Unofficial Portkey Archive

Wherein Harry and Hermione's new status gradually becomes known; the Trio attends a Slug Club party and each learns interesting things; Ludo Bagman has a shocking experience; Harry fields several offers and learns some Veela history; and Hermione saves Ron from a major faux pas, gets a letter she doesn't read, and cuts a deal.

Thanks to Betas Mark Gardiner and Shane.

Disclaimer: I neither own nor claim any other rights in the characters and other concepts created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money, nor do I seek any commercial advantage from this work. As such it constitutes "fair use" as defined in 17 U.S.C. §107.

Chapter 47 - Slugs And Beetles

For Harry and Hermione the long, slow trek back to the Castle was like walking on air. They had done it. Against all odds, and facing down paralysing fear, they had managed to declare to each another that they were in love - in love so deeply that they hoped to spend the rest of their lives together, however long or short that time might be.

But Harry, behind his goofy I-can't-believe-what-just-happened smile, had an even more profound realisation. He had achieved something he had not thought possible.

Hermione got what she had always wanted - what she spent several weeks in single-minded pursuit - and what she left the Castle that very morning determined to fight for.

That was good.

Harry, however, expected to return to the Castle having achieved the polar opposite. He had intended to destroy their relationship - for what he believed were the best of reasons, but leaving an emotional train wreck nonetheless.

His expected result had not happened. Instead, he accomplished something he never seriously thought he could aspire to, let alone attain. Hermione simply did not let him drive her away. As unyielding as carborundum paper, her love for him ripped through his every pretence until finally connecting with similar feelings he had tried his level best to bury in the depths of his soul. The citadel of his heart was breached, the walls of his resistance fell, and finally he allowed himself to give, and to receive, romantic love.

That was better - infinitely better.

If he could so this, maybe he really could beat Voldemort after all.

But for the moment, it was time to let the rest of the world know the secret. Somewhat, anyway.

Somewhere during their leisurely walk back to the Castle, Hermione unconsciously let go of Harry's hand and slid her arm around his waist. He did the same. She leaned into him, her head coming partially to rest against his shoulder. It was instinctive, but once Harry comprehended what had happened, he thought back to that night in Hyde Park, on the Serpentine.

It seemed similar, except it was not at all the same.

That had been an act - mostly. This was real, so real it took both of their breath away.

Mercifully, the new couple met practically nobody they knew on their return to the Castle, even in the hallways. Zacharias Smith raised his eyebrows, but when met by the couple's inscrutable stares simply waved and said nothing.

A couple of third-year Ravenclaw girls saw them, smiled, and ran off in the opposite direction chattering excitedly.

And so it went, even in the Castle itself on this typical, early Term Sunday afternoon. Practically everyone above Third Year must have turned in early to their common rooms or the library to complete lengthy Monday assignments.

For once Harry - and especially Hermione - were not amongst the swotters.

Holding hands again, and looking dreamily at one another, the newly united couple approached the Gryffindor common room.

"This password really needs changing, doesn't it Harry?" Hermione remarked as they stopped at the portrait hole. "Far, far better thing."

"I'm not sure about that," Harry replied, being both at once less well-read, and more literal-minded than the author of that catchphrase.

The Fat Lady was dozing, so Hermione repeated the phrase more loudly.

"Far, far better thing."

The Fat Lady stirred, "I don't know about that, thank goodness," and began opening up. Finally focussing on the two of them, her eyes nearly jumped out of her lightly varnished head. "Oh my…, you didn't…!"

"Yes, we did," Hermione answered cheerfully. Harry, still too enthralled with events to bother with coherent speech, simply nodded.

"Sir Cadogan won't believe this," the Fat Lady bubbled. "He won't look good in my pink lady-in-waiting gown. He always thought your `Quest,' as he called it, would come first."

"What pink gown? What `Quest'?" Hermione asked pointedly.

"Oh, silly me," the Fat Lady chuckled. "Now that you've gone and done it, Sir Cadogan has to wear my gown for a week and whilst so attired visit every portrait in the Castle. He bet me that Harry here had a great quest - like his idol Don Quixote - and that the two of you would never get together until he completed it."

"Oh," Hermione replied blankly, not quite believing that the Castle's portraits had been laying odds on the possibility of their romance.

Interpreting her comment as interest, The Fat Lady continued. "I, of course, disagreed vehemently, because I've always seen more than a little of Guinevere in you, Hermione, and more than a little of Lancelot in you, Harry. I should know - I was there…."

"You were?" Hermione answered enthusiastically. "Was Mordred really as evil as the histories state…?"

Harry gently squeezed his fiancée's hand to signal that her intellectual curiosity for once would have to wait.

"Oh, but we really do need to be going on now," she admitted.

"I'm sorry - but not about the two of you," the Fat Lady commented jovially as she swung all the way open. "I never fancied wearing Sir Cadogan's awful, smelly armour."

Still hand in hand, Harry stepped through the portrait hole into the common room, leading Hermione, who still looked back at the Fat Lady with raised eyebrows. "I can't believe that the portraits had a wager," she muttered to herself.

Neville and Ginny, sitting tête à tête on the sofa in front of the fire with Ginny's Potions text between them, were the first to notice the returnees. His round face burst into a wide grin as he rose to greet them, hand outstretched towards Harry. For a long moment, Ginny looked rather bewildered. Then she, too, plastered a smile on her face so broad that it must have hurt and followed Neville to her feet.

"Harry, mate," Neville greeted him. "Looks like congratulations are in order, it really does. I can't think of anyone more deserving - or who needs it more." Neville firmly grasped Harry's free hand whilst also slapping him on the back. "And you too, Hermione. Congratulations, and bloody well done. Finally talked some sense into him, I see."

"Yeah, Hermione," Ginny echoed tremulously, "good show. It's so - nice - to see you paired up at last. And please, no more suicide missions on one another's behalf. Please…?" She gave Hermione a light tap of a kiss on the cheek

By now, most of the nearby Gryffindors had been diverted from their studies and intently regarded the pair, many whispering to their neighbours. Another large group - standing at the back of common room facing the other way - was still oblivious.

From that clot of Gryffindor witches and wizards, the pair heard a familiar voice. The King was holding court.

"…Coming right bloody at me, the both of them. They fake between themselves, I go left because that Izakoff bloke is better using his right hand, and something in his eyes tells me he's just not going to pass off. Just as it's launched at me, I see a big problem - Cho's gotten peeled away by a ruddy Bludger, and their Seeker's going for the Snitch. So not only do I block the shot, but I throw the Quaffle right at the Snitch. Damn if I didn't hit it too…."

During Ron's rodomontade of his derring-do in Elsinore, Harry tapped first one onlooker on the shoulder, and then another, seeking passage. Gradually the crowd about Ron parted, and the new couple saw their best friend sitting across a hard-back wooden chair that faced backwards, Quidditch action figures in both his hands, as he narrated some pivotal play. A half-forgotten chessboard lay before him, its pieces glaring and jumping up and down, trying to restore his attention.

Ron's attention, however, was focussed elsewhere.

"Harry! Mate! There you are," the redhead called out. "Guess what! Great news! I just heard from Moose … er … Montague that Malfoy's no longer … on the … Slytherin…. Well I'll be bloody hexed - you did it…."

Having made their way through the single-file gap in the crowd, Harry had deftly stepped to one side, swung round his arm, and almost shyly Hermione hove into view, still clutching her fiancé's hand. She drew up next to Harry - very closely. Their hands broke contact and snaked unselfconsciously about each other's waists, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Hot damn!" Ron exclaimed as he rocketed to his feet. He toppled the chair in front of him; it upset the chessboard and scattered the furious chess pieces, sending them bouncing and squealing over the hardwood floor. "My two best mates finally got their act together!" The taller redhead gathered Harry and Hermione together in one crushing group hug.

"Thanks Ron," Harry muttered before his voice trailed off into contented silence. At the moment, he hardly even cared about being squashed.

