Grâce au Malfoys by romulus lupin

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 22/04/2009
Last Updated: 16/04/2010
Status: In Progress

New Chapter 10. If you're clicking on the 'latest' right now, you may get confused.
Chapter 9 was uploaded last night and I just updated this one today.




1. Part I
---------



Grâce au Malfoys

**Title**: **Grâce au Malfoys**

**Author name**: Romulus Lupin

**Category**: Romance

**Sub Category**: Humour

**Keywords**: Harry Hermione Ron

**Rating**: NC-17 for language and implied situations

**Spoilers**: Books 1-7

**Summary**: Five days after the final battle. A naked Ron Weasley awakes in a strange room
to find himself spooned against an equally naked Hermione Granger. He thinks it is a dream until an
elbow in his ribs disabuses him of the notion. Where's Harry? And why are the Malfoys rolling
on the floor laughing out loud?

**DISCLAIMER:** Harry Potter and related characters are the property of JK Rowling, various
publishing companies, Warner Brothers and whoever else. No monies are being made from this; I'm
just indulging in playing in an alternate universe to real life.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

First of all, I am dedicating this fic to **AUDRIEL**, whose touching review of my fic
"**The Unknown Waltz**" provided just the right kick to get my writing bug going
again. As Audriel pointed out, my last update to my fics was three years ago ... hopefully, the
long drought is now over.

Thank you, **AUDRIEL**. (*HUGS*)

Now on to this story ... some background first.

This story was inspired by the short story “**Thanks to the Malfoys**” by the wonderful
writing team **broomstick flyer** on fanfiction.net. While I enjoyed their tale, I felt a little
bit of disappointment since the story was - to my mind - somewhat of a cliché. Wonderful story,
beautifully written but … “formulistic.”

The problem was that it let loose a rabid, zealous and somewhat violent plot bunny which
wouldn't let me go. So I asked permission from **broomstick flyer** to take their basic idea
and run with it, which they graciously consented to.

My eternal gratitude to them … and also, to the Malfoys. (wink, wink)

Without further ado … Grâce au Malfoys. (French for “Thanks to the Malfoys”) - Part 1.

**Malfoy Manor (Five Days after the Final Battle)**

It was the sound of giggling - something that had long been missing from Malfoy Manor - that
brought young Draco Malfoy out of his contemplative mood. He'd been staring at the plate of
bacon and eggs that their remaining house-elf had prepared for him. He just wasn't in the mood
right now … too many things had happened in the space of only a few days for his mind and body to
return to its normal equilibrium.

How swiftly the sands of time could shift, he'd thought. A little more than seven years
before, he'd been on top of the world - well, on top of a tailor's pouf in Madam
Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, being fitted for his first set of Hogwarts robes. But he
*was* on top of the world - he was a Malfoy, he was heading for Hogwarts where he would take
his place as the rightful Prince of Slytherin, the world was his oyster …

How was he to know that the thin, raggedly dressed boy with the taped together glasses who was
also to be fitted for robes would become his and his family's ultimate nemesis? How was he to
know that the person he'd sneered at then would take his words to heart and turn away from
everything that he - Draco Malfoy - held dear and destroy his perfect little world?

It was the sound of giggling - the refined, musical but seldom-heard giggle of his mother - so
different from the insane sniggering of his Aunt Bella - and the never heard before masculine
chuckling of his father that broke him from his mood. No, he shook his head - laughter wasn't
an unknown thing in Malfoy Manor … it just hadn't been heard for so many months.

Or maybe for at least two years.

He left his seat in the dining room and was walking to the living room when the sound of a
`pop' was heard. For the longest moment he found himself tense and twitching - it took several
seconds for his brain to engage and identify the sound as a champagne cork being released and not
the sound of someone apparating …

He continued to the living room and came upon a strange sight: his mother and father, arms
around each others' waist, champagne glasses held high, dancing.

Dancing?

That was a bit of a stretch, he thought - it would more accurately be called a jig not a
`dance' but still …

The jig abruptly danced when his mother turned around and spotted him in the doorway. It was
apparent that they'd been celebrating earlier, to judge from their flushed faces and wide, wide
smiles.

“Draco, darling!” His mother's aristocratic voice sang out. “Join us, join us! Pour yourself
a glass, darling … your cousin Sirius would be so proud!”

The frown on Draco's face deepened further as his father Lucius chortled - a rather
frightening sound, to Draco's ears. He hadn't heard that sound in years … the last time was
during his fifth year, he recalled, when his father was at the top of *his* world, standing at
the right side of the Dark Lord …

“Yes,” Lucius Malfoy's jubilant voice said. “That mangy cur would be kicking himself right
about now for not ever thinking of this. Marauders, my ass!”

A smile broke out on Draco's pointed face - not a nice smile, by any stretch of the
imagination, but a smile that - like the chuckles and giggles of his parents - hadn't been in
much evidence for quite some time.

“You did it?”

A bark of laughter from Lucius as he glanced at his watch - “The spell should be breaking just
about now … I'd love to be a fly on the wall when they wake up and realize what they'd
`done'!”

Narcissa's giggles were approaching the insane cackle of her deceased sister but shifted to
outright laughter as Draco replied, “I'd love to see Potty's face when he realizes
what's happened!”

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

The crowded great hall of Hogwarts was abuzz with the many voices of the witches and wizards
who'd gathered in the evacuation and relief center that the still re-building Ministry of Magic
had established in the school. It was a decision easily enough reached by the new Minister of
Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt with the consent of newly-named Headmistress Minerva McGonagall and her
deputy, Filius Flitwick.

It may have been inconvenient but Hogwarts was a central location - the whole magical world knew
where it was, since generations of witches and wizards had studied there and it had always stood as
a refuge in times of war. No matter the recent use to which the school had been put to, people
still naturally gravitated there - the Ministry was still in disarray, both from the battle fought
within its many levels and the `emergency' evacuation of both traitors and non-interfering
bureaucrats; Diagon Alley was still in the process of rebuilding as dazed shopkeepers tried to sort
through their merchandise and memories; St. Mungo's was, for all intents and purposes, still
full to overflowing from those injured or still in recovery from a year of oppression under
Voldemort's boots.

But most important - the Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived,
He-Who-Finally-Disposed-Of-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named - was staying there. The word had quickly
spread in the hours after the final battle - Harry Potter, triumphant and victorious, was staying
in the castle, recovering from the battle. Along with him were his closest companions, Hermione
Granger - The-Girl-Who-Destroyed-Mad-Bella - and Ronald Weasley, Best Friend of The Boy Who Lived
as well as the his family. If that group alone could not keep out the remnants of evil wandering
around, then no place in the world would be safe.

And so they flocked to Hogwarts - to find shelter, get a hot meal, to try and re-establish
communications with loved ones or friends - or simply to feel safe once again, after a year of
sheer terror and fatigue.

And perhaps, to get a glimpse of the Chosen One … to get the chance to shake his hand and thank
him for what he had done … maybe kiss the hem of his robes if he wouldn't mind. And if Harry
Potter was not available … his friends would do. It would be something to tell their children and
grandchildren in the years ahead - years which many thought they would never have the chance to
see.

The great hall was buzzing with conversation - unwittingly, they were all talking about the same
thing, as well as giving surreptitious glances at a corner of the hall where a round table sat,
surrounded by a veritable sea of red-haired individuals, broken only by an older woman with long
black hair who bore a remarkable resemblance to the late, unlamented Bellatrix Lestrange and a
slim, younger woman with long, silvery-blonde hair who had more than one pair of male eyes
following her every move.

In the center of the group was a young man with messy raven-black hair and a pair of eyeglasses
hiding verdant green eyes. He was sitting there silent, poking a fork disinterestedly at a plate
piled high with food. One either side was a red-haired woman - the one on his left was an older,
somewhat plump witch with fading red hair; the one on his right was younger, with a slight build
but with a flowing mane of brilliant red hair. They appeared to be trying to comfort the young man
seated between them; if one could listen in on their one-sided conversation, it would be apparent
that they were trying to get the young man to eat even as they rubbed his back comfortingly.

The young man in question, however, would have none of it. It was apparent that he was agitated
over someone or something as his hands nervously danced around and his head jerked slightly at
random intervals. More than once both women - the younger and older one - would place a hand firmly
on his shoulder to stop him from getting up.

The buzzing ended abruptly as the loud crack of apparition echoed in the hall - in the blink of
an eye, wands were drawn across the hall and pointed at the location of the sound, even as people
moved into protective positions at the different tables. The old saw that it was impossible to
apparate into and out of Hogwarts had fallen as a result of the final battle - for some reason, the
ancient wards surrounding the castle had collapsed (probably to Old Snake-Face's machinations)
and it would take some time to power them up again.

The fact of the fallen wards was being kept quiet - still, it didn't hurt to practice
constant vigilance especially as no one knew how many Death Eaters, Snatchers or assorted riff-raff
were still out there, capable of doing damage or taking revenge … and, if rumours were to be
believed, there were actually two of their number now missing from the castle and in fact, had been
missing since the previous day.

The rumours had started out just that - unverified reports and whispered tales, until the
witches and wizards realized that they had a frantic and panicked Chosen One on their hands … and
then they realized that the Chosen One (although constantly surrounded by various people) did not
have his constant companions Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley with him ... it was then that the
rumours and theories exploded, which wasn't helped in the least by the refusal of those `in the
know' to respond to their questions. Most questions were met by either silence or an impatient
shake of the head; the more insistent ones were met by hard and icy glares coming from people
who'd fought and - in many cases - killed the minions of the most feared villain they had ever
come across, and those asking simply tucked their tails and slinked off.

Hands and bodies relaxed as the people caught a glimpse of the new entrants to the Hall - a
young woman with blindingly pink hair, carrying a baby in her arms, and a slim man with graying
hair who looked exhausted, black circles around his eyes, shambling along as if he was in pain -
which he probably was.

The buzzing in the Great Hall picked up once again, people whispering to their neighbors about
the new arrivals. As with any community, gossip travels faster than the speed of light and - in the
time it took the two arrivals to approach the table surrounded by redheads, the three had been
identified and categorized, with their life histories (or what people `knew' of their
background) passing from lip to lip.

The raven-haired young man had surged to his feet at the sound of apparition but hadn't
drawn his wand - not really a major requirement, seeing as everyone around him had already pulled
out his or her wand. Doubly unnecessary as the male redheads had taken protective positions in
front of and around him and his two female sidekicks, even as the other two females - one black
haired and older, the other younger and blonde - had also drawn wands and were in a position to hex
or defend.

Wands dropped as the newcomers were recognized and the black haired older woman moved with
surprising swiftness to greet them, scooping up the baby into her arms and kissing its rosy cheeks
- and rearing back in surprise as the scant hair on the baby's head turned blue. She looked
accusingly at the mother, who merely shrugged her shoulders as if to say, “What did you expect?”
before turning back to look at the hopeful eyes of the black haired wizard who was standing, tense,
waiting for news.

Nymphadora Tonks sighed and lowered her head in seeming shame; her husband Remus Lupin dropped
into a chair held out by Bill Weasley and gave another sigh - like his wife, his very countenance
signaled defeat as he spoke in a low voice: “No word, Harry … Kingsley's got his Aurors out
asking questions, but no one has seen hide nor hair of them.”

Harry Potter slumped back in his seat even as the women on either side of him tried to comfort
him - rubbing his back and arms, whispering consoling words … the younger female redhead grabbed a
mug of tea off the table and tried to hand it to him but he waved it off, uninterested.

“Look at it this way, kiddo,” Tonks said in a tired yet professional voice. “No news is good
news - while we don't know anything, there is always hope.”

The green-eyed gaze that was directed at her made her shiver, wondering if it was the sight of
those Avada-green eyes that was the last thing that a mortal Voldemort ever saw before he moved off
this plane of existence. She'd been out of it when Harry finished the lipless bastard off - for
some reason no one will ever know, Bellatrix Lestrange had apparently changed the Killing Curse
that she'd directed at Tonks into something else.

Tonks had fallen unconscious to the curse; unknowingly, her fall had distracted Remus enough for
Dolohov to launch his favorite purple-flamed curse at him - but Remus' distraction and quick
move to try and get to her saved him from the brunt of the Organ-Bursting Hex … he'd been
clipped by the edge of the full-powered curse, enough to break some ribs and his upper arm but it
had been enough … Dolohov's focus on him distracted the Death Eater enough that he didn't
see the Reducto sent at him by Filius Flitwick - his curse had been perfect aligned with the Death
Eater's head, turning it into a fine spray of paint even as Mad Bella was taken down by a much
madder Hermione Granger …

Courageous DA members had reached the fallen husband and wife and used portkeys to transport
them to St. Mungo's where emergency healers were able to resuscitate them …

These thoughts flashed through Tonks' mind in mere seconds - and she shook her head as she
felt her husband's hand on her arm, forcing him to look away from Harry's chilling green
eyes. The older wizard spoke softly, “She's right, Harry … as long as we haven't heard
anything, there's still hope.”

Harry Potter took a deep shuddering breath before he spoke, just as softly but with the pain and
worry clear in his words: “I *know* that, Remus! But I can't help it … sh-*they* may
be somewhere hurt, bleeding to death … being tortured for all I know! Sh-She's already been
hurt enough …she's still hurting, Remus …”

“I know, cub, I know…” Remus' comforting words were matched by the older and younger red
headed woman on each side, again trying to sooth him with comforting words. The younger woman spoke
up, “Maybe they just eloped -”

The words were cut off as Avada-green eyes turned on her and Ginny Weasley gulped even as she
felt herself moving back in self-defense. The wizards and witches around them tensed and felt a
shiver down their spines as Harry said, “Sh-*They* wouldn't do that, Ginny … they
wouldn't just up and run off without telling me … something's happened … I just know
it…”

Only a few of the people in the immediate vicinity noted the sudden emphasis and slightly raised
voice on the word `They' - those who did notice knew an attempt at a cover-up or distraction
when they heard one; of these, even fewer still knew the thought running in Harry's mind -
`Hermione wouldn't run and leave me but Ron might.' Bill and Fleur, in particular, since
Ron had been hiding out in Shell Cottage for several weeks before finding his balls wherever
he'd stashed them and went back out to look for his friends … Fleur also knew about Ron's
desertion of Harry in the early part of the Tri-Wizard since she had been staying at Hogwarts at
the time…

“Now, Harry, no need to worry so much … they're adults now … maybe they just wanted to, you
know, get away for a bit…” It was Molly Weasley's turn to try and mollify the shaking wizard.
She grabbed a mug and tried again to hand it to him, “Have some tea, dear, that's a good
lad…”

“Harry…” Fleur Delacour-Weasley's throaty voice diverted Harry and he dropped the hand which
had automatically reached for the mug in the Weasley matriarch's hand. Fleur caught the
momentary flash of irritation in Mrs. Weasley's eyes and her half-Veela senses started
screaming … there had been a twinkle in the matriarch's brown eyes a moment before that would
have rivaled Dumbledore's infamous eye twinkles at their best … a glimmer of victory …

Fleur's thoughts - and everyone else's attention - was sidetracked by the sound of
dozens of flapping wings in the Hall. Everyone looked up at the enchanted ceiling - one of the few
still active enchantments in the ancient magical castle - and saw dozens of owls descending towards
them, each one clutching familiar rolled-up bundles in their claws …

The Daily Prophet had arrived.

**The Shrieking Shack, That Same Moment**

Ronald Weasley's brain slowly woke up with his skin attuned to a most wonderful sensation -
he was lying on his side in a warm, soft bed, spooned against someone soft and giving off a faintly
woodsy but sweet aroma. His `morning woody' was up and seemingly just as aware of where it was
as he was: poking and probing at something warm and slightly wet `down there'.

The next thing to reach his brain was the sensation of something soft and pointy poking at the
palm of his left hand, his fingers were slowly stroking soft skin and he allowed himself to revel
in the sensation even as his hips started pumping slowly, his woody aiming to find a nice, warm
place to nest in ...

It was a beautiful dream, his mind relayed to his brain - only for another voice to pipe up, it
*is* a wonderful dream ... one that he richly deserved. He was, after all, one of the heroes
of Hogwarts ... the boon companion of the Chosen One. He had been the one to destroy the accursed
locket that contained a piece of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's soul, found a way to break into the
Chamber of Secrets and destroy another Horcrux ... defeated Fenrir Greyback ... and gotten a kiss
from the girl of his dreams just before the main battle ...

A part of his mind wondered at that - there was nothing more trite or cliché than receiving a
kiss on the eve of the battle, but another part of his mind shoved that thought away ... it was
what he *deserved* after all ...

His mind wandered back to the past few days - it was everything he had ever dreamed of: fame,
recognition, *legend*. Feeling the adoring eyes of wizarding Britain on him, he never really
felt the burden of losing friends - his family, after all, had all survived ... they'd thought
they lost Fred only to realize after the battle that he'd successfully shielded himself from
the debris but got knocked out. It was a wonderful sensation, that adulation and awe - something
that he'd first felt in Third Year when he was attacked by Sirius Black ... something felt only
a few times in his life ...

Even the hard work of clearing up debris from the pitched battles in Hogwarts couldn't faze
him ... it was only by pure coincidence that he'd found himself working near the kitchens every
day near mealtimes ...

An errant thought struck him and he forced his eyes to open a crack - and then heaved a sigh of
relief at the sight that greeted him: long, curly brown hair streaked with blonde highlights ...
hair that he once called `bushy' but could now call `silky' ... and he closed his eyes in
ecstasy even as his lower body took over and began to again start pumping more insistently, still
seeking to find its warm, dark nest ...

It was - or *is* - a beautiful, warm, wonderful dream ...

Which exploded into a world of pain as a small, round elbow slammed into his side - he jerked up
in open-mouthed shock, his now wide eyes and open mouth in a silent scream as his head swivelled
around to find the source of that pain ...

Only for his brain and body to shut down in surprise at a sight that had so often populated the
wettest of his dreams - a totally naked Hermione Granger was standing in front of him, hands on
hips and legs spread apart - his brain went into overdrive as it greedily captured a series of
images that will undoubtedly power more liquid reveries in the coming nights - the small bush of
brown hair at the apex of long, slim limbs with just a hint of pink showing in between the
spread-apart legs ... the delicious curves of her stomach, shiny skin surrounding a delectable
belly button ... a pair of small but round breasts with pointy, light brown nipples, the same
nipples that he'd been ministering to so lovingly only seconds before ...

And the face, that beautiful, lovely face that was straight out of a nightmare.

He felt his brain whimpering in fear as his eyes felt impaled by the blazing brown of
Hermione's eyes - for a brief, brief moment he wondered if he'd really seen flashes of
lightning erupting from those eyes ... in the next second, he realized that his hands had covered
his ears in instinctive self-defence as the finely-shaped lips that he'd fantasized so many
times wrapping around his wand was constantly opening and closing ...

His brain finally caught up and he realized that even with his hands covering his ears, he could
still HEAR her, the loud, powerful screech that was as painful as nails on a blackboard - “RONALD
BILIUS WEASLEY! WHAT THE *FUCK* DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?”

A tiny, tiny part of his brain blubbered at the sound of *that* word coming from Hermione
`Watch Your Language' Granger - and it was that tiny part of his brain that kicked into gear
and jump-started the rest of his body into action ...

Hermione had turned away from him, her rage at the situation blinding her to the fact that she
was alone in a strange room with a boy, both of them stark naked without a single stitch between
them. Her eyes focused on something red beneath the bed and she grabbed it in anger, totally
ignoring Ron who had climbed up on the bed with one hand reaching out for her. She turned to him,
her rage still palpable and, unknowingly, the red panties in her hand brushed along his
outstretched hand and that was more than enough -

The two teens felt the all too familiar tug behind their navel that signified a portkey had
activated and Ron found himself in distress since only one hand was available to cover an ear while
the other ear was treated to an extended version of Hermione screaming ...

**The Three Broomsticks Pub, Dining Room**

Madam Rosmerta heard a faint thud overhead and found herself grinning. `Newly weds,' she
thought to herself, adn continued wiping down the bar.

She'd been pleasantly surprised the day before when Ron Weasley and his long-time friend
Hermione Granger showed up and reserved the honeymoon suite before disappearing for a few hours -
only to return, giggling and laughing. She'd nearly dropped the tray of butterbeers she was
carrying when she saw them and realized the cause for the giggling and laughter - Ron had one arm
around Hermione's waist while Hermione's hand was obviously under Ron's robes, playing
with something other than his wand. `Probably his wang,' she thought lasciviously and shook
herself from her thoughts.

She'd grinned and given the amorous couple a thumbs up as they went up the stairs and winked
slyly as Ron mimed putting a finger to his lips. `Probably eloped rather than have a major
production of a wedding,' she thought to herself - and frowned. Ron had pulled a money bag from
under his robes when paying for the room yesterday - and he'd carelessly thrown several
galleons at her when she quoted a price.

She'd known several generations of Weasleys - and the only time they were *that* free
and easy with their money was when they were out of Hogwarts and working. Even then, they'd
politely counted out the galleons owed her - not thrown them on the bar top carelessly ...

She shook herself from her thoughts as another idea struck her - 'where was Harry
Potter?' She'd watched the three friends' interaction ever since their fourth year when
Harry was finally allowed to go on Hogsmeade visits ... and while the three seemed inseparable, she
always had a sense that Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were moving and communicating on a level
beyond words.

For Harry not to be there for the wedding - even if it was an elopement, she expected that Harry
would have stood by his best friends as a witness at least ... Rosmerta shrugged as she realized
that the chandelier overhead was swaying in slow circles and she laughed outright. `At least
he's energetic enough ... hope I left enough food in the icebox for them. They're gonna
need it.'

**The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)**

Hermione's scream was abruptly cut off as the portkey landed them in a tangle of arms and
legs on a king-sized waterbed in the middle of a large, frilly room. Ron's arms had
instinctively gone around Hermione in a protective gesture - a move which was not appreciated by
Hermione who had placed her hands on Ron's chest and given him a powerful shove away from
her.

It was only the hugeness of the bed that prevented Ron from falling off the edge - as it was,
both teens were now flat on their backs and staring up in mouth-agape shock at a large, flashing
banner above their heads: `CONGRATULATIONS AND WELCOME MR. RONALD AND MRS. HERMIONE
WEASLEY.'

Hermione had drawn in a breath to start screaming but was quickly shut down as a bell started
ringing on Hermione's side of the bed. Looking over there, they realized that an alarm charm
was activated, drawing attention to a small bundle of what appeared to be pictures and various
official-looking documents in both heavy muggle paper and wizarding parchment.

Frowning, Hermione rolled off the huge waterbed and stalked over to the dresser with the papers
and pictures on it, totally oblivious to the fact that she was still not wearing a stitch of
clothing - even the underwear that was a portkey was forgotten on the bed.

Ron, on the other hand, had rolled to his side and felt his heart stopping at the sight before
him - Hermione standing tall, her back to him and showing off the most perfect derrière he had ever
seen in his young life, outside of the Playwizard and muggle skin magazines Seamus and Dean had
brought to the dorm. He was quickly lost in a haze of steamy images featuring his present self
sinking his fingers into that delicious bottom even as he nibbled lightly on the fleshy lobes at
the apex of Hermione's smooth thighs ...

And once again the dream exploded into a red haze of pain as something heavy landed on his
head.

His loud `OW!' of protest was totally ignored by the other occupant of the room who was
staring in shocked silence at the pictures she'd spread out on the dresser. Rubbing his head,
he looked at the thing that had bopped him on his noggin and vaguely realized that an owl was
winging its way out of the room. Rubbing his sore head, Ron picked up the rolled up bundle and
realized it was the Daily Prophet - unthinkingly and automatically, he opened it and felt his eyes
bugging out as his jaw dropped in shock at the images and words on the front page ...

**Malfoy Manor ...**

Malfoy Manor was playing host to a sight that had never been seen in over a decade - three
blonde, blue-eyed people rolling on the floor, laughing out loud. What made the sight totally
incongruous was that all three were kicking up their heels as they roared in laughter ... either
that or pounding on the floor with their fists or shifting into a ball as they held their stomachs
after a fresh round of laughter ...

In the middle of the room lay a copy of the Daily Prophet with its screaming headline - “FIRST
WEDDING AFTER VICTORY!”

And underneath, in full colour and glorious action - Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley
exchanging open-mouth tongue kisses in front of an apparently Muggle clergyman looking up at the
ceiling of a decidedly muggle office, arms around each other with hands apparently exploring
somewhere out of view.

**The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)**

For a long, long moment, Ronald Bilius Weasley's mind went blank as his eyes contemplated
the moving picture in his lap. The first real emotion that broke through the blank slate that was
his mind was elation - how this happened, how it happened, he didn't care ... this was his
dream fulfilled ... this was his reward granted by a forgiving universe ...

How it happened, he didn't know and, in truth, he didn't really care. That he had no
memory or recollection of the blessed event was of no consequence - the proof was in the pudding
after all and the event was there in front of his eyes. How they'd moved from the quiet of
their shared dorm to wherever the wedding took place was no concern of his ... all that he cared
about now was that he and Hermione were married in the eyes of law and magic - and a small,
carefully hidden part of his mind was jumping around in a dance of joy: FINALLY! He had something
that Harry Bloody Potter didn't have ... he'd achieved something that Harry could never lay
a claim to.

His contemplation of the picture was interrupted as a shadow fell across the page - he looked up
and found himself mesmerized once more at the perfect picture standing in front of him - a still
naked Hermione, artfully backlit by the sunlight coming in from the curtained window, legs spread
apart, hands on hips ...

It took several seconds for his besotted brain to sort through the myriad stimuli clamouring for
his attention - but finally, the alarm bells of his well-honed survival instincts broke through the
foggy, hazy range of his mind.

Fact - Hermione's skin was flushed from hairline to toes, giving her skin an iridescent glow
with a colour that would have made any Weasley proud ...

Fact - Hermione's curly brown hair was blowing in a breeze that he couldn't feel. His
skin registered the fact that the room was chilly - unpleasantly cold in a way that he had always
associated with the presence of dementors ...

Fact - his eyes may be deceiving him but he could swear that there were tiny fairies dancing
around Hermione - but his brain kicked in and told him that those were not fairies but - gulp! -
sparks flying around Hermione ...

Fact - Hermione's mouth was moving but no words could be heard. It took him a moment to
realize that it wasn't that Hermione was silenced or that his abused ears couldn't hear
anything ... it was simply that Hermione was speaking in a soft, low voice that was barely above a
whisper.

This last fact fully engaged his brain and his hearing ratcheted to high gear in time to hear
her: “Ronald Bilius Weasley ... what the hell is going on?”

His brain parsed that statement fully and his earlier euphoria flooded all over his mind and
body - and he felt a goofy grin break out on his face even as his brain went on vacation in the
steamy reverie of his living daydream. With a wide, broad smile, he held up the Daily Prophet with
its revealing photo and said, “We're married?”

His eyes wandered down that magnificent body, taking note of the smooth legs (`does she shave
her legs?' he wondered) and the slim ankles before travelling to the newspaper to contemplate
once again the moving picture - and almost missed the sibilant voice hissing, “And how can we be
married, Ronald Weasley?”

His head moved up from its study of the picture in his lap and found himself in a staring
contest with Hermione's chest - eyes locked on the light brown nipples that were pointed
straight at him, engorged into tight points from the frigid air (not that he realized it) and he
mumbled, “Who knows? Who cares? We're married and that's that.”

In the space of a nanosecond, Ron Weasley found himself hanging in mid-air, steel-clawed fingers
wrapped around his throat, lifting him up from the bed as his ears were assaulted by a scream to
rival Hermione's earlier outburst: “YOU DON'T KNOW? YOU DON'T CARE? WHAT THE HELL DID
YOU DO TO ME, RONALD WEASLEY!”

Before he could even squeak in protest, he felt himself flying backward - thrown there by a
powerful burst of magic from the enraged witch. He felt himself slamming into the wall - and
blinked as he realized that the walls had built-in cushioning and silencing charms. His brain,
however, refused to consider that piece of information as his eyes finally locked on Hermione's
face and he felt fear: true, gut-wrenching, lose-your-bowels fear clutching at his guts.

There was no denying the beauty of Hermione's face but it was a fierce, feral beauty. There
was no sign of the focused, intent, and determined look that had been there when she took down
Bellatrix Lestrange and cut down almost a dozen Death Eaters who were trying to get to Harry
...

There was nothing but pure, ethereal, fiery rage in that beautiful face - and Ron's survival
instinct finally kicked into high gear. Synapses fired, nerve endings jumped - rational thought
disappeared as primal urges took over. There was no need to go through the steps - no voice in his
mind proclaiming, “Determination. Destination. Deliberation.”

His brain simply took over and he felt the sensation of being squeezed through a small, small
tube even as his eyes registered Hermione's small fist heading towards his face ...

With a loud crack, Ronald Weasley successfully apparated away from an enraged Hermione Granger
...

There was only one conscious thought screaming in his mind - a single thought that spoke of
comfort, of safety, of protection, of home:

“MUUUMMMMMMMYYYY!!!!!”

-->



2. Grace Au Malfoys, Part 2
---------------------------



Grâce au Malfoys - Part 2

**Title**: **Grâce au Malfoys**

**Author name**: Romulus Lupin

**Category**: Romance

**Sub Category**: Humour

**Keywords**: Harry Hermione Ron

**Rating**: NC-17 for language and implied situations

**Spoilers**: Books 1-7

**Summary**: Five days after the final battle. A naked Ron Weasley awakes in a strange room
to find himself spooned against an equally naked Hermione Granger. He thinks it is a dream until an
elbow in his ribs disabuses him of the notion. Where's Harry? And why are the Malfoys rolling
on the floor laughing out loud?

**DISCLAIMER:** Harry Potter and related characters are the property of JK Rowling, various
publishing companies, Warner Brothers and whoever else. No monies are being made from this; I'm
just indulging in playing in an alternate universe to real life.

**Auth****or's Notes:** My eternal gratitude to everyone who reviewed, especially
those whose insightful and thoughtful reviews have added depth, substance and `spice' to this
tale. You know who you are … ;)

But also, special mention to **broomstick flyer** whose stories were the inspiration for this
tale; **Paracelsus** who, as usual, gave me something to think about in terms of improving this
tale; **bingblot**, for the years of friendship and **MapleMountain** and her family, for
everything.

Thank you.

And back to the tale …

**At the End of Part 1:**

*With a loud crack, Ronald Weasley successfully apparated away from an enraged Hermione
Granger ...*

*There was only one conscious thought screaming in his mind - a single thought that spoke of
comfort, of safety, of protection, of home:*

*“MUUUMMMMMMMYYYY!!!!!”*

*****

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

The buzz of conversation in the Great Hall had died down considerably as witches and wizards,
either individually or in the company of friends or family, left the hall to go about their
business for the day. Most would have wanted to stay and gossip - after all, the marriage of two of
the main heroes of the recently-ended conflict was something worthy of dissection; at the same
time, the rumours of the disappearance of those two from Hogwarts (apparently due to a planned
elopement rather than foul play) only added spice to the tale. Plus, there was also the intriguing
element of The-Boy-Who-Lived's actuations of the day before to consider - and many were the
surreptitious glances cast at the corner table where Harry Potter and his group of friends were
seated, the latter clustered protectively around a very distraught Harry.

The sudden crack of apparition again had most of the people in the Great Hall on their feet,
wands glowing with unreleased spellfire as eyes tracked the Hall for the source of the sound - a
few feet to the side of `Harry's Corner' (as the wags had dubbed that particular table) and
right in front of the Hufflepuff table.

The sight of a tall, pasty-white, red haired *naked* person caught a second year female
Hufflepuff by surprise and she let loose a panicked squeak / shout - “EXPELLIARMUS!” causing the
frightening vision to dive for the floor.

