(A/N: Life has only gotten a little better recently. I do intend to finish this story… I can only hope I still have readers when that happens. Heartfelt thanks to you all for staying with me.
I will admit that we don't have a lot of action-adventure in this chapter: it's mostly tidying up from Hermione's Rebirthday Party (indeed, by the story-clock it's still Saturday afternoon). But you can't build an edifice without a little ground-breaking.)
(Disclaimer: Still not JK Rowling. Still no theme park in Florida based on my stories. Still toiling in obscurity.)
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"Coming Back Late"
by Paracelsus
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XXXVI: Status Far From Quo
*
Bill eyed the great oaken doors of Hogwarts with an air of nostalgia. "Sometimes it's good when things don't change," he murmured.
"I'll settle for their not changing quite at breakneck speed," Fleur responded. She turned to Tori and Ted. "Mes petites, it was a pleasure to see you again, so soon after seeing you off. I trust you may find your own way back to Gryffindor Tower…?"
"Erm, we might want to wait a moment longer," Ted cut in, glancing past Fleur's shoulder. She turned her head to see Hermione, Rose and Ron, hand in hand, coming around the side of the castle. They'd evidently taken a stroll around the school grounds and continued their "talk", rather than cut it short, or try to compress all that needed to be said into the walk from Hogsmeade.
There had been quite a lot that needed to be said.
Rose seemed unusually subdued, and Hermione and Ron were trading worried looks over her head. "Ah, and here we are," Hermione announced, more for the need to break the silence than to impart information. "Rose?"
Reluctantly, Rose released her parents' hands. She looked searchingly up into Ron's face; he nodded. "Christmas, princess," he said gently. "I promise."
"Both of us are only an owl-flight away," Hermione added.
"I know," mumbled Rose. She seemed uncertain about whether to hug her parents, or which to hug first. Ron took the decision out of her hands by embracing Hermione, with Rose between them, and the three shared a family hug for a long moment.
When Rose stepped away from her parents, Tori was there to put one arm around her shoulders. "Let's go back to our rooms, shall we? Do you mind?" Tori gave Ted a sidelong glance and shook her head ever so slightly, to warn him not to join them, and he obediently fell back a pace. Rose seemed to accept Tori's company… at any rate, she made no protest as the older girl steered her through the doors and into the castle.
Left alone on the front steps, Ted found himself in the unusual position of fifth wheel. It was clear that the four adults were aching to discuss everything that had happened that day, and were pairing off to do so: Ron with Bill, Hermione with Fleur. Ted raised his hand half-heartedly and turned away towards Hogwarts's doors.
"And speaking of Christmas, Ted," Fleur said unexpectedly, "we'd be pleased if you could spend a day or two of your holiday at Shell Cottage with us." Bill looked surprised, but some silent communiqué passed from his wife to him, and he kept silent.
"Erm," replied Ted, caught off his guard. "Thanks. I'll speak with Gran, but I'm sure there won't be any problem… Boxing Day, then?" There would at least be no problem with Tori's father on the full moon: that would fall at least a week before Christmas that year.
"But of course," she smiled brightly. Ted found himself smiling back; feeling suddenly upbeat, he gave the adults a jaunty wave before disappearing into Hogwarts.
"I felt that. Behave yourself," Bill chided Fleur.
"Pfui. If our daughter can't sway him, what hope have I?" She kissed him, tenderly but quickly. "Have a nice family chat, mon cher. Try not to come home too late or too inebriated, yes?"
"Just inebriated enough," agreed Bill. "Hermione, congratulations, if that's the right word, and good luck. Shall we, Ron?" With an affable nod to the ladies, he steered Ron towards the gates of the grounds, there to Disapparate to a pub somewhat more private than the Three Broomsticks.
By unspoken agreement, Hermione and Fleur began strolling towards the lake. They steered wide to avoid clusters of students, who were lounging on the grass enjoying their Saturday. "So," Fleur said after a moment, "is 'congratulations' the right word?"