"Great work, you guys," Ron half-whispered in their ears, as he embraced the pair. "Especially you, Hermione. You got him to see the light. Not to go all noble - and just as blinking miserable…."

"Thanks Ron," Hermione whispered back. "Your support means so much, you wouldn't believe it."

"I believe it," Ron replied.

Then, just as quickly as he had embraced his best friends, Ron backed away. Addressing the gawking crowd he loudly declared. "I think this calls for a full scale PAR-TEE!"

A general murmur of agreement rose from most of Gryffindors present. Only the "giggle girl" contingent, clustered about Lavender Brown and Romilda Vane, remained stoutly silent.

"Seamus, I know you've got at least a case of Butterbeer and, I hope, more stashed away somewhere in the Tower. Now seems a good time to put it to use."

"I'm on it," the sandy haired boy replied, grinning. Finnegan was always good for a party.

"Colin, any way you and Dennis could hook up Dean's Wizard Wireless to the D.A. Central Station's speakers? I think we could use a spot of loud music tonight as well."

The two Creeveys looked at each other, winked, and Colin replied, "Piece of cake!"

"Awesome," Ron replied enthusiastically. "On the way back from dinner, I'll drop by the kitchens and get the house-elves to send up a few trays of biscuits and other treats. It's not every day that my two best mates get together."

Hermione reluctantly burst Ron's bubble. "I'm sorry Ron, but we really can't. And neither can you, for that matter. There's a prior commitment…."

Beside her, Harry nodded.

"Bloody Hell!" Ron blustered. "What could be more important than…?" His eyes narrowed in comprehension. "Dammit! Bloody Slughorn's bloody club."

"I'd award you five points, but it would reek of favouritism," Hermione replied.

"So? What's wrong with a little favouritism?" Ron answered. "Bloody Snape never cared."

"Some role model you've chosen," she shot back acidly. "That's why I'm still a Prefect and you're not." She regretted saying that almost as soon as the words left her mouth.

"Can't you give it a rest?" Ron reacted furiously, "I've apologised to Harry here, and he's okay. What's your problem? Oh, blimey - and can't you just blow old Slug off, just this once? I will if you will…."

It was just like old times, Harry thought. Ron and Hermione bickering. He would remain aloof as long as he could.

"Ron, he's a teacher," Hermione responded hotly. "You can't just ignore him like you do me."

"Sure I can," Ron cut across her, "I've got the Prince on my side. Oh shite…. Anyway, just forget the whole thing, I'll go…."

If Ron thought by that by giving in, he could distract Hermione from what he'd just let slip, he was underestimating the girl rightly considered the cleverest witch of her age. Not only that, his own sister chose that precise moment to sabotage him.

"And he won't let me borrow his Princie-Poo either," Ginny chimed in. "The git."

"Ginny, you're a menace," Ron began arguing with his sister.

If she had not caught on before, Hermione now knew something was up. `What's this `Prince' business?' she Legilimenced Harry.

Caught unawares, as usual, by his fiancée's mode of communication, he squeezed her hand hard enough that Hermione winced. Once Harry grasped that her statement had not been made aloud, he relaxed - somewhat. He returned her thought-wave, `It happened whilst you were, you know, out. Professor McGonagall made Ron take Potions. He didn't have a book, and Slughorn let him pick from some used ones. He got one with all sorts of notes by a prior owner who called himself the `Half-blood Prince.''

Hermione found the idea ludicrous and snorted aloud. `You mean he's revising from notes, and he doesn't even know whose they are? Hah!'

`Don't laugh,' Harry told her seriously. `Dead useful those notes are. Ron's been doing rather splendidly in Potions as of late. He might have gotten Slughorn's invite even if he weren't on the Order of Merlin list.'

"Ron?" Harry spoke up. "Hermione's right, I can't skive off the Slug Club this time. I've promised Slughorn I'd show, and you should too."

"Awwww," Ron moaned. "Why'd you go and do that Harry?"

"I owe him." Harry admitted. "It's his quid pro quo."

That raised Hermione's eyebrows even further. `What's this all about, Harry?' she Legilimenced to him.

`Later,' he put her off. Seeing her frown, he added, `I promise.'

* * * *

Forsaking their usual informal Sunday evening attire, Harry and Hermione set out for the Slug Club dressed in freshly pressed school robes. Hand in hand, they descended one of the Castle's many mobile stone staircases only to hear rapid-fire footsteps behind them.

"Oi, mates, wait up!" Ron yelped as he came skittering to a halt beside them. "I've decided to go after all."

"So Cho's loosened your leash a notch?" Hermione asked with a smirk.

"Well, she's still not happy about it," Ron admitted, "but sometimes a wizard's gotta do what a wizard's gotta do."

"Well, then, come along, mate," Harry invited.

Hermione finally asked Harry the question that had stayed on the tip of her tongue since he put her off before dinner. "So what's this mysterious debt you owe Professor Slughorn all of a sudden? I mean, you hardly even know him, and his reputation's hardly promising."

"Umm…. You wouldn't be here without him," Harry told her quietly. "He helped me figure out the meaning of that - chemical formula you left for me."

"What's a chemical formula?" Ron asked.

"It's - sort of like, well, how Muggles do Potions," Hermione explained.

Ron accepted the explanation. He never understood Muggles anyway, so this latest oddity fazed him not at all.

"I'll never really like Slughorn, but he figured out what that meant, and without your little … er … jolt, I might have been willing to leave things to Dumbledore."

"He never would have gotten through," Hermione sighed.

"I know," Harry slowly confirmed as he reached around to kiss her gently on the lips.

"I'm still here, remember?" Ron remarked at this public show of affection. "At least get a room."

`Some day soon, Harry,' Hermione Legilimenced, causing his eyes to go wide.

Hermione led the two boys to the Ceremonial Library, where this evening's Slug Club party was being held. Cautiously, she opened one of the two oaken double doors and the three of them slid inside. The shimmering chandeliers overhead were turned down about halfway, and food odours - some quite delectable and others distinctly not - filled the air.

A mix of students and adults largely filled the large room. Circulating amongst the attendees, several house-elves carried trays of savouries. These elves were crisply dressed in starched white pillowcases bearing the Hogwarts crest.

Harry noticed Professor Slughorn a few feet from the door. He was shaking hands with Neville and Ginny, who had arrived only a short time before. The professor spied the new pair, too. Indeed, Slughorn had been keeping one anxious eye on the door since the arrival of the first invited guests a half an hour previous. At the sight of Harry and his friends, the portly professor fairly lurched in their direction.

"Harry m'boy!" Slughorn greeted them heartily as he scuttled over, sparkles of light from the overhead chandeliers glistening off his shiny bald head. "Excellent…. Good to see you. The first of many such get-togethers, I hope."

"It's good to see you too, sir," Harry more or less mumbled noncommittally.

After shaking hands with Harry, the professor turned to his friends. "And Hermione Granger - the cleverest witch at Hogwarts, I've been told. Now, I'll get a chance to judge for m'self."

"A wild exaggeration…," she began to reply, but found it hard to slip a word in edgewise once the avuncular professor got started.

"…You gave us quite a scare there. I was just happy that I could play some small part in bringing matters to a successful conclusion."

As Professor Slughorn bore down on her, Hermione instinctively moved closer to Harry. Slughorn soon took note of their intertwined fingers.

"…And now you two are an item, I gather," the old man switched gears. "Such wonderful news, and so appropriate. I'm truly flattered that you've chosen my little soirée for your first outing together. Let there be many more."

Ron gaped. He had never before heard anyone actually use "soirée" in ordinary conversation.

For their parts, Harry and Hermione both went beet red. Oblivious, Professor Slughorn turned to the third member of the Trio.

"And Ronald Weasley, how's my newest Potions prodigy doing?" the man thrust a fat hand in Ron's direction. Instantly swelling with pride, Ron shook it firmly. "A top drawer Quidditch player as well - captain of the interscholastic champions - and an Order of Merlin," Slughorn continued. "Perhaps the finest Weasley I've yet to teach."