That was all it took - a split second after the first syllable of the hex was shouted, wands all
over the hall went off and, with loud shots and silent incantations, spellfire lit up the great
hall - Expelliarmus, Stupefy, Reducto, Petrificus Totalis, Confundo, Stinging Hexes, Impedimentas
and more were cast -

Shields shimmered as spells hit - some, cast by members of the DA, were strong enough to reflect
the hexes and curses back, causing casters to either throw up their own shields or dive out of the
way only to come up firing ... other curses and hexes hit the walls of the Great Hall which either
absorbed the spells or threw them back ... one spell - possibly Sectumsempra - sliced a suit of
armour in half, forcing a cursing Peeves the Poltergeist into the open which in turn caused several
spells to be cast at him as he escaped out the open doors of the hall ...

As the spells flew, little Professor Flitwick hopped up on the teacher's table and cast a
Sonorus on himself before bellowing “STOP!”

Before he could even blink, almost two dozen spells were headed in his direction - and the old
duelling master *moved*. In an action that reminded the muggleborns in the hall of a much
loved Jedi master, Filius Flitwick leaped high into the air, tucked himself into a ball and
somersaulted behind a standing Hagrid. The latter had just arrived at the hall and was close to the
Slytherin table when the firefight erupted - rather than draw a non-existent wand, he took the
simple expedient of lifting the table and using it as a shield which protected those closest to him
and also kept them from joining the fray...

Flitwick rolled to his feet beside Hagrid; the latter lifted a bushy eyebrow at him and said,
“Tha's telling `em, ace!” to which the diminutive professor responded with a raised middle
finger.

Surprisingly, it was the Fat Friar's roar that caused the combatants to drop their wands:
“CEASE FIRE!” Again, dozens of spells lanced at him but the Hufflepuff ghost didn't even flinch
- why should he, after all? - but the action turned him nearly opalescent in fury and he repeated
his yell: “CEASE FIRE, I SAY!”

Wands dropped all over the hall in shock at the rage in the well-loved roly-poly ghost with his
jolly manner and merry smile - and faces were soon flushing from shame as his amplified voice
washed over them: “I am ASHAMED of you! The war is OVER ... many of you are here because of the
school's hospitality and you repay it by trying to destroy the school!”

Into the sudden silence, newly-promoted Senior Auror Nymphadora Tonks stood up from behind their
overturned table, handed a curious Teddy to her husband, and started barking orders: “DA! Check for
casualties ... someone call in Pomfrey ... EVERYONE ELSE PUT AWAY YOUR WANDS!”

From one corner of the Gryffindor table, a small, frightened voice - probably deafened from the
chaos - asked, “Did she say put away your wangs? OW!” as his mother or sister smacked his head.

Many in the hall couldn't help snickering - but all quickly fell silent as an angry Auror
Tonks, her flowing mane of hair turned a fiery red that the Weasleys would have envied, stalked
like a hungry tiger towards the naked, pasty-skinned, flat on the floor person whose unannounced
arrival had started the pandemonium.

The visibly livid Tonks grabbed the intruder by the scruff of the neck and lifted him up,
confirming her thoughts as the pale, freckled, wide-eyed, shell-shocked face of Ronald Weasley
scanned his surroundings, opened his mouth and whimpered, “Mummy?”

That single word broke a surprised and shaken Molly Weasley out of her trance - with a loud wail
of “Ronald!” she was charging towards her son with arms spread wide ... only to stop as the image
in front of her registered and the wail turned into a screech - “WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR
CLOTHES?”

Before the wayward wizard could respond, a flabbergasted Hagrid inquired loudly, “Where's
`ermione?”

To be immediately followed by an agitated Ginny Weasley's shriek: “WHERE'S HARRY?”

In the sudden silence of unanswerable for the moment questions, Fleur Delacour-Weasley's
throaty voice sounded loud and clear. In a statement obviously meant for her husband alone but
amplified in the silence of the hall, she looked at her youngest brother-in-law's naked form:
“I always sed he wuz a *leetle* boy.”

*

**Malfoy Manor**

The Malfoy family had composed themselves and were now lounging around their living room,
champagne glasses filled from a second bottle that had been opened. An occasional snigger could be
heard however as they looked at each other - more so whenever Lucius and Narcissa glanced at the
other.

Lucius Malfoy raised his glass in a toast to his son. “I must admit, Draco, that your idea was
utterly marvellous ... your grandfather would have been proud.”

The younger Malfoy preened at the praise although he'd been well-trained not to let the
occasional commendation from his oft-hard to please father get to his head. He raised his own glass
in a toast to his father, who was sitting in his favourite armchair, Narcissa perched on the arm of
the chair. “Thank you, father, but the honour should go to you - using polyjuice to impersonate
Granger and the Weasel was a stroke of pure genius!”

Lucius Malfoy was just as well schooled in the art of flattery as he toasted his wife. “Ah ...
but finding that forgery spell in the Malfoy Family Grimoire takes the cake, my dear. This whole
charade would not have been successful if we were unable to sign those documents ... You deserve
the applause and a bow.”

She bent down and gave her husband a lingering kiss and `accidentally' fell into his lap;
without a second thought, she proceeded to grind her bottom on him in an impromptu lap dance,
causing her son to look away. “Do you mind?” Draco asked. “There are children here!”

The two adults roared in laughter, almost spilling their champagne on each other, but Narcissa
didn't move from her husband's lap. Another lascivious grind caused Lucius' smirk to
grow wider and she turned serious.

“I am so *glad* that this is all over, my love. I actually pity the mudblood being bonded
to the blood traitor.”

Draco's eyebrow rose almost to his hairline - his mother, the pureblood princess, actually
*pitying* the mudblood? His other eyebrow rose to meet its counterpart at his hairline as he
realized that his father was nodding in seeming agreement with his mother.

One glance at her clueless son and Narcissa Malfoy snickered and asked a seeming *non
sequitur*: “You've sometimes called the blood traitors `carrot heads,' haven't
you?”

When Draco nodded, she continued, “I wanted to give the photographer and that muggle minister a
real show so I ... had my hands under your father's robes.”

Lucius Malfoy's bark of laughter distracted the fleeting look of disgust on the younger
Malfoy's face at the image created in his mind. Draco quickly schooled his face into seeming
obliviousness as his mother continued, “Let's just say ... a *baby* carrot would be more
substantial than Ronald Weasley's `assets'.”

It took several moments for Draco to parse the statement - a look of pure disgust, followed by a
moaned “Ewwww!” pushed the elder Malfoys into another round of hysterical laughter which led to
them falling to the floor and rolling around holding their stomachs.

Draco's pinched face - so reminiscent of his mother's during the Quidditch World Cup in
his fourth year- eventually morphed into an evil smirk so much like his father's as he said, “I
wonder what Granger will think when she finds out.”

*

**The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)**

Hermione's small fist slammed into the wall of the honeymoon suite and she stood there in
shock, wondering - first of all - why her fist hadn't broken when it slammed against unyielding
concrete; second, wondering where in *hell* Ronald Weasley had gone to; and finally,
realizing, with a sense of wonder, that the immediate object of her insurmountable rage had
disappeared.

There was nothing to vent her pain, anger and humiliation on.

Dazed, she looked around the large suite, absently noting the huge waterbed with its slightly
mussed sheets with the Daily Prophet still laying on top of it, the lurid headline and insufferable
photo face up and mocking her. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimmer of movement -
turning swiftly, she realized that she was looking straight at a large mirror, strategically
positioned to reflect whatever activities took place on the bed - and she gaped as she realized
that she'd been moving around for how long - had even been portkeyed from one location to
another - without a stitch of clothing on.

There was nothing left for her to do - she stood in the middle of the room, feet apart, arms
spread with hands fisted on either side … threw back her head and SCREAMED.

*

**The Three Broomsticks (Dining Room)**

Madam Rosmerta blinked as she realized that the chandelier in the middle of her pub's dining
room was swaying. `Goodness,' she thought. `They must be using a lot of energy up there' -
and she gave quiet thanks to whatever had inspired her to have the honeymoon suite built with
heavy-duty silencing and cushioning charms. The release of energies when a magical couple
consummated their marriage was the stuff of legends - while she herself never experienced it, the
mere risk that a powerful couple coupling may destroy her pub had pushed her to spend the extra
galleons in warding the room.

It was money well spent, she thought now, as she watched the swaying chandelier. Ron and
Hermione … she shook herself from the thought. There had been little doubt in her mind that
Hermione was one powerful witch - the few times she'd been able to serve her during Hogsmeade
visits, Rosmerta would have sworn she saw the young lady's aura flicker on and off …

`Merlin's beard,' she thought to herself. `I wonder what would happen if *Harry
Potter* completes his bonding? I hope he doesn't decide to have his honeymoon here … else I
may not have a pub left!'

A second's thought and she dismissed the idea. Knowing the way boys' minds worked (she
had, after all, been the pub's landlady for years beyond count), she knew that Harry Potter
would never spend a honeymoon here, where his best friends consummated their bond. Especially if
the young lad had feelings for the girl…

The chimes of the door opening signalled the arrival of a customer and she dismissed her
thoughts to welcome the start of another day at the pub ...

*

**The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)**

The primal scream that Hermione let loose was both cleansing and calming. Head back, taking deep
breaths, she opened her eyes slowly ... hoping that it had been nothing more than a bad dream - and
saw the floating banner above the bed with its obnoxious, loathsome proclamation: “WELCOME AND
CONGRATULATIONS MR. RONALD AND MRS. HERMIONE WEASLEY!”

It felt like a mallet had slammed into her gut - it was true, everything that had been happening
since she woke up was true - and she fell on her knees as her stomach roiled, threatening to bring
everything in it rushing out her throat. It was only pure luck that there was nothing there to
expel but the sensation of wanting to throw up continued as her overloaded brain whirled...

Knowledge gained when she haunted the library in an effort to help Hagrid with Buckbeak's
trial crowded her mind ... magical law, wizarding traditions, obscure facts and figures clamoured
for attention as she rolled into a foetal ball -

“*A magical marriage is for life - there is no divorce in the wizarding world ... The death of
one spouse is the only way to break the enchantments of a magical bonding ... The use of Polyjuice
potion is virtually undetectable, except when the potion expires thus revealing the impersonator
... Marriages between magical people in the muggle world are automatically recorded in the Magical
Registrar of Births, Weddings and Deaths ... a copy of the marriage license is sent via magical
means to the couple ...”*

There was nothing she could do.

Married.

Married to Ronald Bilius Weasley.

She shuddered at the thought.

He was the polar opposite to her in everything that mattered - lazy where she was energetic,
lacking in ambition and willing to go with the flow where she was driven and willing to challenge
destiny, an academic sloth where she wanted to soar with the eagles. An intellectually stimulating
time for her was discussing esoteric magical theory - for Ron, it was a game of chess. Something
that required intelligence, yes - but what kind of conversation can be made in discussing something
limited to a two-dimensional board with sixty-four squares?

She would *die* in such a limiting environment ... and she felt another spasm in her guts
as she imagined herself married to Ron: frumpy, plump and domesticated, home-schooling two children
unimaginatively named Rose and Hugo until they were ready to go to Hogwarts ... her Outstanding in
OWL and NEWT Potions used to brew and prepare home remedies ... her top marks in Arithmancy and
Ancient Runes useless because she didn't need them to catch and dispatch the garden gnomes ...
her eleven OWLS and as many NEWTS nothing more than wall decorations for her room while she mourned
the loss of opportunities ...

It was a life well-suited for others but it was not for her.

It was a major reason behind the yawning chasm between her and many of the girls in the
Gryffindor female dormitories - a gulf quickly evident within weeks of starting at Hogwarts. They
simply had different priorities from her - Lavender and Parvati, for example, would have been more
than happy with that sort of life, a fact that she recognized as the years passed and they studied
earnestly in Divination, did the best they could in Transfiguration, Charms and Potions and spent
more time giggling and squealing than should be good for them.

True, they were charter members of the DA but then, they were Gryffindors, weren't they?
Plus, it was their OWL year and they needed the training in DADA - only for everything to fall by
the wayside in sixth year. They didn't respond to the call when the castle was attacked and
Dumbledore killed ... she was surprised to see them during the final battle but they were
Gryffindors, weren't they?

The bottom line was, she could easily picture them as domesticated housewives, sitting and
cooking in the kitchen while waiting for Won-Won to come home, taking care of the children, reading
Witch Weekly while recalling `the glory days' at Hogwarts with Harry and Ron ...

It wasn't the life she envisioned for herself.

Especially not with Ronald Bilius Weasley.

*That* had never been part of her equations or plans. She, like so many others, had her
dreams of romance - but that had always been set aside because of the quest she had inadvertently
joined when she was befriended by a thin, bespectacled boy who'd saved her from a troll.
*That* had become the single driving obsession of her life, broken only by momentary flashes
of a different life in fourth year with Krum and the Yule Ball - and sixth year when she oscillated
between overprotective of Harry and acting all Shakespearean - not as Hermione from `A Winter's
Tale' but as Katherina in `Taming of the Shrew.'

Even now, that school year stood out as a confusing one - she could never understand why she
went all hormonal, alternating between overprotective and shrill with Harry, veering between pride
at his accomplishments and angry over that infernal potions book and, deep down where only she
could admit it, extremely depressed as she realized that she would never be more than a friend to
him. In the end, it was all she was left with - finishing the quest to defeat Voldemort.

She had given up her dreams of romance in sixth year; despite what everyone thought, romance and
Ronald Weasley were mutually exclusive - and Harry was both unattainable and with Ginny. She had
resigned herself to a lonely life after the mission was accomplished. She'd go and bring back
her parents - or perhaps opt to stay in Australia rather than come back here and watch Harry walk
down the aisle with someone else…

While the memory of that singular, magical moment when all pretences were torn away, when hard
truths and painful memories were exposed and exorcised and magic, *real* magic bloomed would
be all that was left to sustain her.

Another spasm hit her and she heaved - dry heaves as the implications of what had happened once
again struck her turbulent mind ... she whimpered with the aches of something much worse than the
Cruciatus she underwent at Malfoy Manor ... and unknowingly sobbed out the mantra that had helped
her through the pain: “Harry ... help me ... I need you, Harry ...”

She never saw or felt a tiny portion of her magic leaving her body ... forming into an
iridescent mist that acquired a shimmering, ghostly form of a sleek animal on four legs. It sniffed
at the air around briefly, as if hunting for a specific scent before shooting out of the room in a
silvery blur, swiftly gaining speed as it ran for the castle in the distance ...

*

**Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

For the longest time, Harry Potter stood in the middle of the Headmaster's office, gaping at
the once-familiar yet now-unfamiliar place where he had spent more time in than almost any other
student in modern times, except for the legendary Marauders. He shook his head slowly, trying to
shake off the dizziness and disorientation that often accompanied apparition ... and wondered, as
his brain finally caught up with him, how - or even *why* - he found himself in this
particular place at this particular time.

*Why* he was here ... his mind brought back the events of only minutes before - and he shut
his eyes and gritted his teeth against the ache in his heart at seeing the picture of his best
friends exchanging passionate kisses in the Daily Prophet. It was a pain even worse than any which
Voldemort inflicted on him, worse even than when he'd been possessed by the Dark Lord...

He was about to crumple the newspaper up and burn it when the crack of apparition sounded in the
Great Hall - it had taken only that split second as the body solidified for him to recognize who it
was ... seven years of sharing a common shower and toilet makes it easy to recognize people from
the back, especially if they were lanky and had red hair...

Seeing the back of a naked Ron Weasley unleashed a tidal wave of emotion - there was *no
way* that he would be willing to stand there, smiling and congratulating Ron for marrying
Hermione ... not after Ron had abandoned them to their fate for the second time only to come
slinking back like the rat that he'd once kept as a pet ... not after having to watch Ron
struggle with the horcrux and its maddened attempt to survive by trying to turn his `friend'
against him once again, forcing him to lie through his teeth about his feelings for Hermione -
pushing him, once again, to forego his own wishes and desires to keep the peace between his
friends, to keep the mythical `Trio' intact, to once again sacrifice something he held dear for
a still-nebulous `Greater Good'...

In that singular moment before the spells started flying, he knew he could not stay in the same
place as Ronald Bilius Weasley - and without spell or incantation, without destination,
deliberation or determination but simple, pure *intent* to be out of there - he felt the
squeezed through a small tube sensation enveloping him and he opened his eyes to find himself here
in the Headmaster's office.

He shrugged at what happened. He'd been experiencing bouts of accidental magic lately -
wild, unfocused, untamed and powerful - all in the hours after the final battle. Or maybe it was
*during* the final battle ... it was a prickling sensation along his skin which he first
noticed when he `woke up' after Voldemort cast the Killing Curse at him ... he supposed it was
his magic adapting after being freed from the leech that was the Horcrux within him...

He realized that he was still clutching the Daily Prophet and threw it away from him with a
snarl, hitting one of the Headmaster's portraits around him and he cringed, waiting for the
lambasting that was to follow and hoping like hell that it was neither the portrait of Dumbledore
or Phineas Nigellus Black ...

He looked around sheepishly and blinked - all the portraits of past headmasters were empty,
except for that of Severus Snape, who'd been Headmaster in the year under Voldemort. Snape was
asleep, however, and he sighed in relief ... the portrait hadn't woken up yet and he was glad.
He wasn't ready for a conversation with Snape just yet ... maybe not for a couple of years or
decades...

Shaking his head, he collapsed on the floor, hands covering his face as the adrenalin rush of
moments before dissipated and his tired mind tried to find the energy or even the will to move
on…

Unbidden, his mind brought back that loathsome picture in the Daily Prophet and he bent over in
pain ... after everything that he'd gone through, after all the aches and misery that Fate,
Destiny or Sybil Trelawney had set in his path ... was it too much to ask for a break? Was it too
much to wish for a moment of normalcy ... to be a young man in love with a pretty girl - one he was
sure loved him back?

But why would she do this to him? Why go behind his back and elope with Ron? If she didn't
feel that way about him, she could have talked with him ... told him the truth and walked out of
his life. They'd gone through too much together for either to lie to the other ... they'd
shared too much (and Harry's face turned a deep crimson shade) for her to do this to him!

If she really loved Ron, then why go behind his back? He'd be happy for her ... it was worth
everything to him to see her happy and if her happiness was to be found in Ron's arms, who was
he to tell her no?

That he had his own feelings for her was irrelevant ... it was her choice alone. He'd
willingly accept it, swallow down his pain at that thought, smile and tease and dance with her at
the wedding ... happily be Ron's best man and even buy them the rings as gifts ... give them
the deeds to Grimmauld Place with Padfoot's money so they can re-decorate and improve it to
whatever they wanted...

While he slunk away to try and rebuild his shattered life somewhere else far, far away.

There would never be another one for him after Hermione and he felt a momentary pang of pain for
the children they would never have - a brood of raven-haired, bushy haired children with eyes of
green, chocolate brown or hazel ... they'd play Quidditch in his own private pitch, Hermione
would teach them to love books and potions while he taught them to prank Remus, Tonks and little
Teddy ...

But it was not to be.

She'd chosen someone else.

“She would have made a perfect Slytherin, you know.”

Finely honed reflexes kicked in and he was on his feet behind the chair, wand out and tip
glowing, eyes scanning for the threat - dropping his wand and arm when he realized who had spoken
to him. It took him a few moments to parse the words and he responded with all the force of his
considerable intelligence: “WHAT? ARE YOU NUTS?”

Phineas Nigellus Black stared back at him impassively and sighed to himself. `How the mighty are
fallen,' he thought. `After seven centuries, the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black is left
to this ... this *upstart* of a Gryffindor. And he is not even of the line of Black ...
adopted by Sirius through a blood adoption in the dead of night three Christmases ago in order to
circumvent the family's laws...'

Unbidden, the memory of that night came to him ... Sirius had silenced his portrait after
he'd railed endlessly at the perceived dilution of the family's line but found himself in
grudging admiration of the shrewd and sneaky way that the last male bearing the name of Black had
gone around the immutable family law. And he had to admit - after being carried around in that
infernal Miss Granger's beaded bag for months - that his last true grandchild had a point in
choosing the wizard below him to inherit the name, title and family rather than letting it go by
default to that spineless, indolent and idiotic whelp of a Malfoy.

He thought at first that it was pure and simple sentimentality on the part of Sirius; well that
and a means of making their ancestors spin in their graves (especially Walburga) but he hadn't
truly appreciated the Slytherin cunning and far-sightedness of his descendant. For a brief moment
his memories strayed to the weeks spent in that beaded bag - listening to their conversations,
watching through the netted weave of the bag and forming his personal opinion of the teens.

He shook himself from his reverie, grateful to whatever kindly Deity kept watch over wizards and
witches for having *this* portrait as a refuge to run to during those trying times ... it was
here where he went when he just had to get away from his portrait in that infernal bag - times when
he simply had to vent his frustration at the thickness of the boy and his male companion ... hours
when he'd returned to vent his spleen at the interfering old coot in the other portrait in this
room who'd brought them to this…

He turned back to the sputtering, ranting wizard below him, who was shouting, “What do you mean
she'd make a perfect Slytherin? She's *nothing* like you!”

A single, sardonic eyebrow rose - a gesture that Snape would have envied and copied shamelessly
were he still able - and the former Headmaster snickered. “Of course she's *nothing* like
me ... she's a GURL, you fool - didn't you even know that?”

“Wha -” The old headmaster nearly fell off his chair as he tried to suppress his laughter at the
gobsmacked wizard facing him. With an elegance and economy of motion that was a joy to behold,
Phineas Black rose from his chair to stand behind it, the better to control the laughter engulfing
him at the goggle-eyed teen.

“Well?” Phineas challenged.

“I know she's a *girl*, you twat! I've known she was a girl since before the
Tournament ... I meant she cannot be like you, you ... The Sorting Hat said that she could have
been Gryffindor or Ravenclaw - not Slytherin!”

As the words left his mouth, an echo of the last two words kept repeating in his mind: “*Not
Slytherin ... not Slytherin ...*” He'd been repeating those words as a mantra while the Hat
pondered on where to put him - and he remembered the words said to him when he was sorted, almost
seven years before: “*Are you sure? You would do well in Slytherin, you know ... you have it all
there, you would do well in Slytherin...”*

A deep raspy voice responded to one side and Harry spun around, gaping when he realized that the
Sorting Hat was speaking from the shelf where it was laid, “Not true, Harry Potter. I don't
know where Ms. Granger got that idea but I distinctly remember telling her that she was a most
difficult choice ... any of the four houses would have suited her, Slytherin among them.”

“WHAT!?! But-”

“Control yourself, Harry Potter,” the Hat said and for a fleeting moment, Harry felt as if he
were under the intense scrutiny of the magical artefact. He wouldn't be surprised if he saw
eyes twinkling back at him and shuddered at the thought. That was the last thing he wanted right
now - seeing the twinkling eyes of his last Headmaster looking back at him from the Hat.

The Hat continued, in a contemplative, ruminating tone, “Ms. Granger was most difficult, Harry
Potter. She would have had the Four Founders coming to blows over her…”

Harry frowned, the words of the Sorting Hat fading into the background as his thoughts focused
on his best friend.

Brave - there could be no doubt of that. She'd been beside him throughout much of his
adventures - her courage even when things were going badly was something he'd come to rely on.
Her intelligence, of course ... he'd often wondered why she was in Gryffindor and not in
Ravenclaw - and he remembered her blushing admission that the Hat considered placing her in
Ravenclaw, when she demonstrated the Protean charm on the Galleons for the DA.

But there was her undoubted loyalty and willingness - even eagerness - for hard work. Loyalty to
him, she had shown in abundance - fourth year alone showed him that. And the willingness to work -
Harry blinked as he remembered staying up till the wee hours of the morning, preparing for the
First Task and the Summoning Charm. She never gave up on him, willingly sacrificing her sleep just
so he would succeed...

Loyalty and hard work - attitudes prized by Hufflepuff.

But Slytherin? He vaguely heard the Hat talking about ambition ... *ambition?* The memory
of his time under the Sorting Hat came to mind: “*You have a thirst to prove yourself ...
Slytherin can help you along the path to greatness ...*”

Wasn't that Hermione Granger in a nutshell? She had the drive and the skill to prove herself
... to show everyone that she not only deserved to be in the wizarding world, but also to show that
she was better than anyone else, especially those who looked down on her because of her muggle
origins. Ambition in spades ... but, looking back at the years with her, he realized that being
cunning and sly was her weak spot. She was too open, she wore her heart on her sleeve and would
never go the route of slyness and cunning to achieve her goals ... S.P.E.W. for example. A
Slytherin would not have gone about freeing the house elves in that way - although her efforts at
knitting and leaving clothes around was just as Slytherin in its thinking, except that it
wasn't refined enough to be workable.

She would always look forward and charge, taking the direct route to achieving her dreams and
ambitions - backed up and supported by her knowledge and learning, her willingness to work and the
courage of her beliefs.

Definitely not Slytherin traits.

“Maybe not, Potter.” Harry blinked as Phineas' sardonic voice broke into his reverie - and
he realized that he'd been speaking his thoughts out loud. He glanced at the former Headmaster
in his portrait as the latter continued, “What *some* people forget” - and Phineas' eyes
flickered for a moment to Dumbledore's portrait - “is that the Hat places people where their
*potentials* are.”

“You would have done well in Slytherin, Harry Potter,” the Sorting Hat said, echoing its words
from seven years before. “As would Ms. Granger. Being in Slytherin would have tempered her
enthusiasms, taught both of you to think things through rather than charging in blindly. Ms.
Granger's intellect, loyalty and partiality for hard work, combined with Slytherin shrewdness
and calculation would have made her a force to reckon with.”

A sigh. “Alas, but she was most adamant about *not* being sorted to Slytherin. She kept
insisting, `Not Slytherin … not Slytherin'…”

The Hat paused, and Harry felt as if the Hat was staring - or was it *glaring* - at him.
“Much like you did.” A pregnant pause before the Hat continued, “I cannot help but wonder now if
her thoughts - even then - were making their way to you.”

Harry gulped - the Hat's words bringing back memories of the all-too-many times when he and
Hermione seemed to be communicating at a level beyond words … something that started in their first
year and had only grown more frequent since but had seeming been strained in their sixth year, only
to come back fully in the last …

He didn't want to think about that and tried to change the conversation's direction, and
he gave a small, forced laugh. “Hermione and myself in Slytherin - what a laugh! We'd never
have survived with the greasy git in charge…”

“This is precisely why I loathed being a teacher! Young people are so infernally convinced that
they are right about everything.” Harry looked curiously at Phineas' portrait, remembering his
first encounter with the insufferable Headmaster, who said, “What makes you think that everything
that happened will have been the same had circumstances not been different? Severus'
resentments would have been alleviated somewhat with the child of Lily Evans in his house rather
than in James Potter's old house … he would have been a far better mentor to you and Ms.
Granger rather than Minerva…”

He held up a hand at Harry's incipient protest. “I respect Minerva's abilities, Potter -
although I have questioned the wisdom of having her hold both Deputy Headmistress and Head of House
Gryffindor. Being Head of House means spending time with her charges - time that she unfortunately
had to fritter away at handling tasks that the *Headmaster*” - the tone of utter contempt was
unmistakable - “couldn't or wouldn't be bothered with because of his numerous positions as
well as his constant pursuit of the `Greater Good'.”

Harry thought he heard a snort from somewhere and spun around - he shook his head as he realized
that all the portraits still remained blank, except for the still-sleeping Snape. He shrugged,
thinking that it was the Sorting Hat which made the noise - and he turned back to Phineas, a
sarcastic smirk on his face and a sardonic note in his voice, “Snape as mentor? Right - he
*mentored* Malfoy for six years and we all know how well *that* turned out.”

Phineas' rebuttal was stopped by the Hat's voice: “And what makes you think that Mr.
Malfoy should have been Sorted into Slytherin, Harry Potter?”

Harry stared back at the Hat in surprise - where else would Malfoy have gone but to Slytherin?
He could remember that Sorting - the Hat had barely touched Malfoy's head before shouting,
“Slytherin!” and it was that memory which fuelled his indignant response: “He's a Malfoy!”

“Idiot boy!” The sarcasm and disdain was dripping from Phineas Black's portrait in gallons.
“Since when did *family* have a bearing on your Hogwarts house, Potter? By that standard, your
godfather should have been in Slytherin ... his lycanthropic friend should have sorted Ravenclaw
... and *his* mate should have gone to Slytherin also - Nymphadora is a Black, after all.”

The Hat interrupted, its conciliatory tone seemingly derailing the former Headmaster's
developing rant. “What you must remember, Harry Potter, is that family or bloodlines are the last
consideration given to a *proper* Sorting - the Founders individually prized differing
qualities for their Houses … unless you've been sleeping through every Sorting you've sat
through, hmmm?”

Harry blushed as he realized that he'd missed three Sortings in his six years at Hogwarts;
the embarrassment was tempered, however, as he recalled that the Hat's opening song never
really changed … until fifth year, that is. His comment was stopped, however, as it seemed that the
Hat had settled in for a good, old-fashioned rant -

“Consider your friends the Weasleys -”

Harry gaped as the Hat talked but found he could not really dispute it - Bill and Charlie sorted
correctly because they had both courage and moral fibre to stand for their beliefs (Harry
remembered Bill, in particular, opting to return to London to be closer to family and to assist the
Order); Percy's driving ambitions and willingness to kiss ass pointing him to Slytherin but his
anal retentiveness about rules and authority making him equally suitable for Ravenclaw; the Twins
brilliance in inventing made them a shoo-in for Ravenclaw but their boisterous nature would have
quickly alienated them from those serious, studious nerds - on the other hand, their compelling
determination to own a joke shop implied an equally acceptable placement in Slytherin …Harry
shuddered at the thought of Slytherin Weasley Twins - Filch would never have survived that …

He blinked at something the Hat said and jumped in without thinking: “What? Why should Crabbe
and Goyle be in *Hufflepuff* of all places?”

For a moment he felt the need for a bath given the `look' the Hat seemed to give him and
felt equal parts gratitude and anger when Phineas' sarcastic voice boomed: “And why not,
Potter? What else have they shown in their years here but a slavish devotion to Draco Malfoy, the
only one who seemed to grant them any respect? If they'd been in Hufflepuff, their loyalty and
hard work would have been commended and guided *properly* …”

Harry looked at him curiously. There seemed to be a genuine regret in the former
Headmaster's voice - not for the death of a Slytherin but for the loss of a student whose
potentials, whatever they may have been, would never be realized now. Crabbe and Goyle in
Hufflepuff was a jarring thought but then he had to wonder - would they have been the brutish thugs
he'd learned to despise if they'd been in another house where a different sort of guidance
was imposed? Could they have been - shocking as it may seem - *friends* to him if they
hadn't been placed in close proximity to Malfoy and his ilk?

He shook his head and turned to the Hat as it said, in a sad and pained voice reflecting that of
Phineas Black: “Indeed, Headmaster. So much potential wasted or left unfulfilled … only because
*someone* interfered.”

Again Harry found himself frowning at the dynamics in that room - a glance at both Hat and
Phineas left him with the distinct impression that both were glaring at the portrait to one side of
Snape's - still empty, he noted. Probably inhabiting one of his chocolate frog cards, he
thought sardonically, but then he shook his head.

Something was niggling at his mind but he couldn't place it just yet and so voiced a concern
that had been lost in the Hat's ranting: “And Draco Malfoy?”

There seemed to be a snort coming from two directions - and his head whiplashed around, only to
focus on the Hat's moving mouth: “Draco Malfoy - Sorted into Slytherin but has he shown
*any* of the traits of that house or others? Lacking in ambition or cunning” - Harry snorted
at that, considering the numerous confrontations with Malfoy. The only time the blond ferret had
shown any finesse was in sixth year, but Harry got the distinct impression that *that*
happened only because *someone* (probably Bellatrix or Voldemort himself) wrote detailed
instructions and made the ponce memorize it - “average in intelligence, gutless when it mattered
and distinctly wanting in loyalty - none of the Founders would have wanted him but since his family
were mostly Slytherins, that is where he went despite my better judgement.”