"For what?" rejoined Hermione. "Becoming Minister of Magic? Or my divorce from Ron?"
"Divorce is never a cause for congratulation, I suspect," Fleur said somberly. "Even when it's both desirable and needful. One doesn't congratulate a surgery patient for the necessity of the surgery… only for surviving it."
"Ow! Rather too apt an analogy, Fleur. I mean, Ron told me about our divorce yesterday, but its full impact didn't hit me until we were talking about it with Rose. She seems to be taking it well, but…" Her words trailed off uncertainly.
They walked in silence until they reached the water's edge. "You and Ron seem to have taken the right tack with her," said Fleur. She selected a smooth stone, balanced it in her hand for a second, then sent it skipping across the surface of the lake. "That you both still care for her, both still be there for her…"
"Ron will always be Rose's father, no matter what happens," Hermione declared, picking up a stone of her own. She cocked her arm, preparing to send the stone skimming after Fleur's.
"You mean, no matter who you start seeing?" Fleur asked.
The stone veered violently to the left, missing the lake altogether, as Hermione fumbled and nearly fell into the water. "What? I… I…" Unable to say more, she stared at Fleur in dumbfounded horror. How!? I thought we were so discreet! We didn't do anything, didn't say anything…
She was therefore greatly relieved by Fleur's response. "I don't mean to imply anything, ma loutre, but I know very well that your last few years with Ron haven't been pleasant - for either of you," Fleur said hurriedly. "It would be astonishing if you didn't someday find a man who could make you happy. It's certainly nothing of which you should be ashamed!"
"Ah! Yes! Um, yes, I… I see what you mean. That is, well, in time…" Hermione knew her face was flushed, but hoped Fleur would attribute it to mere embarrassment about the topic. She picked up another stone, but didn't throw it at once.
"And - again, in time - I think Rose will come to understand that as well," Fleur concluded reassuringly. When Hermione didn't immediately respond, she gave a Gallic shrug and added, "Bien sûr, as the new Minister, time may be in short supply at first."
Glad of the change in topic, Hermione turned back to the lake and sent her stone flying. "As I told those newshounds, I'm not officially Minister until I hear from the Wizengamot." She canted her head, considering a new idea. "Though… I mean, if I were named Minister, I certainly see areas where I could do some good. And Fleur… for one of them, I could use your help." Along with Flitwick, she added silently, and Hagrid… or perhaps Olympe might be a better choice…"
"Certainement, of course…"
"In any event," Hermione concluded, "there's an old adage about counting your chickens before they're hatched."
"Or in your case, owls." Fleur gave a short, melodious laugh. "You'll hear from them soon enough. Perhaps you should enlist Harry's help as you start your new duties. If he's not returning to Hogwarts, he'll need a job… and the two of you would deal well together. And it would certainly give the press something else to write about: The Boy Who Lived Again, working for The Witch Who Won…"
"No." Abruptly, Hermione's attitude switched from embarrassment to cold intensity. "I'll not have that title used any more. We'll find another if we must, but I won't call myself… that… any more. I couldn't."
Fleur was taken aback by her sudden vehemence. "Well, if that's what you… that is to say, certainly, whatever you wish. But… Hermione, I know you've never cared for that title, but you can't deny it's proven useful, and you may need to use it again… if only to force people to take your position as Minister seriously."
"Why shouldn't they? Because I'm Muggleborn? The first Muggleborn Minister that Britain's ever had? Eeeurgh!" Hermione was working herself into a temper, she knew, which was hardly fair to Fleur. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, as Fleur made anxious soothing sounds. At least this was a plausible reason for being upset.
After a moment, Hermione felt it was safe to open her eyes again. "Right. Well. I think I can count on Gawain Robards's support. And once everyone sees I have him behind me, they'll fall in line soon enough." She knew her face was still pinched in irritation. Hermione could only hope that Fleur would assume her sudden mood change was due to worries about being a Muggleborn Minister - it would keep her from pressing for other reasons.
