Grâce au Malfoys - Part 3
Standard Disclaimer: The usual disclaimers: the story is based on characters and situations created by JK Rowling, copyright owned by JKR, Bloomsbury, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., etc. No money is being made from this tale, yadda yadda yadda ...
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Before we continue with this tale, my deepest gratitude to everyone who reviewed. Your thoughts and comments are much appreciated. As for the questions raised (especially about Dumbledore being OOC), hopefully the answers will be posted soon. ;)
Finally … to Maple Mountain. A thousand apologies, amigo. That's what I get for working past midnight - and deciding to post without thinking. I must have confused you with Carolyn (whistling) which only goes to show how `out of it' I've been …
And so it goes. Or rather … here goes nothin' …
***
The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)
With an angry swipe at her teary eyes, Hermione Jane Granger shook off her funk and considered her situation.
She felt mortified - not about her over the top reaction with Ron, but the weep fest she'd indulged in for a bit there, bawling out her anger and frustration, focusing too much on the seeming inevitability of her `marriage' to Ron and feeling so abused and used that she'd ended up crying for Harry to save her.
She shook her head and levered herself to her feet. No - she was Hermione Jane Granger, smartest witch in a generation; the `brains' behind the mythical trio where Harry provided the brawn and Ron offer comic relief as well as occasional insight; the one who had been with Harry Potter through his many battles and adventures in defence of the Light.
She was no shrinking violet; the Sorting Hat had agreed to place her in Gryffindor for a reason - and she'd taken down her share of Death Eaters, including Mad Bella, during the final battle. It was time, once again, to earn her keep - to prove that she deserved her place in Gryffindor and her position beside Harry Potter.
With that thought, she sat on the waterbed (which was, after all, more comfortable than the floor), tucked her legs under her and focused. First things first, she thought.
Where was she?
Looking around, she realized that she was in an inn - probably the honeymoon suite, given the huge waterbed she'd landed in and the decor in the room. Muggle or magical? She glanced at the window and frowned. The sky was overcast, lending a somewhat gloomy air to the forest outside … and was that a castle in the distance? She couldn't tell … but felt sure it was. Hogsmeade? The Three Broomsticks? Possibly, she thought - that answered one question.
Next ... clothes. She frowned as she realized that there was nothing in the place - except the knickers turned portkey that she'd grabbed earlier. She wasn't going to touch those with a ten-foot pole right now ... She felt an eyebrow lift - whoever did this had planned it well. Leaving the two of them in the room with no clothes would make things more difficult to explain afterwards ... Good thing, she realized, that whoever thought up this prank forgot to check for anti-apparition wards or Ronald would have been in a world of hurt.
Or maybe dead.
She shook herself of that thought - now that she had calmed down, she realized that Ron would not be a party to such a prank. His description of her in first year came to mind - `brilliant but scary' - and he'd had ample reasons to repeat that assessment ever since. And he sure as hell wouldn't take the risk of pushing her `scary' buttons, especially now ... she had a sneaking suspicion that the only reason he came back to them after Christmas was the fear of what she would do if she survived Voldemort and came looking for him.
Of course, he went looking for them after Christmas - probably after a good meal with all the trimmings at Shell Cottage or the Burrow which the prat didn't even think of bringing along with him.
Hermione dismissed that line of thought as unproductive, although ... maybe she should be grateful that Ron had escaped her righteous fury. She could only imagine the commotion that would happen if either she or Ron ventured out of the room starkers. It would only confirm what most people should now be thinking and make it more difficult to correct the impression created by the Daily Prophet...
She felt an anvil slam into her guts again and she doubled over in pain as she thought of the Daily Prophet ... Harry would have seen it by now and would have drawn the inevitable conclusion. She'd already been accused of playing with the affections of two wizards on opposite sides during the Tri-Wizard and - no matter how she displayed her loyalty and devotion to Harry ever since - Harry was still a boy.
He was the über -Gryffindor - charging into situations without thinking things through, relying too much on her brains and knowledge rather than seeking it out himself ... but then, Harry had a sense of loyalty worthy of Helga Hufflepuff - and a shrewdness that would have Salazar cheering. She could only hope that he would take a pause and think things through before proclaiming her guilty ... that he would weigh everything that they'd been through together without Ron before thinking that she had, finally, abandoned him when the quest was over.
Again, she shook those thoughts off. She'll face it when she had to ... so, where was she?
Clothes. Not really a problem - she'd just transfigure the bed sheets or towels into something ... and stopped when she realized another problem.
She didn't have a wand.
Not that big a thing, in normal circumstances. In fact, she felt some relief at losing her wand - it had been Mad Bella's until she'd captured it during their escape from Malfoy manor. She'd had no choice but to use it but it had always been with a sense of unease ... she'd promised herself that she would destroy it the moment she could get a replacement wand from Mr. Ollivander but not having it would make things difficult right now.
Hermione sighed ... well, not really. What very few people knew - and of those, Harry was the only one in the wizarding world - was that the Grangers, including their daughter, were practicing naturists. It was a major reason why she'd chosen Australia as a refuge for them ... there were any number of clothing-optional and nudist locations there and the country had a more open attitude to the matter than the United States.
She felt a smile ghosting her lips as she remembered how Harry found out - by walking into her `room' in their magical tent soon after Ron had left them, to find her brushing her hair without a stitch on. Harry backed out of her room, flustered, embarrassed and looking everywhere but at her - she'd chased after him without thinking and sat him down to `discuss' her outlook and preferences.
