Unofficial Portkey Archive

Wherein Harry and Hermione are disturbed, and go Christmas shopping; Voldemort gets a message and gives orders; Harry and friends tour Glastonbury; Hermione makes another discovery; Christmas is celebrated; and Lao Kung writes back

Thanks once again 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 66 - Happy Christmas

Luckily, the Anti-Rip charms on the baize were regularly reinforced….

Diligently performing her appointed rounds, the house-elf nudged the door to the billiards room open and started to slip inside, cleaning under the door jamb as she went. Her expression went curious when the door struck something. The very orderly elf tutted as she saw the red-striped 13-ball bump to a halt on the thick carpet.

But what stopped the ball's roll was even more disturbing - a red and black C-string, and a right skimpy one at that.

The elf frowned. Why were various items of apparel - mostly, but not entirely, human female clothing - scattered all about the room?

The answer was not long in coming. There, atop a Cushioning-Charmed pool table, resplendent in the altogether was the Young Master and….

Oh, dear. Nothing like this had occurred in the Château within the memory of any living elf.

With a tiny little yelp, the quite perturbed elf vanished.

As Young Master's personal house-elf, and now the newly designated (if not yet comfortable) head house-elf, this new report put Dobby in a significant quandary.

Someone, somehow, had to wake up the great Harry Potter and Miz Myown, and soon. They were the centrepieces of a most overblown and most recently scheduled outing. It would not befit their positions to be late for their own extravaganza.

But after the incident with them at the pool, Dobby was certain that he was not the elf for that job.

But how? But who?

The answer was not long in coming.

The Head Elf's wide eyes protruded even more than usual, as he broke into a knowing, open-mouthed smile. "To wake Harry Potter and his miss, that will work," he declared to a couple of onlooking elves. They stared uncomprehendingly as Dobby popped off.

Shortly thereafter, an amused Luna Lovegood waltzed into the billiards room loudly singing "It's the End of the World as We Know It" - with modified lyrics known only to her.

She stopped singing abruptly, with the words "Ludo Bagman." Inside the room, things had not changed appreciably since the cleaning elf's hasty exit.

The pair, totally starkers, slept soundly atop the main pool table - its green baize resembling a featherbed instead of slate. Hermione's slightly bent legs molded about Harry's sides. He spooned her, and Hermione's torso, topped by nothing save her unconscious smile, rested comfortably within his encircling arms.

Luna believed they were probably - technically speaking - still in the act.

"Looks like fun," she breathed to herself. "Too bad that all things must pass."

"Accio Hermione's clothes!" Luna incanted. From all four points various garments soared to her. "My, My," she giggled. "She sported more layers than an Eskimo on walkabout…."

Hermione stirred a bit - but only a bit - as Harry reflexively held her closer.

"Well, here goes nothing," Luna giggled again. She held her wand high. "Tocsinnini!"

A loud ringing, buzzing, rattling clamour - combining every irritating noise ever emitted by an alarm clock - sounded through the room.

The cacophony blasted the hitherto placid bodies on the pool table back to consciousness. They began flailing wildly. Hermione grabbed her wand from beneath the nose of the side cushion, and rose up. "Silencio!" Her burst of magic hit the end of Luna's wand quite precisely, calling a halt to caterwauling.

Luna appreciated just how skilled a dueller Hermione had become. "Five seconds after arousal from deep sleep. Very good."

Hermione could do without such ill-timed praise. "Luna! What in the name of Circe are you up to?" she screeched.

Luna's sing-song voice responded, "Get up, get out, you lazy louts, get into your working clothes…."

"That would be difficult, I'm afraid," Hermione huffed sarcastically, "as you already seem to have collected everything."

"So I have," Luna answered, playing Hermione's discomfiture for all it was worth.

Without his glasses, Harry could only guess where his clothes were. His hands firmly around Hermione's waist, Harry kept her strategically positioned between himself and the intruder. He broke in, "Luna, do you mind?"

"Nope, not at all," Luna responded.

Harry continued, "Look, I'm naked here…."

"All right, I will. Hmmm … let's see…." Luna made a big production of checking Harry out. "I do believe you're right."

"Lu-na!" Harry raised his voice. "This isn't funny."

"That … well, you're quite mistaken," she replied, bringing a hand to her mouth in an unsuccessful attempt to stifle her laughter.

Hermione had enough, "Accio my clothes," she incanted. At least two dozen items streamed from one young lady to the other.

"There certainly were a lot of them," Luna commented. "Why so many separate things…? I mean, leggings and fishnets?"

"Well, it was necessary. We were having a round of … strip pool … er … in reverse."

"Hermione!" Harry protested.

"…Why a C-string?" Luna went on. "Oh, I get it…."

"It's about time," Hermione groaned.

"Look, we need to get dressed," Harry demanded, frustration leaking into his voice.

"Well, why do you think I'm here?" Luna stood her ground.

"At this point, I really don't care," Hermione retorted. She was also frustrated. She had her clothes, but could not put them on as long as Harry needed her as a human shield.

"Supposedly, femininity works best…. Oh, goodie!" Luna exclaimed. "What a great idea!" she spoke quite loudly to herself. She ran from the room without bothering to look back.

"Finally," Harry groaned. He let her loose and fumbled about for his clothing - where had Hermione Banished his jeans last night, anyway? Resorting to magic, he retrieved them from the horns of a stuffed bicorn head mounted above the (untouched) whiskey cabinet.

Hermione fumbled through the items of clothing seized from Luna. She left most of them on a chair but covered herself with a red scoop-necked top adorned with "Binge Thinker" in gold letters.

"Next time, I'll use a Colloportus that doesn't wear off," she swore.

* * * *

The field-elves managing the Thestrals were beginning to get restless (as were the Thestrals) when Harry and Hermione finally arrived - late for their own production. The rest were already there: Neville, Luna, Tonks, Mad-Eye, even Jazzy had been persuaded to come along, although she attended quite sullenly.

Much of their delayed entrance was attributable to their lie in after the previous evening's extracurricular activities. But not all.

A fluffy, feathery visitor was also at fault. The pair were about to depart the Proprietor's suite when Pigwidgeon appeared from out of nowhere, madly banging into the leaded window like a bee in a jam jar.

The overenthusiastic owl bore a note from Ron. That note remained in Harry's hand all the way to the Château's entrance. Beside him, Hermione was still tutting.

Hey mate!

So what's it like to have more money than Merlin? I could get used to that. Hope you're being allowed to.

Here at the Burrow, it's boring without you around. There's no point even in taking the Mickey out of little sister. She's grounded for her bit in putting you in the Hospital Wing after the Slytherin match.

I didn't. Hah. Hah.

No idea why. Fred and George suspect I got off because Mum and Dad did something similar as Hogwarts students and got away with it. It's too much information, but whatever. It beats being grounded any day.

I just have to de-gnome the back garden every day.

I'll give you your Christmas present when we're back at Hogwarts. Can't have it confiscated like your Firebolt.

Don't forget - Chinese New Year. You promised.

Ron

The carriage's first stop was Diagon Alley, ostensibly for Christmas shopping. Jazzy had no money but had no use for Harry's, or anyone else's, charity.

In that respect, she was worse than Ron.

The eight Thestrals that propelled the Château's most magnificent carriage were chomping at the bit, ready to depart. Driving them were two house-elves in nothing but worn out rucksacks with cutout holes, also sporting Blackwalls' black and silver chambered nautilus patterned insignia. "Got the regular drivers back," Moody had told Harry, "since today's landings will be trickier."

Moody climbed atop the carriage where, of course, he was riding shot-wand.

Tonks handed out Château Blackwalls debit cards to the soon-to-be performers. Jazzy scowled, taking hers with a thumb and one finger, as if it were a Flesh-Eating Slug newly dead from infectious Scrofungulus.

"Don't look at it that way," Tonks hissed at her. "You're not enriching yourself. It's for Christmas presents."

"I don't believe in Christmas," Jazzy shot back.

"Well, whatever you do believe in," Tonks shrugged.

Jazzy did not believe in much of anything.

The landing in London was indeed tricky. Whilst the Cloaking Charm worked perfectly, that spell had been in use for more than three hundred years - long before the Muggles invented radar. To avoid radar, the carriage swung to the East, away from the westbound flight path for jets ascending from Heathrow Airport. Further incidents with 747s were strictly forbidden.

The carriage's approach was exceedingly low, skimming over grimy industrial estates bounded by the Thames, and banking sharply only a few score metres above London chimney tops.

And over places that lacked even chimney tops.

For the first time, Harry witnessed the massive destruction wrought by the fire that occasioned his kidnapping - scores of square blocks burnt to the ground. The Muggles had removed most of the debris, so what remained was a charred wasteland, unnervingly close to Whitehall and the City.

Pale-faced and nauseous, Harry turned to Hermione. "I had no idea … it was … that bad," he choked out.

"I know," she murmured, her hand rising to stroke his face. "I didn't want to tell you. I saw … saw it, too much of it, the night it all happened. You're aware that I wanted to die that night. Well, now you've some idea why…."

"Landing shortly," Tonks announced loudly from behind them - their dolorous conversation thus interrupted by the only other person in the world who knew how close Hermione had come to death that night.

As the carriage descended into Diagon Alley, Harry noticed that it had acquired an escort. Several broom riding Aurors, their maroon robes flapping in the breeze, circled the much larger carriage in the same rotational pattern Harry had first noticed whilst making his initial visit to Grimmauld Place.

Harry was uncertain exactly where they would land. The goblins swore that things were well in hand, but Harry he had never seen anyplace in or around Gringotts large enough, long enough, and flat enough for landing a carriage of this size. Harry had his answer when the carriage tilted into its final approach, affording him a view of Gringotts and its surrounding alleyways.

The bank was unmistakable, dominating everything in the vicinity and glowing brilliantly white in the low early morning sun. However, the bank's right side was rippling, as were the adjacent smaller shops - as far as Madam Malkin's. A greensward flickered into being as the buildings parted. The magic reminded Harry of the enchantments at Grimmauld Place.

The greensward continued expanding. As the scene slipped from Harry's view, a pair of massive wrought iron gates began wheeling open.

The carriage lurched as the Thestrals made a hard right turn. Hermione's fingernails dug into Harry's wrist as the landscape rose to meet them - first even with the surrounding rooftops and then closer still. Dodgy Knockturn Alley shops flashed by as the vehicle hurtled down the way, now only a metre or two in the air.