It had been bothering me for days. That niggling question about Harry surviving Voldemort, I knew there was something peculiar about what he said. I can't believe it took me so long to figure it out! Hermione gave an exasperated snort, receiving another concerned look from Fleur. But at least I won't have to carry that ridiculous title anymore.
*
The Floo fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron was a little too public for Neville's taste. There was a working Floo fireplace in his office at Hogwarts, but it was only large enough for talking, not for Floo travel; Neville didn't feel like walking back to Hogwarts only to leave again. Wishing for the hundredth time that the wizarding world had better methods of communication, Neville left the pub and made his way to the Hogsmeade post office.
While they had their usual delivery owls ready for service, the post office did offer a Floo fireplace in a fairly private corner. Neville took a moment to compose himself, then flung a pinch of Floo powder into the fire and called, "Susan Bones! Are you there, my lovely?"
"So glad you narrowed that down," she smirked as her head appeared in the fire. "I'm at The Ossuary. Do you need me to come to you, or…?"
"Be right there," he promised, breaking the Floo connection. He exited the post office, with a smile of thanks to the clerk; once in the street, he Disapparated to the ancestral home of the Boneses.
Whereupon he was immediately hugged from behind by an enthusiastic Susan. "Mine! Mine mine mine!" she declared, before turning him in place and kissing him properly.
"Oh yes, definitely yours," Neville agreed once they broke apart. "So did you have a nice day…?" He stopped, embarrassed, as he realized they weren't alone.
Susan followed his gaze. "Oh! I'm sorry, I ought to have introduced you. Neville, this is… Brillig, did I say that right? She's the elf whose master…"
"Employer," corrected Brillig proudly. The elf was dressed in the current fashion for house-elves, a sleeveless tabard of a deep crimson hue, but with no crest displayed on it.
"Whose employer is inquiring about letting The Ossuary. We've been discussing the conditions of the lease, you know, rent and so forth." Susan shook her head ruefully.
"Is a fair amount, we agreed," Brillig reminded her, sounding as close to reproof as a house-elf could.
"But nothing is final until I meet with your employer and approve his tenancy," Susan countered firmly. "Face-to-face, I must insist on that. If everything's in order, we'll sign the lease together, and he can move in on the First."
The elf looked uncertain. "Brillig must… must talk about this with her employer," she said after a moment. "He is wanting peace and quiet. Brillig may not know until tomorrow… or day after. Will Miss be agreeing to this?"
"Of course. Please let me know when your employer's reached a decision. I do look forward to meeting him." Solemnly they shook hands. Then with a bow to Susan, and another to Neville, the elf vanished.
"Sounds as though Little Miss Brillig drives a hard bargain," Neville chuckled.
"As hard as goblins! A good deal more polite, I'll grant her that, but…!" Susan's shoulders slumped slightly as she expelled a carefully held breath. "Well, it'll be interesting to see just how much her mysterious employer values his anonymity. I won't give over The Ossuary to just anybody, sight unseen, I won't!" She settled herself on the love seat and patted the cushion next to her. "So come tell me how the Rebirthday Party went?"
Smoothly, Neville sat down next to her and wrapped an arm around her, while mentally reviewing the events of the Party. There were certain details he couldn't repeat, not even to Susan. True, he'd been absolved of any need to swear an oath or sign a contract, but that was because Harry and Hermione trusted him - which compelled him to try to be worthy of trust.
One detail, though, was too good a tidbit not to pass on. Besides, it would be in the Daily Prophet soon enough. "So then… Harry was at the Party, and someone suggested that he return to Hogwarts and finish his seventh year, as Hermione did." He smiled as Susan snorted in disbelief. "You're right, of course. He decided against it - but not for the reason you think. He wants to be available to lend his support to the new Minister of Magic."
Susan's gaze sharpened. "I'd heard the Wizengamot was convening today - finally! - but I hadn't heard they'd announced the results of the vote."
"They haven't yet… they need to notify the new Minister first, before they announce it publicly. But of course, they couldn't reach the new Minister today, since she was busy celebrating her Rebirthday." Five, counted Neville silently, four, three, two…
"HERMIONE!?"