That he'd been easily accepting was a mark in his favour; that he'd spent the whole time looking at her eyes (allowing her some moments of drowning in his beautiful green eyes) earned him even higher marks. They'd decided to keep her room clothing-optional and spent many hours since in comfortable companionship, although she made sure that she never flaunted herself outside her space - and when they slept together (there were many nights of that, when one or the other needed the comfort of knowing they were not alone), she made sure they were always fully clothed.
The return of the prat, however, effectively cut off their idyllic situation. The very thought of being nude and comfortable around Ron gave her the hives - it was something that would never happen. Ron - like Molly and probably the others - was just too conservative and traditionalist (make that Victorian, she thought) to easily accept her beliefs. Plus - and she'd had ample evidence of this earlier - it would take Ron some time to get over his hormones and see her as a person who was comfortable without clothing in the privacy of her room.
Hermione again dismissed that train of thought as irrelevant to her current situation. There were no clothes in the room, so she would do without for the moment ... if she needed to, she'd come up with something. It was what Harry had always trusted her to do ... so she would do it.
So what did that leave her? She glanced at the dresser with its pictures, papers and parchments - and felt her blood boil.
Someone had done this to them - to her and Harry, as well as Ron - she was going to find out and exact a long and painful death from whoever it was. Her first suspects would have been the Weasley Twins but that was easily dismissed ... like Ron, they had an unnaturally high respect for her abilities. She'd turn them into pumpkins before anyone could say `Halloween' ... no, the twins were brave but definitely not suicidal.
Besides ... she couldn't imagine Fred and George being able to carry on the way the `Ron' and `Hermione' in the pictures did. Twisted they may be ... but perverts? The mere thought of Fred and George snogging each other just to pull a prank like this turned her stomach ... nope, not them.
The Twins and their girlfriends? Same thing - any possible conspirators the Twins could approach would be too scared of her and Harry to try it; they all had experience with Harry's temper and her abilities to try anything…
Remus and Tonks? Possibly ... but why? And for the two to go to such lengths ... muggle wedding complete with marriage contracts, photographs to the Daily Prophet, the portkey earlier and this room ... nuh-uh. Even the Marauders wouldn't spend that much time and effort on a prank ... much less the resources which, Hermione was aware, was rather tight for the moment. She'd discussed the matter with Harry two or three days before, and they were trying to scheme out a way to provide some financial assistance to the Lupins.
Molly? Hermione's eyes narrowed ... Molly had never been shy about her ideas for One Big Happy Weasley Family and had been blatantly obvious in trying to throw Ron and Hermione together during the weeks spent at Grimmauld Place before Harry arrived, the summer before fifth year. She'd found an ally in Sirius in avoiding such situations, although the wily Marauder had found endless enjoyment in teasing her about Harry; fortunately, Sirius decided to tone it down when Harry was there ... no need to have Molly on his case for wanting to derail her plans.
And there was sixth year ... and the times since when she wondered whether she was under the influence of love potions. That year ... she preferred not to think about it over much; she'd much rather think about the year just past rather than the one before ... but the memory of she, Ginny and Molly giggling over love potions when they were staying at the Leaky Cauldron in the summer of 1993 was constantly on her mind.
One has to wonder where the Twins got their recipe for the love potions they were selling in their shop two years ago ... If Molly engineered this situation, she'd have her dreams for One Big Happy Weasley Family up and running ... Hermione married to Ron, leaving only Ginny and Harry to complete her dream family...
Hermione shook her head. Maybe, maybe not ... but most probably not.
She just couldn't see the Weasley matriarch being scheming enough and devious enough to pull off something like this. This was not a `prank' - it was simply too sophisticated in terms of planning, preparation and execution to be undertaken by a single person, no matter how determined. At the very least, it required two people who were more than comfortable with each other - the lascivious and amorous photographs were ample proof of that! It also needed someone who had contacts with or was more than familiar with the muggle world - documents had to be forged for them to have gotten `married' so quickly, someone had to arrange for the venue, minister and photographers ... and someone had to arrange for this room, the notice to the Daily Prophet...
It required too much in time, effort and galleons to pull off ... and that, in itself, precluded the Weasley matriarch from the list of suspects. That she wanted her perfect `family' was obvious - but she just couldn't see Molly having the time and resources to implement it.
Besides, who would have helped Molly pull this off? Arthur? Nuh-uh ... Arthur might be a meek, mild-mannered man completely scared of his wife but she felt sure there were some things that he wouldn't cross. Going through all the trouble - although Arthur's muggle fascination would have been useful in working out the plans ... but he wouldn't willingly go along with something like this.
Hermione shook her head - she was running in circles. The list of suspects capable of doing this was surprisingly short - nonexistent, really. But that was only the people she was familiar with...
Which meant an outsider. But who? And more importantly, why?
Hermione took a deep, fortifying breath - there was no choice. She had to look over the evidence at hand, force herself to review those photographs of `her' and `Ron' with an objective eye (and keep reminding herself that it wasn't `them' doing things that would turn her stomach) and try to spot some anomaly, some inconsistency or flaw that she could use as a loophole to get out of this.
"All right," she said out loud. "Let's do this."