The carriage rumbled loudly and bounced as it set down on the Diagon Alley cobbles. For an instant, Harry saw Aurors blocking traffic - but in the blink of an eye, the carriage shot by them, through the gates, and rolled to a halt in a substantial, well-manicured field.

"The bloody Eagle has landed," Hermione groaned breathily, finally allowing herself to exhale.

A goblin delegation, led by Glaksosmit, greeted Harry as everyone disembarked. Also on hand was a large contingent of Aurors, and a few Hit Wizards.

Harry quickly took the senior goblin aside.

"Do you have it?"

"Yes, Impratraxis," Glaksosmit confirmed. "Than betray you on such a matter, die rather would I."

The goblin's hand shot out. Harry covered it with his own, and the transfer was complete.

Mad-Eye chatted with someone who was probably in charge of the Ministry side of things. Harry, withdrawing his hand from inside his robes, was increasingly impatient.

Moody's face broke into a twisted smile as his ward approached. "Harry! Come meet my namesake…. Harry Potter, here's Alastor Gumboil. Since this is a mixed operation, the Minister convinced Robards ta put him in charge of this train wreck…."

Gumboil, a tall, stiff-backed wizard, wore the solid black robes of a Hit Wizard. With a face like a dropped meat pie, a shiny bald head, and an arresting handlebar mustache, Gumboil was plainly another graduate of the Mad-Eye Moody school of hard knocks - no doubt why the two hit it off well.

"Well, if you're good enough for Mad-Eye, you're good enough for me," Harry greeted as they shook hands.

Gumboil discreetly cast some sort of Notice-Me-Not Charm.

"So here's the deal," Gumboil told Harry in low tones as various Ministry bureaucrats, Aurors, goblins, and other milled about. "You and your friends split up for what we're calling last-minute Christmas shopping. You all will be well and conspicuously guarded. That will attract plenty of attention, but the Deaters won't try anything here - they'll just watch. In a couple of hours, Miss Granger…."

"You may call me Hermione," Hermione spoke up from the spot she had taken just behind and beside Harry.

"…Hermione … will find the Glasto pamphlets available at the Terrortours Travel Agency…. That's all been arranged. It's less than an hour's flight by carriage."

"And then what?" Harry asked.

"A known Deater sympathiser works the midday shift at Terrortours," Gumboil explained. "He'll get the word out, I'm sure. Once you're there - still heavily guarded, of course - we need you to spend maybe four hours touring. Nothing attracts Deater attention like Harry Potter, it seems."

"So it seems," Harry echoed ruefully. "Right Death Eater magnet, I am."

"Anyway," Gumboil continued, giving his mustache a twist. "For those four hours you can do whatever you please, as long as you stay away from the Tor…."

"The what?" Hermione asked.

"Glastonbury Tor," Gumboil continued. "We think the … you-know-what might be located in the catacombs under Glastonbury Tor. We're looking to insert a search crew whilst you've got the Deaters distracted…."

"So what do we do?" Harry interjected.

"Anything you like," the grizzled Hit Wizard repeated. "Visit the Merlin monument. See the Glasto hawthorns in bloom. View the reputed Avalon burial site of Arthur and Guinevere. Go Muggle and take in the Grail Collection at the church in town - Christmas Eve, should be lovely…."

"Well, shouldn't we be getting on with it," Hermione broke in, her voice and face rather tense. "The group is getting antsy…."

In short order everyone was ready (more or less) to embark upon their respective Christmas shopping sprees. Hermione sidled over to Harry. "Umm … do you still need to get my present?" she asked.

"Hardly," Harry replied with the confidence of truth. "That's been handled for some time. How about you? Are you shopping for me?"

"Nope, that's handled, too," Hermione answered briskly. "Who are you shopping for, then?"

"Ron and Ginny, primarily," Harry declared.

"I want to get something for Ginny, too," Hermione agreed, "but with all that's happened, I'm not exchanging gifts with Ronald this year."

"Mine can be from the both of us, then," Harry offered.

"Okay, but let's do it together," Hermione accepted.

Harry was relieved. "My sentiments exactly."

"Well, `Arry," came a familiar voice from behind. "Are yeh ready ta get on with this?"

"Hagrid!" both Harry and Hermione yelped in unison.

The half giant wore heavy, cross-pleated dragonskin pants and coat - protective gear just short of armour. Riding on one shoulder was the same massive cross-bow Harry remembered from years earlier. Hagrid's other hand held the incongruous pink umbrella that concealed his original wand.

"That's me," he said with a broad smile. "Yer bodyguard at yer service. Helluva change from when I first met yeh."

Accompanied by Hagrid, some goblins and - at more of a distance - several Aurors, Harry and Hermione threaded their way through gawking onlookers. Their first destination was Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Quidditch was Ron's greatest passion - save one possible female exception - but neither Harry nor Hermione were currently in the mood to discuss her.

Inside the shop, they sought at first to be inconspicuous. That was useless (just as the Ministry had hoped), with everyone stopping to watch the pair's progress.

Ron was not in need of a broom at the moment, and the Chudley Cannons match robes that formerly graced the showcase window were gone. After fifteen minutes of shopping, Harry and Hermione settled on a three-dimensional Quidditch strategy board.

"Well, that's different," Hermione remarked when Harry uttered the activation spell for the board.

She was (as usual) right.

The board was about a metre long and shaped like a Quidditch pitch, complete with properly sized goal posts. Aside from the height of the goals, Quidditch pitches had no standardised dimensions, so the board could be adapted for length and width. Several sets of dimensions came pre-installed, including those for the pitches at Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and (at least rumoured) Durmstrang.

A quite star-struck shop assistant helped Harry activate the Charms. A miniature Quidditch team appeared, in red (a charm controlled team colour selection) and then an opposing team clad in monotonous brown.

With Hermione looking on, trying to conceal her rapidly waning interest, Harry created a couple of formations. He pronounced himself satisfied, handed his BoE debit card to the assistant, and instructed him to ship it to the Burrow ASAP. He followed the assistant to what passed for a cash register. He was completing that transaction - when he saw it….

To one side was a bright blue object, looking rather like a giant robin's egg, set vertically on the wide end, except for the open door.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"It's a Snitch search simulator," answered a second shop assistant, whose name card read "Tess." "Would you like to give it a go?"

"Sure, why not?"

Harry eased through the doorway and looked about. A diffuse soft light permeated the smooth, featureless, interior. A metre-long section of broomstick lay on the floor.

After pulling the oval hatch shut behind him, Harry heard the faint buzz of magic. Before any command was uttered, the bit of broomstick leapt smartly to mounting height.

Not quite knowing what to expect, Harry climbed on.

He noticed a timer on the broomstick's tip. A disembodied female voice instructed. "You will now select amongst various Quidditch environments. In each lurks a Golden Snitch. Upon spotting the Snitch, point your wand and incant, `Ispyro.' Each time you hit the target, the timer resets. Ten seconds later another scenario will start. To end the simulation, simply say, `Down.'"

The first simulation, blindingly sunny, surrounded Harry, as if swallowed by an IMAX cinema. Instinct took over and Harry manœuvred the broomstick just like a real broom. He needed 24.7 seconds to spot and target the simulated Snitch. That put him in the 97^th percentile for - well, for something.

Harry spent a quarter of an hour searching for make-believe Snitches through virtual environments running the gamut from "Driving Rain" to "Solar Eclipse." Reluctantly, he set the broomstick down.

Exiting the simulator, he found Hermione waiting for him. Her face was impassive, but her foot tapped impatiently.

"You must have liked it," she remarked - raising a question that Tess the sales assistant (who stood aside) would not have dared to ask so bluntly.

"Actually, yes," Harry readily admitted. "It's great Seeker practice for spotting the Snitch. And not just for me. If I bought it and took it back to the Château, I could…."

"Don't even think about it," a frowning Hermione cut across. "You know what Jazzy said. Give her something like that, and she'll never speak to you - or me - again."

Harry cleared his throat. "As I was saying," he resumed, "I could bring it to the Château and probably get Jazzy to use it. After the holiday, I'll install it in the Gryffindor clubhouse. I mean, the Potter Trust equalised brooms … not everything."

Hermione gave him a sly smile. "You're getting better, Harry. I like the way you're thinking."

"And I like the way you're … well, you know…." Harry switched to telepathy. `Maybe we could get a room or something….'

`Later, Harry,' Hermione replied with mock sternness. `We're here because we have a job to do.'

But the wink she ended with offered hope for later.

"Right," Harry muttered. He turned to Tess, said, "I'll take it," and pulled out his BoE card once more. With a questioning look, she took it. This one had obviously never seen anything like it.

Harry turned back to Hermione. "I think the goblins ought to make more of these - like the Muggles - they're right more convenient than gold."

"They'd listen to you," Hermione reminded him.

"Well, maybe I will, then," Harry mused. "Oh, and I need to find something for Ginny."

Harry started back down the aisle towards the back of the store.

Hermione weighed her options. That conversation with Neville gave her pause. But on the other side of the balance, Ginny had to be hurting. She was grounded at the Burrow with only Ron to keep her company. Dear Ronald, as emotionally shallow as he was, would hardly be lending Ginny a sympathetic ear. On his best days empathy had never been Ron's strong point. And Ron and Ginny were hardly optimal at the moment.

Beyond all that, as Hermione had told Neville that day - she trusted Harry.

That, more than anything, decided the issue.

"Harry," she called after him and started in his direction. He turned and looked at her quizzically. "Not here."

"Not here, what?"

"You shouldn't buy your gift for Ginny here."

"Why not?"

Hermione spelled it out. "She'd appreciate it more if you gave something going beyond Quidditch."

"You think … really?"

"Really, Harry. Trust me on this," Hermione reassured. "Right now, Quidditch would only bring back rather painful memories - probably for the both of you."

"Oh," Harry paused. "You really think so?"

"I know so."

Hermione took Harry's hand and led him from Quality Quidditch Supplies, taking care to collect his card on the way to the Alley.

Hagrid was waiting outside. "Where ta now, `Arry?" he greeted the pair.

He cast a sideways glance at Hermione. This was her adventure. "Twilfit & Tatting's," she declared after a moment's hesitation. "That is, unless you'd rather pay a visit to Madam Primpernelle's."

Harry was familiar with that shop's incredibly girly adverts in the Prophet. "No, that's quite all right."