"According to the reporters who waylaid her as she left."
She gaped for several moments, then closed her mouth and briskly nodded, absorbing the information. Susan had always been better at the politics of the wizarding world than Neville; he suspected it was her aunt's influence at work. "Well, well," she said after a pause, "that would explain why the Chief Warlock sent you those owls last night, wouldn't it? It was probably a close vote, and he'd want your weight behind Hermione's candidacy."
"But then he told me not to come… the 'crisis had passed', I think were his words. And besides, if the vote was today, why'd he ask for me last night?"
"As a pressure tactic, I'd imagine. After all, my dear, to a hidebound conservative, the only thing worse than a successful Muggleborn is a Pureblood who supports successful Muggleborns. Ogden may have been preparing to use you as a threat… he may even have threatened to put you on the Wizengamot itself. Yes, I know, you'd never want a seat, but his opponents wouldn't know that."
"I, hm, I wouldn't say 'never', exactly."
Her gaze was so sharp now that Neville almost felt like a butterfly pinned to a board. He met it without flinching. His decision had crystallized in his mind the moment he'd heard of Hermione's election: it was necessary, it was right, and he wasn't about to apologize for it, to Susan or to anybody.
"When I heard she'd be Minister, I knew right then that she'd need all the support she can get. I've let other opportunities slip by in the past, I know - but not this time." He managed a tight smile. "After all, I expect there'll be a few resignations in protest, don't you?"
"I can see it happening, oh yes." Susan sighed and looked away. "Of course, I could run for one of those empty seats, I suppose. That way, you can remain at Hogwarts. I know how much you love teaching there…"
"My thought," he interrupted, "was that we'd both run for the Wizengamot. When I said 'all the support she can get', I wasn't exaggerating. I'd planned to speak with Minerva as soon as I got back to Hogwarts." Neville smiled as he anticipated the question forming on her lips. "Not to worry, love. I've already located a replacement for the Defense position. Not that I've told him yet; I'll have to break him in gradually."
*
Hermione returned to Enthalpy House feeling decidedly morose. Yes, the Party had been fun, for the most part - there were a few tense moments, of course - but any pleasure she'd had in the company of friends, family and Harry had been flensed away by the Party's aftermath: dealing with reporters, discussion with Rose, settling with Fleur. At this point, she was quite ready to call it a day.
So when she Apparated into her living room, she was surprised to find Harry, sitting on the couch with his feet propped on the coffee table, thumbing through a book. "Wotcher," he greeted her, looking up as she appeared, "how'd the talk with Rose go?"
"No storms," she sighed, "but hardly smooth sailing. We'll see how she reacts once she's had time to absorb it."
He nodded. "Right. What's the most interesting magical site in Greece?" At her astonished look, Harry elaborated. "You remember when we were talking about portals to the Nether World… you said Greece had lots of historical sites that were interesting, magically speaking. If you had to pick the most interesting, just one, which would it be?"
Twisting her head to one side, Hermione managed to read the title on the spine of the book in Harry's hands: "From Achelous to Zeus: A Wizard's Guide to Greece." "Well, er, I suppose the island of Aeaea. It was Circe's island, you know, that Odysseus visited, and it still retains strong echoes of her magic. The Greek Ministry even made it Unplottable to keep Muggles from finding the place and getting cursed accidentally…"
"Sounds perfect." Harry tossed the book onto the coffee table and, reaching behind the couch, produced an overnight valise. "How quickly can you pack? Just for one night, we'll come back late Sunday."
Hermione jabbed a finger at the valise. "Where did you…? Oh, of course, you stopped at your Clayman flat before coming here. Harry, it's a sweet idea, but I can't simply…"
"On the contrary," he broke in, "you not only can, it's your only chance. As soon as you get that owl from the Wizengamot, you'll be officially the Minister of Magic - and if being Senior Counsel was a lot of work, I can only imagine what being Minister must be like. It may be years before things slow down enough for you to take a day off." (Left unsaid was Harry's thought that, as a confirmed workaholic, Minister Granger was unlikely to take a holiday no matter how slow the work.)