She didn't know how difficult it would be to look at photographs of something that she had never wanted to see - not even in her worst nightmares. Her intention of scrutinizing each photograph carefully was derailed the moment she saw the first one - `Ron' and `her' doing a tonsil-seeking, tongue-duelling, saliva-swapping `dance' in front of the Minister and witnesses - and `she' even had her hand down his pants!
Urghkh - there was a brief moment when she wanted to rush for the bathroom and have a conversation with the porcelain goddess but clamped down on the bile ... there was something
niggling at her mind ... she set the photos aside for the moment, promising that she'd look at them again later, probably after a few fire whiskeys or something stronger.
Hermione turned to the muggle marriage contract and assorted documents attached - and felt her heart dropping after a few minutes. It was perfect, from what she could see ... everything needed was there: birth certificates, licenses, their perfectly forged signatures, witnesses (she'd bet everything she had that there'd be at least one, maybe two `wizards' in attendance) - and she blinked when she realized that the `wedding' had been performed at Gretna Green ... the one place in England, Scotland and Wales where they could get married at age 17, without parental consent.
She slumped on the bed, defeated - she was legally married to Ronald Bilius. There was no way to get out of this ... it had been too well planned and executed. Listlessly, she opened the rolled-up parchment that was the only thing she hadn't looked at and gave it a cursory glance.
Her first thought confirmed her fears - it was a magical marriage contract with the Ministry of Magic's banner across the top, followed by the words `Marriage Contract' in florid Old English text below - and then her eyes widened in shock, her mouth dropped open in surprise, her body stiffened in amazed disbelief -
Across the parchment ran huge, red as flame block letters in a diagonal line - `DENIED'.
It took almost a minute for the word and its meanings to make its way through Hermione's shocked brain - and even then she could only stare at it in disbelief. How it happened ... why it happened ... she wondered vaguely if everything that had happened was a trick but if so, why would anyone go through such an elaborate ploy - for what end?
It was the soft `pop' of someone apparating into the room which broke Hermione out of her dazed state and she jumped from the bed, prepared to attack or defend or - if it was any of several members of a certain redheaded family - to tear them limb from limb ... only for her eyes to widen in astonishment at the sight of a befuddled wizard in robes, green eyes blinking at his surroundings - and she launched herself, her battle-cry of "HAARRRYYY!" resounding in her ears...
***
The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
It took some time but finally, order had been made out of the chaos caused by Ron's unexpected appearance. Arthur had been the first to shake off his shock and threw his travelling cloak over his naked son; Madam Pomfrey came in running from the hospital wing and was quickly casting diagnostic charms on the still-shaking wizard, throwing worried glances at his bruised throat where finger marks were visible; Tonks had cast a Sonorus on herself and ordered those in the hall to clear out.
She followed this up with actually pushing people out with the Weasley males helping (except Percy, who had floo'd to the Ministry earlier). There was a short tussle with Defence Association members led by Neville Longbottom who refused to leave - it took the steely glare and harsh brogue of Minerva McGonagall to make them go away.
With a tired sigh, Tonks rolled her shoulders and looked around, carefully cataloguing the people left. Ron was seated where Harry had been before he showed up, with Molly and Ginny on either side, trying to comfort him. Remus stood close behind him, ever watchful and ready for action. Bill and Fleur were in one corner, whispering heatedly to each other with Charlie beside them, frowning at the conversation; her mother Andromeda was holding Teddy while Fred and George tried to entertain him.
The only teachers in attendance were McGonagall, Flitwick and Hagrid; Tonks had to grin at the sight of Filius standing on the Slytherin's table as he talked with his colleagues.
Tonks frowned ... and relaxed when she saw Poppy Pomfrey standing by the Gryffindor table, sipping a mug of fragrant coffee, her tired face looking bemusedly at the Prophet with its screaming headlines. She seemed to feel Tonks' eyes on her and lifted her head to face her and asked, "Is this true?"
Tonks shrugged tiredly, "It's the Prophet, what do you think?"
She frowned when she saw a look of focused concentration on the healer's face; it seemed as if she was trying to work something out in her head, but was interrupted by Arthur Weasley, who'd approached after giving Ron a final once-over.
"Poppy," a worried Arthur started in a low voice, "what are those bruises on my son's neck?"
Tonks glanced at Remus, who nodded and started casting silencing and privacy spells as well as a Colloportus at the door, ensuring both privacy and a contained environment for them. He didn't leave his post behind Ron, however, and Tonks grinned - his exceptional hearing didn't make it necessary for him to approach them.
"He'll be fine, Arthur," Tonks heard Poppy telling Arthur. She approached the two, realizing that the trio of McGonagall, Hagrid and Flitwick had also approached; Poppy waited for everyone to approach before continuing in a low voice so as not to be overheard by the others - "I've seen bruises like that before, plus he also has bruises on his back - someone picked him up by the neck and threw him against a cushioned wall … probably a female were, from the size of the hand and the power behind it." A pause. "Or an angry, powerful witch."
She threw a knowing look at the Prophet on the table and Tonks and McGonagall gasped as they realized what she was implying. Before the Auror or the Headmistress could say anything, however, a loud roar interrupted them -
A distraught and shaking Ronald Weasley was on his feet, his face red and in Molly Weasley's visibly shocked face: "I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED, MUM! I DON'T CARE WHAT HAPPENED - I DID NOT MARRY HERMIONE GRANGER IN ANY CEREMONY, MUGGLE OR OTHERWISE … I DO NOT WANT TO MARRY HER!"