A sigh. “There was nowhere else to place him … much like your friend Ronald Weasley.”

Harry slumped back in a chair - one of the squashy ones that Dumbledore favoured, unwilling to
dispute the Hat's words because he could see the grain of truth in it.

Ron, like Malfoy, would have been a distinctly unsavoury candidate for any of the Houses.
Courage - Harry remembered Ron blubbering in fear far too many times, from the moment of seeing
Fluffy in first year, to confronting Aragog in the Forbidden Forest; he had stood up to Sirius
Black in third year but only after Hermione had pushed herself to the front to protect him …
Loyalty - Harry shook his head, remembering fourth year and the Horcrux hunt when his supposed best
friend had turned his back on them … Hard work? He rolled his eyes - when it involved eating or
Quidditch, yes. Otherwise … he'd followed Ron's lead in his academics, choosing Divination
and Care of Magical Creatures because they were guaranteed an easy pass … Intelligence - please!
The less said, the better … Ambition? He snorted…

And realized with a pang that the same could be said of Ginny Weasley, except that he
couldn't be sure … He didn't know enough about her, the workings of her inner mind to make
an informed judgement, even after six years of knowing her. She'd always been on the fringes of
his consciousness: part of the background, emerging only for brief moments before `sinking'
back into the clutter …

Unlike Hermione who, he now realized, could have been (as Phineas said) `the perfect
Slytherin' if he went past that House's reputation for blood purity. What could have
happened, he wondered, if Phineas' pronouncement had come to pass - if he and Hermione had both
sorted Slytherin but without the poisonous influence of Draco Malfoy or the debilitating affect of
Ronald Weasley?

Would he have done things differently - thought things through more thoroughly before acting,
been more calculating and wily, sought more information before charging in blindly … with Hermione
still beside him, but her intellect, bravery and loyalty tempered by the innate shrewdness of
Slytherin …

Voldemort wouldn't have a chance …so what the hell happened? Had the past seven years been
an unneeded gauntlet of flawed decisions, unthinking courage and constant misdirection? It made for
a heroic tale, true - but it was a tale rife more with inconsistency and holes rather than a
well-thought out and well-planned narrative …

“Why are you telling me this? Why only now after everything that's happened?”

He lifted his head and looked around - the Hat sat on its shelf, seemingly as it always was
while Phineas Nigellus Black stood away from his chair, looking into the distance and unwilling to
meet his eyes … while Snape still sat silent, asleep in his portrait. He looked at each of them but
was only met with silence and avoidance and he sighed.

“It doesn't matter, anyway … it's over now. It's done.”

The defeated voice acted like a cattle prod to the distant former head of House Black: “WHAT DO
YOU MEAN IT'S DONE, BOY? The battle with Riddle may be over but there are *THINGS* TO DO!
NOW is the time to make a difference …”

“AND WHY SHOULD I?” He shouted back. “I'VE DONE MY PART - LET THEM TAKE UP THE SLACK!” He
glared around the room with its mostly empty portraits and glanced inadvertently at the Prophet
he'd thrown against the wall, its damning picture continually mocking him. He felt the pain of
that photo slamming against his chest and gestured towards it as he whispered, “It's their
world now … there's nothing for me here.”

“Urrhhgghh.” If Harry had looked up at that moment, he would have been treated to the sight of
two former Slytherin Headmasters rolling their painted eyes in a gesture so reminiscent of a
bushy-haired Gryffindor before Phineas bellowed once again, “USE YOUR HEAD, BOY! It is there for a
purpose other than a resting place for a hat!”

Harry Potter glanced at the raving portrait with disinterest. “What's there to think about?
They're married now…”

Phineas' eyes were looking to the heavens as if he couldn't believe the words coming
from the teen wizard below him. “It's a MUGGLE wedding, you uneducated fool! Don't you know
*anything* about the wizarding world…?”

Harry's eyes blazed at the continued sarcasm in the portrait's tone. “I know enough to
know that wizards marrying in the Muggle world get automatically registered in the magical world!”
He turned away, slumping as if his insides had turned to goo, muttering, “And I know there's no
divorce in the wizarding world.”

“And you're just going to sit there and TAKE IT? If you were Slytherin, *BOY*,
you'd have known that not everything is as it seems - that, as the muggle-borns put it, it
ain't over till Helga Hufflepuff sings!”

The Sorting Hat's shout of `Hey' in defence of the rather generously embodied Founder
was lost as a streaking silver blur darted in - coalescing into the silvery form of a Patronus
otter, which stood up on its hind legs and, staring at Harry's eyes, said, “*Harry ... help
me ... I need you, Harry ...*”

It was the only thing which could have broken Harry from his funk.

“Hermione? What …where …” He spun around in a panic until his eyes lit on the otter below him.
“Where are you? How do I…”

Phineas Black was readying himself for another sarcastic comment when he stopped, mesmerized by
the seeming interaction between the Patronus otter and Potter who were looking each other in the
eye - and blinked as the otter jumped into Harry's arms, followed by a soft `pop' as both
wizard and otter disappeared.

Severus Snape lifted his painted head from its snoozing position and turned, a sardonic eyebrow
aimed at Phineas Black. “Laying it on a bit thick at the end there, weren't you?”

Phineas Black gave an exasperated sigh as he ran his fingers through this hair, making it look -
for the briefest of moments - like Harry's unruly mop. “I swear, Severus, the boy is uncommonly
*thick* … If he didn't have Granger to think for him and provide guidance, I fear for the
future of not just the House of Black but the House of Potter as well.”

Snape stretched, rolled his neck and shoulders - for all the world like a man doing limbering
exercises and his eyes inadvertently fell on the Daily Prophet below him. His face contorted into a
grimace that generations of students had learned to hate as he said, “Unfortunately, he's right
… there's nothing to be done now.”

“Indeed.” Phineas Black and Severus Snape turned at that extremely satisfied voice and watched
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore waltzed into his portrait and sat in his golden chair, a
cheerful smile on his face and his eyes twinkling at full force. “And it is all to the good.”

“The `Greater Good,' I suppose?” Phineas snapped and Dumbledore's twinkle increased even
more as he gave a bow and smirk.

“You *planned* this, Dumbledore?” The three former Headmasters turned and realized that the
other Headmaster portraits were now occupied; the question came from Dexter Fortescue whose
normally red face was several degrees darker. “Even now, when he has fulfilled his destiny, you
refuse to let him live his life? Are you never going to leave that young man alone?”

“It's for the Greater Good,” Dumbledore replied, ignoring the snorts of the others as well
as a raspberry blown by the Sorting Hat at him. “But *planned* it? No … I had hoped for it,
prayed that it will come to pass … but planned for it? No.”

He glanced down at the Prophet with its animated photograph and smiled. “I never knew that
Ronald had it in him for such a bold action. But he *is* Gryffindor.”

Snape snorted in his portrait. “Weasley? The only way that redheaded buffoon would find the
courage to do something like that is if Foghorn Molly pushed him into doing it!”

Dumbledore shrugged, uninterested in the ranting of his former Potions professor and successor.
He leaned back in his chair and beamed back at the others, and granted a patronizing smile at Dilys
Derwent who'd asked, “But why? What's all this in aid of, Albus?”

“It's for the Greater Good, Dilys,” portrait-Dumbledore repeated, but hurried on before the
others could react. “It keeps young Harry safe from Ms. Granger's corrupting influence.”

The old man's twinkling blue eyes narrowed, becoming points of sharp, focused light as he
continued, “Can't any of you imagine the danger to our world when the Boy Who Lived, The Man
Who Won, The Defeater of He Who Must Not Be Named is allied with and fully supports the radical,
outlandish ideas of Ms. Granger? Her obsession with freeing the house elves is just the tip of the
iceberg - what other bizarre ideas will she advocate? Bring the goblins into the Wizengamot? Ask
the mer-people to participate in our councils?

"No! The world - *our* world must be kept safe for witches and wizards alone ... it is
*our world*, brought into fruition through our hard work and toil ... why should we share it
with non-humans and other abominations?

“With Ms. Granger married to Mr. Weasley, she will be contained - her flawed enthusiasms
directed properly and guided appropriately. She will better appreciate our world rather than impose
her peculiar ideas on us and our world will continue to be safe.”

“And Mr. Potter?”

Dumbledore shrugged. “He is free to marry who he will … although a marriage with a proper
Pureblood from a light family would be best.” He glanced at Phineas with a smirk, “At the least,
there will be no need to blast another name from your Family tapestry, Phineas … Harry Potter-Black
married to a pureblood will more than satisfy your family's motto of `*Toujours
Pur*'.”

The look that Phineas Black gave Dumbledore was pure contempt, and his voice was not far behind.
“You incompetent fool. What has being blood pure gotten my family except to be decimated and
leaving us at the brink of extinction? Better if he married the Granger girl - the infusion of
fresh blood and even fresher ideas would have revitalized the family … I had been hopeful that
Potter would be able to change that motto from being seen as the epitome of blood purity but rather
the purity of ideas and light.”

Dumbledore's retort was interrupted by the Sorting Hat. “And what if Harry Potter leaves the
wizarding world, Dumbledore? What if he chooses not to marry any of the candidates you have so
assiduously chosen for him? You forget - I had a chance for a glimpse into his mind after the
battle when some fool placed me on his head … his feelings for Ms. Granger are such that if he is
denied her friendship and companionship, he would gladly leave us all … what then of your grand
plan?”

Again the old man shrugged, apparently not interested. “If he leaves, he leaves - nothing
changes. The important thing is that Ms. Granger's radical ideas are contained and kept in
check - our world will be kept safe and secure and life goes on.”

He looked around at the red and angry faces of the former Headmasters and gracefully got to his
feet and gave an elegant bow. “If you will excuse me, I have places to visit that I haven't
been to in some time.”

The portraits watched as he disappeared before exploding in indignation and rage.

“The fool!” Dilys Derwent shouted. “Radical ideas indeed! Those ideas should have been in place
a hundred years ago!”

“Indeed, Dilys,” Dexter Fortescue said. “Slavery has been long abolished in the muggle world but
we have kept it going - it matters not that the elves are seen as an inferior race … history has
shown that slavery and abuse of others lead to a nation's eventual destruction!”

The others chimed in - but stopped at Armando Dippet's morose voice. “Be that as it may, my
friends, but I am afraid that Mr. Potter and Dumbledore are correct. There is nothing to be done …
it's over.”

During the heated exchange, two portraits were silent - Severus Snape watched quietly, his head
swivelling around as opinions were raised and keeping his own counsel. Phineas Nigellus Black, on
the other hand, simply watched his colleagues with a smug expression on his face - which he quickly
wiped off as he realized that Snape's eyes were on him.

“You know something, don't you?” The loud voice of Snape silenced the others and they all
turned to stare at Black's portrait; the latter simply looked back at them with an angelic
expression that none had seen in decades, even when he was alive and seated at the Headmaster's
chair, as Snape continued, “You know something … all those months in Granger's beaded bag …
listening and watching …”

“Me?” Phineas' face took on an innocent expression. “I don't know what you're
talking about, Severus … all you wanted me to do was to keep an eye on them and tell you where they
were.”

Snape's look of disbelief was interrupted by Dilys Derwent's amused voice: “Of course he
knows something, Severus … not unless he spent the whole time buried in Ms. Granger's
underwear.”

There was a collective `EWWWW!' from the portraits - broken only by a sight and sound not
heard for the longest time in the Head's office: loud, raucous laughter coming from the Sorting
Hat.

-->



3. Grace Au Malfoys, Part 3
---------------------------



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…

-->



4. Grace Au Malfoys, Part 4
---------------------------



**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 Notes.** And here's the next part … after thirteen (13) drafts - including
completely junking the first four drafts, which will hopefully form another chapter of this
tale.

And people think we're having fun!

Anyway, thank you for the reviews. They've kept me on track and - often - lead the story
down paths never anticipated but which have, hopefully, improved the tale immensely. Thank you.

So … on with the show.

Grâce au Malfoys - Part 4

**The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)**

It was an idyllic scene - one which had been repeated often in the days alone in the magical
tent during the Horcrux hunt. Hermione was seated on the bed, back propped up by pillows, her legs
stretched out while Harry was lying on his back, head in her lap, staring at the ceiling,
Hermione's fingers running through his soft, unruly hair. Running her fingers through
Harry's hair was a comfort to the young witch - her father had often done the same to her when
she was little, and a small part of her mind wondered whether Harry was deriving the same sort of
comfort from her...

She had just finished telling Harry what had happened to her - not that there was much to tell,
since the last thing she remembered was falling asleep in her dorm and then waking up in a strange
room with a half-asleep and probably wet-dreaming Ronald Weasley behind her. She wince at the
memory - not so much at Ron's behaviour which she could *objectively* understand but at
the fact that, according to Harry, she'd been missing for a whole day.

And in the space of that single day, she had *apparently* eloped with Ron,
*ostensibly* been married in a muggle ceremony ... and she had been one step away from
*murdering* Ronald Bilius Weasley with her bare hands. And then, finding out that the marriage
contract had been rejected by the Ministry of Magic through methods still unclear to her, plus
having Harry find her...

Quite a busy 24 hours ... of which only the past two hours or so she'd been awake for.

But it was over now - she was content, relaxed, unmarried and *happy* ... she closed her
eyes contentedly as she continued combing Harry's hair. She heard a soft sigh and peeked down
at a similarly relaxed Harry, whose sleepy, rambling voice told her, more than anything else, just
how much tension, and fear, and apprehension he'd gone through...

“What now, love?”

Hermione sighed. For a brief moment, she thought that this moment would last forever - but there
was no avoiding reality. There were things that had to be done if she was to live a normal life ...
and the same held true for Harry. Much as they may wish it, the fact was that if they didn't
get moving, things may turn out worse.

She went back to her earlier thought - there was more to this than a simple prank ... too much
had been spent in terms of planning, execution and resources. There *had* to be more to this
... but *what?*

She relayed her thoughts to Harry, who nodded in agreement. He was of the same mind - there
*must* be something more to this than causing Hermione and him some inconvenience. In fact,
thinking about it, the whole thing was *not* about causing them `some' inconvenience ...
the *intent* of the whole thing was clear: to get Hermione and Ron married, in both magical
and muggle worlds … which meant that *someone* did not want Harry and Hermione together.

The question was - who? And more important ... *why?*

Hermione shook her head, and made a move to get off the bed. Reluctantly, Harry sat up and
watched with worried eyes as Hermione reached for the dresser where the pictures of the
`wedding' were scattered. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath - picking up those
pictures and perusing them was *not* what she wanted to do right now. She would much rather
spend the rest of the day snuggling in bed with Harry, but that wasn't in the cards.

They had to find answers ... and those pictures were the first step in unravelling the
mystery.

If only it wasn't so *hard* to look at those pictures.

Even if she knew that she was not a participant in that farce of a ceremony, even if she
*knew* that she'd been asleep and totally unaware of what had been going on and that
someone *else* had gone through the twice-be-damned farce of a wedding ... it was just so
friggin' *hard* to look.

She nearly jumped when a hand covered hers and gently pulled the pictures away from her. She
shot Harry a grateful look and went back to the bed, slumping bonelessly while grabbing a pillow,
thinking, *I'm not* *alone in this anymore.* *Harry**'s* *with*
*me* *now*.

As it was wont to do, her mind started wandering, reviewing the past seven years. If anyone told
a young Hermione Granger what the Future had in store, she would have been reaching for her
mother's Tazer while calling for the men in white ... her life to this point often sounded like
fiction - badly written fiction, at that.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a touch on her shoulder; she blinked and realized that Harry
was sitting beside her, a look of combined worry and puzzlement on his face. She raised an eyebrow
at him as she sat up - he smiled briefly before handing over the picture in his hand.

Unthinking, she grabbed the picture and looked at it; in the next moment, she wished she
hadn't as the events of the day she had no memory of crashed down on her and she felt
sick...

The `Ron' and `Hermione' in the picture were engaged in an all-out snog - a lip-mashing,
tongue-clashing, tonsil-seeking battle which left nothing to the imagination … including a brief
glimpse of `Hermione's' hand deep within `Ron's' robes … and `Ron's' right
hand fisted in `Hermione's' brown, bushy hair…

Before she could throw the picture away, Harry's gentle hand on her wrist stopped her;
before she could make a move to throw up, Harry's gentle voice forced her to focus as he asked,
“What's this?”

Hermione's eyes focused on the spot that Harry was pointing at, and narrowed as her
impressive brain power came into play. Harry's finger was pointed at picture `Ron's'
hand where a blurred, darkish *something* could be seen...

Her first thought was that Rita Skeeter had somehow made it to the `wedding' but the idea
was quickly dismissed. Why should a beetle choose *that* particular spot for a perch when
others were just as available? The thought brought back memories of Viktor pulling at her hair
after the second task of the Tri-Wizard, saying, “You haff a water beetle in your hair,
Herm-own-ninny.”

She shook her head and focused. There was something *wrong* with that picture ... but she
couldn't make out what it was. She was getting frustrated when Harry, who had been looking
through the other pictures, asked - “Ron's right-handed, isn't he?”

The question caught her by surprise - yes, Ron was right-handed as were the majority of people
on earth, magical and non-magical but ... “Look at this, Hermione,” Harry said. “Every picture
shows `Ron' using his *left* hand...”

Hermione's eyes flicked from picture to picture - and realized Harry was right. *Every*
picture showed Ron's *left* hand: waving at people, feeding `Hermione' cake ... even
the champagne toast showed the flute in his *left* hand. `Ron's' right hand was always
hidden away ... in his pocket, apparently scratching at his chest *beneath* the suit ... even
when he was signing the muggle contract, he had his left hand covering the right...

Which brought her thoughts back to the only picture where the *right* hand could be seen
with that dark, blurred *something* ... definitely not a beetle ... and a memory from the
years of dodging Colin Creevey's camera came to mind: magical cameras didn't have
auto-focus. And *that* meant that the `thing' was simply out of focus...

Seven years of study covering almost all aspects of magical culture and life came to mind and
her eyes narrowed ... she turned to Harry with a triumphant gleam in her eyes.

“Harry!” she said in excitement. “It's a family ring!”

Harry's response was exactly what she should have expected: “Huh?”

***

**Malfoy Mansion**

The three Malfoys were sitting down to an early lunch, after consuming a liquid,
champagne-fuelled breakfast. As befitted their stature and social standing, this was in their
formal dining room - and the meal was eaten mostly in silence, save for the occasional clink of
silver utensils on plates, or a polite “Please pass the salt.”

The world as they knew it may have ended outside their walls; the whole wizarding world may well
be in feasts or celebrations at the demise of the Dark Lord, but within these walls decorum and
etiquette were supreme. Their house may have been used as a headquarters by the Dark Lord; its
halls overrun with the riff-raff that they'd had to deal with in his service; their basement
may have rung with the screams of torture...

But that was all in the past.

It was *over*.

The time now was for their future.

These thoughts passed through Narcissa Malfoy's mind as she slowly and delicately cut up the
kippers on her plate. Working class fare, she thought disdainfully but there was nothing to be done
about it now ... it was the best that their remaining house-elf could come up with and she knew she
should be thankful for small favours.

She glanced at her companions. Draco was, as usual, eating with all the refinement and manners
that had been patiently taught to him since childhood, as the Heir of a Noble House. She sighed;
unlike others, the House of Malfoy could only claim the title `Noble' while the Potters,
Blacks, Bones or even the blood-traitor Weasleys claimed the title `Most Ancient.' And while
the Bones were certainly not `Noble,' the `Most Ancient' in their title placed them a rung
higher on the social ladder than theirs.

She briefly wondered about Susan Bones ... she'd had brief glimpses of the young woman
during the final battle at Hogwarts, fighting with an intensity and determination that was
frightening to see and awesome to watch ... and wondered if a match could be made between the young
lady and her son. Never mind that the Bones' family had long-standing grudges with the Malfoys
... Susan was the last of her line and family must continue.

She shook off the thought - given what had happened to Amelia, she somehow doubted that Susan
would be willing to marry Draco, no matter its political desirability. It would be likely that that
marriage would last less than a day and Susan would be walking around in widow's weeds the day
after ... no, not something to contemplate.

Narcissa glanced at her husband and the sneer on his face at being forced to eat this
`pedestrian' food. No doubt she'd hear about it later - she had to remind her husband not
to abuse their remaining house-elf until she had time to buy a few more.

*If* they had the galleons for it.

She shivered at the thought. This damned war had been a hardship in more ways than one.
Lucius' support of the Dark Lord had depleted the Malfoy family coffers ... the problem was,
they had an image to protect and they needed a means to bring back their vault to pre-war levels
... or before Lucius started depleting it to payoff politicians like Fudge, Barnabas Cuffe of the
Prophet and the network of spies and traitors in the Ministry of Magic...

A flash of light caught her eyes and she grimaced behind the napkin at her lips. If there was a
fly in the ointment of an otherwise perfect plan ... *that* was it.

The Malfoy Family Ring was an ancient artefact, passed down from one Head of House to another
magically ... as one Head died, whether by poisoning, battle or duel, the ring would disappear to
show up either on the finger of the next Head of House or in the Family vault in Gringotts, in the
event no one of age was available to claim the title.

There were also other enchantments on the ring - and the Malfoys, being a proud and vain family
for years beyond memory, had ensured that once the ring was on a Head's finger, it would never
come off until it had to. The enchantments also ensured that the ring would never be hidden or
obscured under disillusionment charms - it was the visible sign of their name and position in
society and the Malfoys would be *damned* if a Head of House would try and hide it.

It was the only possible glitch in an otherwise perfect plan ... a plan, she realized, that she
didn't have an inkling about. Like a dutiful wife, she had followed Lucius' lead - he'd
wanted to stage that marriage between Weasley and the mudblood and she'd gone along. She
shuddered again at the memory - *poor girl*, she thought. *I wonder how she's feeling
now when she knows that her `husband's' physical assets were on the same level as that
family's monetary assets: too small to be considered of significance.*

The question, however, was *why*? Why take the risk of, literally, *kidnapping*
Granger and Weasley? The fallen wards around the castle made that task easy - slipping into their
rooms, casting the sleeping spell, portkeying them to the prepared bedroom in the Shrieking Shack,
setting the portkeys in their clothes to bring them to the Three Broomsticks ... all executed with
a minimum of fuss and bother.

It smacked of meticulous planning and preparation - not a spur of the moment idea.

She'd anticipated problems in finding witnesses for the muggle ceremony. Weddings in the
muggle world between magical people was rare ... even the muggleborn usually opted for a magical
wedding - but the procedures for doing so were there.

All they needed were two magical people to witness the ceremony and to sign the muggle wedding
contract, after which the papers had to be filed at the Ministry of Magic. *Th**at* had
her worried: where the hell to find - on short notice - two magical witnesses who were comfortable
in the muggle world and willing to go along with the farce?

It was a walk in the park.

Literally.

After bringing Weasley and Granger to the Shrieking Shack, they'd polyjuiced themselves as
Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, then Lucius/Ron transfigured their robes into hooded cloaks and
then they'd apparated to Diagon Alley.

Where they started walking.

Their hooded cloaks kept them anonymous - a good thing, Narcissa realized. Following Lucius'
lead, they'd walked around for a bit until she saw a short person man (who reminded her of
Professor Flitwick) who exchanged glances with her husband. Lucius/Ron pulled her towards a couple
in their twenties who were sunning themselves on a bench near Gringotts.

They'd engaged the couple in conversation; the two were understandably leery of their hooded
appearance - until Lucius/Ron pulled back his hood to show his face and red hair and things
suddenly turned weird. The two had jumped up and nearly crushed them with bone-breaking hugs,
crying, congratulating and talking a mile a minute ... it had taken enormous willpower on their
parts to accept the hugs; stealthy casting of Notice-Me-Not charms around them to divert attention
from the commotion until they were able to adjourn to a private booth in the Leaky Cauldron for a
late breakfast.

It was there where they learned Dick and Jane's story: muggleborn `Puffs who'd finished
Hogwarts in `75 - they'd lived a quiet life in the wizarding world, surviving the first rise of
Voldemort and escaping into the Muggle world last year. It had been a hard life - their years in
the wizarding world had left them ill-prepared for life as muggles; they'd been nearly caught
several times when they'd inadvertently used magic and were literally on their last galleon
when the Dark Lord was finally defeated once again by Harry Potter.

It was clear from the awe the two held for their Polyjuiced companions that they held Harry
Potter and his friends in extremely high regard - thus, the rib-breaking hugs and squeals of joy at
`accidentally' running into two of their heroes.

And it went swimmingly from there. It was easy to convince the two to help them `elope' -
they were more than honoured to do so, and easily fell for the line that `Ron' and
`Hermione' wanted to do this quietly and out of the public eye. Questions about Harry were
diverted by saying that the Hero of the Wizarding World was still in Hogwarts' hospital wing,
recovering ... Lucius/Ron had handed the two a bag of galleons which they exchanged at Gringotts
for muggle money; a quick shopping trip in London for muggle clothing to blend in and then Dick and
Jane Harper took them by side-along apparition to Gretna Green where - surprisingly enough - the
couple themselves had married soon after leaving Hogwarts...

Narcissa smirked - who knew posing as someone else could be such fun? Posing as Weasley was no
problem for Lucius - they were both purebloods with little or no experience of the muggle world.
She also didn't have a problem - thanks to the summer days she said she spent with Severus but
actually had fun with Lily Evans and Severus Snape.

A thought struck her - it wasn't too difficult for Lucius to `act' like Ronald Weasley
because they were alike in many ways. Purebloods who believed in the `superiority' of magic
over mundane technology, they were also both braggarts with a tendency to inflate their own
importance beyond their actual contributions.

Draco and others had told stories of how the redheaded idiot constantly boasted about some
accomplishment or other, never knowing or caring that others knew or heard the **real** stories
behind Sirius' *attacking* Weasley and the latter fighting him off (Pettigrew had
clarified *that* for them); or helping Potter rescue the hostages in the Tri-Wizard
(Draco's friends had detailed *that* to general amusement) or even his `exploits' on
the Quidditch pitch (although there was room for doubt since Draco was just as big a windbag as
Weasley and her husband.

As for Granger ... the Sorting Hat almost put Narcissa in Ravenclaw for a reason, but allowed
her to go to Slytherin because her cunning and ambition far outweighed her thirst for knowledge.
All she had to do was to allow her intelligence to shine through, try to `tone down' the
`Weasley's' exuberance fall back on experiences in the muggle world with Lily and she, too
was set.

*B*esides, all she needed to do was act flustered and confused because she was anticipating
the `first night' with her `beloved Ronnie' ... Narcissa shuddered, again wondering how
Granger would cope with the reality.

It had gone swimmingly ... the only hitch being the damned Malfoy Family Ring. Mistake number 1
- neither of them thought of conjuring bandages to cover Lucius/Ron's hand before approaching
the muggleborn witch and wizard. Mistake number 2 - Lucius/Ron spinning a story about having
`injured' his hand which was why he wasn't using it much. Mistake number 3 - how does a
right-handed wizard sigh a marriage contract with an `injured' hand?

There was no getting around it. Lucius had to sign with *that* hand - which exposed the
ring to the bemused magical witnesses. She saw the panic in Lucius' eyes and stopped him from
obliviating them; she'd pulled the two aside and murmured something about `spoils of war'
which the two - thankfully enough - smiled and accepted.

And so here they were ... safe and comfortable in Malfoy Mansion with all evidence of their
`activities' gone for good: the clothes they'd `borrowed' from the real Weasley and
Granger burned; the polyjuice vials Banished and - the final stroke of genius - they'd
convinced Dick and Jane to file the muggle marriage contract with the Ministry of Magic, thus
avoiding the risk of going in there and encountering someone `looking' for them.

There was no need for a `personal appearance' at the Ministry - once filed, the documents
(both muggle and magical) would be delivered, as per instructions, to the Three Broomsticks.

Simple plan, perfectly executed ... except for one thing. She *still* didn't know what
it was all about. *WHY* was it so important to Lucius to stage that elaborate scheme
*now?* It was meticulous planned but totally unrehearsed ... it was only the simplicity of it
which allowed for its proper execution with only a minor glitch...

But she still did not know WHY.

Her mental ranting stopped when a soft cough was heard in the silent dining room. Looking up,
she saw Draco wiping his mouth with his napkin, apparently done with the meal. When Lucius in turn
looked at him, Draco asked, “Father? There is something I would like to ask, if permitted?”

The patriarch of the Malfoy Family nodded regally at which Draco asked, “May I inquire what
this” - and he held up their copy of the Daily Prophet, still with the picture of `Weasley' and
`Granger' trying to tie their tongues into knots - “is all about?”

Lucius was silent, staring at his son for a long moment - to his credit, Draco sat and looked
back without flinching until Lucius seemed to relent. With the air of someone cornered into a
decision, he slowly asked, “What do you know of the laws of inheritance of House Black?”

***

**The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)**

Hermione sighed in frustration; she had a significant clue to their dilemma and - for want of a
wand, she couldn't do *anything* about it.

She'd explained the significance of family rings to Harry - pointing out that Ronald would
*not* have the access or the *authority* to wear one. Only Arthur of the Most Ancient and
Noble House of Weasley could wear it and, on his death or disablement, the ring would pass on to
Bill, as the presumptive Heir and Head of House. And if Bill couldn't be the Head of House
Weasley, the ring would pass on down to the different brothers ... Ron, being the youngest, would
most likely *never* have a chance to wear the ring.

Which eliminated Ronald and the Weasleys from the list of suspects - even Harry realized that
Arthur would never stand for such an underhanded scheme, never mind if Molly `My Way or the
Highway' Weasley was thoroughly convinced that she and Ron *belonged* together ...
urgh!

*That* was a thought she didn't want to contemplate for long. It was, to Hermione, just
another indication that the magical world was nuts.

Sure, there were wondrous, fascinating things about this world ... but contrast those with the
terrors and battles that she'd been in with Harry, and one would have to wonder. Add to that
the seeming belief of so many people that she and mo-Ron ever had a `thing' for each other ...
it was *insane!*

True, she'd kept her friendship with Ron in the face of the latter's inanities and
betrayals ... but only because of Harry. She'd seen the signs early on - Ronald was Harry's
first real friend in the magical and muggle worlds, and the fierce loyalty that he had would have
kept him protecting the prat, no matter what. There were times early on when she wondered if Harry
was gay, finding out that *Ronald* was the one he would `miss the most' during the
Tri-Wizard had planted that thought in her mind. It was only much later, during their `alone
time' in the tent that she realized that Harry was *not* into red-headed boys ... it all
boiled down to the fact of his fierce loyalty towards his friends and those who had shown kindness
to him after ten years of Dursley Prison.

“Hermione?”

Harry's soft voice shook her out of her mental rant and she focused on the task at hand.
There was a spell that would adjust the focus of the magical picture to allow them to see what it
was - knowing Colin Creevey, rest his soul, did have some compensation, after all.

The problem was, she didn't have a wand ... and she turned apologetic eyes to Harry as she
explained this. With a sigh, she turned back to the picture and the problem, only half-hearing
Harry say, “Here - I'm giving you this wand,” and automatically reaching out for it -

And her world turned black.

For a long, dizzying moment, alien memories assaulted her - brief flashes of people, seemingly
from all walks of life and from several different centuries ... with violence, deceit and conflict
marking each and every memory: a burly, drunken man stabbed in his sleep while his shadowy
assailant faded away ... a bearded man crying in a cellar as the life slipped away from him ... a
bloody battlefield with a man standing all alone, hysterically laughing as he held something high
in one hand ... a young man with long blonde hair laughing madly as he leaped out a window ... a
spectacular duel between Dumbledore and the blonde man ... Voldemort casting *Avada Kedavra*
... and she realized what she had in her hand.

She turned huge, shocked eyes to Harry, who was looking at her with a look of mingled
bemusement, fear and ... was that love on his face? She could only stutter as she tried to open her
fingers to drop the wand but they wouldn't respond...