"So, if we want a moment's respite from all the lunatics out there, it's really now or never - or rather, for years to come, I should say," he concluded. "And we did sort of agree, didn't we, that it would be nice to visit Greece together…"
She stared at him in bewilderment, with desire and disbelief warring on her face. "Harry, it's… it's out of the question! Even if I chose to go, it takes time to arrange international travel! There are proper channels to be followed! Merlin, the Wizengamot's owl would probably find me while I was waiting in queue!"
"Um, it's kind of why I asked how quickly you could pack," replied Harry diffidently.
"What part of 'proper channels' did you not understand?!"
"I figured, if we used a Ministry-approved Portkey, wouldn't that satisfy the legalities?"
"That's my point! To get a Ministry-approved Portkey requires an application to the Department of Magical Transportation, which, given this would be an International Portkey, would…"
Harry smiled and raised his wand. "Accio Portkey Patches," he said clearly. Seconds later, the remaining Patches (of those Hermione had requisitioned for Lovinett's arrest) came sailing to his open hand.
Hermione eyed the Patches with disfavor. "Well, yes, those are Ministry-approved, but they've hardly the power for international travel…" Her voiced trailed away as Harry's smile turned smugly broad. Obviously, he thought his own magical power was sufficient to boost the Patches' range all the way to Greece. Hermione found it difficult to dispute the idea: as she'd already observed, effects of the Hallows still lingered on Harry.
"One last splurge," he said after a moment, his voice a temptation, "one single day we can just be together, without having to worry about Hallows or Cartels or anything worse than sunburn. You can take up your new job Monday morning, refreshed and recharged and ready to take on every old stodgy, calcified traditionalist in England."
"You make it sound so appealing," Hermione grumbled, but there was a twinkle in her eyes now that belied her tone. Harry waited hopefully.
"Give me a moment," she said at length. She closed her eyes and furrowed her brow in concentration - then flicked her wand sharply with a murmured "Expecto Patronum." A silver streak flashed from her wand and through the window. "Normally, I'd use an owl for a message like this," she explained, opening her eyes, "but I don't have time to call for one, and you can't. Owls still can't see you, can they?"
"Erm, haven't had a chance to check yet, really…"
"No matter." With a brisk stride, Hermione disappeared into her bedroom. Though Harry could no longer directly see her, he could hear her as she opened her wardrobe and began rummaging through her clothes. "Did you pack any food?" her voice carried back through the open bedroom door. "You in particular probably shouldn't eat any food that comes from Circe's island. I assume the Greek Ministry's cleansed the place of her magic, but there's no point in taking chances."
"I packed us a picnic supper for this evening. For tomorrow… hm, if we're not eating on Aeaea, well, we could Apparate to Athens or something…"
"Uh huh, especially if we stick to the Muggle part of the city. Not that I expect many people in Greece to recognize you on sight… And you packed appropriate clothes? You do realize the Mediterranean will be a good deal warmer than here?"
"Yes, mum, I did. I even packed a swimsuit and tanning potion, just in case…" Harry broke off as Hermione reappeared, carrying a slightly larger valise than his, and wearing a brightly colored sundress that flared and swirled below her waist - and, above her waist, fit her like a coat of paint. (It was certainly snug enough to reveal the outlines of her bra, had it been there.)
"Swimsuit? Whatever for, Harry?" Hermione asked in mock innocence. "Surely your little travelogue must have mentioned how many beaches Greece has for sunbathing au naturel. Didn't it?"
"It, ah, that wasn't covered… I mean…" He covered his crimson face and looked down. When he spoke again, there was rueful amusement in his voice. "You're evil, Hermione. Have I told you that you're evil?"
"Why, Harry Potter, you sweet-talking charmer, you." She walked up, waited a moment to see if he would lower his hand from his face, then kissed the side of his neck instead. That caused him to lower his hand. "Seriously, though, Harry, this was a delightful notion. And you're right, this is just what I need - what we need - before I take up my new duties. Thank you."