He suddenly gulped at realizing that he'd just screamed at his mother; he suddenly slumped in his chair, hands nervously rubbing his face, his mumbles clearly heard in the silent Great Hall: "She's scary, mum … brilliant, but scary."
"Oh boy," Tonks mumbled to herself as she followed Poppy Pomfrey, whose wand was out and casting diagnostic charms on the shaking young man.
***
The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)
Harry's life was built on impulse - his most Gryffindorish trait, he often thought, which was in sharp contrast to the cold, calculating Slytherin side he'd felt but never let loose before - but he didn't care at the moment. Acting on impulse had got him this far - if it got him to where Hermione was, he really didn't care.
He didn't know where he was going or what he was facing - the only thing on his mind when he saw and heard Hermione's patronus was that he had to get to her ... he needed to get to her ... When the ethereal otter jumped into his arms, he allowed his magic to flow and he disappeared ... when he re-materialized, he had only a split second to blink and take in his surroundings before his eyes caught sight of that speeding blur and he had less than a second to take his stance - feet apart, arms spread wide in welcome, whole body braced for impact even as a smile was breaking out on his still-worried and worn face.
It took Harry's higher brain functions a few seconds to catch up with him, assess the situation - and promptly shut down.
It wasn't the sight of Hermione leaping on him or Hermione's rib-cracking hug that shut his higher brain functions down. The `Hermione hug' (as he called it) was, after all, how she greeted him in the summer of 1995 when he finally showed up at Grimmauld Place after weeks at Privet Prison. It was also the way she'd greeted him a few, precious times in the months since - and something he'd come to cherish because it gave him an opportunity to inhale and savour Hermione's unique scent, a guilty pleasure he didn't want anyone to know...
That Hermione was naked was also of little consequence - after the weeks spent together in their clothing-optional little world, he was entirely comfortable with seeing her as she was, warts and all (not that he'd ever seen even one wart on her).
No - being given a `Hermione hug' or even seeing a naked Hermione was not a problem for Harry Potter.
It was being at the receiving end of a naked Hermione giving him a full-body hug and squeeze that forced the air from his lungs that caused his higher brain functions to shut down - simply because his body had re-directed oxygen-rich and adrenalin-fuelled blood away from his `higher brain' and coursed it to the one down below ... specifically, to `Little Harry' who was doing his darned best to prove that he was a `big' boy...
For the unthinking Hermione, this was a moment made in heaven - even the instant when Voldemort was utterly defeated could not compare to the emotions running through her now.
She wasn't married to Ron and then God, Merlin, the Fates or whichever deity watched over all good witches and wizards had seen fit to bring Harry into this room with her. There could be no other thought in her head but the need to wrap her arms around him, to feel that lean body which she'd hugged a precious few times in the past, to bury her face in his chest and feel his heart beat...
It was in those arms that she knew she would feel safest and happiest - there, against Harry's chest where the world held no danger for her. It was her refuge ... her safe place ... the only space where she truly felt protected and loved...
She felt Harry's warm hands rubbing her back and she hugged him even tighter as she buried her face in his chest, her nostrils catching a faint whiff of that all too recognizable scent of Harry's which became more noticeable at the end of the school day after hiking all over the school, or after a hard-won game of Quidditch, and especially after another adventure where they'd barely escaped with their lives...
It was an aroma that she'd come to cherish - because it had come to signify the end of the day, the end of another adventure ... the end of another dangerous game and she knew that he was, once again, on the ground and safe. It had become her guilty pleasure during the Horcrux hunt because it signalled the end of another day that they'd escaped detection and could continue on -it meant it would be time for a bath and a meal in their magical tent, time to lie down and sleep with Harry beside her, keeping each other's nightmares away...
It was at that moment when she was about to give in to that longed-for sensation of safety and peace that she realized that something was different ... and felt a fiery wave of embarrassment flow from her head to her toes. She had to wonder for a fleeting moment why she did not just burst into flame like a phoenix as she realized her currently naked state, wrapped around her best friend and the wizard of so many of her dreams, past and current - all of her brain functions shutting down in surprise because she could feel something of flying broomstick proportions pressing against her...
It was a sensation that was familiar … she'd felt it in the mornings during the Horcrux hunt when she'd wake up with Harry behind her, arms wrapped protectively around her … and `something' pressed against her back. It was something felt in the mornings as she was swimming towards consciousness, her organized mind nagging at her to wake up, to face the coming day with a smile ... but the feeling would disappear as the weight behind her shifted and he'd be off to his morning ablutions. She'd often spent a few more minutes in feigned sleep, trying to recapture the moment and the feeling but being unable to, simply because it was too fleeting and would happen close to the moment between sleeping and wakefulness ... and something she wasn't comfortable discussing with him.
Not when they were in the middle of a life-or-death adventure, the weight of the magical world on their shoulders, when every moment of ordinary, `normal' existence could be their last. It had taken Harry some time to become comfortable with her clothing-optional attitude, adding that to the mix would have upset the balance - pointing it out to him would have sent him hurtling to his bed and she didn't want to lose the comfort of having him close by as she slept…
But now the `issue' was apparent and she could feel from Harry's stiffened torso that he knew it too. She didn't know what to do - being in Harry's arms just felt so good, so peaceful and relaxing after the minutes or hours of tension, anger and frustration of today. Her body was unwilling to move, except to wrap her arms even more tightly around him while a tiny portion of her brain kept asking why she was so loathe to let go, why she wanted to press in even closer to the broomstick at her stomach...