"Then we'd bes' be off," Hagrid declared. "It's not late - not exactly - but it's no longer early either. Yeh was in there long time, `Arry. Find summat interesting?"

Hermione slowly led Harry down Diagon Alley - and thus moved the whole cavalcade of Aurors, goblins, and other hangers on - whilst Harry told Hagrid about the Quidditch-related items he had bought.

Soon they reached the entrance to an upscale wizard clothing shop. Its exterior was mostly brick with stone corners, vaguely reminiscent of Hermione's Muggle home in Knightsbridge, except for large display windows and a kitschy entrance. That doorway - shaped like a keyhole, with its top curving to an exaggerated point - looked like something out of an Algerian Kasbah … or else a bordello. It was extravagantly gilt, except for the proprietors' names, which stood out in jade green against the shiny gold background.

Stepping across the threshold, the pair thought they were the only customers. After a noticeable delay an elegantly dressed sales assistant glided into view from the men's side of the store.

"Dreadfully sorry," he began. "That shouldn't have happened. We had an important customer, but someone…."

The man's eyes took the glance upwards that Harry knew all too well.

"…Harry Potter," he drawled. "I am proud and humbled to be at your service. What may I do for you?"

The man must have set off some kind of signal, because within fifteen seconds at least five other T&T staff members circled about the pair.

"I'd like to see something in the … umm … ladies department," Harry replied, his statement bearing the inflection of a question.

"Why not start with the accessories?" Hermione came to his rescue. "Harry's looking for a last-minute Christmas gift for a friend at Hogwarts."

Harry, with Hermione's guidance, browsed T&T's collection of feminine accessories. They were followed, and at times surrounded, by a gaggle of sales assistants. Whilst the shop's employees sought to be helpful, at times they were simply too helpful.

Harry looked first through handbags, but Hermione vetoed all of his ideas. There were watches, but very few witches at Hogwarts wore them. Most were also more expensive than Harry wanted to spend. He was conflicted about this, but did not want Ginny to get the wrong idea from something either extravagant or personal.

For the same reason he ultimately vetoed the rainbow-coloured leggings with adjustable Warming and Cooling Charms built in.

He did not even pause for the rest of the hosiery department.

Maybe for Hermione, but she liked selecting her own lingerie.

Harry liked that too.

Finally, looking at outerwear, Harry found something he liked.

"What about this?" he asked Hermione, running his hands over a pastel green and burnt orange shawl. It looked shimmery, but felt woolen. At the moment, he trusted her judgment concerning Ginny more than his own.

"It's pretty enough," Hermione commented, "and I like the style. It's multi-coloured but muted - not garish like those leggings that somehow captivated you before. The knotted beads at the ends are a nice touch. What's the fabric?"

A hovering sales assistant happily provided the requested information. "These shawls are a silk-puffskein fur blend, 60-40. The silk provides the shimmer and the fur the texture. The colours are natural, dyed from a variety of autumn-leaf extracts."

"The sign says they're charmed," Harry followed, gesturing to a small piece of parchment affixed to the rack holding the shawls - apparently with a Sticking Charm. "What's the charm?"

A second sales assistant spoke up before the first could begin. "There are several," he said. "These come with all your standard Self-Cleansing Charms, and also Drying and Warming Charms. But beyond that, these carry a Class IV Protective Object classification because each is imbued with a functioning Shield Charm to ward off minor to moderate hexes and jinxes…."

"That's similar to the Twins' Shield Gloves," Hermione observed. "Only this is much more stylish."

"I would hope so," sniffed the assistant, whose tag read "Sydney." He had patiently waited for Hermione to finish. "In a pinch, the baubles knitted into the embroidery at either end are Bezoars."

"What do you think?" Harry asked Hermione.

"I think it's both pretty and practical," she advised.

"Fine, I'll take it," Harry decided.

Soon the pair were back on the Diagon Alley pavement. "To the travel agency then?" Harry asked his fiancée.

"Almost, but I need to make one brief stop," she replied as she hid her face from a photographer who undoubtedly was acting for some publication. "I need to go to Flourish and Blotts."

"What for?" Harry asked, his arm raised as the flash went off.

"Why, I need to get my own gift for Ginny," she told him with a smile on her face.

"And what might that be?" he asked.

"I promised myself I'd get her a book on anger management," she replied. "I don't want her doing that again - to you or anyone else."

* * * *

As they walked off, another wizard was paying for his purchases at Twilfit & Tatting's. "That will be five hundred Galleons, Mister Malfoy," the cashier intoned. "I trust you'll find your new robes satisfactory."

"Worth every Knut, I'm sure," the platinum-haired teen agreed with a smirk.

`Just like these,' the young Malfoy patriarch thought to himself as he exited, patting the inside pocket of his robes, in which a set of Extendable Ears resided.

At first, Draco had been offended by the sales assistants' abandonment once Potter and his Mudblood had turned up. But that left him free to watch the reflections of his rivals discreetly in a changing mirror for the duration of their visit - as well as to eavesdrop with the trusty WWW product.

Draco was pleased that Harry Potter was getting Ginny Weasley any Christmas gift, after what had happened. He was beyond pleased that the gift was not some Merlin-forsaken Quidditch toy, but something that at least hinted that Potter viewed the Weaselette (remember, never to her face, he reminded himself) as something other than just part of the Hogwarts scenery.

She would be over the moon. Draco, more than anyone else, knew how Ginny Weasley really felt about Potter.

He would use any leverage he could get to ensure the success of his assignment - one of them, anyway - from the Dark Lord.

For that he would be richly rewarded.

Draco Malfoy's step had extra bounce as he turned into Knockturn Alley.

* * * *

Harry and Hermione blew into Terrortours like a hurricane coming ashore - that was part of the plan. "Merlin, we need someplace to get away once the Hogwarts term is over!" Harry exclaimed.

The sales assistant on duty, suspected (to the Order) Death Eater sympathiser Philander Tweed, barely had time to turn around before finding himself face-to-face with The Boy Who Lived. As shock turned into recognition, he cracked his best smile at his latest customers.

"Our Bermuda Triangle tour is quite popular," he fawned over the wizard who stood number one on the Dark Lord's Most Wanted List. "Ten shipwrecks in seven days."

"No, I think we're looking for something a little more out of the way - and less hectic. We want just want to be alone, together, I think," Harry said, squeezing Hermione's hand as he finished his pre-thought-out peroration.

"Perhaps, then, I could interest you in our fogbound package to Zaire's Mountains of the Moon," Mr. Tweed shifted gears, "with accommodations in Rwenzori Castle, excellent trekking on Streeler-cleared tracks, lessons in Watutsi magic, and a visit to the world's only Nundu preserve. Take a brochure from the rack there - as many as you like. Perhaps your … elves … can help you."

As Harry turned to the rack, his goblin escorts glared at Tweed - their way of keeping an eye on the reputed Death Eater sympathiser. Because of the perceived risk, they had insisted on entering the shop, rather than remaining outside, as they had previously.

Harry made a show of looking thoughtful, and grabbed a few brochures from the rack, almost at random: a magical mystery tour of enchanted gardens in Babylonia; an Uluru walkabout whilst learning some of the oldest conjuring in creation, an endangered tribal magic expedition into interior New Guinea; Turnback Canyon magical kayak trips in the Yukon, water skiing behind Kelpies in the Ispir Gorge, with a side visit to magical sites in Cappadocia; dragon boat races, with real dragons, at several places near Hong Kong….

After one look at the Thailand brochure, Harry quickly put it back before Hermione saw it.

"Oh, look at this, Harry!" came Hermione's mock-excited voice from behind him. "And it's still going on tonight!"

Harry turned, and sure enough Hermione was clutching a Glastonbury winter festival brochure from the countertop. Enthusiasm almost poured from the glint her eyes.

Damn, she could be a good actress - but last year had already proven that.

Now, if only he could play his part half as well.

"Is that what you want to do, Luv?" he began. "It can be my early Christmas gift to you."

"Yes, I'd like that very much," she replied. "I've never been to the Merlin Magical Preserve. Look, a Celtic zodiac walk through the marsh, winter-blooming hawthorns and ever-blooming roses, an enchanted well, ley lines on the tor, magical, or at least spiritually, charged ruins - even a Muggle chapel where the Holy Grail once supposedly resided."

"So when must we leave to see all this?" Harry asked her with a chuckle.

"Oh dear! According to this schedule we'd have to get the carriage off within twenty minutes to be there in time for the complete walk," Hermione moaned. "And we have to collect everyone."

"Let's go, then," Harry answered urgently. He told Mr. Tweed, "Thanks for the tips, but unfortunately we've got to run. We'll be back sometime."

The two were as good as their word, practically running out the door. Once safely away, with a crack, they Disapparated.

Less than a moment later they appeared at the Apparition site just behind the carriage. They were a bit late. The others were already there.

"Do you think he fell for it?" Hermione asked, barely suppressing a giggle.

"We'll find out when we get there," Harry responded accurately. "You were very good, though."

"I try to be good at anything I do."

* * * *

The urgent note still clutched in his long pale fingers, he stared out the window and into infinity, ignoring the wintery landscape. The Dark Lord was re-evaluating his plans.

The vacant stare became hard. He had made up his mind.

"My Lord. You summoned me," Severus Snape's silky voice intoned as he bent to kiss the hem of his Master's robes. "How can I serve you?"

"Rise," commanded Lord Voldemort. "For I am pleased. It seems that our most humble of servants has actually made himself useful."

"Indeed," the dark haired man responded vaguely, hopeful of something more illuminating from his Master.

He was not disappointed.

"Yes, Wormtail has provided me with most useful information. He sent me this note." The Dark Lord handed the scrap of enchanted parchment to his underling.

My Lord:

I was instructed to inform you of anything unusual.

The Mudblood Granger was just here - at 12 Grimmauld Place. She must have had Potter's permission to use the library, because she went through the wards. She seemed in a hurry. She tore pages 745-49 out of the book, Life Unto Death & Death Unto Life.

Your faithful servant

Peter Pettigrew

Snape looked up when he finished reading. "My Lord, is that…?"

He never finished. "Yes, it is," Voldemort cut him off. "Behold."

The Dark Lord gestured to a reading desk where the aforementioned tome lay - opened to the indicated pages. Snape took one look … and prayed his Occlumency skills would be equal to the task. That girl was once again dabbling most unwisely in things she did not understand.