Harry Potter was looking back at her calmly, holding on to the fear he felt with an iron will.
He wasn't sure what would happen when he gave Hermione the wand ... there was only one thing on
his mind when she mentioned her lack of a wand - that it was time to pass it on, to the only person
he had absolute trust in.

The only person he felt absolute love for.

In that moment between the decision to give the wand away and the action of turning it over, he
felt a resistance - no, more of a seeming *reluctance* - from the Elder Wand, to be followed
by acceptance ... of surrender. It felt to Harry, in that singular moment, that the wand had
resigned itself to its fate ... but within that apparent agreement was a profound sense of relief,
almost as if the wand was more than eager to bond with a new master.

Harry sensed that the wand was looking forward to bonding with its new master - especially since
*this* bond was coming from trust and love, friendship and bravery rather than the deceit,
violence and capture that had accompanied it throughout its long `life'.

Harry had to close his eyes as a dazzling lightshow exploded around Hermione - red and gold
lights mingled with the colours of the rainbow seemed to leak through his closed lids. He
didn't know how long it lasted ... he only opened his eyes when he heard Hermione's
stuttering words: “Ha...Ha...Harry! Th...thi...this...”

“The Elder Wand.” He sighed at the look of abject fear and loathing he saw in Hermione's
chocolate-brown eyes and he laid a gentle hand on her mouth before she could protest or react.

“It's yours, Hermione. I'm *giving* it to you.” The look of fear in her eyes was
replaced by surprise as he continued, “You're the only one I trust *absolutely* with that
wand, Hermione. You'll never use it for evil, you'll never use it in anger ... you'll
never use it in battle ... well, probably not. You will always use it in defence of your friends
and your beliefs ... but never for evil. Of that I am sure.

“You're too good of a person to turn Dark, Hermione. You're the only one I can
absolutely trust to use the Elder Wand for good.”

“But Harry...”

He held a hand up and she fell silent. “Who's to know that *that* is the Wand of
Destiny, Hermione? Luna's father said it - the wand has been lost to history. Others like him
may keep searching for the Hallows but what do they have as a lead to chase after? Grindelwald is
dead ... Voldemort is dead ... Dumbledore was the last one of that crowd to know where the wand
ended up with.”

“But Ron -”

“ … knows that I placed the wand in Dumbledore's tomb. Only you and I know that I gave it to
you ... I trust you won't go around proclaiming to everyone what you have?” The last was said
in a teasing tone and he smiled as Hermione tried to punch his shoulder. He knew her that well, his
best friend and his love, and knew the wand would be in safe hands.

Hermione's eyes locked with him for a long moment before she nodded her head in acceptance.
She could understand why he did it and she knew the reason why he chose her and not Ron. Unbidden,
the memory of Ron's look of longing when Harry informed them of his decision regarding the wand
came to mind. There would always be a seed of doubt regarding Ron ... no matter the years of
friendship or his role in Voldemort's defeat, there would always be that question in his mind:
what if *he* were the wielder of the Elder Wand?

She remembered Harry telling her about the Mirror of Erised and how, when all he could see were
the images of his dead family, Ron's desires were clear: fame, fortune and recognition. Add to
that his blinding envy during their fourth year and his abandonment of them last year ... She shook
her head. Harry was right, she knew. The knowledge of where the wand was hidden could become an
unbearable temptation to Ron - maybe not now, maybe not in ten or twenty years, maybe never ... but
could they take the risk?

A sudden thought struck her and she spoke, “Harry! You're just *giving* me the wand?
But -”

Harry held a hand up, stopping her. “You're supposed to `win' the wand, right?” Hermione
nodded, and Harry sighed. “Maybe ... but then again, no one ever had the chance to pass the wand
on, to give it to someone else from their own choice and free will? From the day Antioch Peverell
was first given the wand, there has only been one thing on people's minds - they needed to
*own* it, and didn't care if they killed or maimed to do it.

“Even Dumbledore bought into the legend. Rather than just *giving* the wand to whoever
would make the best use of it - and it didn't even have to be me! He could have given it to
Minerva or Flitwick, Remus or Tonks but no! He had to set up some intricate plot to die as the
Master of the Wand only for Draco to defeat him ... and then Snape supposedly `beat' Dumbledore
- which set up Snape for Voldemort because Tom thought Snape was the new Master of the Wand!”

Harry was breathing heavily; Hermione grabbed him and held him tight, shutting off his rant and
helping him calm down. “The Wand was never given a chance by its past Masters to be passed on,
Hermione. Even Antioch, the first master, thought nothing of bragging and brawling because of his
`unbeatable' wand ... he never even thought that it was not the wand that was unbeatable but
the witch or wizard who wielded the wand.”

He pulled away slightly to look Hermione in the eye. “*You* are an unbeatable witch,
Hermione ... without you, I would have been dead a long time ago. I trust you, Hermione ...”

No words needed to be said; without a thought, she rose on tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the
lips to which Harry responded with a rib-breaking hug that she gladly reciprocated...

An indeterminate time later, they broke apart. Harry had a silly grin on his face, matched only
by Hermione's smile - but the grin on Harry's face dimmed as a serious look came over his
face.

Stepping away from the frowning Hermione, he said, “Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it,
then.”

For the briefest of moments, Hermione gaped - and grinned. Those were almost the first words
she'd said to Harry, all those years ago. With a flourish, she pointed the wand at the pillow
on the bed and incanted, “Sunshine , daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.”

The two of them jumped as a yellow beam shot out of the wand which hit the pillow, turned it
into a pure yellow rat which blinked and jumped, scampering beneath the bed and out of sight.

“Woah!” Hermione breathed. It was meant to be a joke but it seemed that the wand was in no mood
for jokes. She blinked owlishly at Harry when he intoned, “It seems that the wand has chosen a new
master, Miss Granger.”

“That's mistress to you, Potter.”

They stared at each other for a moment before dissolving into laughter ... soon enough, they
sobered and confronted their problem once again. Hermione took a deep breath - `There will be no
silly wand-waving this time,' she thought and with a silent incantation, gave a jab at the
magical photo in question.

A moment later, they were both studying the ring - a rather massive, gaudy ring formed by two
snarling, golden snakes inlaid with green, entwined and supporting a large, green stone with etched
snakes on its face. They stared at the ring for a long, silent moment - broken only by
Hermione's sibilant hiss: “Malfoy! It's the Malfoy Family crest!”

The revelation caught Harry by surprise. “Malfoy? What the hell do they have to do with all
this?”

He paused and cocked an eyebrow at her. “And *how* do *you* know about
*that*?”

***

**Malfoy Manor**

To say that mother and son were gobsmacked was putting it mildly. They'd both worked out a
dozen or more different scenarios in their minds as to why Lucius spent precious time and treasure
to pull an elaborate prank on Potter. Lucius' seeming *non sequitur* of a response set
their minds spinning.

For Narcissa Malfoy *nee* Black, the shock was fleeting - her mind quickly went to work
putting possible scenarios together and within seconds, a plausible explanation had formed and
*that* caused her to stare at her husband in shock, wondering why her warm blood had turned
into ice as she fought a shiver of fear from climbing to her brain. There was only one reason she
could think of that would connect the inheritance laws of the Most Ancient and Noble House of
Black, of which her son Draco was the last living *male* relative-by-blood, to Harry Frigging
Potter...

There was only one *plausible* reason why Lucius Malfoy would concoct and implement such an
elaborate scheme as the `prank' he'd pulled on Potter - and the very thought of it made her
choke. No matter the utter simplicity and singular brilliance of the plan and the ease of its
execution, the fact remained - it was *Lucius Bloody Malfoy who'd developed, planned and
executed it!*

Lucius was the perfect Slytherin in most people's eyes - what very few realized (Narcissa
and Snape being two of them) was that Lucius Malfoy's ambitions far outstripped his cunning by
a magnitude of 10, or even 20, to 1 …

In that, Draco was truly his father's son.

And he proceeded to prove the fact by asking, with all the pureblooded arrogance that even a
year in hell couldn't destroy: “What does *Potty* have to do with the House of Black?”

Two sets of ice-cold eyes were trained on him and he cringed; both were looking at him as if he
were something that had crawled out from a pile of dung, as Lucius answered: “Potter is now the
Lord Black, Head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.”

Narcissa slumped in her chair; Lucius' words had confirmed her worst fears. Potter was the
Lord Black, Head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black - and her *fool* of a husband
had involved *her* in some *idiotic* scheme to meddle with the inheritance!

She jumped at a sudden sniggering in the silent room - she stared wide-eyed at her son who was
giggling in his chair as he said, “That's a good one, Father. Potty as Lord Black?”

Lucius was on his feet: “THAT MANGY MUTT SIRIUS BLACK NAMED HARRY FUCKING POTTER AS HIS HEIR -
AND TO MAKE SURE **NO ONE** COULD CONTEST IT, THEY PERFORMED A BLOOD ADOPTION IN CHRISTMAS
1995!”

“So?” The word was laced with all the haughtiness of a hundred years of Malfoy snobbery and
Draco Lucius Malfoy turned his nose up in the air. “Aunt Bella *assured* me that I will be the
next Lord Black ... as soon as the war was over, she said, the goblins would be in touch with
me...”

“YOU IMBECILE!” Lucius roared, his face red and nostrils flaring, eyes shooting sparks at his
oblivious son. “BELLA KNOWS NOTHING OF THE INHERITANCE LAWS OF HOUSE BLACK AND YOU LISTENED TO
HER?”

His voice dropped to a whisper as he collapsed in his chair, fingers rubbing the sides of his
head, “I have sired an ignoramus.”

Narcissa decided to step in; she couldn't take this anymore. “Use your head, Draco!” she
snapped. “The goblins are supposed to inform you of your accession to Lord Black when you turned
seventeen - you're nearly eighteen now. What in Hades do you think that means?”

It was obvious that this had never occurred to Draco - and Narcissa had to wonder whether his
time with the Dark Lord had addled his brain as he replied, haltingly, “I … I thought, because of
the war…”

“Fool,” hissed Narcissa, who was now rubbing the sides of his head in perfect synchronization
with her husband. “You came of age in June when the Dark Lord had not even made his move on the
Ministry … what *war* are you talking about?”

The Scion of House Malfoy sat silent, mouth flopping open as he tried to say something but
couldn't.

“Draco,” Narcissa intervened, trying to salvage the situation. “The Black inheritance is
*not* automatic - it is not granted simply because you're `next in line' by blood.
There are codicils that have to be met to gain the title of Lord Black and Head of House.”

“Bu…Bu…But,” Draco swallowed convulsively, a look of panic on his face. “I thought … I
assumed…”

“You assumed.” Lucius voice dripped utter contempt as he stared at his son. “Better *men*
than you have died because they *assumed* … the Dark Lord is *dead* because he
*assumed* he was better than Potter.”

“That's not *fair*.”

Lucius snorted and turned to his wife who was staring at him with a cold intensity that almost
made him gulp in fear but he held her gaze without flinching. He had committed his family to this
course of action - “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” he thought … involving his wife
in this particular scheme would ensure that his back was protected. She may have been born a Black
for whom family is everything - but she was a Malfoy now and would be till the end of time.

Behind her cold gaze, Narcissa contemplated her husband and his recent actuations - especially
the surprising and sudden shift of his loyalties. He'd been among the most loyal of the Dark
Lord's followers and been among the first to come running when Voldemort was resurrected in `95
... even after he'd been in Azkaban for a year after the disastrous battle in the Department of
Mysteries in `96, he'd loudly proclaimed his loyalty to his Lord ... Until June 1997 when Draco
turned seventeen and considered of age in the magical world. Soon after, Lucius started changing in
various small ways: showing more affection towards her, expressing concern and worry about Draco in
Hogwarts … spending more time in the kitchen or his rooms rather than gallivanting around ... his
quiet `rebellion' against the Master he'd served for so long…

The light dawned and she could only shake her head mentally at the sheer audacity of the man
she'd married. Of *course* he'd be worried for the safety of his son - *Draco was
his meal ticket!*

Draco was the last Black by blood … lose Draco and the Black coffers go into limbo - actually,
into the vaults of the Goblins from which they would never emerge. There would be no retrieving
them in the near future without Draco … not unless her Teddy - Nymphadora's son by that
werewolf - could lay claim to the Black title as the last male of that line … good luck to that!
Besides, that would be sixteen years away…

Lucius and Narcissa were so lost in their thoughts that neither one heard Draco's agitated
mumbling as the earlier discussions finally began to sink in: “*It's not fair … it's not
fair … Potty the Lord Black? The cheating, scar-headed half-blood is not worthy …*” His mind was
soon lost in a red haze of hate for all the times he'd *suffered* at the hands of Potty
and his friends ... from that first year when Potty refused to accept his hand in friendship - an
outright insult to the Pureblood Prince of Slytherin ... to losing the Snitch to Potty every time
they met on the Quidditch pitch ... the feel of the mudblood's palm on his face when she
slapped him in third year ... Potter's and the Weasley Twins' fists as they beat him up in
fifth...

His parents were jarred out of their thoughts by his fists slamming the table, causing the
cutlery to jump to his feral roar: “*THAT BLOODY POTTER STOLE MY INHERITANCE? I'LL CHALLENGE
HIM TO A DUEL FOR THE HEAD OF HOUSE...”*

*SLAP!* Draco fell back in his chair, shocked as his ears rang, one hand holding his cheek
where his mother had slapped him. He blinked and looked up to see his father's red face and
angry eyes burning into his as the older man shouted, “YOU FOOL! You want to *challenge* the
boy who duelled the Dark Lord TWICE in my sight, DEFEATED him both times and KILLED THE DARK LORD?
Are you Slytherin or Gryffindor? He's already BEAT YOU UP and you keep coming back for
more!”

Narcissa spoke, her calm but ice-cold voice in contrast to Lucius' heated roar but with
words that stabbed right at the heart and ego of her son: “And what happens if you challenge and
lose, Draco? Under the By-Laws of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, a challenger to the
Head of House who loses the duel is guilty of attempted assassination. There can be no appeal since
that is a Family affair ... and the Head of House has the right to impose any sanction he
wishes.

“Up to and including your beheading with a dull sword.”

Lucius looked at her in surprise. He wasn't aware that she was familiar with the laws of
House Black; Narcissa caught his surprised look and glared. “I may have married you, Lucius,” she
said coldly, “but I am well aware of the family laws that govern *my* House.”

“Beheading with a dull sword,” Lucius repeated, using this as a chance to divert Narcissa's
attention from him. “You'll be another Nearly-Headless Nick, Draco. Rather appropriate ...
you've been acting more like a bloody *Gryffindor* than a Slytherin lately.”

Draco's normally pale face turned dark red at the rebuke and outright insult from his sire.
Before he could try to respond, the sharp *CRACK!* of an open palm striking the table made the
Malfoy males sit and gape at Narcissa Malfoy *nee* Black.

“Enough!” Narcissa had no need to shout - the sheer malevolence in her voice, almost as if she
were channelling Bellatrix Lestrange - fuelled by her anger at her husband for stupidly involving
her in his schemes, and at her son for his imbecilic stupidity - made every syllable she enunciated
clearly audible to the two clueless males. “Lucius, can you please explain to our *son* just
exactly *what* you've done and *why?”*

Lucius Malfoy was about to answer when he stopped and scowled. Her family may be higher in the
social and blood purity ladder than his but she was still his *wife* and she did *not*
wear the pants in this family! His response to her was frigidly cold albeit with impeccable
courtesy: “Perhaps you can explain the matter to our son, Lady *Malfoy?*”

The subtle emphasis on her title and married name broke Narcissa out of her funk - she was the
*wife* of the man across from her and, as such, subject to his authority and commands. Not
that it would protect her if something goes wrong with his scheme ... She took a deep, cleansing
breath and released it, before focusing her ice-cold blue eyes on her son and began.

***

**The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)**

Hermione Granger sat in the middle of the huge waterbed, knees pulled up to her chest, chin
resting on knees, arms around her legs, her borrowed school robe demurely wrapped around her. She
watched an agitated Harry Potter pacing around the room, hands waving around wildly but saying
nothing distinct - mumbles, whispered fragments of words were all she could hear.

She sighed as the lines from some muggle commercial or addy came to mind: “It's not a career
- it's an adventure.”

Dealing with Harry Potter, she realized, was *both* a career and an adventure. She'd
reflected earlier that Harry's upbringing had left him woefully unprepared for dealing with the
magical world; now, she realized that even six years of a Hogwarts education left him unawares of
so many things in this world.

Add to that the fact that his mind was a continuing minefield of past traumas, heartaches and
psychic damage ... dealing with Harry promised to be both career and adventure.

She was looking forward to the challenge.

Hermione thought back to Harry's reaction to her knowledge of the Malfoy Family Crest. Her
first reaction to that was defensive - until she realized that he was genuinely curious about how
she knew and not, as she first thought, suspicious of her for whatever reason.

She could only sigh as she remembered that particular conversation ...

***** FLASHBACK*****

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sighed in resignation at Harry's suspicious look and even more
sceptical question. “It was during the Yule Ball in our fourth year …”

“I don't remember much of that,” Harry responded in a peeved tone. “What I do remember is
kicking myself again and again for not having asked the most beautiful girl in the school to the
ball before she'd agreed to go with someone else …”

“Still mooning over Cho, Harry?” She asked in a light voice. She still had bad memories of that
night - especially the blazing row she'd had with Ron which ruined one of the best nights of
her life -

“I was thinking about you, Hermione.” The response blindsided the bushy-haired witch and she
watched, open mouthed, as Harry continued, a far-off look on his face. “There we were, waiting at
the entrance to the Great Hall and I was so nervous that I can't think of anything except to
pray that I wouldn't make an ass of myself in front of all those people …I didn't want to
look at Cho and Cedric … I was too embarrassed over Roger Davies drooling all over Fleur … I was
scared of stepping on Padma's toes … and then I saw this beautiful girl in a periwinkle-blue
dress with the most enchanting smile on her face beside Krum…”

*`Move, brain!'* Hermione screamed inside her head. `*Say something,
ANYTHING!'*

She did: “You remember the colour of my dress?”

She would have slapped herself silly if Harry hadn't grabbed her hands. She looked into his
eyes and fell silent at the hard glare in his eyes. “I remember everything about you, Hermione,” he
said in a soft voice. “*Everything*,” he emphasized, staring at her and Hermione was held
powerless in the grip of his gaze.

“Last night,” he paused to take a breath, “I couldn't sleep, wondering where you were and
what had happened to you and I realized that I was living my worst nightmare. I was afraid that
something happened to you and I would never be able to speak with you again ... never be able to
apologize for every wrong that I have ever done to you … for every moment that you've been with
me and I ignored you…”

There was only one way to stop the downward spiral of Harry's thoughts - she grabbed his
hair in both hands and pulled him to her lips. Inadvertently and without realizing it,
Hermione's borrowed school robes fell open and it was her naked, flushed skin that Harry could
feel through the thin cotton of his shirt and the thick cloth of his jeans.

And again, his higher brain functions shut down - everything in his mind and soul were focused
on the area where his lips were fused to Hermione's although a distant part of his brain was
waving a red flag, telling his lower brain to send some blood up higher before he passed out from
the intensity of his emotions …

Dimly, Hermione could hear her brain begging for oxygen but threw the thought off - as far as
she was concerned, there was nothing wrong with blood rushing to key points of her body … her
chest, the region between her thighs, her head … her tongue …

Unknown to the two of them, a rather large afternoon crowd was in the dining room of the Three
Broomsticks, directly below them … all of the people watching in awe as the chandelier above their
heads swayed dangerously … dust motes dropping from the massive screws holding the chandelier in
place …

Back in their suite, survival instincts finally kicked into place - brains needed oxygen to
survive and function - and how can the body receive any air when mouths were fused and tongues were
blocking the other's throats … With an audible pop, the witch and the wizard separated - both
breathing hard as bodies starved for oxygen greedily sucked in air …

In the room below them, a soft breeze passed as breaths were released as people realized that
the swaying chandelier had ceased its gyrations. Unbeknown to the patrons of the Three Broomsticks,
a single thought was in all their minds, albeit divided by gender lines: “Lucky bastard,” thought
the men. “Lucky witch,” thought the women.

Harry and Hermione were leaning against each other, drawing strength from the simple act. As
their breathing settled down and blood was pumping normally to where it was supposed to go, Harry
asked, “What were we talking about?”

Hermione's first thought was to say, “Less talk, more snog” but her rational side admonished
her, telling her that there was time enough for more snogs (and more) later ... once this mystery
was solved. Reluctantly, she pulled away, concentrated ... and frowned.

She couldn't remember what they'd been talking about earlier ... something about the
Yule Ball? No ... it was something about her clothes ... nu-uh, she was sure it was about Harry
apologizing for something he did or didn't do...

“Hermione?” She shook her head violently; try as she might, she just *couldn't*
remember what they'd been talking about ... and shrugged her shoulders and blinked as she felt
the cloth of her borrowed robe fall to the floor.

She heard Harry's voice squeak and turned to him, an eyebrow cocked and a look which Harry
correctly interpreted as `So? You've seen me like this before ... what's the problem?'
She watched Harry's face turn beet-red and smirked ... deliberately, she stepped closer to him
and hugged him tightly, smiling as she felt his arms snake around her and begin rubbing her back in
a comforting manner.

As the two friends relaxed in the other's arms, Hermione's brain finally kicked into
gear. Softly, she said from her position on Harry's chest, “The Family crest, Harry ... it is
worn on the left breast of your formal or dress robes. Malfoy had his Family crest on his robes ...
so did the others - Greengrass and Zabini, Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot and Ernie Macmillan. Ginny and
Neville also ... I don't know about Ron ...”

“He didn't,” Harry replied. “There was something on his robes but he tore it off, saying
something about not adding to his family's shame by wearing `it' - whatever `it' was.”
A thought struck him -

“Hermione?” When he felt her nod against his chest, he continued, “You said that the Family
Crest is supposed to be worn with formal or dress robes, right?”

“Of course. It is a means of identifying you to other people, especially in large, formal
occasions where the chances are high of meeting up with someone you don't know. Also, the
Family Crest sort of establishes where you are in the social register...”

Harry interrupted her before the lecture could get completely underway: “So why wasn't the
Potter Family Crest on my robes? For that matter ... do I even *have* a Family Crest?”

***** END FLASHBACK*****

And *that* effectively killed the mood.

Harry sighed and stopped his pacing - *this* was getting them nowhere fast. He'd had
the idea, in one of those idyllic moments in their magical tent, that when Old Snake-Face was dead
and in the ground, that his life would return to normal ... or what counted for as `normal' in
this world.

No more Dark Lord after him, no more need to study curses, hexes and jinxes without number, just
a nice, normal, quiet life with the woman in his arms. They'd have a small cottage somewhere
and they'd lead the typical lives of busy people - up in the morning and snog, breakfast and
shower then snog, off to work and then meet up for lunch and then snog...

But no ... oh, no. It seemed that as soon as one mystery in his life was solved, another one
would pop up to bite him on the ass.

Unconsciously he rubbed his posterior - the action drawing Hermione's attention and making
her raise her eyebrows. For some reason, she caught a mental image of a snake biting him there -
`lucky snake', she thought before mentally slapping herself for that Freudian slip. She had to
do *something*, she thought ... she was, after all, the brains of this operation ... and Harry
was, at the moment, a bit too agitated to think clearly.

All right, she thought, first things first ... the absence of the Potter Family crest. She was
sure they had one - they were, after all, one of the “Noble and Most Ancient” Families in the
wizarding world. Harry's dress robes *not* having the crest was nothing short of criminal
... from one perspective, the Yule Ball could be seen as Harry Potter's `coming out' party,
the first *real* time that he would be at the centre of the stage: Boy-Who-Lived,
Slayer-of-Basilisk, Tri-Wizard Champion, Last Scion of the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of
Potter.

So why did he come to the Yule Ball with an `ordinary' set of dress robes - no Family Crest,
no decorations or anything ... Hell, Hermione thought, the Magical Government should have *at
least* given him a couple of Orders of Merlin First Class - first for defeating Voldemort as a
baby, next for defeating You-Know-Who at Hogwarts, another for slaying the basilisk which had
already petrified several students - and killed Moaning Myrtle.

The thought came back to her - the magical world was *nuts!*

Unless there was something here they were all missing ... simply because every *freaking*
year for the past seven years, Harry was always getting tossed into some life-or-death scenario
where he was forced to sink or swim ... and where were the *adults* when they needed them?

Hermione frowned. And that was another thing ... six years at Hogwarts with most of the teachers
saying they knew the Potters at school - one of them even being their schoolmate and close friend -
and not one of them telling Harry stories about his parents? Except for the album that Hagrid gave
him before he left for school that first year, all the information he'd had about his parents
were innuendo (Snape) or overheard conversations (McGonnagall, Flitwick, Hagrid and Fudge in the
Three Broomsticks) ... only Sirius had been more than happy to talk about his best friends during
their stay at Grimmauld Place, but even those occasions were few and far between - Molly Weasley
kept interrupting the `bonding sessions' between Harry and his godfather by assigning them
chores ...

Just what the hell was going on?

“Hermione?”

She looked up into his worried face and couldn't stop herself - she reached up and hugged
him tightly, burying her face in his chest, striving for the comfort she always found in his arms.
As he was wont to do now, he hugged her back - not saying a word, just rubbing her back
comfortingly until she was ready to tell him what was bothering her.

After a few minutes to compose herself, she started talking - and Harry just sat back and
listened, frowning as she made her points. When she'd finally exhausted herself, Harry looked
away and raked his hair with his fingers, sighing in frustration.

“I've never really thought about it that way, Hermione ... it seems that every year since I
came to Hogwarts, it's always one adventure after another and then I go on to the Dursleys
where simply getting through the days is another adventure. I -” He paused to smile at her.
“*We* never seem to be able to find time to breathe, really breathe ... and think about
what's going on.”

“I know, Harry.”

Silence fell between the two friends - only to be interrupted by a low rumbling coming from two
empty stomachs. Surprised, they looked at each other before dissolving into laughter, the pensive
mood surrounding them broken. Hermione looked around and grimaced ... she'd checked the icebox
earlier and found - to her amusement and frustration - champagne, oysters and a selection of fruits
(especially bananas) plus chocolate syrup in there. Typical honeymoon fare, she thought ... but not
exactly what they needed right now.

Harry had completely agreed with her ... he felt the oysters were slimy, the fruits reminded him
of Dudley and his diet, champagne would get him drunk and chocolate syrup ... he wasn't sure
what to make of *that*.

And then an absolutely brilliant idea hit her and she jumped up in glee, catching Harry by
surprise and making him fall on the bed. “Harry! I've got an idea ... we need information,
right? We need to know just what the hell the Malfoys are up to, as well as why this -” she held up
the Magical Marriage Contract with its bright red letters spelling `DENIED' - “has happened,
right?”

Harry nodded at her, a lopsided grin on his face at her enthusiasm. He had a feeling he knew
where this was going and - while not exactly what he wanted to do, he was always willing to indulge
her.

“I think we should go...”

“To the library.”

“Huh?”

Harry looked at her, puzzled - an expression mirrored on her face. It took her a moment to
understand what he said - and she playfully hit him on the shoulder as she said, “NO, you prat! Why
go to the library when there's a better place where we can go to?”

“And that is?”

“The Ministry, Harry! There's got to be someone there who can tell us what happened with
this -” Again, she brandished the magical contract - “as well as Tonks or some Auror who can advise
us on what to do about the Malfoys.”

A slow grin appeared on Harry's face. “I've got an even better idea, Hermione. Let's
talk to Kingsley.”

Hermione's puzzled look lasted for a bare second before matching the grin on his face. “Of
course! He's the Minister of Magic now ... if anyone can open doors for us, and provide us with
help, it would be Kingsley!”

She pulled him to his feet and prepared herself to Disapparate them when Harry stopped her -
“Uhm, Hermione ... do you think it would be a wise idea to go visiting Kingsley like this?” He
pointed to his dishevelled clothes and to her school robe and bare feet.

“Oh. I don't have any other clothes …”

“Hem. Hem.”

It took only one glance for Hermione to read Harry's thoughts - `Are you a witch or
not?' She blinked and smiled and, with waves and flourishes of her wand, she transfigured the
bed sheets into grey hooded cloaks, cast Obscuring Charms on the hoods so they wouldn't be
recognized and wove Notice-Me-Not Charms into the cloaks themselves.

They checked each other over and were satisfied; Hermione gave Harry a tight hug and with a
single thought, he apparated them to the Leaky Cauldron.

Beneath the bed, Phineas Nigellus Black was cursing a large yellow furball that had somehow
fallen asleep on his face.

***

**Malfoy Manor**

“It is obvious you're labouring under a misconception, Draco,” Narcissa began. “Accession to
the title of Head of House is not an automatic occurrence. Laws of inheritance - many of them
formulated centuries ago - have been established to ensure the peaceful transition of title from
one member to another. It can be as simple as those for the Potter or Bones families; in any case,
since Harry Potter and Susan Bones are the last of their line, they only need to present themselves
at Gringotts, take the requisite blood test to prove their line and they can receive their family
rings making them Head of their House.

“Also, in both cases, Head of House is not limited to the male line - women have been Head of
House in both cases, the most recent being Amelia Bones.

“The Black Family, however, has a different protocol for accession to the title. First of all,
the Black Family is patriarchal by law - only males can become head of house. Secondly, blood
purity is not a concern - yes, I know,” she said quickly, stopping Draco's incipient protest.
“*Toujours Pur* and all that crap ... that started less than a hundred years ago with your
great-grandfather Arcturus Black. He'd been exceedingly proud that *his* branch of the
family had no blood traitors within their ranks ... until my cousin, Sirius Black, that is.

“But I digress.

“There are three codicils or riders on the inheritance laws of the House of Black; the first two
which must be met in order to gain the title, and the last which makes the title permanent. All
three codicils are interlinked, as you will see.

“First, you must be of age in the wizarding world before you can gain the title - there is no
way around this rule. In the the designated Heir is underage or unable to gain the title, it is
held vacant until such time as the rightful heir is of age and can meet the terms of the second
codicil.”

She paused for questions; seeing none, she continued, “Second, you must be a resident at the
Ancestral Black Family Manor. Once the Heir is in residence, ownership of the property transfers to
him and this activates the inheritance. It used to be that the goblins were required to go to the
House and present the Family Ring to the new Lord Black but that was changed by agreement with the
goblins sometime in the mid-1800s, I believe.”

“It was during the time of Phineas Nigellus Black,” Lucius intoned from his seat. “The goblins
argued that for them - a separate magical nation with their own government - to go there to present
the ring implied that they were a vassal nation to the Lord Black.” He raised a hand before Draco
could ask. “It was imposed on Phineas by the Ministry of Magic - the goblins pointed out that if
*they* were seen as a vassal nation, what did that make the Ministry?”

Draco nodded his understanding, and Narcissa continued.

“The final codicil was imposed to ensure the continuation of the Black Family, no matter what.
Within a year of gaining the title of Lord Black, the Head of House must either marry or name an
Heir. If he chooses to marry, he is given five years to sire an Heir for House Black. If he chooses
not to marry within the prescriptive period, he must name an Heir before the year is up. If he
doesn't, the Family magic will strip him of the title, and it will then pass on to the next in
line who must also meet the previous two codicils.”

Silence descended on the room as the elder Malfoys watching the younger as he processed the
information. Eventually, Draco looked up. “I thought that Sirius Black was disowned from the family
... Aunt Bella told me that his name had been struck from the Family Tapestry, so how did he become
Lord Black?”

Lucius turned to Narcissa who, in turn, sighed. “The Black Family laws ... once a Head of House
is named, it cannot be withdrawn. Heirs can be changed or removed; a Head of House is the Head of
House until he dies or is stripped of the title for violating family law.”