From somewhere in the deepest recesses of Hermione Jane Granger's well-organized mind, a memory surfaced of something she'd watched when she was much, much younger, sitting between her movie-fan parents, staring at a black-and-white movie as she ate from a bowl of popcorn ... the memory made its way from its filing cabinet where it had been buried to her brain, which fired it down to the muscles of her mouth and voice box, and Hermione heard herself murmuring something she didn't understand then but could fully appreciate now: "Is that a pistol in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?"
***
The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Molly Prewitt Weasley was shocked, speechless and stunned - wondering where everything had gone so wrong. She'd been walking around in a near-rapture for days … He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was gone, her family had come through the war mostly unscathed - and most importantly, her family would soon grow with the addition of Harry and Hermione. Everything she'd hoped for ever since the Twins had told them that they'd met Harry Potter on the Hogwarts Express nearly seven years before was coming to pass ... and it didn't hurt that her youngest son had nabbed himself the brightest witch since Rowena Ravenclaw.
What more would she need? She had visions of her extended family dancing before her eyes - a whole brood of magical grandchildren to spoil, Harry and Ginny on the porch eating chocolate balls while Ron taught the kids to fly and Fleur and Hermione were in the kitchen helping her prepare for the family feast...
Heaven.
It had been one hell of a ride, she thought - even worse than the trips to their vault in Gringotts with its twists, turns, sudden dips and exhilarating highs.
Two events stood out in stark contrast to each other - she'd been on top of the world at the end of her Ginny's first year at Hogwarts when Harry, Ron and Ginny entered the Headmaster's office with Fawkes, the Sorting Hat and Gryffindor's sword - and she learned that Harry had rescued Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets, sealing in her mind the fact of a special bond between her only daughter and the Hero of the Wizarding World.
Contrast the exhilaration of that day to Christmas last year when she visited Fleur and Bill at Shell Cottage - only to find Ronald there alone and moping, leaving Harry and Hermione all alone in a magical tent doing only Merlin knows what! The eruption of Mount Mollywobbles had been spectacular - such that Ron had run out of the cottage and apparated away in record-breaking time, without even thinking of putting together a food package for himself and his friends.
But it had all been for the best and she was again on a high the past few days after He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's defeat ... Ronald had been walking around in a daze, head in the clouds because of the adulation he received at being one of the Golden Trio that had taken You-Know-Who down - and babbling constantly about the fact that Hermione had kissed him!
She'd had a feeling yesterday when Harry had run into the Great Hall all hot and bothered, gibbering in fear and not making sense until he was able to explain that Ron and Hermione had disappeared from their dorms. Her first thought was a deep and nameless fear but she'd calmed down when they realized that their wands and Hermione's now-famous beaded bag had gone with them...
Today, however, had highs and lows coming on each other so fast and furious that she finally understood that muggle toy called a `yo-yo' which Arthur once brought home and which only Hermione knew how to use.
She was on top of the world when the Daily Prophet came in with that wonderful photo of Ron and Hermione and, although she was disappointed that they'd chosen to elope rather than have the grand wedding of her dreams (a double wedding at that, with Harry and her Ginny as the other pair), she'd swallowed it down in order to `console' Harry and `guide' him to the reality that he and Ginny were fated to be next in line.
That bubble had quickly burst when the fire fight erupted and she was on the floor with Ginny while her sons and Arthur put up shields and returned fire; she had a brief moment of elation when she realized that Ron was in the Hall which quickly disappeared with Ginny's cry of dismay at Harry's disappearance followed by her shock at Ron's au naturel state...
She'd finally settled down, realizing that the priority for the moment was her youngest son; Harry could wait until he came out of his funk - and she'd been doing her best to calm Ron down ... a major problem since Ron was communicating in mumbles and shaking worse than Remus after a difficult transformation...
Molly tried to get Ron to settle down by focusing on the important things; she'd simply asked when Ron and Hermione were going to have a `proper' wedding when Ron blew up at her - and she was facing a younger, slimmer and male version of herself in a major tantrum - and that had caused her to rock back in her seat and stare, open-mouthed, at her son.
But not for long. The irrepressible and unsinkable Molly's face changed in a heartbeat from alabaster pale to high-end Weasley red and she was on her feet with her face an inch from Ron's as she hissed in a low, sibilant voice: "Watch your mouth, Ronald Weasley! It's all over the Prophet and you're not going to weasel out of this -"
The other Weasleys (even Arthur) winced - Molly's unintended use of the joke that had followed all of them through school and even beyond was a fair indication of how flustered she was. None of them were prepared, however, when Ron's roar interrupted their mother, probably for the first time in her life: "HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU -"
Hands clapping on their shoulders made both mother and son turn around in shock - Arthur's hands were on Molly while Remus' callused hands were on Ron's. Poppy's forced-calm voice made the older witch and young wizard gape: "Mr. Weasley's right, Molly … I found traces of a sleeping charm on him ... he couldn't have been aware of what was going on until he woke up…"
Poppy's revelation triggered something in Ron's adrenaline-soaked brain and his mind processed thoughts at unaccustomed speed: falling asleep in his dorm, waking up to a delicious fantasy which quickly turned into a nightmare, the fascinating sight of Hermione's bits replaced by that fearsome image of Hermione with murder in her eyes, the fact that someone had set him up -
Ronald Weasley went postal -
He was on his feet in a flash - his elbow catching Remus unawares and the werewolf staggered back; Ron's other hand grabbed Ginny's wand from behind her ear where she'd stuck it, ala Luna Lovegood - pointed it and a blood-red, non-verbal silent cutting curse was let loose, right at a pair of redheaded twins who had, fortunately, moved away from trying to entertain a sleepy Teddy Lupin.