"Indeed, this is potentially serious," he said evenly. "Do you wish your potions bolstered in any way, my Lord?"

"Not at this time," Voldemort dismissed the offer. His eyes fastened on Snape's. Probing, he encountered nothing out of the ordinary. "Take this note and see that Wormtail receives it in the ordinary course." His extended hand held a sealed black envelope.

"Indeed," Snape murmured as he took proffered letter. Now, he was disappointed. No further information was forthcoming. Snape knew this intentional - he was not to be privy to Wormtail's instructions. By specifying the "ordinary course," the Dark Lord had indirectly ordered Snape not to deliver the instructions personally.

"You may go," Lord Voldemort dismissed Snape.

Snape had barely departed when the Dark Lord summoned another long-time servant.

"Lucius," Lord Voldemort hissed at his henchman after the formalities of submission were complete. "You shall visit our Sinic compatriots. I want ten wizards - with pursuit capability - added to the group assigned to target Blackwalls. These ten … their only function is to apprehend the Mudblood Hermione Granger." The Dark Lord paused for emphasis. "They are to kill her immediately. Dead, not alive. No waiting; no formalities…. And bring the body to me for verification."

"It shall be done, My Lord," the elder Malfoy declared. "May I inquire as to the change in plans? You no longer seek to use the Mudblood's death to break the boy?"

"That was my preference, but I no longer wish to chance any delay," Voldemort deigned to answer. "Despite her blood status, as an enemy, she is not to be underestimated. She is too dangerous to be allowed any opportunity to escape."

* * * *

Less than an hour after the incident at Terrortours, the Blackwalls carriage rolled to a halt in a field near the base of Glastonbury Tor. Whilst the Muggles thought it only a hill, the Tor was really (according to Mad-Eye) an ancient earthen pyramid, second only in age and magical significance to Stonehenge itself amongst British archæological sites. It was laced throughout with various tunnels, rooms, and vertical shafts.

Like Stonehenge, the Glastonbury Tor was a powerful centre of ancient magical activity. Its peak - the precise top of the pyramid - had long since deteriorated and been covered with the soil and accumulated detritus of several millennia. It was the convergence point of several ley lines. According to Ministry geomancers, the most powerful ley connected the Tor with Hogwarts, and the second most powerful to the great stone circle.

Still, the Tor was only their first, and most hurried, stop.

Death Eater activity had repeatedly been detected in the catacombs beneath the Tor. Thus, Dumbledore suspected that somewhere within lay an elusive Horcrux - one that was a target of Bellatrix Lestrange's surreptitiously detected spellwork.

Before the Ministry could enter and search the catacombs, the Death Eaters had to be lured away from their lair - by something.

Harry's visit to Glastonbury was that something, and the trip to the Tor served as the opening gambit. A visit by Harry and Hermione, who topped Voldemort's most-wanted list should, first, attract the attention of the Death Eater guards known to be in the vicinity and, second, draw them away as Harry's party went elsewhere in the locale.

Like bees to honey, or iron filings to a magnet.

Once that happened, a volunteer squad of Order members and trusted Unspeakables stood ready to search for, locate, and ideally seize the Horcrux.

Thus Harry and company made a quick trip to the remains of the old church atop the Tor. At least it was quick until they reached the top. The exposed ley line intersection positively thrummed with magic. They could all feel it - even the goblin guards were affected.

Luna inadvertently walked right into it. As an Empath, she was almost overcome. She broke out in a sweat and seemed either on the verge of fainting, or on the verge of orgasm, it was hard to tell which.

Finally, whilst the rest still debated, Jazzy solved the problem the old-fashioned way: She heaved the partially incapacitated Ravenclaw right across her shoulders and hauled Luna, almost boneless but not actively resisting, down the Tor.

Jazzy was small and wiry - and a lot stronger than anyone had given her credit.

A short time later, with Luna recovered from what she called "magical overload," the party reached the stop labeled as Scorpio on the "Zodiac Tour" outside of town. The Tour was a series of established Portkey stops in the Merlin Magical Preserve. These were maintained by the Ministry Parks Commission for the magically restored Glastonbury Zodiac. Concealment Charms kept the restoration from Muggle sight, but most Zodiac features were plainly visible - although not as much after nightfall.

Harry and Hermione walked, hand in hand, along the Scorpion's stinger - a mossy path covered with worn flagstones. Suddenly Mad-Eye stumped up to them. Not wishing to attract attention, he leant between them and whispered, "It worked. Yeh're being marked. Deaters following yeh, `bout sixty metres at four o'clock. Don't worry `bout `em though. Yer well protected. So's everybody else. Keep it up. They left only one behind, and we stunned the bastard…. Give us another couple hours, and we'll be done."

Harry and Hermione nodded in agreement and kept walking. As Moody limped off, Harry flicked his wand into a ready position. Protectively, he put his left arm around Hermione's waist. "Nice as the scenery is," he muttered, "I'll be right chuffed for this to be over."

After everyone had completed as much of the Zodiac Tour as he or she wanted, Neville led a visit to the winter-flowering hawthorn grove. The grove's keeper knew Professor Sprout personally. He let Neville pick a punnet of fresh petals to take back. The others contented themselves with dried petals, available for three Sickles a packet. Winter flowering hawthorn petals were a prized active ingredient for several Calming Draughts.

They visited, but did not tramp, due to the cold, some much older restored tracks on the east side of the town. Whilst there, everyone made a wish at an old well that Hermione told Harry was once visited by Jesus Christ - at least if that manuscript she had found at the Château were to be believed.

Harry did not want to believe it.

Everyone was getting hungry. Gumboil provided everyone with Portkeys, and they hopped back into town. Harry's guests decided to go Muggle so, whilst Luna took Neville and Jazzy into a nearby fish and chip shop, Hermione led Harry to the local Prêt à Manger café for some sandwiches, soup and (to Harry's disgust) endive coffee. For the first time in his life, Harry helped himself to a knickerbocker glory. He even one-upped his Cousin Dudley, topping his with multi-coloured hundreds-and-thousands.

Hermione tutted, but could not refuse Harry this pleasure, knowing now how much he had suffered at the hands of his horrid relatives. Between the cold and being a dentists' daughter, she passed on any frozen sugary sweets.

Harry was still licking syrup from his fingers when they came upon Muggles queued outside an old stone church. They had about forty-five minutes to kill. "What's going on?" Harry asked Hermione.

"Not sure, let me check." From her beaded bag, Hermione produced one of the Glastonbury pamphlets from Terrortours. She studied it, muttered, "Oh blast," and stuffed it back in her bag. Rooting around a bit longer, she produced a Rough Guide for Southeastern England.

She finished as they had reached the tail of the queue. "It seems we've stumbled upon the site of the Grail Collection," Hermione explained as she looked up from the travel guide. "I suppose we could queue up to see that. I've heard about it since I was a small child, but my parents were never much interested - Glasto is too `New Age' for them."

She switched to Legilimency. `A couple of Glasto myths are in that "Cross" manuscript.'

It had been a long day, and Harry's feet were tired. He really did not want to go elsewhere. They were quite protected. Several grey boulders lay in nearby weeds, and behind Concealment Charms Aurors and Hit Wizards crouched in the church's bell tower. "Fine," he acquiesced. "The others won't wander far, I'm sure."

The line moved slowly. Harry was bored. Hermione was cold and not about to risk an MVV (Muggle Vicinage Violation) for a Warming Charm. With her cuddled close, Harry asked her to tell him more about the Grail Collection. That was deliberate. He loved to listen to Hermione talk about things - almost anything.

It worked, and she started rattling off the various myths about Jesus, Joseph of Arimathaea, Glastonbury, and the Holy Grail. Soon she was discussing the collection itself.

A Muggle standing directly ahead of them in the queue overheard her. "My, my, you know so much. It breaks my heart to tell you that you'll be disappointed…."

"Oh, dear, what do you mean?" Hermione asked the middle aged woman, who wore a heavy wine-coloured cloth coat with a leopard-skin pillbox hat. "I hope it's not going to close before we get there."

"Oh no, it's just that the Grail Collection's not here right now. It's on tour, I believe," the woman said. "Oh, and I'm Mildred, by the way."

"I'm Hermione, and this is my boyfriend Harry," Hermione reciprocated, while bobbing into an abbreviated curtsey. "But if the collection's away, what's this impressive queue all about?"

"There's been a swap," Mildred told her. "I guess you're not from around here."

"True," Harry offered.

"We've packed the Grail Collection off to Rome," Mildred revealed. "In return we've received a collection of relics ordinarily kept in the Lateran and other museums. You know, bits of the True Cross, St. Francis Xavier's right arm, St. Sebastian's head, the shirt in which St. Thomas Aquinas was martyred, bless his soul, the skull of St. Valentine, the Apostle Thomas' finger, papal spleens … that sort of thing. And all with authentics."

Her description sounded more than a little yucky to Harry.

"Are you sure you want to see this, Hermione?" he asked.

They had nearly reached the front of the queue. She debated the point. "Well, seeing as how we've gotten this far…."

"Oh, you should," Mildred counseled warmly, resting her gloved hand lightly on Hermione's arm. "It's all new and quite famous. That's why we've a queue. When the Grail Collection's back in three years, it'll be old hat again, and you'll be able to waltz right in."

They agreed to stay and to pay three pounds apiece for their tickets.

The new collection of relics - whilst suitably hallowed - was not all that large. It took the pair less than fifteen minutes to see everything there was to see. Since Mildred insisted on crossing herself and laying hands on each display cabinet, they soon left her behind.

Emerging from the stifling hot display rooms, Hermione dallied a bit in the adjacent gift shop, leafing through a coffee table book. Passing the last few minutes of time, Harry absent-mindedly flipped through various souvenir videos.

He was surprised to find something that he had heard of. He turned to Hermione. "Look at this, it's Monty Python's…."

His words died in his mouth. Hermione's face went chalky white as she let out a high-pitched grunt.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" he asked urgently.

His fiancée shut the book she was holding with thud. `Not here, Harry,' she Legilimenced. Switching to audible tones, she continued. "We really do need to be getting back, Harry, but I want to buy this book."

Harry looked at her peculiarly. "You do? But you looked like you saw…."

"Later, Harry," she insistently cut him off.