"My pleasure," he smiled. "I just thought we should seize the moment, as it were: it's such a small window of opportunity."
"Of course. And were you waiting for a similar window of opportunity to tell me you weren't returning to Hogwarts?"
Harry chuckled wryly. "Who told you? Ted? Oh, Fleur. Then she must have told you I only decided about Hogwarts after I overheard the reporters telling you about your new job." He shrugged. "It just seems to me that giving my support to The Witch Who Won is more important than taking my NEWTs…" His voice trailed off as he realized Hermione had gone deathly still.
"I understand," she said, after a moment. "Finding the right moment to divulge important information can be… important."
"Yes, exactly," he agreed, puzzled by her response. Her voice had been light, but her stance was rigid, and he couldn't understand why.
"For instance, there wasn't a right moment before the Party to tell me all the details about your little flight of fiction this morning, I do understand that…"
"Yyyyyeah, sorry about that, but it all worked out. I managed to dispel any notions Ron might have had, after his 'nightmare'. And you played along beautifully…"
"And I simply can't imagine the right moment to tell me that I'm not The Witch Who Won."
Oh crap bleeding crappity crap. In shock, Harry watched Hermione as she fell back a pace, arms akimbo. "I suspected something was amiss when you told me you'd fulfilled the prophecy. It was such an odd wording: you'd fulfilled it? Not if I was the one that actually killed Voldemort. But today you finally described exactly when you came back to your body, and I knew." She was beginning to show anger now as she added, "And you never told me?"
Harry felt his face go sphinxlike, a conditioned response to confrontation… honed by years of avoidance while in hiding. He realized, even as it happened, that it was the wrong response: Hermione was no longer rigid. She stood apart from him now, fury written on her face as she waited for him to say something, anything.
"You needed to be The Witch Who Won," he finally admitted. "You still need to be. And you're too honest to use a title you didn't think you'd earned."
"But my using a fraudulent title unknowingly was just fine, was it?" Hermione spat. "Harry, I swear to God, if I hadn't promised to keep your secret, I'd be talking to the Prophet right now - telling them how Voldemort really died. I don't like this precious title, I don't need it, and I don't want it!"
"Hey, 'Chosen One' here," Harry said pointedly.
"Oh, so your title justifies mine?!"
"No… but it does give me a certain insight on the necessity of hateful titles. And it means you don't get to go all emo on me about your own title. Anybody else, maybe, but not me."
She drew a deep, indignant breath and regarded him frostily. "I do not go 'emo'."
Harry judged that appeasement was now in order. "Perhaps I spoke poorly," he soothed. "I know I promised we'd talk more, but you're right: there simply hasn't been a good time to tell you this. And compared to the Swivingham case, to the Elder Wand, to everything else… well, you have to agree it was a lower priority."
Hermione paused, saying nothing, but still glowering at Harry. "I just find it disturbing," she said, a bit more calmly, "that after all your assurances that you'd talk to me about things, you're still keeping things from me. Things which, you have to agree, I've a right to know. Were you planning to tell me?"
"Let's just say I was hoping the subject never came up, and let it go at that." He raised a placating hand. "I know, I know, I need to stop doing that. Hermione, I'm sorry."
She looked away, her glower softening but still present. Finally, she gestured at the Portkey Patches still in his hand. "As you've been at pains to point out, if we're leaving at all, we'd best leave now. But we will finish this discussion… later. When you packed our supper, did you include something to drink?"
He blinked at the seeming non-sequitur. "Um, yeah. Three-quarters of a bottle of elf wine, left over from your Party."
"That should do. In vino veritas, as they say." Hermione marched up to Harry, took firm hold of his collar with one hand, plucked the Patches from his grasp with her other hand, and looked him squarely in the eye. "And I intend to put that little platitude to the test this evening. So if there are any other bits of important information - for which you haven't found the 'right moment' to tell me - I suggest you have them ready." She waited a beat to make certain she had his undivided attention… then her expression gentled as she added, "Because I intend to do the same."
