front of Harry.

“You won't touch him!” she told the Squib.

“And how are you going to stop me, you insufferable bint?” said the Squib with her hands on her hips.

Hermione stared at the madwoman for a long moment. Finding herself completely unable to control her temper, she spoke scathingly as she handed her want to her husband. “I'm going to do what I should have done in July, you cow!”

And she slapped her across the face, much like she did Malfoy in third year at Hogwarts.

“That is for ruining me!” Hermione screamed. She slapped her again. “That is for ruining Harry!” Another slap. “That is for destroying our relationship!” Another. “That is for ruining his first real Halloween!” Yet another. “And that is for making me lose my bloody temper!”

Everyone stood there, stunned. After a moment and still looking completely dumbfounded by his wife's outburst, Harry pulled Hermione away from the Squib, who was nursing her wounded cheeks.

“Hermione, come on…” said Harry softly.

“You'll not leave!” Ginny shrieked suddenly, causing everyone to jump in surprise. “You can't!”

Hermione, not quite spent, grabbed her wand from Harry's hand, gave a strange flourish, and conjured about a dozen yellow canaries. They hovered around her head for a moment before she pointed her wand at Ginny. Obediently, the canaries went into attack mode and flew straight at her.

The army of shippers yelled at her angrily, and the Squib, coming out of the shock from Hermione's assault, shouted, “You bloody cow!”

Hermione practically growled before conjuring another set of canaries and sending them straight at the Squib.

Deciding this was quite enough, as the crowd screamed even louder at the offence and started to move in, Harry wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. She didn't resist him, but wrapped an arm around his waist.

The last thing they saw before Hermione apparated them out was Ron coming to stand in front of them, jovially shouting, “Who wants an autograph?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Here's your potion, dear,” a kind-faced Healer said, handing Hermione a vial filled to the brim with a soft pink liquid.

“Thank you,” said Hermione with a tired smile, taking it. She was sitting on the edge of one of many plain, white beds at St. Mungo's as she drank from the potion.

The witch moved away, but Hermione remained seated as she waited for Harry. The Healer had healed her wounded head and scraped hands and knees quite nicely. She had given her a couple of potions and performed a few charms, and now Hermione was as good as new.

The door opened after a few minutes and Harry entered, holding two cups of coffee. He approached her with a small, sleepy smile.

“All better?” he asked and she nodded. “Want some coffee?”

She gave the cup a longing glance, but shook her head. “No, thank you.”

Frowning a bit, he shrugged. “Ron flooed,” he said, setting Hermione's cup on the bedside table. “The Squib is under house arrest, it seems. Her hearing is in a couple of months.”

“I wonder what will happen to her,” said Hermione distractedly.

“We're hoping she'll be forced to finish the final book whilst listening to nothing but the Harmony Podcast and reading nothing but fan fiction and letters written by our admirers,” he replied with a mischievous grin.

Hermione laughed softly. “Serves her right.”

“They sent a Healer to her, though.”

“What a shame!”

“You got her really good,” said Harry. “I was impressed.”

Shrugging, she grinned. “Now my life is complete.”

Harry looked at her strangely, sitting beside her on the bed. “Love, is something wrong?”

She looked at him with raised brows. “No, why?”

“You don't seem yourself.”

Biting her lower lip, she glanced away. “I was just… ah, worrying about Ginny.”

“No, you weren't.”

She tried stifling it, but a slow smile crawled onto her lips. “Actually, I have some news…”

“Oh?” said Harry, taking a sip from his cup before setting it down. “What is it?”

Her gaze returned to him, her brown eyes shining as the slow, nervous smile widened a bit on her pretty lips. “Harry,” she said quietly. “I'm… I'm pregnant.”

He blinked, stared. A long pause ensued.

After a few moments of silence, during which Hermione gazed at him cautiously, she laid a hand on his arm. “Harry? Are you all right?”

He blinked again, shaking his head a bit, apparently snapping out of whatever daze he had lost himself in. “I, I'm—” he tried but interrupted himself as he leaned forward suddenly and kissed her full on the lips.

She squeaked in surprise but kissed him back quite happily. They pulled apart moments later, both laughing and beaming at each other. It took a few minutes before either of them could speak. Harry was the one to break the blissful silence.

“Eventful night,” he said, his voice laced with joy.

“Tell me about it,” she replied, still beaming.

He grinned. “Do we… do we still get to go trick-or-treating next year?”

“I imagine so,” she said. “I mean, we'll have a little one and all. Why?”

“Well… I had a great time, you know, except for the while you being kidnapped thing, but I was just thinking… I don't think I'll dress up again,” he said. “My bits were too itchy. These damn tights…”

“You're dressing up,” she said matter-of-factly.

“But Hermione—”

“About your itchy bits and those damn tights…” she interrupted. “Why don't we go home so I can get you out of them?”

Harry's eyes went wide and he blushed scarlet.

“Yes, dear.”

-->