Whilst Harry and his friends had all had a passingly good time, glum faces were in evidence when everyone regathered at the Château's carriage. Two of the glummest belonged to Mad-Eye Moody and Alastor Gumboil.

Noticing their expressions, Harry ambled over. "What happened?" he asked seriously. "Did the Deaters thwart the search?"

"Worse," Mad-Eye growled.

Harry grew very worried very fast. "Oh, shite, don't tell me…."

"No, nobody got killed," Gumboil hastily clarified. "We got in … and out with no problems. It's just, we came up entirely empty."

"Yeh did everything yeh could," Mad-Eye seconded. "The Deaters couldn't get enough o' yeh. Shadowed yeh the whole bloody time. Our team Stunned the one that they left behind, and we searched the whole place top ta bottom. Found some interesting things yeh needn't worry about, but no Horcrux, we're sure o' that. We've already searched everywhere else we could think of, so we're at a loss."

"So this whole evening was…."

Gumboil cut across him. "An effing waste of time and resources, that's what."

"Feh," Mad-Eye commented. "I wouldn't go that far. At least we learnt that the Deaters have something up, although we can't say what."

"Er … what to you mean, `up'," Harry asked warily. "Like you said, they can't get enough of me."

"Muffliato," Gumboil incanted, so none save the three of them could hear.

"We don't know, but from what we saw in there, the Deaters are up to something," Gumboil revealed. "They're stockpiling equipment. No idea why. It's enough for a big operation. More than that, you don't need to know, since dealing with this is our job."

"I know one thing, though," Mad-Eye added. "I'm sure yeh can handle yerselves, but I'm gonna talk ta the Order about getting yeh some reinforcements next week whilst the systems are down."

Harry's face thus wore a worried look when he dropped into his seat next to Hermione. "You don't look happy," she observed.

"I'm not," Harry stated the obvious. "They didn't find a damn thing…."

"And they searched thoroughly?" Hermione asked, although she already knew the answer.

"Mad-Eye said we gave them more than enough time," Harry relayed dejectedly, "but there wasn't anything Horcrux-infested there. They've looked everywhere else, but nothing. It's back to square zero. They have no idea where the damn thing could be…."

"That's a crying shame," Hermione commiserated as looked into Harry's sad eyes. "I do, though."

"You do what?" Harry replied automatically, not sure what Hermione meant, if she meant anything.

She lost no time in enlightening him. "I … I think I know … where the Horcrux is…. Er … or …."

"You what?" Harry blurted, altogether too loudly. The carriage was just going airborne, but half its occupants turned away from the darkened landscape. They looked at the Proprietor and his ladyfriend quizzically.

She did not answer. Instead, Hermione stared sternly at him whilst shaking her head furiously.

`Oops,' Harry reverted to telepathy. `You think you know where the missing Horcrux is?'

Hermione nodded and indicated that he should calm down and settle all the way into his seat. By then, only Luna was still watching the pair.

Shaking her head at the Ravenclaw, she mouthed to her, `No, it's not that.' Luna smiled and turned away.

Hermione pulled the curtains closed around the Proprietor's designated seats. Just to be sure, she Imperturbed them from the inside.

"What was that all about?" Harry asked aloud, but barely audibly.

"After your little outburst," Hermione replied in similar fashion, "I had to reassure Luna that I'm not pregnant."

That threw Harry for a loop - precisely what Hermione intended. Before his breathing had returned to normal, she fished through her beaded bag and pulled out a large book. She showed him the title:

"Two Millennia of Treasures: The Glastonbury Grail Collection."

Harry was tempted to comment, but Hermione's intense look as she leafed through the pages shut him up. Hermione found what she was looking for, and showed Harry the glossy Muggle picture.

It showed several fancy drinking vessels of one form or another: a bejeweled demitasse, an elegant two-handled silver chalice, an elabourately etched copper cannikin - and amongst them a gold goblet with black onyx trim and two badger-shaped handles.

Hermione's finger pointed unerringly to the last. She Legilimenced, `just after our Horcrux session with the Headmaster, you mentioned that Voldemort stole Hufflepuff's Cup when he was still Tom Riddle. Could that be it?'

Harry very calmly replied, `Hermione, I know that's it … I've seen it.'

Predictably, Hermione inquired how he could be so certain. Harry explained what he had seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve, just before she had joined them for the aforesaid Horcrux session.

`Well, it all fits, then,' Hermione summed up once Harry finished. `The Headmaster's Detecting Charm was accurate. The cup, almost certainly containing a Horcrux, was indeed at Glastonbury - only not where we thought. Voldemort hid it in plain sight, where we would never think to look, amongst the Muggles. And now it's out of the country….'

`That lady said it's going to be in Rome for three years,' Harry added.

`Mildred said it's in Rome and won't be back for three years,' Hermione corrected. `We don't know if it'll stay in Rome all that time.'

"Hermione, you're brilliant," Harry told her aloud. "The bookworm strikes again." Then, a purposeful glint was in his eye, and he started to get up.

"Where do you think you're going?" Hermione asked.

"To tell Mad-Eye, of course," Harry answered matter-of-factly.

"It's really outside his jurisdiction," Hermione cautioned as she laid a restraining hand on his arm. "If it's where we think it is, that's an international issue - and one also involving Muggles."

"So what do you think we should do?" Harry asked her. "Mister Weasley…?"

"I think this is a Dumbledore-level issue," Hermione told Harry.

"That's the second time you've told me that in the last couple of days," Harry recalled.

"It's just that … we have to be careful, Harry," she sighed, snuggling into him. "We're meddling in things we don't fully understand. Our focus needs to stay on Voldemort."

"Can we forget him for just a bit?" Harry groaned. "It's almost Christmas."

The scene outside the carriage's windows was changing. They had entered foul weather. Snowflakes swirled and danced, obscuring whatever lay beyond.

"I suppose," Hermione agreed, turning her attention to him. "How about something we both understand…. Kiss me."

Harry's eyes went big. "Merlin, you're brilliant," he breathed. He leant over and complied. One thing quickly led to another, and the other news he had learnt from their minders that evening completely slipped his mind.

* * * *

Christmas morning - or "Alban Arthan," as Luna preferred - began late at the Château's northern latitude. Dawn was in progress when Harry and Hermione tumbled out of bed. For the third time in a week they, or rather their Harmonic Convergence, had made a mess of their surroundings. By now, however, the Château's elves had learnt proper corrective spells. Temporary quarters were no longer required when they were truly ready to retire for the evening.

Not once had Harry experienced nightmares after experiencing the Convergence.

For centuries the Black family - to the extent they were anything - had been non-practicing Pagans. When Harry inquired, he discovered that the Château's stores contained no Christmas decorations. To avoid overburdening the staff and the elves with yet another major task, he decided to celebrate Christmas, not in the main hall, but in the more cozy confines of the Proprietor's Map Room.

Thus, the Proprietor's desk and most of other furniture (save several comfortable chairs) had been moved to one side or shrunk, making room for a single, finely decorated Christmas tree. Under and around the tree was an array of Christmas presents.

A scrumptious breakfast feast, the gift of the staff to the Proprietor, was held in the main hall. The diners could choose between honey basted gammon, rashers, or finnan haddie. Dried apricots, sultanas, and cranberries were provided, as well as chips and crisps. A wide selection of desserts were available, including pavlova (Harry's new favourite) and fæiry cakes frosted with caster sugar (Hermione's favourite - when inclined to give into that type of temptation).

Their appetites sated, Harry, Hermione, their guests, and their bodyguards (Mad-Eye and Tonks) filed into the Map Room. They were distracted by a score or more of brightly coloured balloons floating about. When burst, the balloons dissolved entirely, leaving behind either Christmas crackers or a burst of magical snow.

Hermione had never seen this room before. She was fascinated by the battle scene that covered an entire wall.

"Harry, who's the artist?" she asked him.

"Leonardo da Vinci, I'm told," Harry answered distractedly, as he yanked the string on one end of a large blue and yellow candystriped cracker. With a loud bang, it blew apart, sending Bertie Botts' Every Flavoured Beans flying everywhere.

Whilst everyone else was laughed and Summoned what they hoped were their favourite flavours, Hermione slipped out the door, where a manservant, Alfred Ziff, stood watch.

"Excuse me, but do you know the name of this fresco?"

"No, milady."

"Can you find out?"

"Absolutely, milady. I'll inquire of the curator."

Frivolity with the Christmas crackers' contents continued unabated. Jazzy was now wearing a butterfly headdress and holding a purple plastic trident. Neville was blowing pink and purple bubbles. Tonks had lit sparklers in her hair. Harry sported a Viking helmet and was draped in a Roman toga. Luna was playing paddleball whilst wearing glasses with spiral-coloured lenses. Only Mad-Eye had not indulged himself.

"Where in the world did all this come from?" Hermione asked happily.

"Presents from Fred and George," Harry replied. "There was a card. Where'd you go?"

"I had a question for the staff," Hermione told him.

"And what was the answer?" Harry went on.

"He didn't know, but would find out," Hermione answered.

It was time for gifts. Hermione had assigned the order: Luna first, followed by Jazzy, Neville, herself, and finally Harry. Fearing that Harry's gifts might overshadow the others, she left him for last. The same logic would have placed Jazzy first, but Hermione was afraid she would be embarrassed by leading off.

Being of the strongly held view that nothing embarrassed Luna, Hermione selected her for first.

Luna skipped up to the tree, glanced around, and selected a fairly large box, wrapped in blue paper across which white snowflakes were falling. Handing it to Hermione, she introduced, "It's been in the family for generations, but right now, I think you need it more."

Puzzled, Hermione opened it. It was a very old, leather-bound book, its cover completely devoid of writing. Opening the frontispiece, Hermione saw several ancient runes, which she translated as, The Compleat Druid: Spells & Rituals.

"I can't accept this," she protested, turning to Luna.

"Oh, yes you can," Luna resisted. "I've already memorised it anyway."

"How could you possibly do that?" Hermione skeptically replied.

"Using the Memory Quill you gave me ages ago," Luna chirped.

Her argument defeated, Hermione gave up and accepted the book.

Luna was already fishing out her second gift, to Harry. It was long and skinny and wrapped in blinding orange and purple op art paper.

Harry opened it and discovered a necklace with two eyeballs on it.

"They started as earrings - you saw them at the ball - but I didn't think you'd wear those," Luna explained. "They'll augment your regular vision."