*
Tori quietly closed the door to the first-years' dormitory behind her. I wish I could have been more helpful, she sighed, or at least more of a comfort. Still, Rose was both intelligent and level-headed, qualities which would stand her in good stead in the weeks to come. And Tori had managed to extract a promise from her young cousin, that any future troubles should not be bottled up inside, but brought to Tori for disposal.
Her emotions felt drained away, and she would have loved to retire to her own dormitory for the night, but she owed Ted an update. Tori made her way down the stairs to the Gryffindor Common Room, scanning for Ted's face: his hair might change with his mood, but he almost always wore his usual face. Unless he was pranking someone, of course.
She spotted him in the window embrasure, with the window open. Mercifully, no one else was nearby, or seemed to be paying him close attention - which meant they'd have privacy for their chat. As she approached, she caught a flash of something silver sitting on the windowsill - and recognized it as a Patronus. And Ted appeared to have been talking to it! "I've only ever seen one of those," she said as she drew close. "Professor Longbottom showed us his Patronus last year. This isn't yours, is it? Whose is it?"
"Guess," Ted said sourly. Now that she was nearer, Tori could tell that the Patronus had the shape of… an ermine? No: an otter. Whom did she know whose avatar might be an otter…? After a moment, she shook her head.
"Your former Aunt Hermione," he told her. "Dispensing a little unsolicited advice." He rubbed the back of his neck in irritation as the Patronus evaporated. "Which I would resent a lot more," he added grudgingly, "if it didn't make so much damn sense."
"Ah." Tori waited another moment, then decided Ted wasn't ready to share the message with her - and pressing him would probably trigger an explosive rant on Hermione's perceived moral failings. "Anyway," she said, "I just had a long talk with Rose."
"Oh, yeah. How is Rose? Has she recovered from her shock? About her parents, I mean?"
"A bit. I don't think it was the fact of the divorce that was such a shock - the whole family knows Uncle Ron had moved out years ago - I think it was more the way she learned about it." Tori sighed and surveyed the Common Room. "Of course," she added without looking at Ted, "everyone else will learn about it too, soon enough."
"I see what you mean, yeah. The Prophet, for one, will have a field day with it. First Muggleborn Minister of Magic, and also the first witch to actually beat the magic of her wedding vows? I can just see the gossip columns now." Ted gave her a sideways glance. "Are you thinking that her classmates might give her a hard time about it? 'Cause I'm sure you and I can squash anyone here in Gryffindor who tries…"
"You might have your own troubles to deal with, Mr. My-Godfather-Is-The-Greatest-Wizard-Since-Merlin. I can't imagine that little tidbit won't be making the rounds soon."
Ted gave her a grin filled with mischief, and changed his eyes and hair to match Harry's.
"And that is something I recommend you never do again! At least if you ever want Rose to stop crushing on you," Tori said sharply. "Or didn't you notice the effect Harry was having on her, all through lunch?"
The raven hair turned immediately back to brown, as Ted stared at her in astonishment. "Rose? Crushing on Harry? He's old enough to be her dad!"
"But he looks not much older than you. I may be wrong, of course," Tori allowed generously, "but it certainly looked as though she were smitten at first sight."
"Oh, that's good. That's just too good," Ted snorted in amusement. "Don't worry, Tori, I won't take the mickey on Rose - but oh, will I ever take it on Harry!"
She frowned at his obtuseness. "If I were you, I'd keep my lip buttoned about it. If Rose does crush on Harry, it won't be comfortable for any of them. Especially once she realizes that Harry's already taken. Or didn't you see that at lunch, either?"
"What d'you mean, Harry's already taken? Are you talking about all those years he spent with the Muggles? He didn't say anything about…" He stopped short, his mobile face showing his sudden dismay. "You're not talking about… you don't mean… her!? NO, Tori! I know you think she practically walks on water, but Harry'd never…"
"She can use his wand, Ted."