The twins' survival instincts kicked in and they were diving to the floor and making like pancakes as the red bolt flew over them and sliced through the neck of a surprised Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington who exclaimed, "I say!" before the curse was absorbed by the ancient castle.
Before Ron could cast another spell, Remus had him disarmed and sitting on the chair, clamping his hands down on the furious wizard's shoulders to stop him from physically attacking his brothers - but unable to keep Ron's mouth from working as the young man roared, spittle flying as he glared at his flat on the floor brothers, "YOU! YOU DID THIS TO ME! WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU TRYING TO DO, KILL ME?" Whatever else he was going to say was cut off as Andromeda Tonks cast a silencing charm on him before she turned back to comfort a crying Teddy…
"Not us, brother mine…" Came a voice from the floor.
"Yeah," the other pancake echoed. "We're not that stupid…"
"Crazy…"
"Suicidal…"
"To try that on Hermione…"
"You, maybe, but not…"
"Hermione…"
"Everybody calm down." McGonagall's Scottish brogue cut the twin pancakes off and they shakily got to their feet. She glanced around to see that everyone was safe before turning to the healer, "Poppy?"
Madam Pomfrey shook her head; she didn't have any more Calming Draughts to give and wasn't sure if it would help - the adrenaline still coursing through Ron was more than enough to burn out the potion. She was about to cast a Cheering Charm on the still-angry redhead but Molly's voice interrupted her: "Tea, anyone?"
The Weasley children and Order members rolled their eyes while Andromeda looked confused. To those who knew her, tea was Mrs. Weasley's answer to everything, as Harry and Hermione learned in third year when they were trying to comfort a bawling Hagrid.
Molly tapped her wand against the mug she'd been trying to push on Harry earlier (which had surprisingly survived the chaos unscathed) and a gentle wisp of steam escaped. Poppy's revelation was a shock, but that didn't change (in her mind) the facts of the case: pictures don't lie and Ron and Hermione were married. True, something else may have happened but that didn't change the fact ... she just had to calm her youngest son down and then they could work out what happened, why - and plan for the proper wedding - as she handed Ron the mug.
The rising steam made Remus' nostrils twitch - why was the redolent aroma of Tonks during the full moon coming from that mug? It took a moment for the former DADA professor to process the thought - and he was moving to intercept, but it was too late. Ron had the mug to his lips and taken a deep gulp -
Fleur Delacour-Weasley was in the same boat as Remus but for different reasons - she'd been about to knock the mug out of Ron's hands when Bill and Charlie's hands on her shoulder stopped her. Her surprised glance at Bill was answered with narrowed eyes … and she understood.
Better to let the thing play out, Fleur realized. Bill and Charlie had been dismayed at her revelation of the potion-laced mug that Molly had been pushing on Harry earlier - they had no choice but to believe her, given her heritage. She was surprised at Molly's nonchalance in serving the tainted tea to Ron - was she so distraught that she didn't remember what she'd done … or did she simply not know anything about it? In that case, it meant that Ginny was on her own.
In any case, Fleur thought, the love potion in the tea which her Veela senses had detected would act as a calming draught, removing Ron's anger and directing it towards the user, whoever it was.
She watched as Ron's eyes glazed and defocused - followed a moment later by a sharpening of his eyes as he stood and looked around the room.
`Here it comes,' both Remus and Fleur thought, as Ron opened his mouth -
"SSSUUUSSSAAANNN! Where are you, Ssuussannn? SSSUUUSSSAAANNN!"
Mouths gaped, eyes bulged - stupefied expressions were the order of the day - until a loud "STUPEFY!" broke their stupor, causing Ron to slump in his seat.
Heads whirled to see Ginny Weasley putting her wand away; she glared at their surprised faces and said, "WHAT? He sounded like a farmer calling his hogs."
Fleur was the only one who caught the note of disappointment, despair and anguish in the small Weasley's voice and her eyes narrowed speculatively as she watched Ginny storm out the Hall. For some reason, the huge doors of the hall chose that moment to activate - slamming open and spilling a large number of DA members into the hall.
All of them took one look at the smallest Weasley and scrambled for safety but Ginny never even gave a sign that she'd noticed them.
The young Frenchwoman looked at the sprawled and scuttling DA members and turned to her husband with a raised eyebrow. "I thought that with ol' Snake-Face gone, we'd be at peace at last."
She gave a Gallic shrug. "I must `ave been dreaming."
***
The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)
"Is that a pistol in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?"
Harry heard the words murmured into his chest and felt a red wave of embarrassment rise from his lower body to his head - the flow of blood finally kicking in his stalled higher brain functions - he'd heard those same words in some black-and-white movie on the telly at the Dursley's years ago. He could remember Vernon's roar of laughter - at the time, he wondered what was so funny about it.
He didn't understand then but he sure appreciated the sentiment now - and blinked as he heard the soft sound of Hermione giggling ... a sound so precious to his ears and far too seldom heard in the past months, or was it years?