"Er … thanks, Luna," Harry said. Truthfully, wearing a necklace did not enthuse him either. Still, to humour the girl, he put it on, removing his Viking helmet to do so.

Luna was not humoured. "No, not like that," she told him as she approached. "You wear it like this." In one motion she turned the necklace back to front.

Patting him lightly on the back, Luna declared, "There, you literally have eyes in the back of your head."

He did. Harry could see Hermione giggling behind him - although only in black and white.

"And for you, Neville," Luna began once more. She handed him a small cube-shaped object.

Inside, Neville found, "a post Remembrall," he read from the box. "Once I enchant it properly, it will notify me when I'm expecting letters from up to ten different people. Thanks Luna."

"And Jazzy, I know you said don't buy you anything, so I made this." Luna handed the girl a piece of smoked glass about the size of a compact.

Jazzy took it from her suspiciously. "What is it?" she asked.

"It's an Empath's mirror," Luna explained. "It's supposed to show your aura instead of your face, but I'm not that good … yet."

"And everybody gets one of these!" Luna declared. From under her robes she pulled out a stack of T-shirts and began tossing them to everyone.

Hermione went red-faced when she read the slogan: "For Best Results, Femininity Should Be Regularly FulFILLED."

Understanding took a bit to sink in (except for Neville, who stayed oblivious), but when it did, red faces abounded

Hermione's insight was confirmed - it was impossible to embarrass Luna Lovegood. But that girl had such a knack for embarrassing everyone else. She could never settle for something tamer, say "slippery when wet."

Before Jazzy could go next, Tonks stepped forward. "I don't know the lot of you, but I have come to know Harry and Hermione. So I got both of them something. Hermione, here's yours."

Dutifully, Hermione took the flat package, wrapped in plain butcher block paper, and opened it. "A Sneakoscope," she declared.

"Don't leave home without it," the young Auror instructed.

"That's just what I got Ronald," Luna interjected.

"Doubt he'll follow instructions … and for you, Harry," Tonks offered him a small rectangular package.

"You really didn't have to do this," Harry told her as he took it.

"I did, because I promised," Tonks replied.

He unwrapped it. It was a book - a Muggle book.

Harry just stared at it. Then he looked at Tonks. "What exactly did you promise, anyway?"

Tonks' hair turned vaguely green, from its usual mousy brown.

"I promised you that day at the water park that I would introduce you to Captain Rafer Hoxworth," Tonks recalled. "And now I have."

"It's actually a very good book, Harry," Hermione counseled. "Historical fiction was my favourite before I got my letter."

For a second time, Harry was about to turn the floor over to Jazzy when Mad-Eye stumped forward. "Before this thing goes any further, I want ta give yeh this."

Harry felt a lump in his throat. Not only was this unexpected, but he had not gotten a gift for his guardian. "Umm … okay."

With no further proem, Mad-Eye thrust an unwrapped book towards Harry, who had no choice but to take it. It was as copy of Alfred Bragge's Coming Of Age: Twenty Readings For Young Wizards.

Harry was temporarily speechless. "I…."

"No need ta thank me, Potter," Mad-Eye intervened. "It's from Dumbledore."

True to her word, Jazzy did not have much in the way of gifts to give. Harry and Hermione got Endangerment Buttons, which if pressed into a fold in the ear would give off an alarm if the other were endangered. Neville got a spray can of Devil's Snare repellant. She had no gift for Luna, so Jazzy decided to return that T-shirt, being of the opinion that "it fits you better than me."

Next Neville rose, looking rather unsure of himself. He told Jazzy that he had "taken you at your word," and did not have a gift for her. He told her he was sorry, and she replied that he had no reason to be.

Luna received inverted sandals, which she immediately put on.

"Ooh, this feels so good!" Luna remarked after taking a couple of steps. "It's like I'm walking barefoot on short-mown grass." With that, she started skipping around the room.

A cautions knock sounded on the door. Harry went to answer it. It was Mr. Ziff, for Hermione.

She stepped out and, less than a minute later, stepped back in again, an amazed look on her face. Whilst Neville searched for his next present, Harry went to her.

"I can't believe this place," she told him, shaking her head.

"What now?"

"That painting," Hermione said with a sigh. "It's a da Vinci that went missing long ago - and it's in flawless condition. It's priceless."

Anticlimax.

"Thanks Hermione, I learnt that the other day," Harry informed her. Hermione did not look happy.

Neville was waiting for their private conversation to end. `We'll discuss this later,' she told Harry silently, disappointed at not discovering the fact.

"Hermione … well, I got this … well made it … hybridised it, that is, for you," Neville said haltingly. Then he levitated over to her a gift-wrapped potted plant.

Hermione opened it, prepared to be amazed.

"Why, thank you, Neville, it's … it's…."

Instead the gift had left her perplexed.

"It's a hybrid of the bird of paradise flower and the Golden Anthurium," Neville came to her rescue. "They're the two prettiest flowers in the world, in my opinion."

Separately, that may well be true, but when the two were crossed, the whole was less than the sum of its parts. The poor thing looked like a bird of paradise spray-painted gold.

Harry had been even more difficult to shop for than Hermione. "What can you give somebody who can already buy just about anything?" Neville described his dilemma. No answer to that question had been forthcoming.

So he decided to give of himself.

"Umm … Harry, I couldn't think of any gift that you couldn't do better getting yourself," Neville told his host. "So, for Christmas, I promise that I will do something that you need me to do - even if I don't want to do it. Basically, I owe you one, and you can decide how and when to collect."

"Neville, I can't accept a promise like that," Harry protested in a quiet manner. "You have no idea, because I don't, what I might end up asking you to do."

"It doesn't matter, Harry; I trust your judgment," Neville earnestly replied. "Besides … you have Hermione … to help you."

Hermione's turn was next. Now, things would start to get interesting.

But for Luna, not quite yet. "Harry and I got you something jointly. And we've agreed that he should be the one to give it to you," Hermione told her.

"And, Jazzy, I know you said no gifts, but I think what you really meant was not to spend any money," Hermione spoke as she looked at the extremely tense younger girl. "So I got you something that not only doesn't cost anything, but I don't need it anymore, and you do."

With that, she handed Jazzy a small box wrapped in what looked like fresh green leaves and tied with a bow cut from Flitterbloom tendrils.

Reluctantly, Jazzy took the gift and used a Severing Charm to open it. It turned out to be…. "These, are … your handwritten notes," Jazzy observed.

"Yes, for Third-Year Herbology, to be precise," Hermione told her. "Both Harry and Neville thought you could use them. I know they won't do me any good any longer."

Jazzy's complexion was hard, but her lips trembled and her eyes were watering. "Hermione, thank you very much…. This is … the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me…."

`At least for the time being,' Hermione Legilimenced to Harry.

Neville was next. Hermione got him a book on animated - and animating - plants. Hermione also gave Tonks, whom she thought was seriously depressed about something, a book of poetry by Kahil Gibran.

But all this paled when it was time for Hermione to give a gift to the only man in her life. She had no lengthy speech prepared. The gift would rise or fall on its own merits. She handed Harry a box no larger and no heavier than the one she had just given Neville. Even the wrapping paper had been specially prepared - duplicates of photographs of Harry's family copied from the picture book that Hagrid had given him years ago.

"Colin helped with the pictures," Hermione offered as Harry diligently looked for the seam in the wrapping paper. This was one gift that needed to be opened without doing great damage to the gift wrap.

Hermione watched his reactions carefully. The determined look in Harry's eyes softened when he found the seam and inserted his wand to undo her intentionally weak Sticking Charm. The concealing paper fell away, revealing the two bound volumes. His questioning gaze turned to one of amazement as he took in the gilt lettering on the books' spines.

He turned to her, clutching her gift to him tightly. He was almost at a loss at what to say. "How did you…? Where did you…? This is … unbelievable…. I had no idea these even existed."

"Well, you gave me permission to go rooting around your trunk, and I certainly did that enough," Hermione responded. "I found the letters … your mum's correspondence, in a cigar box."

"But I … I didn't do anything," a still dazed Harry said to her. "If I'd known, you'd be the first person I'd have told."

"I'm sure of that, Harry," Hermione said approvingly. "For these, you have your dear Aunt Petunia to thank."

"What?" Harry said, sounding duly shocked. "Aunt Petunia? She never did anything for me."

"Well at some point … maybe when you turned up missing and were thought dead … she put her sister's correspondence, mostly with her, in your trunk. I noticed whilst you were gone, and pledged to myself that, assuming we both made it, I'd organise them and make a gift of them to you."

"Well, you've succeeded beyond your, or at least my, wildest dreams," Harry told her. "Even if they're just with … that, my aunt, well, I've never had letters … not like you."

"That's why I thought this would be the best gift I could give," Hermione revealed. "I saw your reaction to the letters from my parents. You said you were jealous. Now you don't have to be."

Harry smiled and came to her. "I suppose I don't." He gave her a kiss that, while starting small, showed considerable promise for growth.

Neville summed things up with his comment, made loud enough for the pair to hear, "I'd tell them to get a room, but he owns this one."

At that, Hermione stepped back. "Harry, it's your turn now," she breathily reminded him.

"All right." Harry turned to Mad-Eye Moody, who slouched silently behind the tree, as if keeping watch on his ward's largely hidden left flank. "Do you have the certificates?"

Obviously knowing what was coming, Harry's guardian cracked what passed for a smile. "Got `em right here … already countersigned." He pulled up a trouser cuff. Rolled about his wooden were leg two official-looking pieces of parchment bearing matching gold seals and black ribbons. A quick spell flattened them out nicely.

"Tonks," Harry began, "this one's for you." He laid the parchment on the desk, pushed against the far wall. Pulling a quill from the pot, Harry signed his name to the mystery document.

"As the new Proprietor of Château Blackwalls and Seigneur of the Blacks, it is my pleasure to revoke the disowning of your mother, Andromeda Black-Tonks. That extends to you and any eventual heirs."

Before Harry had even finished his little speech, Tonks' brown, mousy hair had gone bubblegum pink with self-evident shock. It had literally been months since Harry or Hermione had seen her so vibrant.

"Me!? A Black? I can scarcely believe it!"

"It's an injustice I'm able to correct, so by Merlin, I'm correcting it," Harry declared.

"The injustice wasn't just to me," Tonks reminded him.