Just as Ron was becoming misty-eyed in the glare of his professor's praise, he heard a stage whisper over his shoulder, "…now that's damning with faint praise if I've ever heard it."

Scowling, Ron whipped his head around to see Blaise Zabini glaring back at him in a similar fashion.

"Ah, Blaise, play nice now," Slughorn tutted. "You all know Blaise Zabini, I'm sure. Your year."

At this, Harry and Hermione both also regarded the lanky Slytherin. He was tall, dark, and arrogant. His tawny skin, high cheekbones and slightly slanting eyes reminded Hermione of another prodigy - that Yank whose picture had graced the covers of several of her father's golf magazines.

Zabini, for his part, displayed no reaction, not even a sneer. He detested Gryffindors and especially Mudbloods. After blankly staring at the Trio for a bit, he turned back to the conversation he was having with the Head Girl, Beth Dunstan.

"His mother's quite prominent - an heiress seven times over and a big supporter of both Rufus and Cornelius," Slughorn continued, as if that would impress Harry. "And Miss Dunstan? Her father's ambassador to the Russian Ministry."

The trio feigned interest as Slughorn continued inventorying the students present. "Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley, you know of course … so when Luna Lovegood shows up, we'll have a complete set of our Order of Merlin Winners present. By the window, with his back turned, is Head Boy Eddie Carmichael. His father is a member of the Wizengamot, and his mother inherited the largest custom robe-making shop in Britain."

"Over by the fruit table is Roger Davies. His father is landlord to half the shops on Diagon Alley. I'm sure you know the young lady he's entertaining at the moment…."

Harry and Ron both stared in that direction. Roger was talking easily with Fleur Delacour and with a tall, dark-haired older wizard with a pencil moustache. That wizard's ramrod straight bearing, sharply pressed blue-grey robes, and unusual beret-style headgear cocked to one side all screamed "military."

"Over there, taking advantage of our extensive wine list, is another of our Seventh Years, Cormac McLaggen of your House. I serve with his Uncle Tiberius on the Potions Regulation Board. Tiberius was a Slug Club member in his time."

Hearing Professor Slughorn mention his name, McLaggen glanced up and tipped his wineglass at Harry. Harry returned a half-hearted acknowledging wave, as did Hermione. Ron muttered "berk" under his breath.

Continuing to play host, Slughorn introduced the other students he had invited.

"This is Melinda Bobbin. Her family owns quite a number of apothecaries, both in Britain and on the Continent."

"Ah, yes, Marcus Belby. His Uncle Damocles invented Wolfsbane Potion, and was awarded a Third Class Order of Merlin for that."

"You probably know Susan Bones. Her mother was highly placed in Ministry Law Enforcement, but she died … a pity. Her uncle won an Order of Merlin Second Class - also unfortunately posthumously."

"And we can't forget Cassius Blake. His father was almost drummed out of Slytherin for consorting with Muggles, but inasmuch as he inherited the Gulbenkian oil concession rights, he had enough Galleons to sort things out."

Of the various names Slughorn mentioned, only Belby's connection to Wolfsbane Potion was of any interest - and that only to Hermione. The Trio were ready for any excuse to escape from Slughorn, but he prattled on and on and on. Having finished all his student invitees, he started running through his adult guest list, much like a big game hunter recollecting his kills.

"…The gentleman in the blue robes is Artemus Sandpiper - owner of the Tutshill Tornadoes…."

"…Hi'iaka Kupaianaha - I hope I said that right - is the lovely witch in white. She's with the Polynesian Confederation of Covens. She's treating with your father, Ron, about the Seventh Pacific Basin Magical Cooperation Gathering."

"I assume you know Professor Emeritus Linnæus Tofty. He requested an invitation, so of course I couldn't refuse someone so senior … and someone who will be judging your N.E.W.T.s…."

"…Roscoe Rabatin, owner of the Nimbus Racing Broom Company, is the wizard with the long sideburns…."

"…and also Husqvarna Flodden of Cadbury's…. Responsible for your Chocolate Frog^® card, Harry…."

How much longer Slughorn would have carried on is anybody's guess, had he not been bulldozed by a powerfully built blonde wizard in flamboyant yellow robes. "Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports," Slughorn blurted as Bagman almost shoved him aside. Ignoring Hermione altogether, Bagman vigorously pumped Ron's hand whilst gushing about his summer Quidditch performance.

"Jolly good show indeed! Took home the championship for Hogwarts - and as captain, too! That means the international team will visit Hogwarts in the spring. We need to discuss details. You'll be Keeping, of course, and this one here…."

Bagman turned towards Harry.

"…I assume you'll be Seeking since old Umbridge's ban is no more, eh?"

Bagman grasped Harry's hand to give it the same enthusiastic shake he had given Ron, but as he did so, something resembling an electric current shot through Harry's arm.

Bagman released Harry's hand as if it were on fire. "Oh…. Well, righto," Bagman squeaked. He threw an arm around Ron and led the redhead off. "Now about the game, Ron, I suppose you'll be needing some time for everyone to train together…."

Even though Harry was at a loss over what had just happened, he and Hermione used Bagman's providential interruption to escape from their Potions professor's clutches. They might have been better off staying put. They had not even made it to the buffet tables before being buttonholed by Rabatin. He spent ten minutes trying to convince Harry - and secondarily Hermione, once he adduced they were together - to switch the Potter Trust from using Firebolts to a new Nimbus product, the 2XXX. Harry was steadfastly noncommittal, because the man's offer of concessional pricing meant nothing to him. In the end, he agreed only to accept a sample prototype.

Extracting themselves again, they finally made their way to the buffet.

"Well!" remarked Hermione as she summoned a plate, "Slughorn can sure get the house-elves to go the extra kilometre for him. Look at this spread."

Harry at once saw that Hermione was right. The Slug Club was exquisitely catered. There was an entire Pembroke table devoted just to fruits. There were candied fruits, mostly pineapples, as Slughorn's favourite, but also strawberries, raspberries, and kiwi fruits - the last not at all being standard Hogwarts fare - and kiwis were not alone in that distinction….

Hermione's eyes went wide. "Oh look, bananas," she said. "I've never seen bananas at Hogwarts before." Greedily she peeled one and took a bite. "Ack … too hard," she complained. "These must have been Transfigured; they taste like they're still green."

Harry could not have cared less about bananas - until Hermione started peeling. He started going pink even before she winked at him before taking her first bite. Suddenly, he was acutely aware of his rather impure thoughts. After all, they did have an October 31 date to … ahem. Harry's throat went dry, and he made to turn away and grab a handful of savouries to avoid embarrassing the both of them. She wouldn't, would she? He had to stop thinking - about that. Eliza never - did that. Only Cho had ever - done that, and certainly not to him. About what he knew, he would never tell a soul (or at least not Ron).

Consequently, Harry was most definitely not watching when Hermione slyly slipped a couple of the yellow fruits into one of the pockets of her robes.

Reaching the next table, Harry looked askance at the devilled egg halves with some sort of bluish pudding in it. "Er … Hermione, what's this?" he asked, uncertain whether to add one of them to his plate.

"That's Kraken caviar," she told him. "There's regular beluga here as well," she added, pointing to some slabs of smoked salmon. The dollops on top looked to Harry like some sort of blackish goo - like motor oil gone quite bad. "No thanks," he muttered. He did try the cold pheasant and pâté de foie gras entier though.

Hermione did not follow his example. Instead she harrumphed something about cruelty to ducks.

They moved on to the next table, loaded down with more substantial fare. One tray was piled high with basted fire crab legs, about the size and shape of chicken drumsticks - except bright red. Beside it was a silver mini-cauldron suspended above a bluebell flame full of greenish brown gravy ladled over marinated chunks of dragonburger skewered on toothpicks. Next to that were some cheese wheels that gradually changed colour, and another cheese that gave off odd-smelling orange smoke. Last and least was a wicker basket full of hard-crusted dinner rolls covered with those nasty little seeds that got stuck between your teeth.