Hermione's giggling had an unintended effect, however - in that single moment, everything that they'd gone through together crashed into their conscious and unconscious minds and they felt, once again, the comfort level they had with each other in their clothing-optional tent - something they'd both cherished and mourned the loss of when Ron re-joined them...
Slowly, deliberately, he brought his hands to her bare shoulders and gave a slight push - and bit his lip in regret as he felt her arms leave his back as she broke the hug.
He didn't want to do this - he would much rather have her arms around him for a little bit longer but he tamped that thought down - this was not about him, this was about Hermione.
He took a measured step back - and locked eyes with her chocolate-brown orbs when she lifted her face to his. He kept his eyes on hers as he deliberately pulled off the school robes he'd thrown on this morning, shutting his eyes as the cloth passed his face but locking them once again with Hermione as he slowly handed the bunched-up robes to her.
A moment's pause and he realized that Hermione wasn't reaching for the robe - a question was asked and answered, communicated only through their locked eyes and he gave a small smile before reaching up to place the robes over her head. Hermione lowered her head demurely, looking him in the eyes as he let the robe fall soundlessly over her shoulders, covering the warm flesh that he'd been holding only moments before.
For a long moment, the two friends kept their eyes locked and then, with deliberate speed, were back in that familiar pose - arms around each other, hugging tightly; Hermione's head burrowing into Harry's chest as she breathed in deeply; Harry's nose in the wild curls of Hermione's brown hair as he breathed in her scent.
They were silent as they did this, their wrapped arms and close-together bodies communicating a wealth of emotions and thoughts - gratitude that the other was safe; affirmations of friendship and times shared together, both good and bad; a silent commitment to be there for the other, whatever may come.
It was Harry who broke the silent tableau this time, murmuring softly, "Al'righ' there, `ermione?" in Hagrid's rough, coarse voice - and Hermione giggled, remembering other, less perilous times with their friend, the gentle half-giant.
"Never better," Hermione answered in a small girl's voice - and Harry smiled, remembering their first year and seeing Hermione on the landing above him as he left the Hospital Wing after his encounter with Quirrell.
Hermione couldn't hold back any longer - she let out a loud squeal of joy, unfortunately right into Harry's unprotected ears, and he stumbled back, falling on the waterbed in surprise - his shocked eyes watching in bemusement as Hermione jumped around the room like a demented kangaroo, shouting, "I'M FREE! I'M FREE! I'M NOT MARRIED TO RON! I'M FREE, HARRY, I'M FREE!"
It took Harry a moment to parse that statement and he stared at Hermione with a look of mingled incomprehension and hope on his face. His suddenly dry throat tried to form words; it took several seconds and several coughs before he could respond intelligently - "Huh?"
Hermione didn't hear him; still giggling and jumping around, she grabbed the Ministry's parchment from where it fell and thrust it into his hand before she spun around and continued dancing around the room, unaware that in the dining room below her, people were watching a swaying chandelier with bemusement. The patrons of the Three Broomsticks knew what was over their head - and many could only shake their heads and grin, wondering at the energy and enthusiasm of whichever couple it was `coupling' above them. Several wizards turned back to their meals with a soft, "Lucky bloke" before continuing to eat.
It took Harry almost a full minute to understand the huge, red `DENIED' on the Ministry's magical marriage contract - and when comprehension set in, his mind was flooded with questions as to what - and why -and how -this had happened. In the next instant, however, he decided that those questions were for some other time ... he felt a wellspring of emotions erupt from within him - emotions powerful enough to release a dozen Patronus - and he jumped to his feet, grabbed Hermione in a fierce hug and started swinging her around.
Hermione's initial surprise at Harry's unexpected move evaporated as she wrapped her arms around his neck and she went with the flow - her happiness at this moment was too intense to even think about. She was free, she was with Harry, she was HAPPY...
Harry couldn't last - his panic of yesterday and the tensions of today, the lack of sleep last night and his inability to eat, to say nothing of two apparent apparitions within minutes of each other - had drawn his stamina down. He set her down carefully, Hermione's arms still around his neck and he tried to step back but she didn't let go…
Their eyes locked for an infinitesimal moment - and in that silent communication that so many had seen and remarked on for years, a moment of clarity was reached -
Apologies were extended, for too many opportunities overlooked and missed, for too many times when courage failed and words were left unspoken. Regrets were given and accepted, for the moments when their trust and loyalty to one another was questioned and doubted. Promises were made that, from this moment on, nothing - and no one - would stand in their way.
They were moving closer together, bodies mere inches from each other - eyes still locked as their faces closed in on the other ... and then their mouths fused, followed quickly by tongues thrusting as they engaged in a battle of attack and retreat, Hermione's hands fisting in Harry's unruly hair while his hands were on her toned backside, pulling her in as if he wanted to immerse himself within her…
It was only the second time they'd ever kissed like this - hungrily, impatiently, enthusiastically - each thrust of tongue and touch of hands an affirmation of the fact that they were together and sharing the same space and time. Like the last time, their feelings for the other were intense - they'd undergone a trial that threatened to tear them apart and once again prevailed…
As their kisses deepened and hands caressed skin that they'd been too shy or too scared to touch before, neither knew or cared that the room had taken on an intense golden glow that lit up their surroundings, turning into an intense, dazzling light for nearly a minute before slowly dissipating…
Neither did they realize that they'd fallen on the water bed and were rolling around as their kisses and caresses grew more passionate, totally unaware that underneath the bed, dust bunnies and other particles were raining down on a reduced-in-size portrait lying face up on the floor, peeking out of a beaded bag that a giggling and unthinking Narcissa Malfoy polyjuiced as Hermione had thrown carelessly under the bed before apparating away to her `wedding' in Gretna Green.