She shook her head. “Your great-grandfather Arcturus Black designated Uncle Orion - Sirius'
father -

as head of house in ... '65, I think. Anyway, Sirius was the designated Heir, being the
eldest, until he was disowned in '76 and was replaced by cousin Regulus. Unfortunately, my
father, Uncle Orion and cousin Regulus all died in '79 leaving the family without both a Head
of House and an Heir. Being the last Black, the title went to Sirius. Unfortunately, he
couldn't claim the title since he couldn't enter the Black Family Manor while both
Grandfather Arcturus and Aunt Walburga were alive ... with Arcturus' death in 1991 and Walburga
dying earlier, the way was cleared for Sirius to take the title.

“But Sirius Black has been missing since '93, when he escaped from Azkaban...” Draco trailed
off, thinking and continued before his mother could respond. “Oh ... he must have holed up in the
Black Family Manor, then.”

“Close, Draco,” Lucius responded. “No one knows where he went when he escaped from Azkaban in
`93 until Severus told us that he was back in London at Black Manor in `95. That would be when he
activated his inheritance ... and then he named Potter as his Heir and performed the Blood Adoption
Ritual in Christmas of that year.”

Draco nodded slowly. His father's schemes were slowly coming into focus and he clamped down
on his incipient resentment at the stupid protocols that had denied him his inheritance. There was
nothing to be done about that ... he knew *that* much. Old magic governed the Ancient Families
- he would be going against them at his peril. Given this, he had to acknowledge his earlier
stupidity at even thinking of challenging Scarhead to a duel.

What chance would he have, really, of beating The Chosen One in a duel - one where he would have
absolutely no chance of turning the odds in his favour (calling it `cheating' was so
*pedestrian*).

Having Potter killed was out of the question - *no one* would be willing to test his mettle
... besides, any move against Scarhead would launch an investigation which may bring all this into
the open …what fun would being Lord Black have if one spent it in prison?

When you think about it - and his mother slapping him had done the job, for which he'd thank
her later - his father's scheme made sense. Having Granger and the Weasel `elope' would
break up the Golden Trio and remove Granger from the board…

Draco frowned. Potter had never been with Granger. In fact, he was with the youngest Weasel last
year - no, that was two years ago, during their sixth year…

“Oh, really?” Lucius' unctuous drawl cut into his thoughts, and Draco blushed as he realized
that he'd verbalized his thoughts. “And *where* was Miss Ginevra Weasley all of last year,
Draco?”

Draco *hated* it when his father started these stupid questions; they were meant to make
him look stupid in front of other people ... but there was nothing he could do about it now. He may
have finished with Hogwarts but with his father's affiliations with the defeated Dark Lord, it
would be difficult to find a job higher than a gardener or labourer for the foreseeable future ...
until *his* inheritance comes into play, that is.

Until that time comes around, he will just have to play his father's stupid games. “She was
at Hogwarts, Father ... she went home for the Easter hols and then didn't come back until the
battle.”

“Right,” Lucius replied in a condescending tone. “So we have Potter and the mudblood
`missing' for most of a year on some `quest' for Dumbledore ... what do you think are the
chances that the little -

what did you call her? - *Weaslette* will even have a chance with Potter after that?”

“But Weasley was with them the whole time...”

“Really?” The word was drawn out as Lucius smirked. “I have it on *good* authority that
young Mr. Weasley was seen staying with his brother, the former Gringotts curse-breaker, for
several *months* last year. Don't you think that *that* would give Potter and Granger
the chance to get `closer' to each other?”

Draco had to concede the point. If it were him, he'd be shagging the Granger bitch every
chance he got - not that he would even touch the bint with a ten-foot pole. And if the two
lovebirds `forgot' to use contraceptive charms or potions … there'd be a Potter sprog in
the oven just waiting to take over the Black inheritance.

Still … “What if Potty decides to marry the Weasley bint, Father? What then?”

If anything, Lucius' grin grew even wider. “Do you really think Potter would marry someone
whose *mother* has been feeding him love potions for almost a year?”

Lucius couldn't help it - the shock and amazement on the faces of his wife and son were just
too delicious - and he laughed, a high, cruel cackle that grated on the ears of his audience. He
quickly got himself under control, although he was still sniggering as he said, “Amazing what you
learn if you know who to ask.” In a sharp voice, he commanded, “Blinky!”

Mother and son blinked as a seemingly elderly house-elf wearing a tea cosy with the Malfoy crest
popped in. He looked around nervously, hands wringing the tea cosy spasmodically. Narcissa shook
her head - Blinky was the only house-elf left to them after the Dark Lord's riff-raff had used
the others for target practice. The only reason he was alive was because he'd been sent to
Hogwarts as Draco's house-elf, a practice many pureblood families followed to ensure their
children were well cared for. Narcissa knew that he wasn't part of the house-elves rebellion
led by that traitor Kreacher … in fact, they'd found Blinky watching over an unconscious Draco,
who the elf had knocked out to keep him safe from the battle…

Narcissa pushed those thoughts out of her mind as she focused on Lucius and the elf.

“Blinky,” Lucius said, “tell your Mistress and the young Master about the gossip concerning
Potter.”

Narcissa shook her head. Trust Lucius to pick up on *that* after losing Dobby to Potter in
`93 … Draco had been bragging and boasting - to himself and his friends, especially Crabbe and
Goyle - about what he would do to Potter when they returned to school. Who could have thought the
crazy elf would take it upon himself to warn Potter about her son's idle boasts?

And then the whole thing spiralled out of control when Lucius planted that stupid diary on the
Weasley girl…

She shook the thought off and turned back to the house-elf who was squirming as it tried to
phrase its words properly: “Blinky's overhearing Dobby and Kreacher fighting over the great
Harry Potter last last year (Narcissa translated this to mean two years ago - Draco's sixth
year). Dobby was placing something on the great Harry Potter's plate and goblet but Kreacher
kept trying to stop him. Kreacher telling Dobby he be placing love potions in the great Harry
Potter's plate and goblet but Dobby kept saying nutritional potion that Missus Wheezy prepared
specially for the great Mr. Potter.”

“Missus Wheezy?” Narcissa asked, puzzled.

“Red headed mum of redhead in the great Harry Potter's year and dorm.”

Narcissa nodded but was interrupted by Draco's snide voice, “What's with all this `great
Harry Potter' shyte?”

She was about to reprimand her son on his language but she turned back to the visibly cringing
house-elf, “All Hoagy-warty elves call him that, Master. Is after he slew King of Snakes in secret
chamber five years ago.”

Draco's scoffed “King of Snakes?” was matched by Narcissa's whispered, “A basilisk? In
the Chamber of Secrets?” She cast narrowed eyes at her husband who was looking away, no doubt
remembering the torture he'd endured when the Dark Lord learned of the fate of the diary
he'd had in Lucius' safekeeping. It was another of Lucius' `brilliant' plans gone
to the dogs - he'd never fully explained *why* he'd decided to plant the accursed
thing on the Weasleys unless …

Her eyes narrowed. Unless he was planning on depositing it in his Gringotts vault, like Bella
did with *her* artefact, but got distracted when he picked a fight with Arthur in the
bookstore - and decided, in a moment of pique, to plant it on the youngest Weasley. In which case,
his stupidity got paid back a thousand times worse when Voldemort (she shuddered) found out.

“You are dismissed, Blinky,” she said. She watched the house-elf pop away and shook her head.
That was a disastrous year for Lucius … only, the implications were not apparent for *years*.
Voldemort's diary was not part of any plan to cause mayhem at the school … Lucius had simply
jumped on the bandwagon when students started getting petrified and he had an opportunity to try to
kick Dumbledore out … *Arrgh!* She thought to herself … her husband's `plans' never
worked out well -

there was always some small flaw, some little thing overlooked that came back and bit him on the
ass, often taking a large piece of flesh with it … good thing that the `biting on the ass'
thing was figurative, not literal, she thought or he wouldn't have an ass left…

She turned back to the conversation between her son and her husband - she had to admit that
Draco was asking some good questions; apparently, that slap to his head was doing some good.

“But what's to stop Potter from marrying someone else? If it gets out that he's Lord
Black…”

“Do you really think he would? Marry someone else, I mean? He's had seven years at Hogwarts
with no girlfriend except for that potions-induced fling with the Weasley bint … When he finds out
what Molly Weasley has done…”

Narcissa couldn't help it - her grin rivalled that of her husband. Yes, he did have a point,
she thought. His best friends `eloping,' leaving him alone at the height of his victory, to be
followed by the revelation that his girlfriend's mother had been dosing him with love potions …
that would be more than enough to send him screaming for the hills.

And *that*, she realized, may be the ultimate objective of Lucius' scheme - to push
Potter beyond the breaking point by piling romantic betrayal on top of romantic betrayal … he'd
swear off *women* for a long, long time - long enough for the codicils to take effect and
-

Her eyes narrowed at the thought. Again, the combined simplicity and elaborate nature of the
plan struck her as odd … and the *timing* of the whole thing was suspicious. Why now? Why the
seeming rush on the whole thing?

She could feel her brain speeding up again as she went over everything they'd been
discussing …

Fact - Potter was of age last July; the whole magical world knew when his birthday was; Hades,
even the Dark Lord knew - which was why he'd attacked Potter's muggle home on his birthday.
Plus, being the Black heir since `95 … he'd already fulfilled the requirements of the first
codicil.

Fact - nobody could find him for some months … until that oaf Yaxley almost caught Potter,
Granger and Weasley when they'd escaped the Ministry of Magic in early September last year. And
they were headed right for Grimmauld Place. Her face hardened at the thought - Yaxley's holding
on to Granger when the latter apparated brought him right into the Black Family Manor … and while
Potter and friends were able to escape, bringing Yaxley into the house broke Dumbledore's
Fidelius … so now they knew where the Black Manor was.

The thing was … *Potter* had been staying there, probably since the start of August when
the Dark Lord took over the Ministry. Which means that the requirements of the second codicil had
been fulfilled … Potter *is* the Lord Black.

But that meant … the one-year time frame for meeting the third codicil had only four more months
to run. In four months, unless Potter married or named an Heir, the Black magic would strip him of
the title and Draco can step up to the plate…

But then … of course, she thought. *Potter doesn't know he's the Lord Black* -
which means he probably isn't aware of the protocols and codicils implicit in that title! If he
did know … Narcissa shuddered. If he had known he was the Lord Black, he wouldn't have tried
breaking into Gringotts to go after Bella's artefact. Shyte, she thought to herself. If Potter
only knew of his title and position … it would have been as simple a matter as dissolving
Bella's marriage to Rodolphus and ordering the return of her dowry - *and every other Black
property that Bella brought into the marriage!*

But he didn't know … thus that break-in and spectacular escape on a dragon!

She shook her head in both exasperation and admiration … foolish boy! If he'd only known …
but he didn't. On such small things does the world turn - and battles are won or lost.

But then, why didn't he *know?* The goblins are duty-bound to tell him … unless they
*couldn't find him!* Potter had been successful in hiding from them for nearly a year …
not just hiding but actually *escaping* them as she remembered Potter escaping from here
because of that damned house-elf!

The goblins couldn't tell him *anything* unless they could find him … but now that the
war was over, it should be a simple matter of getting in touch with him, scheduling an appointment
and then explaining the facts of life…

She sat back in her chair, dizzy from all the scenarios and permutations of Lucius' plan.
*That was it*, she thought - it was never about causing Potter pain, or creating some
inconvenience for Weasley and Granger. As she realized earlier … *it was all about driving Potter
away from the wizarding world.* With Granger and Weasley `married,' the youngest Weasley and
her mother's potions plot exposed … being betrayed by his friends would be enough to drive him
away - anywhere where the goblins and the magical world won't find him.

No Potter, no marriage, no heir … no Lord Black.

Draco would just simply walk in to Grimmauld Place and take over.

No muss, no fuss.

Unless the goblins find him first … and another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Didn't
the Death Eaters at the bank say that Potter had a goblin with him when he broke into Gringotts?
True, that particular goblin may not have known of the Black Inheritance but still … Lucius also
knew about the blood adoption - those rituals had to be witnessed and supervised by a goblin.

She had to stop this, she thought. Too many possibilities, too many scenarios … she just had to
hope that Lucius' scheme would fall into place without crushing them beneath it. Much as she
hated to admit it, there was a certain elegance and simplicity to the plan that would make it
workable.

And as for Lucius doing the planning?

She just had to trust he knew what he was doing. After all, you don't plant a thousand seeds
without harvesting at least *one* potato, right?

Narcissa realized that the dining room was silent; her husband and son were looking at her
strangely. She shook herself and smiled at them - content that she knew what she needed to know.
She looked up in the air for a second, thinking, and shouted - “Blinky! Cham - no, cognac!”

A few seconds later, with a small “POP!” an ancient, dusty bottle of cognac appeared on the
table, along with three crystal snifters.

She smirked at Lucius, who was looking at her suspiciously. “Milord, if you will do the honours?
We celebrated your `prank' this morning with champagne; since it is after lunch, maybe it's
time for something more ... aromatic?”

Smiling, Lucius proceeded to pour the drinks; when he was done, he raised his glass in a toast.
“Here's to Draco Lucius Malfoy, soon to be Lord Black, Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House
of Black.”

The three Malfoys clinked glasses and, after the ceremonial heating of the snifters and imbibing
of the aromas, they proceeded to sip their drinks while they contemplated the future. The two male
Malfoys, however, did not notice that Narcissa (contrary to all her training) didn't sip her
cognac - she actually gulped down a dram, relishing the heat that made it down to her stomach.

As she slowly sipped the remainder, she kept wondering why her mind continually replayed
something she had watched with Lily Evans when they were much younger: Wile E. Coyote watching an
anvil falling down on him.

-->



5. Grace Aux Malfoys - Part 5
-----------------------------



**DISCLAIMER:** Harry Potter and related characters are the property of JK Rowling, various
publishing companies, Warner Brothers and whoever else. No monies are being made from this; I'm
just indulging in playing in an alternate universe to real life.

**Grâce auX Malfoys - Part 5**

**Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

Laughter was the last thing on people's minds in the ancient castle.

Ginevra Molly Weasley was angry.

And when Ginevra Weasley was angry, ghosts fled, portraits hid - and everyone else knew to keep
out of her way.

There was no mystery as to *why* she was angry - the rumours started spreading within
seconds of her stalking out of the Great Hall. As had been observed before, rumour and gossip were
the only things in the magical world faster than apparition.

The first wave of rumours was straightforward: *Someone* had fed a love potion to her
brother - and Ginny was out for blood. Most people scoffed at that; the older students knew that
Ginny would have gladly *helped* the witch feed a potion to her brother - besides, they
thought, Ginny wouldn't be the one doing the hexing if *Ron* were the victim.

Hermione Granger would be the one.

Right?

That rumour was quickly followed by another: the love potion wasn't intended for her
brother, it was intended for Ginny's betrothed, Harry Potter.

Heads nodded. *That* was certainly more credible than the earlier rumour although heads
were shaking at the name of the witch who'd *allegedly* tried to `potion' Harry
Potter. Everyone agreed, however, that the witch's life was measured in hours - Ginny Weasley
was out for blood, and would doubtless be assisted by Harry's best friend and Ronald
Weasley's betrothed, Hermione Granger.

Which led to the question - *where* was Hermione Granger?

Come to think of it … *where was Harry Potter?*

***

**Office of the Minister of Magic**

Two young people in grey robes with the hoods thrown back peeked around the ornate door of the
Minister of Magic's office and grinned manically at the sight before them: the tall, broad,
dark and bald Minister sitting at his desk, eyes closed, fingers steepled beneath his chin,
apparently asleep. For a moment, concern flashed on their faces - the normally neat and tidy
Kingsley Shacklebolt looked haggard and grey, the result of too many tense days and sleepless
nights before, during and after the final battle with He-Who-Is-Now-Gone.

Their concern was short-lived, however. This was too good an opportunity, so the young woman
cast a silent `*Sonorus*' on herself, and a fair approximation of Molly Weasley's
foghorn voice blasted the room: “KINGSLEY SHACKLEBOLT! I LEAVE YOU FOR A MINUTE AND YOU FALL ASLEEP
ON THE JOB! YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED -”

Hermione couldn't finish - she and Harry were on the floor, laughing at the sight of the
Minister for Magic cowering behind his desk, looking exactly like a boy who'd been caught by
his mum reading `exotic' men's magazines.

Shacklebolt scowled as he realized he'd been had; drawing himself to his full and impressive
height, he glared at them before shifting his eyes to his secretary standing in the door, who'd
apparently rushed in when Hermione started shouting - and was now valiantly struggling to keep from
joining the teens on the floor. She squeaked and was about to flee when Harry said, “Hey! Don't
take it out on Natalie - I *told* her not to tell you we were here...”

Shacklebolt glared at Harry, who was helping Hermione to her feet. Sighing, the Minister glanced
at his secretary who nodded, smiled and carefully closed the door - although Shacklebolt could hear
hysterical laughter before it was abruptly cut off, doubtless from a silencing charm. The three
friends looked at each other for a moment before dissolving into laughter themselves - and the
Minister's office (both inside and out) rang with a sound so seldom heard in the past few
months: unchecked, belly-aching mirth over a harmless prank between friends.

***

**5****th** **Floor Stairs, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

Ginvera Molly Weasley was angry.

No, she wasn't angry.

She felt *betrayed* - of all the people she knew, Susan Bones was the *last* person
she would have thought capable of feeding *anyone* a love potion.

For one, it just wasn't in the gentle Hufflepuff's nature.

For another, Ginny just couldn't *believe* that Susan would do something like that - to
*her*.

*HOW CAN SHE DO THAT TO ME?*

It was the single thought that accompanied every angry step she took as she climbed the stairs.
It was a ditty that started when she'd thrown that stunner at her brother Ron - and kept
repeating in her mind in an endless, continuing loop.

She wanted to scream - she wanted to cry - she didn't know what she felt.

Betrayed … angry … incensed … crushed … furious … trampled …

Confused.

**WHY** *WOULD SHE DO THAT TO ME?*

Ginny nearly stumbled at the top of the stairs as that particular question blasted through her
mind, her towering rage dissipating as her rational side kicked in.

*Amazing*, she thought, *how a single, simple change in a question transforms the
equation*. She slumped on the stone steps, trying to find the righteous anger that she'd
felt earlier when she saw Ron drink his tea and start calling for Susan. She'd Stunned him, not
because he sounded like a farmer calling for his hogs (though he *did* sound like one) but
because she'd been overwhelmed by her anger - as she had every right to be.

How can she do that to *me*?

She paused, took a deep breath as she thought, *Wrong question*.

*Why* would she do that to me, Ginny asked herself. *Why? What have I done?*

As if the question were a trigger for her Inner Eye, memories started to engulf her.

**Flashback**

*She was in the cramped parlour of Great-Aunt Muriel's house, catching up on events with
her family after evacuating the Burrow; Bill had told them that Ron's faked spattergroit had
been discovered and it was time to move...*

*This was the first time in months that the Weasley family were together- well, most of them,
that is.*

*Ginny looked around and smiled - Bill and Fleur were sharing a moth-eaten couch while she
lounged in an equally old chair in front of them; to one side, Fred, George and Charlie were
talking in low tones; she could hear her mother puttering in the kitchen while her dad was asleep
upstairs.*

*Ginny sighed. If only Harry, Hermione and Ron were here - there'd been no real contact
with them since Bill's wedding. She suspected they were staying at Bill's place but she
didn't press the matter; some things were best left unknown, she knew.*

*She shook her head as Bill and Fleur told them about Ron staying with them for several weeks
in December; roared with laughter at Fleur's French-accented rendition of Molly when she
visited to find Ron in the kitchen scarfing down food like there was no tomorrow - and no Harry or
Hermione in sight; felt her breath hitch as Bill and the others talked about the people they'd
lost to the war.*

*As she listened, she felt a cold wave of dread wash over her and she was on her feet, wand
out and tense, trying to understand what was happening. The others, seeing this, were on their feet
- confused but alert, falling silent as they watched her.*

*The sudden silence allowed Bill's were-enhanced hearing to pick up the distant sound of
spellfire - he quickly disillusioned himself and Ginny heard the near-silent `pop' of
apparition as Fred or George rushed up the stairs to wake their father.*

*They waited tensely for Bill to return; no one noticed Ginny literally quivering with anxiety
- whatever was happening, she* needed *to be there. She couldn't explain it but there
was* something *tugging at her, pulling her towards the distant sound of battle. It was all
she could do to stop herself from running out - a tiny, logical part of her brain told her to wait
so she could portkey with the rest rather than charge into the fray like a headless Gryffindor, but
fear and* need *was overcoming logic and caution...*

*She jumped when Bill reappeared and quickly briefed them - a pitched battle between Snatchers
and a group of people he didn't know but it was obvious the Death Eaters had superior
numbers.*

*One look at his family and he nodded. Snatching a worn-out afghan from the couch, he waved
his wand and silently incanted; the afghan glowed a soft blue and everyone crowded in to place a
finger on the portkey as Bill gave hurried instructions: “The moment we land, everyone drop and*
roll *away - check for targets and fire. No Stunners - we can't afford anyone recognizing us
... Cutters, Reductos, Confringos, ok?”*

*He hesitated before continuing. “Hex to kill. OK?”*

*The family nodded; no one noticed Ginny behind Charlie nodding in agreement, all of them -
including Molly - looking serious and deadly. With a final nod, Bill activated the portkey, only to
hear Molly screaming, “Ginny!” but it was too late.*

*Seconds later, the Weasleys found themselves in a clearing several miles from Muriel's
house - as briefed, they all dropped to the ground and started rolling away as a barrage of spells
flew over their heads - immediately after, they were up and fighting back, curses flying in
retaliation...*

*Ginny's favourite Bat-Bogey Hex was among these - no matter Bill's instructions, she
just couldn't find it in herself to fire Reductos or Cutting Curses blindly. She dodged a spell
- one part of her mind telling her to* move *and she did - jumping up and running for a large
tree, spinning around behind it and leaning back, breathing hard, wand out and adrenaline pumping -
freezing at the sight of a huge man trying to pull up his pants. Beneath the trunk-like legs of the
Snatcher, she saw* someone *with torn robes, bruised face and blonde hair and her vision
tunnelled in a red abd black haze as a roaring sound came to her ears...*

*She never knew if she incanted silently or screamed - she blinked and watched with cold
detachment as the Snatcher's face exploded, followed by his body flying into the air from her
Banishing Charm. Unthinking, Ginny was on her knees beside his victim, a hand running over the
other's face and neck, checking for pulse or injuries ... and feeling herself awash in liquid
fire as her startled eyes met and held the shocked eyes of Susan Bones.*

*Ginny vaguely heard Charlie and Bill calling for her; she knew she had answered when both
were at her side and checking her over for injuries but she didn't notice. She couldn't
hear them talking above the rushing of blood in her ears and the feeling of warmth, protectiveness
and - familiarity? - coursing through her as she held Susan's hand.*

*It was Fleur's hand on her shoulder that made her blink and look around, realizing the
battle was over and they had to get out. Susan had fallen unconscious and Ginny watched quietly as
Fleur conjured a stretcher that Bill turned into a portkey for home. Her family gathered around and
touched the stretcher - she never surrendered her grip on Susan's hand as they portkeyed
away...*

**End Flashback**

Ginny shook her head as the memories faded.

She knew what had happened - she'd heard it often enough growing up, heard it again and
again *ad nauseum* … especially in the summers since she started Hogwarts...

A soul bond.

It was myth and legend, something girls giggled about as they grew up while boys scoffed … it
was a story every magical child grew up with at the knees of nannies or mothers - and something
that she'd been told to expect the first time she touched Harry Potter.

It was why she was so excited to meet him when the Twins came down from the Express the year Ron
went to Hogwarts to tell them that they'd met Harry Potter - all she needed, she thought, was a
chance to shake his hand so the soul bond could form ... but it was not to be. Her mother comforted
her as they went home, promising her that there would be other chances, other opportunities...

She still flushed with embarrassment every time she remembered that first summer when Harry
visited the Burrow - no matter the myriad opportunities, her courage always failed her - but then
again, she was going to Hogwarts soon and there would be more than enough chances there, right?

Only to be saddened when, at the end of her first year, she realized that she *hadn't*
felt any such spark, as she'd been led to expect. Harry had held her briefly when she finally
woke up from the diary's enchantments; he'd been holding her hand as they left the Chamber
of Secrets ... but there was nothing.

Not a thing.

It was disappointing. It was *devastating*. To have dreamed of something for so long only
to realize that it hadn't happened ... Molly told her that she must have overlooked it, or
maybe didn't notice it because she'd been so distraught from the stress of that whole year.
Deep down, however, she wondered. There'd been more than enough opportunity to touch Harry then
and in the years since … he was, after all, her brother's best friend and he'd always
treated her kindly…

But there had never been that `spark,' there had never been that tingling sensation that had
been dinned into her growing up … until she came to believe that it was not to be. She'd given
up in her third year - the year of the Tri-Wizard tournament, when she realized that Hermione would
always be his best and truest friend … when she realized that Harry would always see her as
Ron's little sister … it was when Neville shyly asked her to be his date for the Yule Ball that
she realized there were *others* out there …*someone* out there with whom she would feel
that spark of legend.

How in Hades was she to know that that all-elusive `spark' would flame into being with a
*girl?*

She denied it, of course - kept rejecting it in the days and weeks after Susan's rescue, as
she tended to Susan's injuries with a single-minded devotion that she hadn't felt for
anyone else in her life ... not even for Harry Potter.

Ginny sighed - thankful that Molly never realized the reason she'd spent so much time with
Susan. She'd fed the older girl as her injuries healed, helped her change clothes or assisted
her when she walked to the toilet, read at Susan's bedside while the older witch slept and
always, always, she would sneak a squeeze of the hand, or brush Susan's hair from her face -
even hugging her whenever Susan had a nightmare...

The problem was, she was too scared to open up about it ... too terrified of her feelings
whenever she thought of Susan ... and too happy when she realized that Susan seemed to be
reciprocating her feelings. They'd never talked about what happened that day in the clearing -
but Ginny noticed that Susan would lean into her as she was helped from bed to bathroom, that Susan
would always sit beside her at the dinner table and they'd frequently brush their elbows, hands
or knees against each other...

They'd talked about schoolwork, Susan speaking fondly about Herbology and Charms while Ginny
shared her fascination with Ancient Runes and both laughed about Divination. They'd shared
their dreams: Susan's of settling down to a quiet life after the war, raising children while
Ginny talked of Quidditch, of playing for the Holyhead Harpies and England at the World Cup ...

And they'd talked about Harry. There was no avoiding it. Harry had been a part of their
lives for years, both having grown up with legends of The Boy Who Lived and then being schoolmates
and friends with him. Susan was understandably curious - no matter that she was Harry's year
mate and a founding member of the DA, Harry had always been a closed book to her. Ginny, on the
other hand, regaled the older witch with the `inside story' on many of Harry's adventures -
but as the stories unfolded, she became uneasy.

She realized she just did not *know* Harry James Potter as well as she thought she did.
Many of the tales she'd regaled Susan with were second-hand, stories that Hermione told her
during the summers they'd spent together at the Burrow or Grimmauld. Other things though...

She finally told Susan about her first kiss with Harry, describing it in exacting detail - her
excitement at winning the game for Gryffindor; the celebration in their common room; Harry entering
after his detention with Snape; seeing him come into the room and feeling a wave of emotion
coursing through her which seemed to `push' her towards him and made her throw her arms around
him; watching his lips as they descended and finally met hers...

*`It felt like a dream*,' Ginny remembered telling Susan late one night. `*After so
long, after I'd all but given up on him, it was finally happening ... I was* kissing Harry
Potter*, I was finally kissing Harry Potter. It was my dream fulfilled...'*

Ginny shook her head. Looking back at that kiss now ... she had to wonder why it felt like a
badly written romance straight out of Witch Weekly. There was *nothing*, once again, of the
sparks that she'd expected to feel, *nada* of the trail of liquid fire that she was told
she'd encounter ... nothing like the warmth and comfort she felt as she told the tale to Susan,
who was holding her hand as she spoke.

She felt ... *detached* from the whole thing, almost as if it had happened to someone else
- or to some minor character in an adventure story, brought in to give the hero a `romantic'
interlude. And, if she was honest with herself, the weeks after that kiss felt exactly the same -
it was as if everything that had happened after was happening to someone else.

*That*, she told Susan, was why it was so easy to let go of Harry after Dumbledore's
funeral. She'd put up token resistance then, mainly because it was expected of her. No one gave
up a relationship with the Boy-Who-Lived without a fight, after all - but surprisingly, it
hadn't hurt as much as she expected it to be.

Even their `encounter' at the Burrow on Harry's birthday felt the same way - it had all
the air of a Confunded writer beating a deadline and coming up with a half-baked plot …

And *that*, she told herself now, was why she was in a towering rage when Ron started
spouting off about Susan. It wasn't because of a love potion directed at Ron; it wasn't
because the potion was aimed at Harry - it was because *Susan* did it.

Susan, who shared her deepest thoughts and dreams; Susan who listened to her doubts and
feelings; *Susan*, to whom she'd confided that she wasn't sure of her feelings for
Harry.

Susan, to whom she felt a constant tugging at her mind and heart.

She stood up abruptly - she *had* to find her. She had to know *why* ... why would
Susan do that to her? Why?

With a deep breath, she was moving - face seemingly carved in stone, eyes glittering with
seemingly feral rage but were actually tears, fists clenched as she ran, feet moving automatically
as if they knew where she had to go ... unaware that behind her, the disillusioned figures of Bill
and Fleur were following ...

***

**Private Dining Room, Ministry of Magic Cafeteria**

Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt sat like an impassive ebony Buddha at the end of
`his' table in the Ministry's private dining room, the remnants of a working lunch in front
of him, listening intently as Hermione told her tale and placed documents and pictures on the
table.

He stirred and looked through the documents and pictures presented, frowning at the red-lettered
Ministry parchment and glancing at the lurid picture of `Ron' and `Hermione' that the teens
had focused on. Silently casting a charm, he nodded as the family ring came into focus.

“That's the Malfoy family ring, all right,” he said. The teens slumped in their seats -
suspicions confirmed. One mystery down.

He then picked up the muggle contract and waved his wand - watched impassively as the paper gave
a soft blue glow which quickly dissipated, shook his head as the magical document turned blue in
its turn. The bold, red `DENIED' in large letters remained on the magical contract, however,
and he frowned.

“They're authentic - both of them,” he proclaimed, and proceeded to explain at seeing their
puzzled looks. “The Ministry doesn't advertise it but Gretna Green is one of the few places in
the United Kingdom where a muggle wedding is granted automatic recognition in the wizarding world -
making it legal in *both* worlds.”

He held the muggle document up. “The Ministry of Magic provides the `muggle' marriage
contracts for Gretna Green. They're enchanted with watermarked runes that interact with the
magic of the wedded couple and the magical witnesses -” He smiled at the calculating look on
Hermione's face and nodded before she could ask, “Yes, Hermione - that's why wizards or
witches in a muggle ceremony require two magical witnesses.

“The magic of the witnesses and the witch or wizard getting married trigger the runes which send
the information by magical means to the Ministry's Central Records where the names, dates and
signatures are imprinted on the Magical Registry; a copy of the contract is then generated and
ready for pick-up by the couple or their proxies.”

“Wouldn't the magical signatures of polyjuiced people show up on the contracts?”

Kingsley shook his head. “No, it doesn't - there's no real defence against polyjuice, as
you know. You use a bit of the person being `copied' as the final ingredient … that transfers
the magical signature of the person to the one using the potion. The reason why the transformation
lasts only an hour is because the magical `bit' deteriorates and the transformation ends.”

He continued, “There's no way that Albus would have known that Crouch Junior was
impersonating Moody - not unless Albus was actively using Legilimens then but I doubt he even
bothered. Alastor was a Master Occulumens; besides, from what I understand, the fake Moody never
spent much time with Albus or the others … everyone just assumed it was Alastor being his normal,
paranoid self.”