Tori's meaning was clear. Ted knew that Professor Longbottom had talked about compatible magic making compatible marriages - he mentioned it to every fourth-year Defense class at some point - and there was no better measure of magical compatibility than being able to use another's wand as though it were your own.
"And Harry used Hermione's wand, back when they were hunting for the Horcruxes," he murmured thoughtfully. "Still, that only means their magic is compatible. The same could be said for brothers, or best friends, or… It doesn't guarantee they'll fall in love and get married."
"But if they do fall in love and get married," argued Tori, "it'll be built on rock, not sand."
"Spare me your metaphors," Ted muttered. "Harry and… her? I thought Gryffindor Girls were supposed to be lionesses, not cougars - OW!" He rubbed his shoulder where she'd smacked him.
"First of all," she said sternly, "they're the same age. You just said so, Ted! And second of all, you'd best be careful not to say anything like that around Harry - not if you want to stay on his good side. Or don't you remember the chewing-out he gave you from the fireplace last week?"
"I remember, I remember. And I am trying hard not to hold a grudge against her, honest. For Harry's sake. Maybe for Rose's sake, too - and maybe even yours, super-sleuth." He scowled, lost in thought. "'Course, even if you're right, I don't know that she'd be good for Harry. She's going to be Minister and he hates publicity… I mean really, what does he see in her? Yeah, I know they've been friends since forever, but still."
"I don't expect you to understand," Tori informed him haughtily, "but I think it's very romantic. A love so strong even Death couldn't kill it! It's… it's beautiful." She sniffed slightly.
Ted's scowl slowly changed to a quizzical look, with which he regarded her for a long minute. "So I'm not romantic, am I?" he asked in a lower tone.
"You do have your good moments," she admitted, "but let's face it, men just don't have any real romance in their souls. It's not your fault, I suppose…"
Tori stopped as he drew his wand. For one instant, she was afraid he meant to hex her; then she wondered if he intended some demonstration, some romantic gesture, to disprove her words. She didn't know what he intended - but was completely unprepared for what he did next.
Ted offered her his wand.
For some reason, her eyes could see nothing but the handle of his wand. For some reason, her lungs couldn't properly take in oxygen. "You… you just got through saying it didn't prove anything," she whispered.
"No, I just got through saying it's not the final word," he replied softly. "But it can certainly be a beginning word." He waited patiently, not withdrawing his wand, not forcing it on her either.
In exquisite slow motion, her fingers came up to wrap themselves around Ted's wand. He released it as she lifted it to eye level, inspecting it as though she'd never seen it before in her life. After a moment, she gave it an experimental twirl. "Erm, Orchideous?"
And Tori was rewarded with the sight of a wreath of flowers encircling Ted's brow.
Ted didn't act surprised. He tilted his head and rolled his eyes upward, trying to see the flowers… and his gentle smile for Tori was nothing like his more usual sardonic expression. "Good. That gives us something to start with, don't you think? Now all we have to do is figure out where to go next." He reached out to retrieve his wand from her hand, and in the process, succeeded in entwining his fingers with hers.
She put on an air of primness, trying to lighten the moment. "I believe the usual idiom, good sir, is 'taking it to the next level'." Tori's fingers made no attempt to escape from his - which meant, as he brought back his own hand, he also drew her closer to him.
"Next level," Ted repeated. He started to lean towards her, hesitated, and looked out at the Common Room. "Yeah, well, in my opinion, the next level doesn't need quite so many witnesses." He brought her fingers up and brushed them against his lips - not quite kissing them - and turned oddly formal. "Would you care to watch the sun set over the lake with me, m'dear? 'Roaming in the gloaming, we two', as the locals might say?"
Not trusting herself to speak, Tori gave a single nod. With his free hand, Ted removed the wreath from his head, extracted the largest of its flowers, and proffered it to her. Accepting it with a murmur of thanks, she held it to her face and inhaled its bouquet, while Ted linked his arm with hers. And together, heedless of any looks they might have gotten from their fellow Gryffindors, they made their way out of the Common Room.