"No matter," Harry told her. "You saved Hermione's life after I'd let her down badly. There's no way I can repay that debt, but I can do this."

"Can I invite Mum over to see all this?" the young Auror requested.

Harry readily agreed. "Certainly, but the point is you don't have to ask. It's a matter of your right."

"She'll faint when she hears the news," Tonks continued.

"It's to her benefit, too," Hermione reminded. "We can't change the sexist inheritance laws, but now that she's a Black, when you get married, your dowry will be taken care…."

Hermione's voice abruptly trailed off because, at the mere mention of marriage, Tonks' hair abruptly returned to its prior, nondescript state. While no emotion showed in her face, due to her being both an Auror and a Metamorphmagus, her hair was a dead giveaway.

"I'm sorry I brought that up," Hermione apologised. "If you'd like to Floo your Mum and tell her the news, feel free."

Tonks decided to do just that - immediately. As she turned and all but fled the room, Hermione Legilimenced to Harry, `I was stupid to raise that, but now I'm sure that her depression is romantically related.'

Harry nodded and, somewhat embarrassed at how that gift had turned out, moved quickly onto the next.

When he said her name, Jazzy's whole body stiffened. She fixed her eyes almost defiantly on him. She had made her wishes extremely clear - she did not want Christmas presents. She did not want to feel indebted, to anyone. Granted, Hermione had evaded her dictates, with a gift that had cost nothing, but Harry….

He was different. Harry had just inherited an inconceivable amount of money. She did not trust him to do the same.

A bit of uncertainty filtered into her glare as she watched Harry sign the second of the two parchments his guardian had been hiding. Then he turned to her and declared, "Jazzy, from what you've told me, I gather that you'd rather not have to stay with those relatives you've been living with since your parents died…."

Jazzy gave a contemptuous snort upon hearing that transparently obvious observation.

"…I can sympathise with that, believe me…. Thus as Proprietor of the Blacks, it is my pleasure to confer upon you the right of sanctuary in Château Blackwalls. You will always be welcome here. If you wish, you needn't spend another day with your relatives ever again…."

Jazzy almost fainted.

Her legs having turned to jelly beneath her, Jazzy did not even attempt to stand. Somehow she kept a straight face as Harry leant towards her and held out the certificate that made it official.

Feeling warm all over, Jazzy extended her own arm and tentatively touched, and then grasped, the rolled up parchment.

"Th … Thank you," she managed to utter through lips that suddenly felt parched.

She need never see those blasted relatives again - people who had beat her, called her every nasty name in the Arab language, and on one occasion violated her in the most personal of ways.

She need never see them again.

It was another gift that, in accordance with her expressed wishes, cost nothing. Yet this gift, in her estimation, was priceless - beyond measure.

Silently, Jazzy vowed to herself that somehow, she knew not how, she would find a way to make this up to him.

Harry's next gift was for Dobby - and it was a far cry from the gaudy socks that represented the sum of his previous gift-giving to the tenaciously loyal house-elf.

Instead, he gave the gift of work. Harry charged Dobby with a task that, if done properly, would reinforce the elf's nominal position as head elf of the Château.

Harry informed Dobby, "Hermione and I have been thinking about this. We want you to supervise the complete rebuild of the Grimmauld house. Except for Sirius' room, I want the whole place gutted and modernised. I want no trace of the prior inhabitants. You get to select which elves help do this work and which don't. I'll talk to the house-elves personally tomorrow, to emphasise how important this project is to me."

"Harry Potter, oh great and kind sir," Dobby squealed. "They's all be wanting to help with the Master's bestest project. We elves, we's all being wanting to please the master."

"I'm not so sure about that," Harry replied as a sly grin crossed his face. "Remember what I said - no trace of Orion, Walpurga, and the other Black ancestors. Part of this task is to discover which elves are really loyal to me. If they're loyal to me, they'll do what you say. And those are the ones you, and I, want closest to us…."

Dobby's eyes became wider and bulged even further as he comprehended Harry's instructions. "Oh, thank you great sir. Harry Potter is the wisest and most clev…."

At the sight of Harry's raised hand, Dobby immediately went silent. "For that, don't thank me," Harry told the excited elf, "thank Hermione."

Neville was next, and now Harry found that he had overreached in his generosity. The boy was more than pleased to accept Harry's gift of an Auror-style invisible wand wrist holster for his new wand - especially once Mad-Eye confirmed that Neville's late parents had used exactly the same model during their Auror careers.

But Neville outright refused Harry's other gift, which he found wrapped inside the invisible holster. It was a card from the Beamish Bewitched Building Company, a magical contracting outfit. Affixed was Harry's note informing Neville to do whatever he wanted to rebuild his gran's castle from the damage of the recent Death Eater attack.

Neville's round face suddenly became serious. "I can't possibly accept this, Harry…."

"Yes you can," Harry insisted. "They're reliable … come highly recommended by the goblins."

"It's nothing like that, Harry," Neville insisted stoutly. "This is just too much…."

Harry cut across, protesting, "But I've got so much, it doesn't matter…."

"It does matter," Neville raised his voice. "It matters to me. That's my inheritance we're talking about. Some things a wizard must do for himself, and this is one of them. This crosses the line - it's charity, not a gift. I can't have you pay for the entire rebuilding. It's not right."

Harry backed down and took the card back. His Muggle upbringing (and Hermione's, too) meant that he still did not fully understand how pure-blooded wizards viewed the world - especially family real estate.

He hoped to avoid similar problems with Luna.

But Luna's outlook on life differed from most witches.

He handed Luna a thin package wrapped in ordinary Muggle Christmas paper. "Luna, this is from the two of us - and Dennis helped, too. We hope you'll want to use it. It's Muggle, actually. And those are just the instructions, because it's not really a thing … well, it's more of a cyberthing…."

Harry's non-explanatory explanation only piqued Luna's curiosity. She tore the paper off and found - more paper - with its title being an incomprehensible string of letters.

"I'm sorry … what is this?" Luna asked rather blankly - even for her.

"Umm, it's registration for what that Muggles call a `website'," Harry replied uncertainly. "I don't know much more than that. Dennis thought it might be a safer way for you to be … you know … creative, than re-starting the Quibbler."

"Well, I can't really make anything of this except it says `Onion'," Luna observed. She turned the page upside down, which had often helped with the Quibbler.

"That's the name of the website," Hermione took up where Harry had left off. "We knew how much the Quibbler meant to you, and thought that there must be a way for you to keep doing that. Dennis suggested the Internet. He put together a list of what he called `alternative news' websites, and we picked this one. Your earrings inspired us."

"You mean I can create my own newspaper on this Internet thingy?" Luna asked, as her face broke into a broad, dreamy smile.

"That's it exactly," Harry told her, grateful for Hermione's more coherent explanation. He understood all this Internet business little better than Luna. "If you want, you can even rename the site `The Quibbler'."

Luna thought about that for a bit. "No thanks. This name is … appropriate."

"Well, great," Harry exclaimed happily. He had worried that this idea, which originated with Dennis Creevey, might be too weird, even for Luna.

Hermione explained, "The Creeveys contributed one of their Creevputers, so you can access the site from Hogwarts." Seeing Luna's questioning look, she added, "The Onion's run by Muggles, so you'll probably want to include Muggle stuff…. But, since the Internet's not exactly a thing, you can access it magically without damage. Dennis is going back to Hogwarts early to install it for you in the Ravenclaw common room."

Luna impetuously grabbed them both in a joint hug. "Thank you. This sounds like such great fun."

For once, Luna felt only positive emotions.

Luna had some technical questions for Hermione. Harry Summoned his final gift silently. Like Luna's it was fairly small - and flat. The magical wrapping paper featured dark silver chains undulating on a black background.

His prefatory comments about Hermione's gift were brief. "This is Muggle too. I hope you like it. Professor McGonagall helped."

That seemed odd. "But, you just said it was Muggle. How could she help with that?" Hermione posed a seemingly obvious question.

Harry tried to answer. "She helped by … umm…. Just go ahead and open it. You'll see." He realised that any real answer would be a dead give-away.

Hermione shrugged and turned her attention to the parcel, which only weighed a few ounces. She found the paper's seam and poked it with her wand to end Harry's Sticking Charm. The gift clanked like the sound of chains falling away.

"Be careful," Harry warned. "It has a Preservative Charm, but it's pretty old."

Hermione opened the aged leather case. "Oh my…," she gasped. "It's … I suppose, an original of the Slavery Abolition Act as introduced in Parliament in 1833."

"It is, but it's more than that," Harry prompted, trying but largely failing to sound mysterious.

She examined the inside cover, which bore an inscription in badly tarnished silver lettering. She paraphrased as she read, "It's a presentation from Henry Brougham and Charles somebody Sutton to … oh, my … William Wilberforce…. One of my heroes!"

Unable to contain herself, Hermione began bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet. She looked gleefully at Harry. "It's wonderful, Harry!" If not for what she was holding, she would have launched herself into his arms.

"Er … thanks, but there's supposed to be more," Harry mentioned cautiously as he positioned himself at his fiancée's side. "Can you flip through it?"

"Hmmm." Hermione carefully turned four pages of archaic typeset until she reached the last page, and saw it…. "I don't believe it! It's signed by Wilberforce himself!"

She was almost hopping with excitement. Harry slipped an arm around her to hold her steady, leaned in, and gave her a kiss. Some of their friends began applauding.

When the kiss broke, she whispered to him, "You have no idea how much I love you right now."

`Don't be so sure,' he Legilimenced back.

That was the last gift. The gathering broke up to take their respective gifts back to their rooms and to prepare for another scrumptious Blackwalls Christmas meal. Harry handed Hermione a letter from Blackie Howe that described the circumstances of the document Harry had (through Howe's agency) purchased for her. Beneath Howe's firm's fancy letterhead it read:

Dear Miss Granger:

I am writing this letter at the behest of my client, Harry Potter, to explain the provenance of a document that I understand is to be a gift to you.

The document in question is a presentation copy of the 1833 Act for the Abolition of Slavery as it passed Third Reading in the House of Commons. The copy was one of several presented by the Speaker and the Lord Chancellor to Mr. William Wilberforce. As Mister Wilberforce passed away a few days later, this signed copy is believed to be unique.

I wish to thank Deputy Headmistress McGonagall for her assistance. As curator of the Hogwarts documents collection, she became aware of a selection of abolitionist materials being exposed for bid at Sotheby's in late November. Acting on behalf of Mister Potter, and bidding anonymously, I was fortunate to obtain this document.