Hermione, who was rather more open-minded in matters gustatory, sampled almost everything - except for the smoking cheese. When she caught up to Harry, he was suspiciously examining some sort of deep red, leather-bound folder. "What is it Harry?" she asked. "Can't make up your mind?"

"No, more like I can't find anything that I particularly like," he answered distractedly, because he spotted Slughorn waddling towards him again.

"You know what that is, don't you?" Hermione asked rhetorically. "A wine list."

"I know what a wine list is," Harry replied, somewhat annoyed at her patronising tone. "It's just, I'm looking…."

"Seeking a good wine, m'boy?" Slughorn asked cheerily as he wrested the wine list from Harry's rather limp fingers. "Here, let me help you." The professor took a quick look at the food on both Harry's and Hermione's plates.

"I think I know just the ticket. It's not generally known, because Hogwarts is an educational institution, but the Castle's cave has something for practically everyone. My illustrious predecessor Phineas saw to that."

Harry stood stock still and said nothing. Hermione bit her tongue at the mention of Phineas Nigellus.

"Yes, I think for the young lady who seems to have a little of everything on her plate - how about a 1993 vintage Bourg Lachamps Chardonnay? That's a Concours Gold Medal winner." Slughorn touched his wand to the wine list and a bottle - and two long stemmed wine glasses - appeared.

He turned to Harry. "And for the gentleman, who is favouring the savouries to the sweets this evening, I'd suggest the Château Blackwalls oak aged sauvignon blanc."

He started to repeat the process with the wand and the wine list when Harry interrupted. "Sorry, but I'm a non-drinker," he said firmly. "And I really think we need to mingle more." Harry picked up his plate, turned his back on Slughorn, and stalked off.

"Er … what he said," Hermione quickly told Slughorn and set off in pursuit of Harry.

They had barely had time to start eating when Professor Tofty interrupted them, asking for Hermione. Harry could see worry lines crossing his fiancée's ordinarily flawless forehead as she excused herself.

Harry had a pretty good idea what that conversation would concern. He was less worried than she was - as his faith in Hermione's academic abilities was virtually unlimited.

Alone and at loose ends, Harry drifted off to the far wall, away from most of the other guests. He lazily regarded the glass-encased documents displayed on the wall. He had just located an original of the Goblin Treaty with his own handwritten amendment when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Bonsoir `Arry," came the intoxicating female voice. "As zee man of zee hour, you should not be alone … yes?"

"Evening, Fleur," Harry said evenly, without turning around. "What do you want?"

"I want to see zee end of zees Voldemort of yours, and hees Death Eaters," she practically whispered into his ear. "All of my other wants and needs are secondary. And congratulations - I `ave seen zee two of you…."

He turned to face her. "No hard feelings then," he said before noticing that she was accompanied by the militaristic looking wizard he had seen before.

"Non. Eet was meant to be," Fleur said with a sigh. "Bill told me about zat. Ooh! Wheech reminds me…."

Looking sad, Fleur searched for something in her robes until she gave up, drew her wand and mumbled "Accio" followed by something in French that Harry did not quite catch. A couple of folded pieces of parchment flew into her hands.

"Zees ees for you," she told Harry. "I put zees togezzer before - before Bill died." She halted and wiped a tear from her eye. "Eet was supposed to help you weeth your … issues with `Ermione. I doubt you need eet any longer, but eef eet can be of any use…."

She handed the folded up square of parchment to Harry, who mechanically took it and gave it a look. She had written a series of questions inquiring into aspects of his romantic feelings about Hermione.

"Er … thanks Fleur," he said, not quite sure what to make of this unexpected gift.

"You're welcome," she turned to her companion, who had been waiting patiently throughout their prior exchange. "Arry, zees ees Lieutenant-Colonel Luc Dassault of our Auror Corps. `E ees responsible for zee fraternal relations weeth zee British Ministry."

The man clicked his heels and snapped off a crisp salute. "Bonsoir, Monsieur Potter," the man began, before switching effortlessly to clipped, almost unaccented English. "It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, I apologise for the intrusion, but I asked our lovely scholastic liaison to arrange an introduction as soon as possible."

Fleur blushed, and Harry could almost feel the heat.

"Er…. It's no bother, really," Harry replied, at a loss as to the man's intentions.

The Frenchman continued. "I understand that you recently spent a good deal of time training with the English Auror Corps."

"That's right," Harry readily admitted.

"We âˆ' my government âˆ' would like to offer you a similar opportunity … to train with our Gendarmerie Magicale's elite unit this coming summer, our Groupe d'Intervention. As allies in this war, we think it prudent to become acquainted with your skills, and vice versa."

Harry was taken by surprise at the unexpected offer, and was not sure how to respond. "I'm very flattered, and I-I think I'd like to. But I really need to talk this over…."

"Given your Headmaster's expressed views concerning magical cooperation, I'm sure…."

Fleur cut him off. "Luc, I don't theenk zat's what `e meant."

Fleur was quite right, as Harry was already Legilimencing, `Hermione, can you come over here?'

`In a minute,' she returned. `I'm getting some news that affects us both.'

`So am I,' Harry replied.

"There's more," Lieutenant-Colonel Dassault resumed. "We are aware of your admirable interest in - enhancing - the Defence curriculum at Hogwarts. We would be grateful if during your time with us you would review the Defence curriculum for Beauxbatons and suggest improvements."

Harry looked at Fleur. This time she gave him an acknowledging nod. She had previously shared with him her scathing assessment of the quality of DADA instruction at her alma mater.

"…There could be an … opportunity," the Frenchman continued, "as our upper level Defence instructor is 98 years old, and we have a mandatory retirement age of 100."

Harry blinked. Unless he had missed something, he had just been offered the DADA instructor's position at Beauxbatons upon his graduation.

If he lived that long.

"Er … I'm honoured, sir," Harry parried. "But, with the war and all - I can't really think that far ahead."

"I understand completely," the Frenchman answered. "When the time comes - another reason that you would be most qualified."

Having made his intended offers, Lieutenant-Colonel Dassault promptly changed the subject. "Ah … the treaty," he said, regarding the document now displayed on the adjacent wall. "You have indeed put us to the test."

"Yes, indeed!" Fleur broke in. "Merci `Arry!" She impetuously, but chastely, kissed both of Harry's cheeks.

"Umm … how so?" he asked blankly. Fleur was intoxicating even whilst holding her Veela nature in check. He was much relieved that Hermione had not yet returned. He had yet to mention the little Fleur incident to her.

"We French tend to view ourselves as rather more … progressive … than our English counterparts across La Manche," the man explained. "After all, we abolished our monarchy, declared the Rights of Man, and we don't play poodle to les américains. However, in this respect âˆ' the rights of other creatures âˆ' you induced your stodgy English Ministry to steal a march on us."

"Remember, `Arry, I'm no pureblood eezer," Fleur interrupted. "Now my own Ministry ees actually seeking Veela support for zee war. Veela are no longer outcasts - or pleasing curiosities. We have value too…."

"Well, I'm happy for the help of all English and French Veela," Harry declared before Fleur stopped him.

"Zere are no nateeve Eenglish or French Veela, `Arry," she informed him.

"But…. You…?"

"My grandmuzzer, she was a refugee een zee Great War," she explained. "She fled zee destruction of zee northern Veela community by zee Germans and zee Russians, and from zee Russian revolution. She met my grandfazzer in a camp."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Harry replied, his face reddening.

"Don't be." Fleur answered, tossing her bounteous blonde curls. "`E was giving assistance. `E was of a very reech family. But zee Veela, we are from zee east, zee southern Veela in zee Balkans, and zee northern Veela from Veela Novus, in zee Baltics âˆ' you may know eet as Vilnius."

Harry did not know it as anything. He had never heard any Veela history before. It was not taught in History of Magic - at least not when he had been awake. Fleur's information raised an old question in his mind. "Fleur, are there male Veela?"

"Zere are men weeth Veela powers," she told him, "but zey are not called Veela. Zey are not really called anything."