“So,” Hermione said, “anyone can grab a few hairs, polyjuice himself or herself into someone
else, get married in the muggle or magical world … and the marriage is considered *legal?*
That's … that's *insane!*”

The Minister of Magic sighed. “There's no law against making or using polyjuice. The problem
is that it is *supposed* to be so difficult to brew” - his eyebrows quirked at the snorts from
Harry and Hermione; Sirius had told him about *that* - “given the time needed for proper
brewing and the rarity of ingredients, as well as the controls imposed on those same ingredients
... the Wizengamot never bothered to impose sanctions.”

He held up his hand before Hermione could go into a rant. “Let's take it one at a time.
First, there *are* sanctions for impersonating people - whether by polyjuice, glamour or a
Metamorphmagus - but only *if* you can prove nefarious intent, as well as an intent to harm or
defraud. Otherwise, it will be considered a prank and the offender gets a slap on the wrist.”

Shacklebolt continued, “In this case, it is common knowledge that you and Ronald were a couple
during your last year at Hogwarts. What's to stop the Malfoys from claiming that they simply
wanted to `push' you to the next logical step and get married? By now, everyone knows that you
and Ron were with Harry most of last year, doing whatever it was that needed doing to defeat
Riddle.”

He watched as Hermione deflated and added, “Finally, there is the matter of this.” He held up
the magical marriage contract. “Since it's been `denied' by some higher power we are not
aware of, there's no `case.' As I said, it moves from being a nefarious plot to a
prank.”

“But what if the magical contract *wasn't* denied? That means that I'm going to be
married, legally and magically, to Ronald!” She shuddered at that.

The Minister sighed and braced himself before responding. “And where's the `harm' in
that, Hermione?”

He held up a large hand at the teen's outraged face - and shuddered at the piercing, death
glare directed at him. “This is the *magical* world, Hermione! Arranged marriages are legal,
people measure a family's status by the size of the bride's dowry - and look!”

He waved the Daily Prophet in her face. “Our whole world is *celebrating!* `First marriage
after Victory'!” he parroted the headlines. He took a deep breath before sighing and
continuing. “Most people will think that you're one lucky witch - you're a muggle-born
who's marrying into one of the oldest pureblooded families in Britain! One who has fought
against Voldemort himself! You should be honoured that you're marrying Ron!”

He cringed at the murderous looks on the teens' faces. “Don't look at me like that, guys
- I'm just repeating the party line! Never mind your feelings, whether you have them or not,
for Ron - you're marrying one of the heroes of the War, who's a cinch for an Order of
Merlin First Class ... you're set for life, Hermione.”

“And if I don't *want* to marry Ronald Bilius Weasley?” Hermione spat. She was about to
continue her rant when Harry's hand on her arm stopped her.

“Hermione,” she turned to look into Harry's concerned eyes. “It did *not* happen! You
said it yourself - hell, even the Minister for Magic has said it! You. Are. NOT. Married. How or
why, we don't know ... but the fact remains - your `marriage' is DENIED. Nothing can change
that.”

It may have been the strength of Harry's declaration, or the calming effect of his hand on
her arm that deflated Hermione's incipient rant. She slumped in her chair, unable to control
the brief shakes that her body went through at having dodged that particular bullet. How or why it
happened, she didn't know; the fact remained, however, that Harry was right - she was not
married to Ronald Weasley.

And for that she should be grateful, right? Which, however, left one major issue still on the
table - why? What was all this for? Why target her and Ron? Unless … her eyes narrowed as she
watched Harry turn towards Shacklebolt. Was *Harry* the Malfoys' target? She dismissed the
idea immediately only to have it come back to her even more forcefully - true, it would have caused
a rift in the Trio but she was confident enough in her friendship with Harry to know that a
falling-out between them wouldn't last.

Yes, it would cause Harry emotional distress but it wouldn't last. Harry was a past expert
at keeping his emotions hidden … sure, it would have hurt a lot for a while but Harry would
eventually get over it. *Or would he?* Her eyes narrowed even further at that thought.

Was that the Malfoy game plan? Get her and Ron `married,' causing Harry emotional distress -
which would lead to him leaving Britain altogether? Or … what if she *refused* to accept what
happened? Hell - if Kingsley or anyone else told her there was no getting out of this, she'd be
on the next plane going anywhere away from Britain. Shite, she thought, she'd even apparate
across the Channel in a heartbeat, seek asylum in France or Ireland before making her way to
Australia and her parents - and from there, either jump to New Zealand or make her way to America
or Antarctica … anywhere as long as it was far, far away from Ronald Bilius Weasley.

And Harry would be right beside her - or chasing after her. Not to make her go back - of that,
she was sure. He'd choose exile from Britain rather than watch her be married to Ron - or was
that her ego talking? She shook her head to clear her thoughts, in time to hear Harry's
question to Kingsley: “Which still doesn't answer the question of why Malfoy would go through
all this. What's his purpose? What's his plan - there's got to be
*something!*”

There was no response from the Minister - and the two teens slumped in their chairs,
unconsciously reaching out for the other's hand as their exhausted brains kept trying to find a
reason for Lucius Malfoy's actions but coming up with nothing.

Neither teen noticed that the Minister seemed to be fascinated by the magical marriage contract
with its large red “DENIED” stamped across the parchment - a small frown on his impassive face the
only indication that there was something going on in his mind.

There was something niggling at the back of Shacklebolt's mind ... his comment about
arranged marriages had sparked an errant memory buried from years of investigations and assignments
... something that he'd seen years ago during one of his summer internships wt the Ministry
when he was assigned as an assistant to the Head Archivist, doing menial tasks like going out into
muggle London for curry or fish and chips, putting away ledgers and parchments or releasing these
to the witches and wizards asking for copies of their OWLs or NEWTs, as well as the occasional
birth or wedding certificate -

“OW!” Shacklebolt was on his feet, rubbing his shin from where he'd slammed into the
table's edge as he jumped up, the memory from that long ago day when he was a mere lad
who'd joined his father - a minor clerk in the Ministry's Archives section - for the day
and found himself listening in wide-eyed fascination at the scream fest engaged in by two dowagers
from prominent families as they argued over a magical contract such as this...

He turned to the two teens in the room with him, both on their feet, back-to-back with wands
out, scanning for a threat. He grinned at the sight and shook his head, gave a gentle cough and
carefully said, “I think the two of you should go with me ... If I'm right...”

He trailed off as Harry and Hermione glanced at each other and nodded; Hermione waving her wand
and neatly arranging the papers and photographs into an envelope she conjured. It took a moment
more before Shacklebolt realized that Harry and Hermione were looking expectantly at him and he
quickly set off, pausing at the door to unseal it and usher the teens through.

Hermione stopped at the door, and the Minister responded before she could even give voice to her
question: “The Department of Mysteries, Hermione ... if I'm right, there's something there
we need to see.”

With that, he turned and set off; the two teens could only shrug at each other before they took
off to catch up with him.

***

**The Astronomy Tower, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

Susan Bones stood on the ramparts of the Astronomy Tower, glazed eyes staring vacantly at
nothing; gaunt face expressionless, showing no sign that she felt the cool breeze from the forest
or the heat from the sun that was high above her.

Susan Bones was waiting, and ready to be set free.

She hoped that her latest action would do the trick … she prayed that even now, a righteously
angry Harry Potter or self-righteous Molly Weasley was charging up the stairs, wand out and ready -
they had the *right* to take their anger out on her for what she'd just done…

She wished it would be quick … that Harry would simply cast his favourite `Expelliarmus' on
her, sending her over the ramparts and she would finally escape the Bones' family magic, that
accursed *thing* that she'd been fighting for the better part of two years, ever since
that horrible night when she'd come home to see the ring of Aurors around the broken, mangled
remains of her Aunt Amelia, leaving her the last of the Ancient and Valiant House of Bones.

She'd floated in a dark cloud for weeks, functioning like a mindless golem even as the
people around her watched and worried, even as she constantly assured them that she was all right.
She'd finally decided to return to Hogwarts for her sixth year, acting as if nothing happened
and showing a stiff upper lip to the school. No one truly realized that she was operating on
auto-pilot, her soul lost in a dark, dense fog - until the Splinching accident `woke her
up'.

She shivered at the memories - of Twycross rambling on and on about his three Ds; of following
instructions without thinking, unheeding of the others around her as they struggled to apparate; of
suddenly feeling that uncomfortable sensation of being squeezed through a small tube - and she
found herself across the room, only to fall over screaming as she realized she'd left her leg
behind.

It was bedlam all around her but all she remembered was the shock, the pain, the *fear*
tearing at her throat - the emotions finally breaking through the depression that had surrounded
her for so long. She could hear the teachers putting her back together, Madame Pomfrey examining
her, Twycross' dispassionate voice above the hubbub -

She fled the Great Hall as soon as her leg was restored, unable to continue the lesson - only to
slam into someone in the corridor outside, bringing both of them down on the cold stone floor. She
was on her back, staring at the ceiling when a concerned voice broke through her addled mind, and
she saw a slim hand in front of her.

Unthinking, she grasped the offered hand tightly - only to nearly scream as she felt a magical
pulse travel up her arm and careen around her body. She saw a look of shock and surprise in the
eyes of the person holding her hand - they immediately recognized each other before the other
person let go, nearly stumbling backward in confusion before turning around and fleeing … leaving
her on the floor, shocked, confused and scared.

As a pureblood, Susan had grown up with the oral traditions of the magical world - its legends,
tales and `old wives tales.' She knew what had happened but refused to accept it - not so much
because it was a `legend' but because of the identity of the person who'd touched her. That
was impossible, her mind kept telling her … but her heart would not be denied.

She finally plucked up the courage to approach the person who'd begun haunting her dreams
and fantasies - and found to her surprise that Ginny Weasley was also going through the same
`crisis' she did and, like her, did not know what to make of it. They'd agreed to take
things slow - Ginny, like her, was a pureblood who also realized what had happened … but Ginny was
hemmed in by expectations, by commitments to school, to family, to Magical society as a whole …

Susan didn't feel the tears falling down her cheeks as she stood on the Astronomy Tower, her
mind running furiously over the memories of the previous year - was it only last year? Susan shook
her head - of course, she realized, it was her sixth year at Hogwarts and it *was* just over a
year ago. So much had happened in the months since…

**Flashback**

*The days and weeks passed and they continued their innocuous `meetings' under the guise
of tutorials in the library - growing ever closer and becoming more confident in what they had …
helping the person she now knew to be her `other half' find the courage and strength to face up
to what they were feeling … until the day she realized that she'd been living in a dream
world.*

*The news was shocking, to say the least - Ronald Weasley had been poisoned, first by a love
potion intended for Harry, and then by tainted mead in Slughorn's office. Susan knew that Ginny
would be going spare by now - she may not have liked her brother that much, but he was still*
family*, and she waited anxiously at `their' table in the library, ready to comfort and
support her friend and - dare she say it? - her soul mate.*

*She wanted to go to the Hospital Wing to see how Ginny was holding up, but she held herself
back - she had no reason to go there, no reason to be with her. She stayed in the library and
listened to the rumours, heard that the Weasleys had arrived in force and was glad that Ginny would
have some emotional support but wishing she was the one giving it. She stuck it out there, waiting
until Madam Pince finally chased her out. She'd been tempted to pass by the Hospital Wing but
stopped herself - she could not barge into a family affair...*

*She was back to the library the following day, waiting - her smile glowing as she spotted
Ginny coming in but her smile faded as she watched Ginny pass by without even a glance, simply pass
by looking confused - as if she had an appointment with someone that she couldn't remember. She
couldn't stand the confused look on the flame-haired witch's face and approached - only to
step back as she saw the brown eyes that were so full of life and mischief looking at her blankly,
without recognition or memory...*

*Susan fled - ran to her dormitory and threw herself on her bed in tears. She knew what had
happened - one did not grow up with the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement without
learning some things - Ginny had been obliviated. Who - she had her suspicions. Why -*

*she had her misgivings.*

*As the weeks passed, she watched the Gryffindors closely - and felt the pain stabbing as the
actuations of her Gryffindor year-mates confirmed her suspicions. She wondered how she could have
missed the signs - but realized that there was nothing she could do. There were forces at work
beyond her capability to fight. If Aunt Amelia were alive, Susan could have approached Magical
Britain's top law enforcer with her suspicions, but with Aunt Amelia gone...*

*Besides, she thought, if the Boy-Who-Lived and the Smartest-Witch-In-A-Generation didn't
see what was going on around them, who was* she *to intervene?*

*It was then that Susan made her decision: it was time to seek out her family, to join them on
the `next great adventure' rather than stick around where her dreams would never be
fulfilled.*

*But the family magic kicked in and stopped her from ending her life.*

*She kept trying but the family magic kept frustrating her - until Kingsley Shacklebolt and
several Aurors showed up at her home with the news that Voldemort had taken over the Ministry and
they were there to get her to safety.*

*She refused. She told them that her family hadn't run away when the going got tough - and
she would be damned if she would be the first - or the last - Bones to take the easy path. It was
only in the deepest part of her mind that she admitted the truth: the family magic may stop her
from killing herself ... but it couldn't stop someone* else *from killing her,
right?*

*And so it was that Susan Amelia Bones, Scion of the Ancient and Valiant House of Bones,
became a part of Magical Britain's resistance movement. She'd joined the Aurors who were
loyal to her Aunt, and they soon became a highly efficient team - ambushing Snatchers, rescuing
muggleborn families and getting them to safety, doing their best to fight back against the
darkness...*

*Until one day when they got into a running battle with a large Death Eater group near Ottery
St. Catchpole led by Derrick Bole, the former Slytherin Beater, who recognized her and ordered his
men to Stun rather than kill her...*

*She felt the cold-water shock of being enervated only to gasp in pain as a boot slammed into
her ribs, saw Bole's savage grin as he started tearing at her clothes ... kicking and fighting
only to feel his fist slam into her jaw … watching in bemused detachment as he dropped his pants,
her vision greying out - and almost jumping out of her skin as Bole's face exploded into red
mist an instant after an enraged voice roared, “Reducto - Expelliarmus!”*

*The shock was enough to keep her from blacking out completely. She felt someone kneeling
beside her and soft fingers touching her face - her vision suddenly clearing as familiar sensations
coursed through her battered body and she stared in shock at the sight of well-remembered eyes
staring at her in surprise, eyes she'd given up on ever seeing again months before…*

**End Flashback**

Susan slammed her fists on the rampart, a keening scream of pain leaving her lips. If anyone
needed proof that Fate's a damned sadistic bitch, she thought, *that* was it …

She'd spent days recovering from her injuries - unfortunately, they'd had no access to
Healers or the more complex medical potions - but her recovery was swift, mainly because Ginny was
constantly at her side. It seemed as if they'd fallen back into their days at the library
except that Ginny had no memory of those but it didn't matter - they were building a whole new
set of memories together, although neither one opened up about what happened that day in the
clearing.

When the call came over Ginny's enchanted Galleon, they'd both gone to Hogwarts. There
was no way *she* would miss the final encounter with those who'd made her lose her family
- as Ginny could not avoid wanting to settle scores with the monster who'd tormented her in
first year. When the battle was joined, they found themselves separated - when the struggle ended,
they'd found their way to each other...

And as before, Fate - *that* *friggin' bitch* - had snatched her dreams away from
her once again.

She heard the door to the tower slamming open and Susan braced herself, prepared for the curse
that would send her hurtling to her death - only to freeze as a familiar but angry voice came from
behind her: “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TRYING TO DO, SUSAN? AFTER *EVERYTHING* THAT'S HAPPENED
TO US...”

As Susan Bones faced the red-faced, extremely angry Ginevra Molly Weasley, she could hear
hysterical laugher in her mind as Fate got back at her for being called a bitch…

***

**DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES,** **Ministry of Magic**

For some reason, the corridors of the Ministry of Magic were empty when Shacklebolt and his
companions stepped out, a fact that both Harry and Hermione were grateful for. They'd had
enough of adulation and congratulations; all they wanted at his moment was an answer to the latest
mystery besetting them - that, and a chance to fade quietly away into anonymity.

A short pause while Shacklebolt dropped by his office to tell Natalie where he was going, and
the three were on their way to the magical lifts, the corridors echoing softly with their footsteps
as they walked.

The silence was soon broken, however, by Hermione's voice as she hesitantly asked,
“Minister?”

“Kingsley, please, Hermione … you and Harry have both earned the right.”

Hermione bowed her head in acceptance, before continuing, “Why are we going to the Department of
Mysteries?”

The arrival of the lift prevented the Minister of Magic from immediately responding; as soon as
the three were onboard and the lift was descending, Shacklebolt's deep voice reverberated in
the small space. “There is a room in the Department of Mysteries that is kept locked at all times,
accessible only to the Head of Magical Archives or, in the event of his death or incapacity, to the
Minister of Magic. It contains something that is, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects
for study that reside there ...”

“*WHAT?*”

Ruptured eardrums from a bellow in a tight space was prevented only because the lift doors
opened in that precise moment; Harry's shout was loud enough to cause their ears to ring for a
moment as Shacklebolt and Hermione looked at him in shocked surprise. The sound of the doors
closing, however, shook them out of their momentary stupor; without a word, Shacklebolt and
Hermione stepped out of the lift, the latter dragging a reluctant Harry Potter with her.

In the corridor outside the lift, Harry slumped against the wall, Hermione at his side with an
arm around him, almost as if she was trying to hold him up which was almost the truth. No words had
been spoken since Harry's outburst; the Minister's raised eyebrow directed at him sufficed
for that, however.

Harry took a deep breath and released a ragged sigh; another breath and he answered their
non-verbalized questions: “Dumbledore told me something similar ... about a locked room in the
Department of Mysteries that, he said, `contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more
terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature'. He ... he said that
the room contained `the power Voldemort knows not'.”

“When did he tell you this, Harry?”

Harry took a deep breath to calm himself. “It was the night ... the night Sirius went through
the veil.” He didn't respond to the sharply drawn breaths of his companions as he continued in
a flat voice, his mind and eyes seemingly focused on something only he could see. “He'd sent me
back to his office after ... after he drove Voldemort away from me ... it was then that he told me
the prophecy ... about me being the only one who can beat the wanker - and about me having `the
power he knows not'.”

He shook his head as if to clear it. “He never mentioned the room again after that ... strange,
now that I think about it. If that room had something that could have helped me ... why didn't
he show it to me? Why talk about it and then forget it?”

He turned intensely green eyes on the frowning face of the Minister of Magic as he asked, “What
*is* in that room, Shack?”

It took a moment for the Minister to marshal his scattered thoughts and bring them to some sort
of order. He had to agree with Harry - if Albus knew about the room and its contents (a foregone
conclusion, the former Auror thought, as Albus had been the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot), then
why hadn't he brought Harry to the room? True, the room was always kept locked but Harry - as
did every magical person in Britain - had every right to ask to be shown to the room. All he had to
do was to present himself to the Head of Archives and make a request which the latter could not
deny; as the `Head' at the time was Elphias Doge, there should have been no problem with
bringing Harry in to have a look.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, realizing that Harry and Hermione were focused on him,
waiting for his response. “It contains a bound list that has existed for centuries called The Book
of Souls.”

He held up his hands to forestall the sickened or outraged reactions of the two teens, knowing
what their reaction would be to the mere mention of `souls' - especially now, after having
dealt with Voldemort's perverted use of Horcruxes. “It's not what you think!” He paused for
a second to let them settle down before continuing, “It is a listing of destined couples - soul
mates if you will.”

“Soul mates?”

Shacklebolt smirked. As expected, it was Harry who asked the question while Hermione frowned; he
could almost see the mental gears moving as she tried to access something from her impressive
memory. Before she could open her mouth, Shacklebolt continued, “It means fated couples, Harry.
Destiny or Fate or God or whatever decided once someone is born that he or she will be partnered
for life with someone else ... that the two of them were meant to be together. I think the muggles
sometimes call it a marriage made in heaven.”

“Marriage?” Shacklebolt smirked; as expected, Harry looked absolutely gob-smacked while Hermione
had apparently recovered from the surprise and, with narrowed eyes and furrowed forehead, was
already analysing the implications of the revelation. Before he could take a step, however,
Harry's hand on his arm stopped him and he turned back to Harry's question: “What does this
have to do with Hermione?”

“He thinks that either Ron or I am soul-bound to someone else, Harry.” She shook her head at
Harry's confused look and continued. “Think about it, Harry - the only reason for the denial of
the Malfoy's faked marriage contract is if magic itself rejected it. Which means that either
Ron or I am married - or soul bound - to someone else.”

It took a second for the light of realization to shine in Harry's eyes; he glanced at
Shacklebolt for confirmation and the latter smiled and nodded, saying, “What she said.”

He turned back to the corridor with a smirk, just stopping himself from saying, “You like that,
don't you?” He had his suspicions but like a true Auror, he preferred to deal with facts and
this excursion would prove or disprove his hypothesis. He walked briskly down the corridor only to
stop abruptly half-way down; his action so abrupt that the two teens following him nearly crashed
into his broad back.

Drawing his wand and concentrating carefully, he quickly tapped the wall from which four musical
tones sang out.

Harry and Hermione gaped and glanced at each other, eyebrows raised - did Shacklebolt just tap
out the recognition sequence from `Close Encounters of the Third Kind'? Before they could ask,
a door appeared - much like the door leading to the Room of Requirements at Hogwarts - Shacklebolt
grasped the handle, turned it and pushed the door open into a torch lit chamber.

They entered and the teens glanced around: it was a relatively small room, even smaller than the
Gryffindor common room with only an ancient stone dais in the middle of the space. Resting on it,
as the Minister had said, was a large, antiquated book with yellowing parchment pages surrounded by
a soft, ethereal glow.

They approached the book silently, with Hermione nearly bowling the Minister over in her
eagerness to take a look - and blinking in confusion when they saw the cracked, blank cover of the
book covered in leather of some unidentified animal. Hermione was sure of one thing - this
wasn't `ordinary' leather from some bovine; neither was it dragon hide although Harry
couldn't help but compare it to basilisk skin.

A soft cough from Shacklebolt and the teens stepped back; the Minister smirked to himself and
proclaimed, “Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt in the absence of Dolores Umbridge, Head of
Magical Archives.”

The faint glow surrounding the book seemed to intensify and the teens gasped as golden runes
appeared on the cover of the ancient tome - runes so ancient that even Hermione couldn't
recognize them. Before either could ask, the runes seemed to dissolve and run together, only to
form words in an elegant Spencerian script:

*THE BOOK OF SOULS*

*Welcome, Seeker of Truth and Fate*

*Asking to Find Thy Soul's True Mate*

*If, perchance, you find that here*

*Then hold them close forever more*

*If your names, however, are not within*

*Despair not -*

*Continue seeking for a heart so dear*

*Love is love whether soul bound or not*

*But for those who seek to sunder the bond*

*A warning here is given clear:*

*A cursed life awaits the one who tries*

*To rip apart united souls.*

The teens looked at each other with eyebrows raised; Harry was just able to stop himself from
making a sarcastic comment about the writer's ability to rhyme. Another soft cough from
Shacklebolt and they stepped aside; in a commanding voice, the Minister of Magic said, “SHOW ME
HERMIONE JANE GRANGER!”

The book's ethereal golden glow became even brighter as the Minister fell silent; the three
stood awed as the book seemingly came to life - the pages riffling swiftly as if an unseen hand was
paging rapidly through it. Soon enough, the intense glow faded and the three eagerly approached to
take a look.

Only to blink as they confronted a glowing page devoid of anything save a seeming smudge on the
upper corner of the blank page.

***

**The Astronomy Tower, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

Susan froze. Of all the scenarios she'd planned for, seeing Ginny was *not* one of
them. The irony of the situation and Fate's evident sense of humour grabbed her and she let out
a bark of laughter: a high, near-hysterical laugh that had Ginny stepping back, fingering the wand
in her pocket, ready to stun or summon in case the seemingly crazed witch decided to take a runner
or jump ...

“What d'you think I was supposed to do, Ginevra? You're right - after EVERYTHING
we've been through … it's over now, EVERYTHING IS OVER NOW!

“The bastard's dead, he who killed my mum and dad, he who tortured and mutilated Aunt Amelia
… Voldemort's dead, gone, ashes … and now we are *expected* to pick up our lives and
continue where we left off?

“And what *life* am I supposed to pick up now? I'm the last of the Bones family … the
only one left after everyone else has been sacrificed to this DAMNED WAR!”

“Susan...” Ginny softly called, trying to calm the other witch, but it only seemed to fuel the
other witch's rage. Susan turned angry eyes on the small redhead, who stepped back in fear.

“DON'T YOU `SUSAN' ME, GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY! AND DON'T TALK TO ME ABOUT
`*EVERYTHING*' WE'VE BEEN THROUGH!” Susan paused, her breathing uneven as she visibly
tried to compose herself. “I've been watching, Ginevra … watching as you `consoled'
Harry.”

Susan's voice turned harsh, edgy, sarcastic: “You were holding his hand, rubbing his back …
doing everything but make goo-goo eyes at him. I realized what was happening … you were going to
marry him, fulfil your mother's dreams of One Big Happy Family … have lots of children while
playing Quidditch ...”

She broke off with a sob as she turned away, “While I grew old and senile, pining away for a
lost love ...” Susan didn't see the signs of an incipient Weasley blow-up in the steadily
rising tide of red suffusing Ginny's face. “I didn't want that … I couldn't take that …
I sneaked into your parents' rooms and found what I needed … switched the `tea' when I left
the Hall while you were `*consoling*' Harry...”

The building Weasley tantrum abruptly changed direction as Ginny parsed Susan's words - “You
SNEAKED into MY parents' ROOMS? *WHY?*”

“Where do you think I got the potion, Ginevra?” Susan snarked back. “I knew your mother had them
… I *knew* she'd be trying to give them to Harry when Ron and Hermione disappeared!”

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?”

Susan rolled her eyes. “Oh please! Don't play dumb with me, Ginevra Weasley! Where do you
think the twins got their *recipe* for their products? Love potions are restricted … you
won't find them in just any potions textbook. Where do you think *Ronald* got his potions?
Not from the Twins' shop, that's for sure - they don't last that long…”

Ginny blinked. “*Ron?* What does *Ron* have to do with this?”

“Use your head,” an exasperated Susan said. “How do you explain a boy who's been nothing but
insulting to Hermione Granger since starting Hogwarts, who couldn't get his own date for the
Yule Ball, who has the `emotional range of a teaspoon' in fifth year, who *suddenly* finds
himself sucking face with Lavender Brown? Ask yourself this - why should *Lavender* - quiet,
ditzy, Divination-obsessed Lavender - *suddenly* go all gaga over someone she *never*
gave a fig for in the last *six years?”*

“Why shouldn't she?” Ginny shouted back. She had totally forgotten her original intent in
seeking Susan, responding as only a Weasley could to an attack on her family. “It's not as if
he's still a git -” she shook her head at Susan's derisive snort - “he's a *hero*,
Susan! He won the Quidditch Cup for us in his fifth year; he was with us in the Ministry when Harry
faced down You-Know-Who, he, he -”

“And is all that enough to *change* Lavender Brown?”

The question stopped Ginny cold. She'd known Lavender for years - while the older girl could
be ditzy, obsessed with all things `girly' and an incorrigible gossip, the very *last*
thing she could see Lavender as was to be a fan-girl or a player. She shuddered at the memories of
`Won-Won' and Lavender during her fifth year - she'd been tempted, too many times, to hex
the both of them for their `displays of affection' that had too often bordered on the obscene
and in public at that!

Susan had a point - it was too far out of character for the Lavender Brown she'd known for
five years. It was just too abrupt, too *sudden* even for raging teen hormones to account for.
Not even the school's tension and fear as Voldemort stepped up his attacks could account for
that … there was simply *no way* for Lavender, ditzy, *girly* Gossip Queen Lavender
Brown, to have become so … so *obsessed* with Ronald Bilius Weasley.

Ginny blinked as Susan's angry, sarcastic voice ripped through her: “Tell me *why*,
Ginevra Weasley, why Hermione Granger - the one person who was most loyal to Harry Potter through
all our school years - suddenly *turn* on her best friend? Why should Hermione, who's been
Ron's punching bag for *years*, who couldn't share the same *space* with Ron
without an argument, suddenly become so obsessed with that idiotic, self-centred *git? Tell me
WHY, Ginny!*”

She couldn't answer that. It was something that transcended all logic - and to *Hades*
with all those who thought that Ron and Hermione's arguments masked a raging attraction for
each other. *She* never argued with Harry, or Dean, or Michael or even Neville … her
*parents* never fought the way those two often did - Molly, no matter her overbearing, `my way
or the highway' attitude, never openly argued with her dad. Meek, mild Arthur Weasley - it may
seem that the Weasley patriarch was a meek lamb to Hurricane Molly but they **never** argued the
way Ron and Hermione did.

Neither did Molly ever belittle Arthur the way Hermione sometimes did when Ron went too far with
his thickness - and never once did Arthur ever pick an argument with his wife the way Ron did, just
to wind Hermione up.

So why the sudden change in Hermione? And why the sudden anger with Harry over a second-hand
book? It wasn't as if Harry was playing with another diary - she shuddered at the memory - and
Hermione should have been over the moon when Harry suddenly started getting better at things…

Sudden.

*There* was that word again … if there was one thing that marked her fifth year,
Harry's sixth year, it was that singular word. *Everything* was so *sudden*, as if
some Divine Author said, “*This* is how it goes” and everything simply fell into place with no
foreshadowing or preparation. Lavender *suddenly* obsessed with Ron, Hermione *suddenly*
preoccupied with Ron, Harry *suddenly* fixated with her - and she, after having given up on
him, *suddenly* snogging The-Boy-Who-Lived.

It just all neatly fell into place.

But it couldn't be ... it could *not* be. Ginny shook her head violently, trying to
shake the traitorous thoughts from her mind. Last year was a fluke - last year they were all under
so much pressure with the war knocking on the very walls of Hogwarts ... that was the reason why
they'd been acting that way, right?

Hormones, she thought - they were letting their hormones get the better of them last year,
right? They simply needed to snatch whatever little bit of happiness they could - and if Ron acting
like a limpet as he sucked Lavender's face was what was needed to make him happy, he deserved
it, right? Never mind if it felt wrong ... if the short weeks spent with Harry as her boyfriend
felt so, so *wrong...*

“Suit yourself.” Ginny blinked at Susan's sarcastic tone. “You should have been a
Hufflepuff, Ginevra - you're all about loyalty to your family, no matter how wrong they
are!”

“DON'T TALK ABOUT MY FAMILY THAT WAY!” Ginny's infamous temper snapped and the roar of
her angry, hurt voice would have made her house mascot proud at its power and potency. She stalked
forward, hand raised to strike, her red hair blowing in an unseen wind as her magical power seemed
to flow through her, her vision tunnelling into a reddish haze -

And she froze at the triumphant look in Susan's eyes.

Like a kitchen sink unplugged, Ginny felt the rage and anger drain from her body - leaving her
limp and shaking, wondering what had happened to her and why she should be defending her brother or
her family against accusations that - no matter how she tried - seemed to be logical and
accurate.

She blinked and dropped her hand to her side - and blinked again as she saw Susan's
triumphant look fade away before she turned away with a sob. Unthinking, she approached, and
grabbed her friend in a hug learned from years of Molly's rib-breaking embraces. For the
briefest of moments, she felt Susan trying to break away before the older witch seemed to collapse
into her arms ...

Without a conscious thought, she hugged the other girl even tighter as she buried her face into
Susan's chest. She needed this, she thought wildly to herself, she needed Susan ... the
unspoken words kept repeating in her bothered mind as two witches kept apart for so long finally
acknowledged something that they had never wanted to admit to themselves ...

***

**Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic**

“That's strange,” Kingsley Shacklebolt said as he stared at the blank page in front of him
before he composed himself and said, in the same commanding tone, “SHOW ME RONALD WEASLEY!”