Very Truly Yours,

D'Israeli, Braddock & Pickle

By: Blackstone Howe

A Partner

* * * *

Much later, Harry and Hermione burst into the Proprietor's suite, each wrapped in silver garlands with minds of their own. They jumped onto the bed, laughing. Hermione reached over, plucked a red and white fuzzy Santa Claus hat off Harry's head, and smacked him across the face with it.

As she did, artificial snow flew everywhere.

"That, Mister Potter, is for your joke comparing me to Professor McGonagall," Hermione complained mock-seriously.

"Oh, yeah? Well, this is for reciting the `Fresh Pickled Toad' poem at dinner," Harry rolled his shrieking fiancée over on the mattress and started tickling.

They carried on, Harry tickling (but not too vigourously), and Hermione struggling (but not too hard) to escape. They became entangled in the sheets and halted with him on his knees facing her, and she somewhat pinned with her legs wrapped around his midsection.

He looked into her flushed face as she stared back, panting from the exertion.

"Are you by any chance thinking what I'm thinking?" he wondered suggestively as he released her arms.

"Undoubtedly," she responded, then took hold of his shirt with both hands and tried to pull it over his head. "Let's see if we can wreck the room again … with another Harmonic Convergence."

They were divesting each other of their clothing when a tapping noise at the window interrupted.

"What's that?"

"It's Hedwig!"

Indeed it was - looking quite windblown, scrawny, and all around worse for wear, Harry's white-winged familiar swooped into the room once Harry discovered how to work the crank that opened the rather large (and magic resistant) leaded window.

"She must be exhausted," Hermione observed worriedly as Hedwig landed rather Errol-like on the bed. "I'm going to get her some water. I wish we had some owl treats."

Harry called Dobby. In only a few seconds the ever-loyal elf had popped off to the Château's owlery.

"Good girl. We'll get you fed and watered," Harry stroked Hedwig's back with one hand whilst removing the message she carried with the other.

Hermione returned with a plate of water and set it on a nearby night stand. Hedwig pounced on it thirstily.

"What does the note say?" Hermione asked eagerly. Finally - some answers about Cho Chang.

"Can't tell, it's in Chinese," Harry replied, shaking his head.

"I know a translating spell," Hermione declared as she whipped out her wand.

That surprised Harry. "Since when?"

"You have no idea how much read trying to figure out how to find you when the Death Eaters had you." Pointing her wand at Lao Kung's note, Hermione incanted, "Reddito ex sinicæ ut britannæ."

The note's markings squiggled and transformed from Chinese characters into something more legible - but not entirely.

"I still can't read this," Harry complained.

Looking over his shoulder, Hermione declared, "It's backwards. He must have deliberately inverted his Chinese."

"Seems like a lot of trouble," Harry commented.

"Maybe that means this is important," Hermione replied quickly. "I'll get a mirror. "Accio mirror."

A popping sound emanated from the adjacent bathroom. One of several large mirrors pulled itself free from the wall in response to Hermione's spell and hurtled towards her.

"Aieee!"

The mirror nearly decapitated Dobby, who had just popped back in with a tray of food for Hedwig. The poor elf ducked just in time, sending the sterling silver tray and its contents flying.

Greedily, Hedwig hopped to the floor and began gobbling up the treats where they lay.

"That's all right, Dobby. You needn't clean it up," Harry told the elf. "And sorry about that."

Dobby was more interested in Hermione sitting on the bed holding the mirror that had almost done him in. "Does Harry Potter and Miz Myown need Dobby's help?"

"Not at the moment, but maybe later," Hermione answered.

As Dobby popped away, Hermione lit her wand to provide more light and held Lao Kung's note up to the mirror.

"Oh, dear," Hermione fretted after a few seconds of reading, "this is worse than I thought."

This time Harry squinted over Hermione's shoulder. "What does it say?"

"Cho's tattoo … it's something called a Xiao Jing. Through it her parents, specifically her father, can control her - absolutely - to whatever degree he wants."

"Why?"

"According to Lao Kung, it's ancient Chinese magic. He calls it `filial piety.' Chinese society is much more closely regimented than ours. Chinese children are raised with far more emphasis on correct social interactions, particularly in respect of their parents. Children are expected to obey their parents, and this tattoo is a way of enforcing obedience - particularly when young Chinese wizards or witches are away from direct parental supervision."

"Like Cho being at Hogwarts," Harry remarked.

"Correct," Hermione confirmed, "like Cho being at Hogwarts."

"That settles it," Harry growled. "There's no way I'm letting Ron go to Cho's house for Chinese New Years if she's being controlled - even by her parents."

"Especially by her parents," Hermione seconded. "That's essentially what Lao Kung recommends. He says it's very serious, a Hogwarts student subject to external control, and that you - we - should bring this to Dumbledore's attention at our first opportunity."

"When did you say Chinese New Years was this year?" Harry asked.

"Let's see," Hermione opened the night stand on which Hedwig's now abandoned water dish lay and pulled out her D.A. mirror from Hogwarts.

"That won't work here," Harry advised. "No connectivity, remember?"

"Remember, it does have internal memory," Hermione reminded him. "And one thing that's in here is a calendar…. Chinese New Year starts 7 February."

"I'll go see Dumbledore as soon as we get back to Hogwarts, then," Harry declared firmly. "And I'm going to tell Ron…."

"Good for you," Hermione interjected. "This has gone on far too long."

"…Do you think I should tell him before or after I've talked to Dumbledore?"

Almost immediately Hermione answered, "After. I doubt he'll take this very well, and I don't want him to turn on you. I'd recommend doing it with Dumbledore present."

"Good thought," Harry agreed. "He's stronger than Ginny, and look what she did to me."

"Don't remind me."

"Does Lao Kung say anything else?" Harry budged up closer to the mirror trying to read for himself.

"Yes," Hermione said as she snuggled closer. "He also received your fast owl. He says that image you sent - that would be Cho's tattoo - raises `troubling questions' for him regarding `certain Chinese matters.' That's really not very helpful…. He's telling you not to concern yourself with those `at this time.' Apparently he plans to make some inquiries with the Chinese Ministry. He says he'll be back to you as soon as he has something more definite."

Harry was a little annoyed, too. He expected Lao Kung to be more forthright with him. That annoyance touched his voice as he asked, "Anything else?"

"Yes, a second page." Hermione slipped the back page up so she could read it in the mirror. "Not much, though. He praises Hedwig's persistence…. Says he's not in good health and thus not easy to locate."

"That's it?"

"That's it. His signature stamp is next."

Hermione Banished the mirror and put Lao Kung's letter and her own smaller mirror back in the night stand drawer.

Turning back to Harry, she saw him sigh and shake his head.

"What is it?"

"I was just thinking," Harry answered. "Poor Ron."

"Yes," Hermione commiserated, "Poor Ron." Then she began crawling across the bed to Harry on her hands and knees. "But not poor you. As I recall, we've got a room to wreck."

He loved that look in her eye - pure unadulterated desire.

"Capital idea. Time for some O-rated sex." Harry gave his wand a wave, extinguishing all the lights except for moonlight flooding in through the windows.

"O-rated?" Hermione said in puzzlement.

"Yes, look."

Hermione turned around. All she could see in the darkness were Hedwig's large, luminous eyes.

* * * *

Author's notes: The first line is beta Mark Gardiner's

"End of the World…," is by R.E.M. Its lyrics mention people with the initials "L.B." - thus Ludo Bagman

"All Things Must Pass" is by George Harrison

"Tocsinini" combines tocsin, an alarm, and Toscanini, a conductor

"Get up, get out" is the chorus of a traditional song

Riding shot-wand is like riding shotgun, next to the carriage driver

"Eagle has landed" is from the Apollo 11 moon landing

The Lexicon's Diagon Alley map is my model

Glaxosmit's item will appear in the next chapter

Glastonbury Tor is real, as are hawthorns, the abbey, and the well; but not the Merlin monument, burial site or Grail collection

Ron got a new broom in Ch. 48

A prolate spheroid is the shape of a rugby football

For the disembodied female voice, think automated telephone systems

The conversation with Neville was in Ch. 59

Hermione's advice about Ginny comes back to haunt her

WWW sells shield gloves

Philander Tweed combines 19^th Century American political names

Mountains of the Moon/Rwenzori are real; the magical items are associated with Africa

Other tours: "Magical Mystery Tour" is a nod to the Beatles' album of that name; Babylon's hanging gardens were one of the seven wonders of the ancient world; Uluru is aboriginal for Ayer's Rock Australia; New Guinea has many endangered tribal languages; Ispur and Capadoccia are in Turkey; Turnback Canyon white water would destroy non-magical kayaks; dragon boats are found in East Asia; Thailand is notorious for sex tours

Zodiac-shaped features exist near Glastonbury

Jesus and the Holy Grail are associated with Glastonbury

Ley lines are from geomancy

Heaved … right across … shoulders, from the Stones' "Honky Tonk Woman"

Rough Guides are UK tourist guidebooks

MVVs are made up, see Ch. 2

The cloth coat (Nixon, Checkers speech) and pillbox hat (Jackie Kennedy) are US political symbols; the leopard skin is from Dylan

These relics are found in Rome

Alban Arthan is the Druid solstice festival

See Ch. 59 for the Harmonic Convergence

Foreshadowing: Luna's gift to Hermione; Tonks' comment about Ron; Neville's gift to Harry

Tonks' promise to Harry was in Ch. 13; it concerns Michener's "Hawai'i"

See Ch. 63 for da Vinci and the Battle of Anghiari

Neville's gift to Hermione is like the "future claim" in Earth's Children, it also becomes important

See Chs. 29-30 regarding Lily Potter's letters; Harry being jealous in Ch. 65 built up the gift

Luna owns The Onion - that explains a lot

Hermione's a signature collector (ch.8); she invoked Wilberforce in Ch. 7 about house-elf slavery; Harry saw a Wilberforce book in Hermione's mind (Ch. 42); he got McGonagall's help in Ch. 61

Historical details concerning Wilberforce are accurate

Both Howe's introduction to the rare manuscript market and data in Hermione's mirror will come in handy

Da Vinci used reversed writing like Lao Kung

The 1997 date of Chinese New Years is correct

How Hermione handled Lao Kung's letter is important

65

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