"Except `players,'" the Lieutenant Colonel added.

Fleur ignored him. "Sometimes men with zose powers are called incubi," she said. "Zey tend to marry weetheen ourselves, as zees powers can cause problems. Your king âˆ' `Enri what, huitième I theenk, `ad Veela powers. So did Cliodna of Petra before we were expelled from zat part of the world. Zee Muggles called her Cleopatra. Before that, zee princess 'Elona…. 'Er keednapping - for reasons amoureux - started a war eenvolving both zee ancient Ægean Muggle and magical communities zat lasted for decades…."

"Harry, there you are!" an always appreciated voice squealed behind him. Harry turned and a beaming Hermione bustled over and threw both arms around his neck. "I did it! And so did you!"

"Did what?" Harry asked, her infectious grin spreading to his face.

Fleur gave the lieutenant colonel's sleeve a tug and they discreetly took their leave.

"I aced Astronomy!" she told him excitedly.

"That's wonderful Hermione," he affirmed to her as they embraced. "Not that there was ever much doubt."

"Oh, listen to you," she grinned whilst stroking his cheek softly, her tenderness almost buckling his knees. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Mister Potter."

She leaned in, and he waited expectantly for a kiss that never came. Instead Hermione whispered breathlessly in his ear. "I broke the record!" She was so excited that Harry thought she might jump into his arms at any moment, any onlookers be damned.

He placed both of his hands on her shoulders to calm her down. "What did you get?" he asked with increasing anticipation.

"I got…. With the ten points extra credit, I scored 106 - good enough to win the O+, and it broke Riddle's record by a full half point! Not only that, the comet gets my name - if you can believe it! …Along with some Muggle named Shoemaker. I got precedence though. They say it's expected to be a naked eye comet in less than a month. Everybody in the world should be able to see it!"

"You deserve it, Hermione," Harry affirmed fervently. "You're brilliant - always have been." He gave her lips a light brush with his, all the while squeezing her shoulders.

Suddenly, Hermione got that I-just-remembered-something look in her eyes. "Oh, I'm horrible…. Linnæus told me that you passed too." She pulled an envelope with the crest of the Testing Authority out of her robes and thrust it at Harry.

"Who's Linnæus?" Harry asked.

"Oh, Professor Tofty," she told him, her ears going a bit pink.

"So now you're on a first name basis with one of our N.E.W.T. examiners?" Harry asked distractedly as he managed to break the magical seal on the envelope. Pulling out the parchment inside Harry grinned when he saw he achieved a 91 - good for an O-.

"Umm … that's sort of the idea of this sort of get-together, isn't it?" she replied. "My parents call this sort of thing networking."

Harry could hardly care less about that. But he did care deeply about something else. "Hermione, you're so happy, I don't believe it. Not too long ago that you were terrified over doing what you've just done."

She paused before answering, eyes bright as she mulled her answer. "You're right, Harry, about everything. I was terrified. Now, I'm overjoyed. It's just that - in between then and now - something profound happened…." Her gaze caressed his green eyes.

The eleven-year-old denizen of a cupboard under the stairs put in an appearance when Harry asked, "What happened?"

"Why you did, silly," she said, surprised he had not guessed. She smiled warmly as she closed the gap between them. "We're together now, more than before. So much more…. If that doesn't make me Voldemort's target, then nothing could - and now I couldn't care less. I only care about being with you…."

Almost second nature, Hermione had flicked out her wand during her declaration. When she finished speaking, she moved her wand in a silent corkscrew motion. Barely waiting to return her wand to its wrist holster, with a squeal, she flew to him. She covered Harry's almost gaping mouth with her own as her fingers entangled in his already messy hair. Her tongue sought his as she attempted to kiss him into insensibility.

She almost did.

"Mmmmm…," he hummed after breaking the kiss after quite a few ecstatic seconds. He whispered, "We shouldn't be doing this, here anyway."

Hermione brought his forehead towards hers until they barely touched. "Don't worry about being disturbed," she confided whilst slipping her arms around him within his robes. "What would you rather do, Harry? You know I'm only waiting because you wanted to…."

By now, the two had pivoted so Harry could see what spell Hermione had cast over the entrance to the row in the library stacks they occupied. He recognised once again the twinkling golden mist from the third task of the Triwizard Tournament. "We really should stop, Hermione," he sighed. "Somebody could get a really nasty surprise."

"Humpf," she gave an exasperated sigh. With one last searing kiss, she cooed, "Oh, all right spoilsport…. Later, then."

She ended the spell and, holding Harry's hand tightly, led the way back to the main part of the library. Harry felt her draw up short. Hermione's rather dreamy expression had abruptly hardened.

"What is it?" he wondered. His eyes followed her stare towards the next set of stacks to where a quite single-minded Cormac McLaggen was leaning over - and extremely close to - an obviously uncomfortable young lady,

"That's … that Polynesian witch with the unpronounceable last name," Harry hissed in Hermione's ear.

"She's Hawaiian," Hermione whispered back, "and her name's just long - not unpronounceable. Once you get the hang of a couple of simple rules, it's easy. Like humuhumunukunukuapua'a."

Just as she had intended, Harry was wrong-footed. "Gesundheit…. Er … what the Hell was that, Hermione?"

"A fish," she replied briskly. "Now shouldn't we indulge your `saving people thing' just a bit, before something untoward happens?"

"Yes, let's," he responded with a wink.

"Oh, Cormac!" Hermione called out in the most artificially syrupy voice she could muster. "Can we borrow your friend for a bit? We have some … er … Polynesian Confederation matters we need to discuss."

At the sound of Hermione's voice, McLaggen straightened up and retreated from the rather annoyed woman. He gave Hermione a sceptical look making clear he did not believe a word she was saying.

Hermione flipped her hair back so McLaggen could see her Prefect badge. Her serious expression informed him she did not care whether he believed her or not.

McLaggen took due note of Harry's presence. He knew perfectly well who would come off second best - in more ways than one - in any confrontation with the pair of Order of Merlin Winners.

"Sure," the larger boy grunted, and quickly took his leave.

Hermione smiled at the somewhat flustered Hawaiian. "Hermione Granger, we've been introduced," she said cheerily, just touching the woman's arm with her fingertips. "You rather looked like you'd enjoy some different company."

"Mahalo," the woman replied warmly. "Honestly, some people seem to think that just because they're friendly with the Minister for Magic, they can take any liberties they want."

"And some people don't," Harry declared. "I wouldn't have minded hexing him in the least."

"Nor would I," the woman replied in kind. "He was very close to being on the receiving end of something called `Pele's Revenge' as it was, but as a diplomat, I try to be diplomatic. Oh, I'm Hi'iaka Kupaianaha, and you, of course need no introduction."

Harry smiled wryly, "Nevertheless, Miss … er … ma'am, I'm Harry Potter, and I'm pleased to meet you. Glad to be of help."

He slipped his hand back into Hermione's and turned to leave the woman in peace.

"Oh, Mister Potter," she called after him. "I-I really did want to chat with you about something … er … diplomatic."

The two turned to face her again. "Please, call me Harry." He gave the woman his full attention.

A diplomat the young woman was - but not very experienced. Her right hand revealingly clutched at the left sleeve of her robes as she addressed the famous young wizard.

"Mister … er … Harry, on behalf of my confederation, I would like to invite you to our Pacific Magical Gathering planned for this June." It did not, however, escape the astute woman's attention how closely Harry stood next to Hermione and how tenderly they held hands. "The invitation extends, of course, to Miss Granger as well," she ad libbed.

Once again Harry received an offer that caught him completely unawares. "Umm … I guess…. I'm not sure what to say," he stammered.

Hermione squeezed his hand reassuringly. She answered, "We're quite flattered, but we need to know exactly when and where."