***
Portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black (Beneath the Bed in the Three Broomsticks)
The picture frame that occasionally held the acerbic Phineas Nigellus Black was face up beneath the bed in the Three Broomsticks' honeymoon suite - and had been so since the day before. Unfortunately for Phineas, he'd been sitting in the frame, asleep - he'd taken to hiding out there, rather than spending time in the Head's office, listening to the inane chatter of his colleagues and waiting for the awakening of their newest member - or engaging in a verbal battle with the old coot Dumbledore.
It was the jostling and bumpy ride, punctuated by a somewhat familiar feminine giggle that had shaken him awake - that and landing in this awkward position under a bed only Merlin knows where. He'd tried making sense of it before deciding to visit his `other' picture frame - talking to the others was better than staring at dust bunnies and the darkness under the bed. The only light in the place came from the gap between the bed's draperies and the floor.
Phineas Nigellus Black had gone back to this painting when Harry Potter disappeared from the Head's office; he needed the peace and quiet to contemplate the situation as well as that of the current `Head' of House Black.
He'd been deep in thought when his eyes noticed the intense golden glow from outside the bed - a far more intense glow than the one he'd first seen several months before. A wide grin broke out on his face - he hoped that Potter had finally used his head and gone after Granger; he could only hope that the two carried this to its conclusion thus ensuring the continuation of the Ancient and Noble Houses of Potter and Black …especially the House of Black.
The portrait sighed. This was only the second time he'd seen that golden glow in a long life as both living person and magical painting. He knew what that golden glow meant - `knew' about it as a legend oft talked about but never experienced and felt a pang of regret in his heart …and his mind drifted back to the first time he'd ever seen that golden glow…
It was Christmas Eve, he remembered - and he shuddered as he remembered the noise and chaos of that day which started with a visit to the graves of the young man's parents - and ended with a pitched battle that saw Harry's wand broken as he escaped with Hermione. They'd stumbled into their tent and lain quiet for minutes before stirring and checking each other over … Hermione had bandaged Harry's wounds, crying softly the whole while and apologizing over and over for breaking his wand until Harry placed a finger over Hermione's lips to silence her…
They'd stared at each other for a long moment, eyes locked and silent words being expressed before their faces started pulling together as if pulled by some magnetic force and their lips met, softly, sweetly … eyes closed as they fell into biological or spiritual imperatives and found themselves entangled until a sharp hiss from Harry broke them from their stupor … and they'd broken apart, red-faced and heaving before withdrawing to their respective rooms and trying to sleep.
Phineas had watched all this through the opened bag that Hermione had carelessly thrown to the floor when they'd returned to their tent. He'd been winding himself up for a good rant against the foolish, impetuous teens - but had watched, open-mouthed, as a soft golden glow suffused the pair as they kissed.
It was a phenomenon that he'd heard about but never witnessed and thus, believed to be an old wives tale. He'd never seen anything like it in his 78 years on earth - or even in the 72 years as a portrait in the London home of the Black family where he'd witnessed numerous weddings of family and their friends and he felt a sharp pang of regret.
All those years and he'd never been able to witness the magical manifestation of true love - not during his marriage to Ursula Flint, not once in the magical marriage ceremonies of his children, grandchildren and great-great grandchildren in Grimmauld Place - until two dishevelled, dirty, wounded teens who'd survived another confrontation with the Dark Side showed him otherwise. He'd left the portrait in the bag and made his way back to Hogwarts where he sat in his portrait, pensive and deep in thought - grateful for the silence in the empty room as Snape and the other portraits tried to find some cheer around the castle.
He snorted to himself - why should he have expected to see something like that? Marriages in his family and that of his friends were based on alliances, politics and blood purity - never on that indefinable emotion called `love'. He wondered then - as he did now - if that phenomenon manifested itself at the weddings of those whose names had been blasted off the family tapestry: his sister Isla, his granddaughter Cedrella - or his great granddaughter Andromeda and her daughter Nymphadora. He wondered briefly if that magical light had manifested itself during the marriage of Nymphadora to the werewolf - and snorted. Possibly - that was, after all, a marriage all too improbable to his well-ordered and pureblood obsessed mind: a Metamorphmagus and werewolf, separated by nearly two decades in age and - from the snatches of conversation he'd overheard while in the bag - overcoming major emotional obstacles along the way.
Phineas Nigellus Black did not believe in marriages made in heaven because he never saw the proof but the evidence was right there - he had to wonder how many he had missed because of his family's stupid insistence on blood purity.
He glanced up and realized that the dust had stopped falling - and the bed had stopped roiling. He shrugged and decided to vacate the premises. Wandering around Hogwarts reliving the glory days of his youth was infinitely better than watching the bottom of the bed, wondering what was going on up there.
He could only hope that the two teens up there got their act together. They'd better bring the House of Black back to its former glory - he was rather tired of being lugged around like a piece of baggage! On the other hand, that had been a better option than sitting around that dark and gloomy house…
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