Nothing. There was no intense glow, no rapid riffling of pages - nothing. It was as if the book
was totally inert or simply ignoring them and Shacklebolt's face was furrowed in thought as he
murmured yet again, “That's very strange.”

“Minister?” Hermione's hushed voice sang out, but she closed her mouth at Shacklebolt's
raised arm. Once again, the Minister's commanding voice rang out: “SHOW ME REMUS LUPIN!”

This time the book went through its earlier actuations: the intense, nearly blinding glow, the
sound and sight of an unseen hand riffling rapidly through its pages, the glow fading as it stopped
at a particular page where the three could see:

**REMUS JOHN LUPIN** **NYMPHADORA TONKS-LUPIN**

Born: March 10, 1960 Born: June 25, 1973

*First Stage Completed: April 12, 1997*

*Soul Bond Consummated: June 25, 1997*

*Married: July 3, 1997*

Kingsley Shacklebolt heaved a sigh of relief, his soft murmur of, “Well that works,” being
drowned by the loud squeal of delight from Hermione, who was bouncing around in glee, clapping her
hands and saying, “I knew it! I knew it!”

“What works?”

Harry's confused question had Hermione and Shacklebolt turning to him in surprise; Hermione
immediately grabbed his hands and said, “Remus and Tonks, Harry! They're soul-bound ...
they're soulmates! No wonder Tonks has been out of sorts...”

“I can see that, Hermione! But Shack was saying something ...” Harry's comment instantly
deflated Hermione's glee and she also turned to Shackebolt, whose indulgent smile at her
actuations also faded at the intense scrutiny Harry was giving him.

“I was saying the book works, Harry,” the Minister said. He took a breath before explaining, “No
one really knows how the book works, at least in how it determines and records the birth and
significant dates of soulmate's lives.

“Consider Remus and Tonks,” he continued, gesturing to the page. “They were born 13 years apart
- Remus would already have been in Hogwarts when Tonks was born; did the book record Remus' and
Tonks' births at the same time, or did the entry appear when Tonks was born?” He turned back to
the book and turned the pages to the last leaf - coincidentally, the page after Remus and
Tonks' entry, which was the blank page it had turned to when he said Hermione's name.

“And then there's this blank page ...”

“Oh!” Hermione's exhalation made Harry and Shacklebolt turn to her. Eyes wide, she explained
her thoughts: “You're talking about the book's search function, aren't you? If a name
mentioned has a soulmate, the book goes into action - the glow, the pages turning ... like what
happened with Remus and Tonks. But if it doesn't, like what happened with Ron...”

“Precisely, Hermione. The book's reaction when I asked your name means that there *is*
something - but why should the page be blank? Does that mean you have a soul mate but he's just
`waiting in the wings,' so to speak? But if that is so, then why would Lucius Malfoy's
magical marriage contract be denied?

“Something's going on here, but I don't know what.”

Harry had been examining the page closely as Shacklebolt explained; there was something niggling
at his mind about the smudge on the page. There was something familiar about it ... “Uhm, Shack?
Would you mind doing that magnification thingy on that smudge?”

The former Auror gave him a sharp look; after a second's pause, he drew his wand and waved
it over the smudge - and all three gaped as the smudged ink enlarged and became clearer, with
Hermione exclaiming, “Is that a *beetle*?”

At first glance, it looked like a child's rendition of a mutated beetle: a circle with two
branches growing out the top, two paw-like `feet' on either side, and a somewhat thick,
squiggly line below. Harry stared at it for a long moment, before he suddenly whispered in shock,
“Marauders!”

Shacklebolt and Hermione's gasps of surprise was overridden by Harry's excited voice:
“Don't you see it, Hermione? Sirius showed it to us once at Grimmauld - look! The branches are
a stag's antlers - my Dad - the circle is a moon for Remus; the paws are a Grim's - Sirius
- and the squiggly thing is a tail...”

“Wormtail!” Hermione whispered. Beside her, Shacklebolt was nodding; he was familiar with the
legendary Marauders, having been two years behind them in school and was both victim and witness to
their mischief, and had learned their identities from the time spent with Siriusin Grimmauld. But
what was a Marauder logo doing here - “Elphias!” he murmured, causing the others to turn to
him.

He grinned at them. “I don't know if you know it, but Elphias Doge - who was the
Ministry's Head Archivist for years - was Remus' godfather.”

Harry's bewildered “He was?” was overshadowed by Hermione's reaction: “If he was ...
I'm assuming that he was an expert on documents, charms relating to them, and so on?”

At Shacklebolt's nod, she turned to Harry whose face was brightening as he caught up with
Hermione's thoughts: “The Marauder's Map!”

Harry drew his wand and laid it on the blank page; a deep breath and he incanted softly, “I
solemnly swear I'm up to no good!”

The three stepped back as a blue glow surrounded the parchment and words began to form, written
in blue ink with a florid, Spencarian script. The three were silent as they read the words:

*Dear Harry:*

*If you're reading this, it means that I'm either on my next `great adventure'
with my old friend Albus or I just haven't made it back home yet. Anyway … to the reason why
you're here.*

*As I write this, the wizarding world is falling into darkness once again. Albus has fallen
and many of us know that with our world in disarray, the Ministry will soon follow.*

*As a former Ravenclaw, I have lived by the credo that `knowledge is power' - denying
people knowledge reduces their power. I have taken the liberty of compiling certain of your
records, as well as those of your friends, and transmitted them by magical means to Hogwarts where
they will form part of your student file. These include records from the Wizarding Examinations
Authority as well as from the Improper Use of Magic Office, as well as the appropriate entry
here.*

*As a further precaution, I made sure that only a select few can access or even read the
records. You or the delightful Ms. Granger should be able to work it out.*

*It is my pleasure to have been of service to you.*

*Elphias Doge*

*Head Archivist*

*P.S. It has always amused me to think of Severus and You-Know-Who as being on the same side;
the muggles would have been shocked since they were bitter enemies, especially if You-Know-Who asks
questions of him. ;)*

Harry Potter and Kingsley Shacklebolt looked at each other in confusion; Hermione, on the other
hand, had a pensive look on her face as she pondered the last line. Especially the last symbols -
why would Elphias Doge use a muggle smiley? And why a *winking* smiley at that? What about the
references to Snape and Voldemort? Or should it be Riddle ...

“Harry?” The two men looked at her and she smiled at her best friend. “I think I got it. We
should go back to Hogwarts ... the Headmistress should be able to help us find your student file
there.”

Harry stared at her for a long, silent moment before he nodded and smiled; Shacklebolt, looking
from one to the other, also nodded and turned away. Before he could walk back to the door, however,
Harry's hesitant voice made him pause. “Uhm ... Minister, err, Shack ... uhm ... can I just
ask...”

The Minister glanced at him and nodded; the three turned back to the now-closed book on its
pedestal as he said, “You can ask, Harry ... my presence in the room allows it to react to anyone
who wishes to ask.”

Nodding, Harry opened his mouth but was stopped by Shacklebolt: “Use your mother's maiden
name, Harry. It may confuse James' name with yours.”

Nodding once again, Harry took a stance and intoned, “SHOW ME LILY EVANS!”

His look of eager anticipation quickly faded to disappointment when the book lay inert in its
pedestal. He bit his lip as he stared at it, as if willing it to glow and open but he was to be
denied. A pair of arms quickly encompassed him, however, and he found his face buried in the crook
of Hermione's neck as her hands rubbed his back gently. Hermione spoke softly, “It's all
right, Harry ... remember what the book said - they may not have been soul mates but they each
found a heart to hold so dear...”

Harry sniffled as Shack laid a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. “She's right, Harry ... I
was never close to your parents at school or in the Order but they were the best of friends when I
knew them. They were the Golden Couple of Hogwarts when I was going there...”

Harry nodded and pulled away from Hermione's embrace, giving the two a watery smile. Just
before he pulled away completely, however, he gave Hermione a small peck on the cheek causing the
brunette witch to blush and Shacklebolt to smirk. He somehow doubted the two realized the
significance of the fact that the page containing Elphias' note had reacted to Hermione's
name but had been addressed to Harry. He felt his suspicions confirmed but, knowing Hermione, the
young witch would want to have everything in black and white.

He was about to turn away when a soft cough from Hermione once again stopped him and he turned
to nod to the eager witch. Hermione calmed herself down and called out in a clear voice, “SHOW ME
ALBUS DUMBLEDORE!”

Shacklebolt blinked when the book again took on the intense glow that he'd become familiar
with and the pages started turning over once again. He was about to approach when Harry and
Hermione, who had stepped closer to the book, both nearly jumped back with a twin expression of
“EWWWW!” on their faces.

Puzzled, he took a look at the opened page and also stepped back in surprise. Truth to tell, he
*had* been expecting something like this, but to have it spelled out so clearly:

**ALBUS PERCIVAL WULFRIC BRIA****N DUMBLEDORE** **GELLERT GRINDELWALD**

Born: August 8, 1881 Born: July 7, 1883

Died: June 6, 1997 Died: February 14, 1998

*First Stage Completed: December 25, 1888*

*Soul Bond Consummated: January 28, 1889*

Carefully, silently, Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt closed the Book of Souls, wondering
for a moment just how Elphias Doge was able to remove a page. A part of him cringed at desecrating
the magical artefact; another part wanted to protect the name and reputation of the one-time
`Leader of the Light.' It wasn't the relationship implied that bothered him - same-sex
relationships while frowned upon were not unheard of in the wizarding world - but it was the
juxtaposition of names which bothered him.

He shook his head - what the hell was he thinking about? Rita Skeeter's `expose' of
Dumbledore with all its half-truths and innuendoes had already besmirched Dumbledore's
reputation; this, while a titillating confirmation, added nothing to what was already known. In any
case, he doubted that either Harry or Hermione would even talk about this; as far as he was
concerned, he wasn't about to tamper with history or its artefacts.

“Ready to go, kids?” he asked. At the nods of the two teens, he turned and led the way from the
room; the torches gradually dimming as they walked out the door.

Just as he closed the door of the chamber, a much more intense glow surrounded the Book of Souls
as a new page was added, out of sight of anyone.

**The Astronomy Tower, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

It was a sight guaranteed to melt even the hardest of hearts, although the follow-up reaction to
that first sight would depend entirely on any particular person's open-mindedness and
acceptance. Two young witches, one much shorter than the other and with a fiery mane of hair, were
locked in a tight embrace, swaying slowly as they held the other closely.

The storm of tears had passed but they both needed the comfort of the embrace as they tried to
resolve the issues raised by their earlier war of words. A sniffling Ginny spoke, her voice muffled
by her face still ensconced in the tear-soaked robes of Susan Bones: “Why, Susan? After everything
we've been through ... why potion Harry? You know as well as I do that using love potions is an
Azkaban offense ... *why, Susan?*”

“Do you think I care, Ginny?” Susan's voice, so emotional and angry, was now flat - lifeless
and dull, no hint at all of the raging passion of before. “After everything that has happened,
d'you think I really care anymore? Whoever's orchestrating this will have their happy
ending - Ron and Hermione will be married, you and Harry will wed; the four of you will meet up on
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters to see your kids off to Hogwarts; Harry will be telling his
children that he'll be proud of them even if they get placed in Slytherin...

“And I will be gone, just a footnote to the tale.” She broke away from Ginny's arms and
stared out over the expansive Hogwarts grounds, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I can't go
through that again, Ginny, I can't ... I'd rather *die* than go through that
again...

She turned to face Ginny, the sunlight at her back turning her fair hair into a golden halo as
tears fell down her sunken cheeks, a pleading tone in her voice. “That's what I was hoping for
... if Harry or your mother found out, they have every right to kill me or send me to Azkaban.
Either way I'd be free ... free of this world, free of my memories ... I'd be with Mum and
Dad, with Aunt Amelia...”

She felt gentle hands turning her around and brushing the tears from her face, a trail of liquid
fire in their wake and her eyes locked with the worried and deeply puzzled eyes of Ginny Weasley.
There was no guile in those eyes, no deviousness or deceit - just plain, honest confusion at her
ranting. Mixed in with the confusion, however, she could clearly see a compassionate apprehension
for her welfare. It was something she'd come to associate with Ginny during the hours spent in
the library the year before and again, in the long days and nights of her recovery in Muriel's
home. It was something that Susan knew so few people had ever seen in the petite redhead's
eyes, an emotion too often kept hidden behind her fiery temper or focused concentration as she
worked out a problem or planned another prank.

It was the genuine look of concern for her well-being that had drawn Susan completely out of the
dark fog of depression last year - and it was the loss of that `look' when Ginny was obliviated
that forced her back into the dark depression that was her constant companion. It was that look
which she had come to cherish once again when Fate or whatever chose to throw the two of them
together again - and it was the fear of losing that which pushed Susan into rash and unthinking
action.

With an inarticulate cry, Susan's hands reached out behind Ginny's head and pulled her
in - if she was going to die, it would be with the memory of Ginny's lips on her own that would
be the last thought on her mind.

Ginny's mind was a roiling mass of confused thoughts and emotions. On the one hand, her
logical mind kept battering at the points that Susan had made, trying feverishly to find a flaw, to
find a niche - *something* on which to build a counterattack against the charges made against
her older brother and her mother.

On the other hand, there was the sensation of liquid warmth emanating from where her fingers
were touching Susan's face, coursing through her arms and seeming to pool into a tiny ball of
flame in her chest before tendrils of fire sprang from the heat in her chest and spread throughout
her body - twin lines of flame reaching from her chest, passing through her neck and flowing into
her brain.

She felt a pressure on the back of her head and realized, through the fog enveloping her mind,
that Susan's hands were there - and felt her head being pulled forward ... she knew what was
happening but there was no resistance on her part. There was no way that she would deny her friend
- the one she'd killed for, the one she'd nursed to health, the one she cared for so deeply
- this one simple wish that she could read in Susan's teary eyes, and Ginny turned her head
willingly to meet the lips descending on her.

As soft lips came together, a soft golden glow surrounded them - a glow which grew in seeming
intensity the longer their lips were in contact. Neither one noticed Ginny's hair turning into
a fiery golden halo that rivalled the sun above them and would have caused anyone looking to turn
away lest their eyes melt from the power of the light.

As the kiss deepened and intensified, flashes of memory burned through the blocks imposed on
Ginny's mind by a well-practiced hand - sitting in the Hogwarts library with Susan as she
studied, at first sitting across from each other but later sitting side by side ... the two of them
rolling around laughing over some joke or other, protected from the glares of Madam Pince the
librarian by Susan's `cone of silence' - a special spell found only in the Bones'
Family grimoire and taught to Susan by her Aunt Amelia ... a dark and depressing afternoon when
rains had lashed Hogwarts' walls and she found herself opening up about her fears and concerns
... that one special night, just before the library had closed, when they both realized that
they'd been studying while holding hands the whole time ... and that moment when their faces
were inches from each other, something within them drawing them closer - only for the mood to be
broken by Madam Pince's announcement that the library was about to close...

The memories cascaded through Ginny's mind as their kiss continued and she now realized why
so many moments in Muriel's house with Susan seemed to imbue her with a sense of *déjà vu*
- she'd shared many of the same moments and talks with Susan, months before in the Hogwarts
library ... at a time before she was Obliviated of her memories ...

Soon enough, air was an issue for the two witches and they broke apart, chests heaving as they
sucked in much needed oxygen. Ginny's face was streaked with tears as she stared at her soul
mate, her mind battered by the revelations which the bond had burned through - horrified at what
had transpired months before, shamed at all the time they had both lost and a slowly building anger
at what had been done to them.

“Oh Susan,” she whispered and found herself once again in the tight embrace of her best friend
and now-revealed soul mate. Ginny buried her face again in Susan's tear soaked robes, and felt
Susan's lips on her hair. She felt herself being rocked slowly, comfortingly by the older
witch, encouraging words being murmured into her ears ... and felt droplets of tears falling on her
hair ...

The two witches had been far too engrossed in each other to realize that a scuffle had broken
out to one side of the Astronomy Tower as two disillusioned figures reacted to the scene playing
out before them. If the disillusionment had broken, they would have seen an angry quarter-Veela
grabbing the collar of her red-faced husband and throwing him bodily back against the ramparts of
the tower - thankfully, she still retained enough presence of mind to have cast a cushioning charm
against the ancient walls.

Fleur Delacour-Weasley was now sitting astride her husband's chest with her knees pinning
his arms down; she was bent over and whispering harshly in his ear, having cast a silencing charm
around them as she explained certain facts to Bill.

They were too engrossed in what they were doing - as were Ginny and Susan - to realize that the
door leading out from the Astronomy Tower had opened and a short, plump, red-haired witch had
stepped through, only to turn away from the blinding glow surrounding the two young witches on the
tower.

She turned back when the glow had dissipated and realized who it was who'd been at the
centre of that glow and, as had so often happened to her, found her mouth acting before her brain
could kick in: “WHAT IN HADES IS GOING ON HERE?”

*****

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** My apologies for not having updated sooner. As always, real life had
to rear its ugly head; this combined with a confused muse who kept jumping around from one plot
bunny to another, conspired to delay this.

I would like to express my thanks and appreciation to **hlpur**, from whom I borrowed (with
her permission) the idea and explanation for soulmates and the Book of Souls. She has written some
of the most original and thought-provoking H/Hr tales around; unfortunately, she hasn't been
able to update her stories for some time. I hope she can update soon :)

-->



6. untitled
-----------



**GRACE AUX MALFOYS**

**STANDARD DISCLAIMER:** Harry Potter and associated characters are the property of JK
Rowling, various publishers as well as Warner Bros. and others. I don't make money from this
but am more than grateful to have an opportunity to play in someone else's sandbox.

**Chapter 6**

**THE ASTRONOMY TOWER, HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**

“WHAT IN HADES IS GOING ON HERE?”

It was only Ginny's quick thinking and conflict-trained reflexes kicking in that prevented
Molly Weasley from getting hexed or worse by a pumped-up, adrenalin driven Susan Bones. The first
few words were more than enough for the teen witch to recognize the raised, angry, harsh voice of
her mother - in the next instant, she had grabbed Susan's wand hand tightly and forced it down;
she had also - inadvertently - stepped on Susan's toes which, fortuitously, broke the
latter's concentration and stopped the silent incantation from making its way from brain to
magical core and discharging the energy through her wand.

Unfortunately, while Ginny's actions may have kept her mother from being hexed, it did not
stop the Unsinkable Molly Weasley from going into a full-fledged tantrum. Red-faced, eyes blazing,
Molly sailed into the tower like a majestic man o'war, all guns blazing - a full-voice bellow
that would have put a Sonorus to shame: “UNHAND MY DAUGHTER, YOU HARLOT! WHAT THE HADES ARE YOU
TRYING TO PULL? POISONING MY RONALD THEN TRYING TO SEDUCE MY DAUGHTER? HAVE YOU NO SHAME YOU, YOU
SLUT?”

The Susan Bones that most of Hogwarts once knew would have curled into a ball at the verbal
barrage and cried - or at the very least, would have been running from the Astronomy Tower in
tears, to hide behind the curtains of her bed while she bawled her eyes out.

This Susan Bones however was not the quiet Hufflepuff that Harry and the others once knew. This
was a Susan Bones who'd been forged and tempered in the fires of war - the last of the Valiant
House of Bones, who'd refused to be evacuated from Magical Britain when Voldemort took over and
been part of the Resistance since. This Susan Bones let loose her own broadside at the approaching
dreadnought: “SHAME? YOU TALK TO ME OF SHAME, MOLLY WEASLEY? YOU, WHO'S BEEN DOSING HARRY AND
GINNY WITH LOVE POTIONS? YOU, WHO'S BEEN SUPPLYING RON WITH POTIONS SO HE CAN FINALLY SNOG A
GIRL? YOU CALL ME SHAMELESS - WHAT DO YOU CALL YOURSELF?”

The counter-barrage by HMS Molly made the Weasleys in the Tower (Ginny and the
still-disillusioned Bill and Fleur) blink. In all the years Ginny and Bill knew their mother and
listened to her tantrums, they never *ever* heard her using *that* word: “WHAT THE F—K
ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, YOU HUSSY?”

Ginny wasn't sure what to do - her mother's entrance into the tower had caught her by
surprise, immersed as she was in the fog of ecstasy caused by finally kissing her now-revealed
soulmate and she was still reeling from the disjointed memories that had been Obliviated from her
but was now breaking through. Stopping Susan from hexing her mother had been pure instinct, just as
keeping her mouth shut in the face of a Molly-tantrum was an ingrained survival response in the
Weasley family - but Susan's broadside and her mother's response had her wondering if she
should be selling popcorn …

Her thoughts were interrupted as Susan forcefully but gently pushed her to one side; it was only
then that she realized that she'd been standing in front of the older girl, unconsciously
adopting a protective stance - a detail it was apparent her mother had not noticed, so focused was
she on the buxom Susan. She was about to move again, to place herself between Susan and her mother
but Susan's hand on her shoulder stopped her - and blinked as Susan reached into her robes with
her other hand and pulled out an amber bottle with an embossed hops plant and berries on the front
- a family heirloom, Ginny knew, that her mother and at least a dozen Prewett matriarchs before
Molly had used to store potions in …

It was apparent that Molly knew what it was - the sight of it stopped her ranting and she stood
there with eyes wide, mouth open in surprise as Susan sneered in a manner so reminiscent of Snape
that Ginny blinked, “And what do you call *this*? I got it from your room you … you...”

For the briefest of instants, the image of a raging bull - beady eyes, nostrils flaring -
flashed through Ginny's mind as her mother roared, “THAT'S HARRY'S NUTRITIONAL POTION,
YOU IMBECILE! WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU GOT IT FROM MY ROOM? WHAT GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO GO INTO MY
ROOM?!”

Unthinking, Ginny braced herself for the charge - prepared herself to block or stun, to hex or
jinx, to do something to protect her love from her maddened mother. Before Molly could move,
however, Susan unstoppered the bottle and waved it under Molly's nose - Ginny got a whiff and
froze, mouth open in shock, eyes wide in surprise, staring at her mother who now looked like a bull
who'd taken a mallet between the eyes.

“Amortentia.”

Molly's whisper and the look of stunned surprise on her face was not what Susan was
expecting. Fierce denial - she expected that. Loud protestations of innocence - she was ready for
that. Grab the bottle, throw it, smash it, blast it - she had anticipated all of that.

A visibly shaken, pasty-faced Molly, swaying on her feet as her mouth flopped soundlessly -
*that* she definitely was not expecting.

As Susan watched, gaping, Molly's face changed as blood began rushing back, suffusing her
face with a bright-red flush that made Ginny's hair look pale by comparison - the raging bull
was back and ready to charge.

Before Molly could move or say a word, Susan's wand was in her hand as she said, looking
Molly in the eyes, “I swear on my life and magic that I found this bottle in Mrs. Weasley's
room, that I have not switched its contents and only used the potions found therein. So mote it
be.”

Ginny screamed as a golden nimbus surrounded Susan briefly, only to fade to reveal a still
breathing and smug Susan Bones. A casual wave of her wand released a shower of gold and red sparks
as she glared at Molly, the challenge clear in her eyes.

Only to blink as Molly pointed her wand in the air and declared, “I swear on my life and magic
that I have never brewed or used love potions, mind-control or influence potions on Harry Potter or
his friends. So mote it be.”

Susan and Ginny gaped as the same golden nimbus erupted around Molly and, as the glow faded,
watched a sneering Molly Weasley wave her wand negligently, causing a fountain of red and gold
sparks to erupt from her wand even as she cast a Molly-patented trademark glare at the stunned
Susan Bones.

The two witches glowered, neither one giving way or blinking - until Ginny's whispered voice
broke the frozen tableau: “If neither of you brewed or switched the love potions ... who did?”

Two strong-willed witches blinked and stared at the young witch, mouths flapping in perfect
synchronization as they tried to figure out what Ginny meant. Molly's confused expression,
however, quickly turned distant and unseeing - her round face turning pasty-white again for the
briefest of moments before a tidal wave of red inundated her face even as her breathing deepened,
her fists clenched as she roared, “ARTHUR MARION WEASLEY, I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!”

The shocked teens could only gape; neither could move as Molly started to turn, apparently
planning to apparate out - only for a red bolt to appear out of nowhere and Stun the raging Molly
in her tracks. As Molly fell, she stopped in mid-air only to float gently to the ground, still out
cold.

Susan and Ginny were standing back to back, wands up and tracking when a familiar baritone voice
broke out - “SPARK PLUG!”

It was the Weasley recognition signal - something that no pureblood Death Eater would know or
even bother about and they relaxed their grip on their wands, even as Bill and Fleur cancelled
their Disillusionment Charms and approached, empty hands out. As Ginny jumped into her older
brother's arms, Susan caught Fleur's eyes and nodded, receiving a nod in return; turning
back to the embracing siblings, she sighed as she heard Bill say, “All right ... what in the name
of Merlin IS GOING ON HERE?”

***

**DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES, THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC**

It was a sombre trio who exited the enigmatic room at the heart of the Department of Mysteries.
All three were walking like mindless automatons, instinct and well-remembered actions dictating
their every move: Minister Shacklebolt leading the way and opening the door to the corridor outside
the chamber; Harry and Hermione finding each other's hands intuitively; all three deep in
thought at the revelations that the room held and revealed as they walked towards the lift.

In Harry's mind, the singular question besetting him was `WHY?' If, as Dumbledore had
said all those many months ago, that the room they'd just left contained `the power that
Voldemort knows not' ... then why was he never brought there? There had been more than enough
opportunities in his sixth year. It would have taken less than a day to get there and back to where
ever - they could have gone here after Dumbledore fetched him from the Dursleys; there was more
than enough time during the summer when he was staying at the Burrow - hell, they could have gone
there at any time during the school year, rather than wasting so much time with Quidditch, with
fighting Hermione over the Half-Blood Ponce's book, or his `lessons' with Dumbledore and
the pensieved memories on Tom Marvolo Riddle.

That there was something there for him, there could be no doubt - Doge's note to him made
that abundantly clear. That it had a major bearing on his quest to defeat the Dark Dork was also
clear - else why should the Head Archivist go to such lengths to conceal it? And if what he
suspected was true - that the page in question referred to a soul bond with the girl beside him -
then why keep the fact away from him?

Unless ... the `information' referred to a *soul* bond between him and Ronald Bilius
Weasley.

As soon as the thought came up, he batted it away - much like the Twins would do to a Bludger.
No *way* on the Lord's good earth was *that* meant to be. Kingsley's first
question of the Book was to show him Hermione's name, which led to that intriguing blank page,
right? The Book *responded* to Hermione's name and led to that page with the Head
Archivist's hidden note. It didn't respond to Ron's name - which meant that Ron
didn't have a soul mate, right? Which meant that neither he or Hermione was soul-bound to the
git, right?

Right.

He didn't realize that he'd been tensing up, or that he was in the beginning stages of
hyperventilation as his mind ranted, until a soft squeeze of the hand held in Hermione's
quickly calmed his distraught mind.

Enough, he thought. It was all over and done with - Voldemort was dead, the horcruxes were
destroyed, he and Hermione were alive, he had the rest of his life to live with the wonderful girl
at his side. Reflexively, he gave the hand in his a slight squeeze and grinned at the raised
eyebrow that Hermione cast at him.

Hermione's thoughts, on the other hand, were a world away from the wizard beside her - well,
half a world away and Down Under, to be precise. Now that the war was over, it was time to start
thinking about the future ... and time to bring her parents back home. The question, however, was
... back to what? She hadn't gone back to her childhood home in almost a year; she didn't
want to take the risk of Death Eaters or Snatchers watching the place and capturing them. She
wasn't even sure if the place was still standing ... true, her parents had the option of
selling the place but she'd begged them not to. There was just too big a risk that
Voldemort's forces would find out her address and strike there - and since those idiots
wouldn't know one muggle from another, there was just too big a risk that they'd capture,
torture and kill some other innocent muggle family whether or not they were related to her.

The question was whether her mum and dad would even *want* to go back. They'd been
talking about Australia for years, thinking of it as a possible retirement haven or simply an
extended adventure in a place they'd never been to before.

She hoped they were happy and would be glad to see her; the question, however, was whether they
would be as accepting of the wizard beside her. No way around it, she thought. They may not like it
but they would have no choice ... she wondered if Harry would be joining her on this trip and she
grinned. Why not, she thought? Consider it a vacation of sorts...

Her mental planning was derailed, however, as she sensed Harry's inner turmoil; without a
thought, she gave his hand a soft squeeze and smiled slightly when she felt him relax. A few more
moments and she felt him squeezing her back; raising an eyebrow at him, she cleared her thoughts
and focused, once again, on the warmth of the hand in hers.

Shacklebolt's thoughts, however, was no longer on the room that they'd just left. The
soul bond between Grindelwald and Dumbledore was, in the end, a mere footnote to history. Both were
now dead and (he hoped) happily sharing their next great adventure together ... as far as he was
concerned, however, he had the aftermath of the mess left behind by He-Who-Is-Now-Dead to deal
with. Much as he wanted to see the end oyof this tale, there was just too much to do in his
office.

He had to admit that spending time with Harry and Hermione had been fun; it gave him a few hours
away from his desk and the steadily increasing piles of paperwork and seemingly insurmountable
problems of bringing magical Britain back to normal - or what was `normal' before the Dork Lord
took over the place. Unfortunately, it was time for him to head for his office and get back to
work. He'd ask the two to keep him informed but he didn't think he would need to join them
in their quest at Hogwarts...

There was just too much work to be done.

And here was more work right now, he thought as the lift doors opened on Level Four and he saw
the red hair, narrow face and pinched expression of Percy Weasley, who he'd appointed only two
days before to head the Goblin Liaison Office. He sighed to himself at seeing the happy look of
recognition on Percy's face - another day, another Galleon, he thought.

What was he thinking, accepting this thankless job? Or was he even thinking at all?

“Minister,” Percy's officious voice broke through his reverie. “I was just on my way up
to...”

He gaped at the sight of Harry and Hermione with Kingsley. Percy's pinched look gave way to
delighted recognition and he extended his hand automatically, saying, “Harry! It's good to see
you!”

They shook hands amicably, having made amends in the days immediately following the final
battle; Percy admitting that he'd been a prick and apologizing profusely and Harry gracefully
accepting the apology.

Percy's eyes focused on Hermione and with a big grin, he said, “Hermione! May I be the first
to express my congratulations...” He looked around, confused. “Where's Ron?”

Harry, Hermione and Shacklebolt glanced at each other; Hermione decided to take the bull by the
horns and told the middle Weasley brother, “There's been some misunderstanding, Percy. Someone
played a prank on Ron and I; we're here with the Minister to try and sort it out.” She finished
by handing Percy the magical contract with its blazing red `DENIED,' to which Percy gaped
before muttering, “Oh no ... mum's not gonna like this, oh no she won't, she's not
gonna like this one bit...”

He shook his head and took a deep breath. “Mum's gonna go spare when she finds out,
Hermione.” He sighed before continuing, “you know how she goes on and on about her One Big Happy
Weasley Family with you and Harry as part of us.”

“I know, Percy,” Hermione said softly. “But just because I'm not married to Ronald
doesn't mean that I don't think of you guys as family.”

Percy smiled and shrugged. “You know Mum and her ideas. If I told her once, I told her a
thousand times that you and Ron would never work out.” He grinned at their surprised looks,
“Helllloooo - Firebolt, anyone? Remember, I was there when Ron went spare on you, Hermione - and it
wasn't even *his* broomstick in the first place.”

His face darkened at the memory. “I was sitting there when you started to apologize to Hermione,
Harry.” Again he grinned at their surprised looks, “You were talking Arithmancy with Hermione when
Ron came down screaming about Hermione's cat eating his rat.”

He paused. “It wasn't even his rat in the first place. But that's Ron for you.”