"Of course," Miss Kupaianaha responded. "The exact dates are still being worked out. One reason I'm here is to avoid conflicts with the Hogwarts schedule so your Headmaster might be able to attend. Several of our covens still respond to your Ministry's influence. The Gathering is always held in a central location, Honopu on the island of Kauai. It's the largest magical community in Polynesia and it's so well hidden that the Muggles call it the `Valley of the Lost Tribe.' …But we're still there."

"What do you think, Hermione?" Harry asked his new fiancée. His eyes betrayed both wariness and interest. "I know you've told me about Hawaii before - that it's a paradise." He slid closer to Hermione as he spoke, and his hand went around her waist.

Watching the pair interact, the Polynesian diplomat had what she thought was a bright idea.

"We also organise a side trip to Moloka'i for interested couples," she offered. "To the site of one of the Pacific's most powerful magical objects…."

That was just the kind of thing calculated to pique Hermione's incessant intellectual curiosity. "Ooh, what's that?" she asked with obvious interest.

"That would be our Phallic Rock," she told her. "We organise a special overnight trip from each Gathering for couples seeking…."

Hermione quickly cut the woman off. "Oh, that's quite all right," she replied in an overly loud, rather high pitched voice. As she spoke, she let go of Harry's hand and practically jumped away from him.

"I'm terribly sorry," the young diplomat apologised. "I was being presumptuous. Anyway, I do hope you'll consider attending. You can either send me an owl at the consulate, or let me know through your Headmaster. Aloha." Still looking mortified, the woman flitted away.

"What was that about?" Harry asked Hermione, who was also looking rather muddled at the moment.

`I'm familiar with that particular talisman,' Hermione replied, switching to Legilimency. `What kind of magic do you think a phallic rock possesses?'

Harry looked at her oddly, surprised as much by her sudden shift to silent communication as he was stumped by her question. `Umm … I wouldn't know without a dictionary,' he replied. `Don't remember that one from class.'

`Oh, Harry,' she silently sighed. `The Phallic Rock is shaped like - well - like a penis….' She paused as Harry went quite pink. `…It's a powerful aid to conception if one … er … a couple makes love on it.'

He regarded her sceptically.

`Don't ask,' she hastened. `If you saw a picture of it, you'd understand the mechanics. She was asking us if we'd want to try for a baby. I'm not anywhere ready for that…. Not at all.'

"S-S-Same here," Harry agreed with relief. He did so aloud.

`Be quiet,' she Legilimenced back.

`Sorry,' Harry immediately said silently. Something nonetheless struck him as odd. `But, Hermione, you know - the other day - you seemed so ready to … well, you know. But since I was almost as surprised at … what I did … as you were…. Were you … er … protected?'

One look at the expression on Hermione's face and Harry almost cringed. `Umm … well … no…,' she admitted truthfully. `But when you proposed when I - I was on the verge of giving up hope. Well, you were so sweet. And it came to me all over again how head over heels in love with you I was. That hasn't changed, by the way. I just wanted you so badly. That hasn't changed either, Harry Potter….'

`But, Hermione, that would have been risky,' Harry reminded her.

Putting her hands on those delightful hips of hers, Hermione drew herself up to full height as she answered. `I know, but I'm fully capable of dealing with that consequence,' she told him confidently. `I've got my internship with Poppy after all. I could get some of Snape's potion whenever I need it - if I needed it. It's not particularly appetising, I gather, but quite effective at ending a pregnancy. But you're quite right. Objectively, it would have been an exceptionally stupid thing to do. But I love you so much, Harry. You can't expect me to be objective, especially when you've just asked me to marry you.'

`Er … I guess not,' Harry tentatively agreed. Even though he had broached the subject, he felt he had received a bit too much information, so he switched topics. `We … we haven't talked about it much … especially after, well … what happened…. But I'm still worried about Ron being with Cho.'

`That's really none of our business, Harry,' Hermione cautioned. `They seem happy.'

"I don't know,' Harry Legilimenced back. `She seems to encourage him being reckless. And it's such a huge secret. And - well - in one of my dreams Cedric asked me to watch out for her.'

Hermione almost blurted something aloud at this news. `What! What dream was this?'

`I hadn't gotten a chance to tell you, but when I got hit on the head at the D.A. meeting, I met - I guess, they'd be memories of some sort - of my parents, Sirius, Bill, Eliza, and Cedric. They encouraged me to be with you. But I didn't want to listen to them.'

`Theirs would have been good advice to follow, Harry,' she told him.

`I almost did, but for the fact that they were all dead,' Harry explained. `Then I had pretty much the same dream again, but you - you were there too - dead. That's when I decided we couldn't. But you wouldn't let me go that route.'

Hermione almost snogged him again - right in public. He looked so happy and sad at the same time. `Well, I think the first thing we need to do is be absolutely sure we're right.'

`Oh, I'm sure, now,' Harry affirmed.

`I am too,' she responded warmly, `but I meant about Cho. Her tattoos were quite - distinctive. One of them resembled a family symbol I think I saw in a Hong Kong museum. Before we do anything, we need to confirm that we have the right person. That, and if they're temporary they probably don't mean anything.'

`I thought tattoos were permanent,' Harry offered.

`Not everything is what it seems,' she cautioned, `especially that type.'

`How would you know?' he asked. `It's not like you have any tattoos. Umm … do you?'

Hermione gave him an impertinent look. `Of course not,' she Legilimenced sharply. One doesn't have to actually do something to know how it's done, after all.'

She fully intended to demonstrate that principle in a few weeks' time.

But not tonight.

`To confirm our suspicions, I think we need to involve our favorite Ravenclaw,' she went on. `We need a girl in the same dorm who could accidentally pop in at an opportune moment.'

Harry guarded this secret more closely than the prophecy. He had not shared it with anyone except Hermione. "You want to involve Luna?" he chirped aloud.

"Hush, Harry," Hermione hissed.

"Oi, mates! There you are," Ron's exuberant voice called out. "What about Looney? Haven't seen her. Did she ever turn up?"

"Oh, nothing, Ron," Hermione replied nervously. "We were just wondering the same thing, that's all."

Ron did not give it another thought. He had other news. "Guess what, Harry!" he said in an excited stage whisper. "Ludo introduced me to the owner of the Tutshill Tornadoes, the best team in the league!"

"I thought you followed the Cannons," Hermione observed.

"Oh, I do, but … Cho says - well he told me I'm definitely good enough to play pro after Hogwarts. Said I should engage an agent. Ludo's brother's one, and he offered to get us together. I won't have to work in the bloody Ministry after all! Oi, I'll take that…."

Ron reached out, relieved a passing house-elf of an entire tray of mini-wursts wrapped in bacon, and started shovelling them into his mouth.

"Finally, something worth eating," he said as used his teeth to pull five of the minis off their toothpick holders at the same time. "All night, it's just been green olives wrapped in salami, cheese squares with bits of walnut stuck to them, and other stuff no self-respecting wizard would eat."

Harry, who had had an encounter with a mushroom dipped in what tasted like some sort of Paint Stripping Potion, thought his friend had a point.

"…and that blue jam. Ugh. Worst marmalade I've ever tasted. Ruined a perfectly good sticky roll, it did."

"That was Kraken caviar, Ron," Hermione told him, "not a sweet."

Ron wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Yuck! Fish eggs…. Anyway, I'd have to keep quiet about it. Wouldn't want to lose my amateur status before graduation."

"That's - that's great, Ron," Harry told his friend, more enthusiastically than he felt.

"Not only that, our Hogwarts combined team will definitely play the international all stars in June, after all the end of Term exams. Krum's on that team! You'll finally get to go against him head to head."

Hermione said nothing as she shifted her weight from one foot to another uneasily. She had recently broken off all communication with Viktor, and was not looking forward to possibly seeing him again. He had, after all, once asked her to marry him. How would he react to her - current situation? Would he try to knock Harry off his broom?

"I've done that already," Harry remarked, "in the Triwizard Tournament."

"But not at Seeker, you haven't," Ron reminded him. "It'll be brilliant! You've got to catch the Snitch! Otherwise we'll probably get clobbered."

Hermione remembered something. "Is Harry even on the team?"

"Of course he is," Ron replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm the captain. I pick the team!"

"So you'll replace the Seeker you had over the summer?" she asked.

Harry's eyebrows shot up. He grasped the implications of Hermione's question moments before Ron did.

"Bloody right!" Ron plowed ahead. "Harry's the best, we all know that. Much better than … er … Cho…." Ron's voice trailed off as he figured out he would have to choose between Harry, his best mate, and the girl with whom he was currently - mating.

"Ah, the responsibilities of captaincy," Hermione remarked waspishly.

"I can be responsible, I just don't have to be perfect all the time," Ron responded, rising to her bait.

"Perfect is one thing, passing is another," she shot back. "You really need to try to do better in Transfiguration."

"Just because Slughorn says I'm doing bloody better than you in Potions, you just can't stand it," Ron replied hotly.

"That's because you're cheating, using that book," she bickered back at him.

"It's not cheating, and just what all do you think you know about that anyway, Miss Know It All?"

It was Harry's turn to shift his feet anxiously.

"It's rather obvious, Ron, to anybody but our host here. Now about the last Transfiguration assignment…."

"McGonagall didn't have the sense to pick me as House Captain, even with Harry's recommendation, so I don't care what she says," Ron declared hotly. "She can get stuffed."

Hermione was scandalised. "You really shouldn't say things about the staff that you don't mean, especially in public."

"Public, schmublic," Ron replied testily. "These people are here to see us tonight, not her - in case you haven't figured that out. Old tight-face isn't even…."

Harry's eyes started going wide. "Umm … I really agree with Hermione, Ron," he said.

"Well, since you've gotten together, that's no surprise," Ron complained. "Bloody two against one…. Owww!"

Hermione stomped on Ron's foot - hard.

"Miss Granger, I'm surprised at you," came a reproachful voice from over Ron's right shoulder. Recognising it, Ron's whirled around, his face turning chalky.

"…That will be five points from Gryffindor, for physical assault, and I'll see you outside," Professor McGonagall declared in a voice that brooked no quibbling. She turned on her heel and marched out, a visibly chastened Hermione scuttling in her wake.

Before she left, Hermione gave Ron a furious look.

Once they were outside, Hermione waited for the other shoe to fall. How ironic that she should get a detention for saving Ron from a far worse fate.

"Which night, Professor?" she asked apprehensively.

"Tonight," the older woman responded. "The Headmaster has determined that, whilst we've put this off long enough, we can't very well put it off any longer."

"I'm sorry?" Hermione asked perplexedly. "Aren't I getting a detention?"

Professor McGonagall waved off the thought. "Oh, pish-posh. Of course not. I just needed to collect you, and that seemed like the simplest way to go about it. You'll get the five points back in the next class. There are two things I need to address. The first is this note that was just delivered for you…."

With that Professor McGonagall produced some post. Hermione easily recognised the handwriting. It was from Tonks - although her penmanship looked shakier than normal. Without bothering to open it just then, she stuck the letter in her pocket.

Professor McGonagall nodded when Hermione was finished. "The other matter I need to discuss with you is Rita Skeeter."

"I really think Harry should be here too," Hermione resisted. "Anything concerning that cow affects him at least as much as me."

"Miss Granger, you know that would not be wise," Professor McGonagall tutted. "Potter is simply too emotional to handle Skeeter. He'd either kill her in a rage or else be taken in by her phony apologies. Besides, he has no plan. I believe you do - you're always planning. Were it otherwise, Potter wouldn't be here. So no, this should not involve him."

"I'm sorry, Professor but it does," Hermione responded in a respectful, yet firm manner. "Both of us nearly died - more than once - because we kept secrets from each other. I won't do that again. We're together now … and I won't let anything drive us apart."

"You have my congratulations on that," McGonagall responded, her face showing just a trace of a smile. "But you're sure there's nothing I can do to change your mind? Potter and Skeeter are just - too volatile a combination."

"There's nothing … sorry," Hermione reaffirmed. "I have to follow my heart on this one."

"Very well," the Head of House sniffed. "I'll fetch Potter, and we can discuss this."

"Thanks for respecting my wishes," she answered, as Professor McGonagall turned back to the ceremonial library. "I do have a plan."

* * * *

Her surroundings had been the same, precisely the same, for who knew how long. The stone walls, uniform brownish grey in their blankness, never changed. The same pale white light illuminated them, constantly - 24 hours a day, whatever a day might be. She kipped on the same barely adequate mattress, covered with identical plain white sheets. She used the same unadorned metal basin, charmed not to overflow, to provide water to drink, to wash herself, and to wash her clothes and bedsheets. A single bar crossed near the ceiling from which she hung her washing, her single towel, and her solitary serviette.

That was it. She knew nothing else. She could not even tell how the air circulated in this place - although it did.

Actually, she had one other thing, two if she were being precise. Two buttons served as her sole means of communication with the outside world. When she had exiled to this Merlinforsaken place - days, weeks, months ago, the monotony made her entirely unsure - Argus Filch had instructed her how to use them.

Press the green one, and food will appear. Ten minutes later, anything left uneaten would disappear - along with the plates, cutlery, and so on. Best to eat fast. The food was always identical - bangers and mash, raw carrots and celery, a glass of pumpkin juice, and three biscuits. She could have as much as she wanted. Any time after the prior meal had vanished, she could press the green button again.

Press the red button, and a toilet would appear. It carried charms similar to the basin. It would remain as long as she sat on it. Then it would disappear within thirty seconds or so. She had no way to count.

That was it.

Since Mr. Filch had left, evidently taking the door to the outside with him, she had seen nobody and heard nothing. She was entombed alive.

And nobody knew where she was. She had seen to that herself before coming to the Castle on that terrible day. It was her first visit there since being found out over a year before by that insufferably clever Granger girl.

And now, Granger had caught her again - on the cusp of a huge story.

Acutely aware that recidivism would incur much more severe punishment, Rita had covered her tracks minutely. She was freelance - on her own. She had concealed her sources, and her intentions, from anyone and everyone.

It would have been her biggest scoop ever. Something had happened to Granger - something catastrophic. And more recently, something had caused Potter to vanish again. So her sources said. The two events had to be related. She knew it. And unlike every other reporter in creation, she knew how to go about finding out what.

Except that the Granger girl had evidently recognised her.

As a result, she might never see the outside of this cell.

But one alternative would be even worse. The present surroundings were positively idyllic compared to Azkaban.

Several soft popping noises - the first sound she had not made since her captivity began - made Rita Skeeter sit up straight on her bed.

The door had reappeared, and it was opening.

With a flutter of wings, a medium-sized orange and brown patterned owl flew into the cell, circled it twice, and landed on the overhead bar, knocking Rita's serviette to the floor. The bird eyed her with its large, unblinking eyes.

Then in she walked - her worst nightmare.

"Hermione Granger."

"Rita Skeeter. Allow me to introduce Athena, my familiar. She finds beetles delicious."

"Charmed," the older woman replied, hardly charmed at all. "I'd say sit anywhere, but I haven't a chair."

"No problem," the girl responded. In the blink of an eye, she produced a wand and silently conjured a chair. "Norwegian wood," Hermione remarked as she inspected her handiwork.

"Oh, very good," Skeeter remarked. "Always the cleverest one of…."

"I try to be good at everything I do," Hermione answered evenly.

"How nice to see you again," Skeeter continued, tossing her stringy blonde hair to one side.

"There may not be another time," Hermione said through a false smile as she sat down. "That's what I'm here to decide."

"So you've become my judge, jury, and executioner, now," the older woman sneered, dropping the false pretence of civility.

Hermione would not be baited. "Something similar," she answered laconically. "Two of three - not bad. Seriously, you're not that far off. I hold Harry's proxy, and Dumbledore's likely to defer to my assessment. That is, whether there's anything here worth salvaging. Or whether you belong in Azkaban…."

The older woman tried the silent treatment - hoping to project confidence that the young witch's threats meant nothing to her.

"…I'd say you're looking at fifteen years for second offence defiant trespass on the Hogwarts grounds, invasion of privacy, and being an illegal Animagus. Then you'd have to be Distransmutated to destroy your Animagus ability. I hear that can be quite painful."

Skeeter arched her eyebrows at the girl. "Oh, honey, you must think I'm stupid. The last thing you or your Headmaster wants is a trial, where everything I've seen becomes public."

"I know you're stupid," Hermione haughtily hissed back. "First, you sneak in here without leaving word with anyone who might care about you. Then you get caught - amongst a horde of witnesses to what you've done - one of whom just happens to be a master Obliviator. You honestly don't think that you'll ever be permitted to profit in the slightest from your little escapade?"

"You wouldn't dare Obliviate me," Skeeter growled back. Hermione, however, could tell from the look in the trash reporter's eyes that she'd scored points in that exchange. "You'd get caught."

"That's rich," Hermione laughed harshly, "you presuming to tell anyone what he or she shouldn't dare be doing. That's why I'm here, and not Harry. They're afraid he might take pity on you. They know I won't."

"So look who's all of a sudden become the ice queen," Skeeter said with a sneer. "It doesn't become you."

"You have no idea what I've had to become," Hermione said before catching herself. "I suppose you saw we had goblins helping us. At my word, you can simply be handed over to them. Then you'd really just disappear. I'm told their goblin prisons make Azkaban look like Club Med…."

"You wouldn't," Skeeter replied. "You're not evil enough. And even if you were, your better half wouldn't let you."

"Don't drag Harry into this, you insufferable bitch," Hermione finally exploded. "I think I should just use this on you and be done with it." Hermione reached into her robes and fished out a large glass phial full of foul-looking brownish-gold potion. The translucent mixture bubbled as she shook it in the face of the older woman.

"See this? Well I suppose you know that I'm the Hogwarts Centres of Excellence Scholar for this Term. Ever since I caught you out, I've been hard at work coming up with a potion vile enough to be suitable for you. This is Babble Breath Broth. It makes you speak uncontrollable gibberish, and it's prion based. Just like that Muggle mad cow, it eventually causes insanity by eating holes in your brain. In the end, you can no longer control your vital organs. Then you die, slowly but surely, in your own shite. And there's no antidote."

"What a lovely set of options you've presented," Skeeter observed. "Still, I can't believe they've sent you just so I can choose my means of execution … a waste of your talents…."

"That's the first intelligent thing you've said in this conversation," Hermione archly observed. "What I've been showing you are the sticks. You haven't shown much interest in the carrots."

"Well, consider me all ears, now," the older woman said less harshly. She pushed her awful rhinestone glasses down her nose to see Hermione better. "After all, I do believe you said something about a deal before our lovely Albus shut you up."

Hermione's voice went deadly serious. "All right, but I'm only saying this once. It's a take it or leave it proposition. We've dealt before to our mutual benefit. You collaborated with us last year. We could do it again, but only after you do something very concrete to restore the trust you've thrown away with your latest escapade."

"You'd be willing to tell me the story of what's really gone on at the Castle since the Death Eaters took Potter?" Skeeter asked, scarcely believing her ears.

"Not everything - but plenty," Hermione reiterated. "Another exclusive, yes. But only the way we want it told, and only under very strict preconditions. There. You wanted a carrot. That's it."

"No it isn't," Skeeter answered, almost salivating at the prospect. "Not quite. What's this precondition you've been hinting at?"

Hermione moved in for the kill. "You must swear an Unbreakable Vow - not just to Harry, but to me - pledging that you'll never write anything concerning either Harry or myself without both of our prior consents. Rest assured, if you ever broke the Vow, I would waste no time in invoking it."

"An Unbreakable Vow," Skeeter repeated, as much to herself as anything. "You can do that?"

"Dumbledore can - and will," Hermione told the woman. "He might want you to swear another one, to him, to stay away from Hogwarts in your beetle form, but that's between you two. As far as I'm concerned, it's simple. You agree, and Harry and I will forget you were ever here. You get not only your freedom, but also the biggest story of your career. We're assured that the story comes out exactly how we want it, and we get peace of mind that we never have to worry about anything you write ever again."

"And if I don't agree?" the reporter petulantly asked.

"I don't think you even want to consider going there," Hermione told the witch. "Right now I'm inclined to petrify you and to pour this potion down your throat. You'd be a gibbering idiot to turn this deal down."

"All right, I'll do it," Rita Skeeter surrendered. It was the only way to get ahead at the moment. She was a Slytherin, after all.

"Fine," Hermione replied, her face deliberately devoid of all emotion. "I'll see you in the Headmaster's office in twenty minutes."

* * * *

It was well after midnight. Harry and Hermione were walking hand in hand back to Gryffindor Tower from Dumbledore's office - Rita Skeeter's Unbreakable Vow now firmly in place. Hermione had just finished giving her fiancé a point-by-point description of how she had "convinced" the obnoxious reporter to "see the light."

Just before reaching the Fat Lady, Hermione pulled the phial of brown liquid from her robes and showed it to Harry. "This is what I threatened that cow with," she remarked. Then she removed the stopper.

Drinking deeply from it, she turned to the love of her life, grinning at him just as widely as he was at her.

"You know, Harry, there are advantages to being Muggle-born," she said, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. "Sometimes things really do go better with Coke."

* * * *

Author's notes: Carborundum paper is British for sand paper

The Serpentine is a reference to what happened in Ch. 21

Hermione (and the Fat Lady) know the Tale of Two Cities context of "far, far better thing." Harry doesn't

The idea of classmates, or worse staff, wagering on romantic matters always struck me as tacky. The portraits doing it, on the other hand, strikes me as humorous

I have the Fat Lady dating from Arthurian times

Ginny is not happy

Ron has news that Malfoy's not playing Quidditch

The Ceremonial Library is where Harry and Hermione had their prep session with Umbridge's prosecutor in Ch. 8

The other referenced prodigy is Tiger Woods, who was beginning to sweep the golf world before him in 1996

Zabini's family history matches canon, as does McLaggen's. The others are mostly made up

Calouste Gulbenkian had a concession that gave him 5% of oil revenues from anywhere in the old Ottoman Empire - which included Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and the UAE; this reference will figure again later

In Hawaiian legend, Hi'iaka was the first hula dancer, and had many amourous adventures. Kupaianaha is a Hawaiian volcano

Linnæus was a scientist who developed the current naming conventions for various species

Harry's already dealt with Husqvarna Flodden

Bagman's shocking experience will eventually be explained

The prototype Nimbus 2XXX will eventually come in handy

Hermione will put the bananas to good use

Paté is produced by nastily overfeeding ducks

The wine descriptions are accurate, except about Blackwalls

Harry and Hermione will have some fun with Fleur's questions

Dassault is French aircraft manufacturer

The Groupe d'Intervention is a French special forces unit

La Manche is what the French call the English Channel, since they would never admit it was English

Playing "poodle" is a reference to how the Brits are seen as doing the American's bidding like a pet dog

I've never seen much Veela history in fanfics, so I made some up

Vilnius is the capital of Lithuania

The Veela history includes references to Henry VIII, Cleopatra VII, and Helen of Troy

Gene Shoemaker was a well-known comet finder before his 1997 death

A humuhumunukunukuapua'a really is a Hawaiian fish

There were several British colonies in Polynesia

Honopu Valley on Kauai is known as the "Valley of the Lost Tribe." It is inaccessible and reachable only by boat or (as I did in my younger days) by swimming from the end of Kalalau Beach

There is a Phallic Rock on Moloka'i Island

I've made the rules about Quidditch players engaging agents similar to the American NCAA

Hermione kept Ron from saying something about McGonagall that he would not have wanted her to hear

The contents of Tonks' letter will be revealed in the next chapter

The "haven't a chair" line is from the Beatles' Norwegian Wood, hence the back and forth

Club Med is a fancy resort chain

Prions cause mad cow disease

That's right - the "potion" was really just Coke

6

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