The other three didn't respond; they knew who really `owned' the rat but there was no
use raking over old tales. Percy, however, was smirking as a thought struck: “You know, the only
reason I can think of for a magical marriage contract coming out `denied' is if one of the
couple was already married.”

His eyes twinkled. “You two wouldn't happen to be keeping something from us, are you?”

The sound of the lift doors opening effectively cut off any response; as the four stepped out to
the corridor leading to the Minister's office, Shacklebolt's rumbling voice resonating in
the empty corridors: “You were looking for me, Percy?”

Percy immediately snapped to attention, his face flushing at the realization that he'd spent
precious time chatting on personal matters rather than going straight to business.

“My apologies, Minister, although it is good that Harry's here also.” He took a breath
before continuing. “Director Ragnok of Gringotts requests an urgent meeting with Harry Potter and
asks that the Minister also be in attendance to discuss matters of mutual benefit and profit. He
asked, however, that the meeting be held on `neutral grounds' as soon as possible.”

At the surprised look on Harry's face, he shrugged. “That's what they told me, Harry, in
those exact words. I tried to find out more but they kept saying that they had to meet with
you.”

A sibilant sigh escaped Harry's lips and he mumbled, “Probably wants restitution for the
dragon we stole and the damage to his precious bank.”

A soft snicker escaped the Minister's lips but this was cut off by Percy's
`officious' voice: “Maybe but I'm not sure, Harry. If that's all he wanted, he'd
have simply sent you a bill and taken the gold out of your vault. He wouldn't be calling for a
meeting - neither would he ask for the presence of the Minister.”

Harry noticed that Hermione and Shacklebolt were nodding; with an exasperated sigh, he agreed.
“Fine, I'll meet with him -” he glanced at Shacklebolt - “if the Minister is willing?”

At the Minister's nod, he continued, “Please extend my compliments to the Director, Percy,
and request that - if it is convenient and he is agreeable - that we have dinner at Hogwarts
tonight.”

“Hogwarts?”

“He specified `neutral grounds,' Percy, and that means Hogwarts. It has always been
considered neutral grounds by the Goblin nation, where the Goblins and the Ministry signed one of
the treaties between them in the 1700s, I think … probably with Binns as a witness.”

He blinked at the surprised expressions on their faces and rolled his eyes. “Hey, I can read.
There wasn't much that I could do while sitting around a tent last year …” He glanced at
Hermione and looked away; both teens unconsciously biting their lips as they tried to keep the
blood from rushing to their faces - a fact that caused both the Minister and Percy to grin
lasciviously before wiping the smiles off their faces.

Percy took over. “All right. Let me get in touch with the Headmistress first, though … she may
not appreciate a horde of goblins descending on the castle without warning. I'll floo her…”

“Use my office, Percy,” the Minister interrupted him. “We're closer there, anyway - no need
for you to head for your office when we're right here. Harry and Hermione are going to Hogwarts
anyway …”

Percy nodded; without a word, the four continued walking down the corridor towards the
Minister's office, Percy and the teens unconsciously dropping behind the designated leader of
the magical world. As they walked, Percy (obviously casting around for something to say), said,
“Harry? Dad was telling me that you and some others went down to the Chamber of Secrets?”

The party stopped walking as they reached Shacklebolt's office as the suddenly embarrassed
teen replied, “Uhm, yeah … I wasn't thinking straight, I thought that Hermione had been dragged
down there…”

“The Chamber of Secrets? And I missed it? I've always wanted to take a look…”

A suddenly oppressive silence permeated the place as Shacklebolt, Percy and Harry stared,
wide-eyed, at the suddenly-flustered Hermione Granger. She stood there shocked, pale-faced, fist in
her mouth as she mumbled, “I shouldn't ha' said that … I shouldn't ha' said
that.”

***

**ARITHMANCY CLASSROOM, HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**

It was a mingled sense of comfort and loss that Bill felt as he stood in the classroom where
he'd spent four of his Hogwarts years, part of the course track needed to fulfil his dream to
be a curse breaker. It was the first place that popped into mind when they'd decided to leave
the Astronomy Tower where the sun beating down was making it uncomfortable to stay.

They were all familiar with the place: Fleur, Ginny and Susan had all taken Arithmancy here -
Fleur during her stay in the castle during the Tri-Wizard, Ginny and Susan opting for Arithmancy as
electives in their third year rather than opt for the `wooly art of Divination'.

He felt arms snaking around his waist and he smiled sadly, grateful for the support he felt from
his wife and wondering - yet again - how his life had become so complicated. A soft squeeze and he
turned around, glancing at the people in the room.

Molly was still out cold, lying on the fainting couch that Fleur had conjured when she
side-along Apparated Molly here; Bill was torn between enervating her now or waiting for nature to
take its course. He shook his head ... both he and Fleur had thought that Molly's sudden
appearance at the Astronomy Tower would have provided answers but the confrontation with Susan had
only brought more questions to the fore.

Most especially, her final outburst before Fleur had stunned her ... he couldn't decide
whether Molly was really gunning for Arthur over something he had no idea about or she was using
Arthur as an excuse to get away.

Her witches' oath, however, indicated that there was something going on ... he could only
hope that they found answers soon and that those answers would not tear his family apart.

He shifted his gaze to one side and smiled, sadly. Ginny and Susan were cuddled on an oversized,
overstuffed armchair that Susan had transfigured. Ginny was on Susan's lap, her face resting
against Susan's chest, seemingly asleep ... poor kid, he thought to himself. She hadn't had
an easy time of it - victim of a near possession in her first year, subjected to manipulations in
her fifth, and then months under the enemy's thumb for her sixth.

True, she showed the courage, grit and determination of a true Gryffindor in the past year - but
what was the use of all that when you were denied your soul mate for over a year? Worse was the
manipulation of being forced into a relationship with Harry - someone she and the Weasleys as a
whole considered a part of their family.

It was a relief to Bill that Ginny had not been a part of that manipulation - she owed a
life-debt to Harry over Riddle's diary and he shuddered at the thought of how magic would react
if Ginny had been a willing part of the plot to bring Harry and her together using love potions.
*That* would have constituted a betrayal of the highest order and while Bill was sure that
Harry would easily forgive and forget, he wasn't sure if magic would be satisfied and would not
require its' due.

Susan, on the other hand ... He'd gotten to know the young Hufflepuff somewhat during the
months she spent recovering in Muriel's home and found her to be a witty, sharp but humble
person who hid a core of steel behind her innate gentleness and “Hufflepuffiness.”

They'd spent some time when Susan was recovering to discuss various things; to his surprise,
Susan was well-versed in financial matters and dealing with Gringotts - which was explained by the
fact that Susan had been - and was now - the presumptive head of the Valiant House of Bones. Maybe
not as wealthy or prestigious as the Potters or Blacks, but still a well-respected house in the
wizarding world.

“They look good together, bro.” The soft voice of his younger brother Charlie startled him for a
moment but he relaxed and nodded although (in his mind) he was shaking his head at Charlie's
easy acceptance of Susan and Ginny's relationship.

Maybe because they'd spent years out of the stifling atmosphere of British magical society,
Bill thought. He'd been posted to Cairo soon after graduation from Hogwarts and acceptance by
Gringotts; Charlie, on his part, had moved to the Dragon Preserve in Romania soon after *his*
graduation from Hogwarts.

Being out of the country had definitely broadened their horizons; Bill had to admit to himself
that if he had stayed on in Britain after graduation, he'd have run screaming the first time
Fleur batted her eyelashes at him - that or become a drooling, brainless gob of goo rather than the
suave, sophisticated man he was when he and Fleur met at Gringotts London and he volunteered to
help with her `Eenglish lessons.”

Charlie, on the other hand, admitted that `it takes all kinds' to be able to work at the
dragon preserve and that he'd had his share of workmates who'd batted for other teams. At
the end of the day, Charlie told Ginny and Susan, it was one's competence and capability that
mattered, not whether there was something dangling between one's legs.

“Although,” Charlie had smirked at them, “I've known girls with two big brass ones facing
down a hungry Horntail - while those who actually have balls fainted the first time Norbert looks
at them!”

The comment had earned Charlie a smack from Ginny and a thankful grin from Susan, endearing his
brother to both girls and helping settle them down when he showed up in response to Bill's
messenger-Patronus, calling Charlie to this room.

Bill glanced up at a flicker of movement across the room and sighed as he watched the last two
occupants of the room talking in low tones. Charlie caught his look and sighed also; clamping a
large, callused hand on his brother's shoulder he murmured, “It's all right, bro ... you
didn't really have a choice.”

Bill nodded wryly as he looked at Tonks and Remus. There was really no option, he knew - the
recent revelations and its implications were so far outside his experience and expertise that there
was no real choice - he needed help and these two could provide it.

He could only be grateful that he'd had a chance to work closely with both which allowed
them all a little space outside `official and legal' posturing. Right now, Tonks was merely
Tonks - an old friend from the Order of the Phoenix, not Senior Auror Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin of the
Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Beside her was Remus Lupin, again a friend from `the old
crowd' but here as the last Marauder, the last of James Potter's friends and unofficial
Godfather of the Boy-Who-Won, representing Harry's interest - and not Senior Auror (designate)
Remus Lupin of DMLE.

He had no choice, he repeated silently to himself. His first thought was to call a family
council - an idea quickly dismissed because family members were involved - hell, only Percy and the
Twins apparently had no part in whatever was going on.

Much as he would like to keep things `in the family' as it were, there was really no option
- they needed outside help for this and they could only be grateful that Tonks and Remus were
willing to hold off doing things `officially' until things were sorted out.

A low moan caught his attention and he hurried to his mother's side, helping a groaning
Molly sit up while Fleur conjured a glass filled with ice-cold water. Bleary-eyed, Molly accepted
the glass and drank it down quickly before handing it back - and blinked when she realized who it
was in front of her.

“Bill? Fleur? What - ?” Her eyes widened in surprise as she spotted Charlie to one side - and
widened even more as she espied Susan and her daughter. Her eyes narrowed to slits at the sight and
everyone in the room tensed - when Molly jumped to her feet, hexes were on their lips, held off
only because she was without her wand and clearly swaying on her feet.

With palpable effort, Molly drew herself up as she took in a deep breath. Hands out and
wandless, she took a tottering step closer to the narrow-eyed and tense Susan and Ginny before she
stopped in front of them.

Looking straight at Susan, she spoke: “Susan Amelia Bones, I wish to extend my apologies for
over reacting and making wanton accusations without basis or thought. In my defence I wish to point
out that I was acting only as a mother should...”

Susan was also on her feet, Ginny standing with her, arms wrapped around the older girl's
waist. “Apology accepted, Mrs. Weasley. I should also apologize for my precipitate actions which,
while intending no harm to your son -”

The loud crack of apparition made everyone in the room jump - Bill's wand was in
Arthur's face before anyone could even blink.

Arthur's hands were up although one hand firmly held his wand, an action they had all gotten
used to from months on the run and the late Moody's `CONSTANT VIGILANCE!' echoing in their
ears.

When Bill realized who it was, he stepped back even as Arthur shouted `Spark plug!' which
caused the others to lower their wands. “I got your message, Bill and came as quickly as I could.
Now what's ... Molly?”

The surprise on the Weasley patriarch's face was typically Arthur, a look that all the
Weasleys knew quite well. They (including Tonks and Remus) grinned as the older man gaped from
person to person - until his eyes came on his daughter with her arms around Susan Bones.

“GET AWAY FROM THAT SLUT, GINNY! NO CHILD OF MINE'S GONNA TURN FREAK ON ME!”

It was shocking. It was stunning. It caught everyone in the room by surprise to see the normally
mild-mannered Arthur in a towering rage that they all froze. It was the sight of Arthur grabbing
Ginny's collar and tugging it forcefully that unlocked their limbs and mouths - Bill and
Charlie shouting “DAD!”; Ginny squeaking in shock and fear; Tonks and Remus stepping from the
window -

“SMACK!”

The sound of a meaty hand meeting flesh froze everyone in their tracks, only to be followed by a
well-remembered roar: “ARTHUR WEASLEY! YOU LAY ONE *HAND* ON MY DAUGHTER AND I SWEAR -”

Whatever it was that Molly was to swear to was forgotten as Arthur's wand pointed unerringly
at Susan even as he roared, “SECTUM - meep!” followed by a whimper as he rolled into a foetal
position, hands between his legs even as Remus, Bill and Charlie winced and felt their knees
knocking together.

A wandless Molly had reacted instinctively at Arthur's move - unthinking, she'd reacted
as she'd often done to an escaping gnome in her garden - by kicking out with all her weight
behind her foot.

The red bolt of a Stunning Curse splashed into Arthur from behind, fired by either Tonks or
Remus, effectively silencing the painful yell building in Arthur's throat and throwing him into
blissful unconsciousness.

A horrified Molly was on her knees beside her husband, wailing as tears coursed down her cheeks:
“Oh Arthur, you stupid, stupid *man! WHY CAN'T YOU LET THEM GO? WHY CAN'T YOU LET THEM
BE?*”

It was Bill's shout of “MUM!” combined with a vigorous shake of her shoulders that finally
stopped Molly's wails, leaving her sniffling and shaken as she stared at her husband. Bill
knelt beside her, an arm around her as he tried to help her stand even as questions escaped his
lips: “Mum? What's going on? What do you mean ... what did Dad mean?”

Molly appeared not to hear him as she sniffled in his arms, “I'm sorry, Gideon ... I'm
sorry, Fabian ... I thought Arthur was over it ...”

The Weasley siblings and Remus glanced at each other in confusion; there was only one thing they
could associate with Molly's words: her brothers Gideon and Fabian, both killed during
Voldemort's first rise to power.

Remus knew them through the Order of the Phoenix: stocky twins with red hair and infectious
grins, quick to laughter and with deep belly laughs, prone to pranks and jokes but - they'd
been remarkably reticent whenever the Marauders tried to exchange notes about their pranks at
Hogwarts. Both Gid and Fabian brushed them off, saying they were more serious during their Hogwarts
days.

It had led to some suspicion at the time but they were Molly's brothers ... all suspicion
died the day they were killed by Voldemort's forces.

Of the siblings, only Bill and Charlie had any memory of their uncles - but these were vague
impressions of two large, laughing men who'd tossed them in the air when they were small ...
Bill remembered being told that they had `died like heroes' when he was five or six years old -
it suddenly struck him that he remembered them only in the company of a lot of other people. He
could never remember them spending time in the Burrow ... and, he suddenly realized, not a word had
ever escaped Arthur's lips about Gideon and Fabian Prewett.

It was Ginny's whispered “Mum?” that shook Molly out of her fogged mindscape and she turned
red-rimmed eyes to her daughter. “Mum, what do Uncles Gideon and Fabian have to do with Dad?”

A choked sob from Molly before a hiccupping reply: “Gideon ... Gideon Arcturus Weasley was
Arthur's younger brother ... Fabian ... Fabian Galaor Prewett was my older brother although he
was younger than Gid ... he was Gideon's husband and soul mate.”

Four thumps were heard as Ginny, Bill, Charlie and Remus sat down hard on the floor; only the
quick action of Susan, Fleur and Tonks stopped Molly from falling face-first on the floor as Bill
released her.

***

**THE OFFICE OF THE MINISTER OF MAGIC**

“Hermione?”

The young witch was silent, unwilling to look at Harry, wondering how she got herself in this
situation - or whether she'd deliberately committed the *faux pas*. True, she *did*
want to see the legendary Chamber of Secrets and wondered why, in the four years since it was
opened and she was at school, she had never asked Harry for a tour - and dismissing that thought as
irrelevant *now* …

Vaguely, she heard Shacklebolt and Percy's low voices from where they were sitting at the
Minister's desk, conversing quietly but incomprehensively - and remembered Harry ushering her
to this small alcove to one side of the Minister's expansive office before casting privacy,
muffling and silencing charms around the area.

She was trapped; she had well and truly put her foot in it this time.

“Hermione?” She sighed. She'd dug her own grave - deliberately or not, the deed was done -
and asked, head down and staring at her shoes, “Harry … who told you that Ron and I went to the
Chamber of Secrets?”

A puzzled Harry Potter, standing in front of her, replied, “You did.”

The look she gave him would have made McGonagall proud; Hermione watched him gulp as her glare
impaled him before he could squeak out, “Ron?”

She nodded sadly. “Yes, *Ron*.*”* She took a deep breath. “*Ronald* *said*
that we'd gone to the Chamber of Secrets.” And then sighed as she continued, “And *how* do
you think Ron and I got into the Chamber of Secrets, Harry? You're right, you know … you need
to speak Parseltongue to get in.”

“You said Ron did … you *told* Ron to *show* me -”

She lifted her eyes to meet his bewildered green orbs as she asked, “Did you understand a word
he said?”

Their eyes remained locked for a long, silent moment before Harry looked away. “No.”

He bit his lip at the admission. He *knew*, the moment Ron began making that horrible,
strangled, hissing noise, that there was *no way* they could have entered the Chamber -
Ron's pitiful attempt at parseltongue was not only pathetic, it was laughable. Except that
*Hermione* supported the story … and brought proof of their accomplishment in the form of
basilisk fangs …

Harry blinked. *Fangs?* Something was niggling at the back of his mind … something learned
in muggle school … something read in the library while he was trying to escape Dudley and his
gang…

He kept quiet, however, as Hermione continued, her voice seemingly flat and devoid of emotion,
“There we were after you left to look for Ravenclaw's diadem and I thought … what would happen
if you did find the other one, how were we going to get rid of it? We still hadn't gotten rid
of the cup! Griphook had taken the sword! And then it hit me … the kitchens!”

Harry blinked - the kitchens? What were they going to do - *cook* the damned thing?

“Ow!” He rubbed the back of his head where Hermione swatted him - and realized that he'd
verbalized his last thought. Before he could apologize, Hermione hissed, “*Elves*, Harry!
Since elves are so powerful, even though they rarely show it -” Harry nodded, remembering Dobby
with an ache in his heart, “I thought that they could help us … maybe if they worked together, they
could destroy the cup and then the diadem.”

She slumped against the wall. “Ron thought going to the kitchens was brilliant, of course. He
thought we were going there for a snack…”

Harry couldn't help it, he almost choked as he held back his laughter; Hermione, however,
smiled feebly before continuing in a forlorn voice, “They couldn't help … too scared maybe or
their magic couldn't do it … or they didn't want to destroy a Founder's Relic, I
don't know.”

Hermione sighed. “And then Winky approached. She asked what had happened to Dobby and I … I told
her that he died fighting V-Voldemort, keeping you - his master - safe. She cried for a while as I
held her and then she looked me in the eye and said, `Would a serpent's tooth do?'

“It didn't register for a moment and then I realized - the basilisk! I was about to hug her
but then Ron stepped in, asking how the hell we can get into the bloody Chamber to get one. Winky
just looked at him like he needed a bath and started pulling me …Ron followed as we ran to the
dungeons…”

Harry frowned, and then it hit him. Potions! Basilisk fangs and other parts were potions
ingredients … he remembered Slughorn going on and on about Acromantula venom, Basilisk fangs and
erumpet horns as Hermione continued, “She dragged me to the very back of the potions storeroom …
right to a chest in a cabinet that said, `Property of Hector Dagworth-Granger'.”

“Dagworth-*Granger*? Founder of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?”

Hermione nodded. “Remember Slughorn asking me if he was a relation?” She shrugged then
continued, “… anyway, Winky explained that part of the elves' job was to constantly renew the
stasis charms on the box … She opened it and there it was … a cache of basilisk fangs. Apparently,
it had been there for years, decades even but since basilisk fangs are rarely used in potions…” She
shrugged and fell silent.

Harry shook his head. “So you never went to the Chamber…”

Hermione's sigh of exasperation was clear. “Harry … only a Parseltongue can enter the
Chamber. Maybe if we had a recording of you opening the Chamber … Besides, you told me that the
tunnel was blocked the first time you went in to rescue Ginny … how did *you* get in this
time?”

“We took the slide down,” Harry replied. “Neville, Ernie and I, with McGonagall, Flitwick, and
Hannah joining us. The professors cleared out the blockage and then we searched…” Harry trailed
off. He was kicking himself mentally for missing it - when they'd gotten to the blocked part,
there was only the small opening through which a 12-year old boy and an 11-year old girl had
crawled through, five years ago. And even *that* had been almost blocked from the debris of
five years of shifting soil and rock … he didn't notice, simply because finding Hermione was
the only thing on his mind.

Hermione nodded, and asked, “How'd you get out? I remember you saying that Fawkes flew you
out the last time…”

Harry shrugged. “We brought brooms…” He stopped and Hermione nodded as he continued, “You
wouldn't have found time to look for a broom - and I doubt if Ron would have even thought of
that.”

Hermione sighed again. “Everything else went pretty much the way Ron said. I took a fang and
stabbed the Cup, destroying it, and then went looking for you, bringing the rest of the fangs with
us. When we saw you … you asked us where we've been and Ron ...”

She shrugged, the guilty secret that she'd helped in now out, finally. Hermione felt
peaceful, the tension draining from her but she nearly jumped when Harry said, “So that's it.
Wonder why I missed that…”

Hermione looked curiously at him and Harry met her eyes. “A basilisk is nothing but a big snake,
right?” She nodded, puzzled, and he continued, “Snakes only have two fangs for injecting venom …
with one broken off when it died, there was only one left down there … but you and Ron showed up
with quite a haul.”

Hermione smiled, amazed once again at how Harry sometimes made intuitive leaps that showed how
truly brilliant he could be, if he only applied himself to his studies. She sighed at the thought -
Harry could be exceptional if he wanted to but he never really tried. She suspected it had
something to do with the Dursleys - he'd told her once, during their time alone in the tent,
that Vernon would hit the roof every time he came home with an above average report card, proving
that he was better than his whale of a dumb son.

And when he came to Hogwarts … hanging out with Ron only made him worse. She wondered if Harry
had imbibed Ron's lazy habits … or if he simply followed what he did with the Dursleys, because
he was afraid to lose his best friend. She stirred as Harry said, quietly, “I wonder why he did
it.”

Hermione sighed. The better question was, why did *she* allow him to get away with it? Not
only that, but she'd even fed into Ron's ego … going all fan girl on Ron, praising him for
his `brilliance' and then kissing him soundly when his brain finally engaged and he suggested
freeing the house elves - ugh! She should have expected Ron's reaction … what she was counting
on was that Ron would be too stunned by what she did that he'd faint - instead, he'd
grabbed her and kissed her soundly …even trying to get his tongue in her mouth…

She shivered at the memory, promising herself a visit to a mind healer so that she could be
obliviated of *that!*

“Hermione?”

“You know why, Harry…” She began, unaware that Harry's eyes had dimmed at her words. “We
were going into battle after we'd taken care of the Horcruxes … there was every chance that one
of us would be dead … what would you have me do, Harry?”

She faced him fully and locked her eyes with his, willing him to look at her and see the truth,
unconsciously grabbing his hands at the same time. “Ron *needed* that, Harry. He may have been
your best friend but friends don't leave their friends just because they're jealous or when
things get rough.

“He'd already abandoned us twice - fourth year because of that stupid Tri-Wizard and again
last year when he couldn't take that locket anymore. What's going to stop him from bailing
out on us again? He needed the fame, he needs the glory … he needed the *chance* to prove to
everyone that he was your friend and would fight beside you to the bitter end ... and if trying to
take the glory for finding the means to destroy the remaining Horxruxes would do that for him, who
was I to stop him?

“Who was I to refuse him?”

As silence fell between them, Hermione wondered what was going on behind Harry's green eyes.
They'd gone opaque and contemplative - and she would have been shocked to learn that it was
Phineas' voice that Harry was hearing behind his thoughtful gaze: “*She would have been a
perfect Slytherin, you know*.”

He had to agree - what else was she supposed to do? Ron's glory-grabbing even after he'd
proven himself to them would *never* be enough for him ... Ron had to keep proving himself, to
Harry and to his own mind … the guilt of having abandoned them during the Tri-Wizard and the hunt,
as Hermione said, would weigh heavily on him. And if he gained a bit more courage by claiming that
he'd `ventured' into the Chamber of Secrets rather than going to the kitchens for a snack …
then who was Harry to refuse? He had more than enough glory to last a lifetime - as did Hermione,
he realized. Taking down Mad Bella and other rabid death eaters made her a legend … people would
remember that she had been by his side throughout their years at Hogwarts.

As for Ron … He shook himself of the thought. What he'd done would always be with him; he
may have made amends both times but he still abandoned them. Rita Skeeter was living proof that
nothing could be kept hidden if someone was out for blood or your reputation - Harry could just see
it now, Rita's latest tell-all book: “Ronald Weasley: Keeper of Secrets or Chaser for
Glory?”

He realized that he'd been staring into Hermione's chocolate-brown eyes and shook his
head; the gesture breaking Hermione out of her own trance. He felt himself smiling as a memory came
to the forefront of his mind, and he couldn't help but tease her: “Is that why you went all
*girly* on Ron, Hermione?”

It was enjoyable to watch Hermione turn the colour of a Weasley's hair and Harry snickered -
the laughter quickly turning to pain as Hermione hit him again. His Seeker reflexes kicked in and
he grabbed her before she could hit him again, wrapping her into a tight hug as he whispered
apologies in her ear.

He relaxed when he felt her arms snake around him and hugged him back; he breathed in deeply as
he felt her giggling into his chest.

“A little over the top there, wasn't I? I can't believe I did that ...” Hermione said,
and her giggles turned into shudders as she remembered Ron's reaction when she kissed him -
once again, reminding herself to visit the mind healer for memory removal.

“Hermione?” She turned and got caught in Harry's gaze - her breath hitched in her throat for
a brief moment before she felt his lips on hers. It was a brief one - a mere peck on the lips which
left behind a lingering promise of more to come, and Hermione smiled as Harry's arms snaked
around her. Leaning into his chest, she heard him say, “No more secrets, Hermione, please?”

Silence.

With a sigh, Harry gently pushed her back and stared at her as she worried her lower lip.
Meeting her eyes, he asked, “Hermione?”

A sigh and a small smile. “A small one, Harry ... nothing big, nothing directly to do with all
this, I promise. I'll tell you about it when the time is right.”

For a long moment they locked gazes before Harry nodded. He was about to say something when a
paper ball hit the back of his head - spinning around with wand out, he saw the Minister and Percy
both looking at them with raised eyebrows, Shacklebolt mouthing the words “Get a room, you
two!”

Blushing, Harry took down the wards and the teens approached.

“We've been able to contact Minerva; she'll meet us in the Headmaster's Office as
soon as you're ready.”

“Are you joining us, Minister?” Percy asked.

For a long moment, Shacklebolt stared at the piles of parchment on his desk. With slow,
deliberate moves, he turned on the intercom on his desk and boomed out, “Nat? I'll be at a
meeting at Hogwarts for the rest of the day. Shut down this place and take the day off ... we all
deserve it.”

He turned away without really listening to Natalie's enthusiastic agreement; grabbing the
floo powder, he tossed it in and with a loud, “Hogwarts Headmaster's Office!” was gone in a
flash of green flame, the others quickly following.

***

**ARITHMANCY CLASSROOM, HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**

“Married? What are you talking about, woman?”

Remus flinched at the hard glares directed his way by the Weasley siblings but held his face
impassive. Of those still awake in the room, he was the only one aside from Molly who had a lot of
interaction with her brothers because of their work in the Order.

Truth to tell, he *liked* the two Prewetts. They, like the Marauders, were the only ones
who accepted him for what he was from the beginning. To them, he was a *person* with a monthly
scary problem - which made him no different from Dorcas Meadowes, Marlene McKinnon, Alice
Longbottom or Lily Potter, all of whom were dead frightening when they had their
`monthlies.'

He fought down a laugh as he remembered the two saying, much like Fred and George with their
Twin-speak, that Minerva McGonagall was the only one who was scary without a monthly problem -
simply because she was `past' such things - a comment which almost lost them two of their best
fighters to `friendly fire' from the enraged Deputy Headmistress.

He shook his head of the memory as he glared at the tear-stricken witch in front of him being
comforted by her daughter-in-law. Molly looked at him with compassion and understanding - she,
unlike her brothers, had often (and loudly) wondered why *he* was with the Order until the day
her brothers had grabbed her by the elbows and towed her away for a good `talking to.'

She glanced at her two oldest children and asked, “What do you remember of Gideon and Fabian,
boys?”

Charlie and Bill looked at each other before Bill replied, “They were twins, Mum ... big,
stocky, red hair like you ... I never could tell them apart. Big belly laughs ... Uncle Gid and
Uncle Fabian used to carry Charlie and I around on their shoulders whenever we saw them...”

He fell silent for a moment before whispering, “I...I don't remember them ever being at the
Burrow, Mum. We'd meet them whenever you brought us along on some meeting or other ... I
remember asking you time and time again how come Uncles Gid and Ian never came to play with
us...”

Beside him Charlie was nodding vigorously; he too had asked the same question from his mum
numerous times - and he blinked as he realized that he had never asked Arthur about his uncles. Not
ever - it just wasn't done.

“They couldn't visit, Bill,” Molly replied with a pained sigh. “The Burrow is the Weasley
ancestral home and Arthur ... Arthur as Head of the Family could ban people from ever entering the
Burrow if he so wished.”

“But they were your brothers, Mum!”

“That's what we - Arthur insisted and I went along - wanted you to believe.” She took a deep
breath before continuing, “Your father wanted nothing to do with them when Gideon … `came out,'
I think is the word. The two of them - Gideon and Fabian - had been together as `friends' for
years, two confirmed bachelors who were closer than brothers. They were Auror partners and shared a
flat, often went out on double dates as cover … until Gid or Ian, I never knew which one, decided
to hell with it and refused to hide the fact that they were together.

“What clinched the deal was that they were soul mates … something they never knew about until
Ian - Fabian - was doing a records check on some criminal or other, which led him to the Book of
Souls in the Department of Mysteries and there it was - Gideon and he were soul mates and had been
for years. He had a copy made and showed it to Gideon and the two went to the Burrow to confront
Arthur and his Dad.”

Ginny interrupted, “The Book of Souls?”

To their surprise, it was Susan Bones who answered, explaining what the book was and how it
could be accessed. Wistfully, she said, “Aunt Amelia told me that Mum and Dad were in the book; she
promised me that she would take me there to see it someday…”

Ginny hugged her tightly as she sobbed; everyone else kept a respectful silence as Susan managed
to control herself. “Mrs. Weasley” - Molly looked up at Susan's voice - “Aunt Amelia told me
that the Records Office is supposed to send out notices when a new entry is made in the Book … how
come your brothers - err - your uhm (Molly nodded to show she understood) … well, how come they
never knew?”

Molly sighed. “The notice is sent to the Head of House of the older of the bonded pair; it is
the responsibility of the Head to explain to the pair what it means and what options are open to
them.

“In this case, it went to Arthur and Gideon's father … what Gideon never realized until then
was that his father and … and … Arthur kept it from them.”

“Why?”

Molly sighed and hung her head. “Because they were purebloods who believed that marriage is
between a man and a woman, and that a marriage is consummated when the woman starts bearing
children to carry on the family name.”

An oppressive silence fell over them; unconsciously, the mated pairs - Fleur and Bill, Remus and
Tonks, Susan and Ginny - reached out to their partners' hands and held them tightly. The older
pairs knew this but had never spoken of it; in both cases, they knew that having children was the
only way their marriages would be considered valid in the eyes of British magical law since Bill
and Tonks were married to `creatures' - opposite sex, maybe, but creatures nonetheless in
magical Britain's bigoted eyes.

“Bu…bu…but…”

“Hush, Ginny. That won't be a problem.” Susan and Ginny turned wide eyes to the
confident-sounding Fleur who gave them a small smirk. “The Veela have ways … some of our -
techniques, let's say - have even made their way into the muggle world.”

The two teens gaped - and gaped even further when Charlie spoke up. “Believe her, girls …
we're trying some of those `techniques' at the reservation for dragon breeding.”

“Hem, hem.” Tonks clearing her throat made them blink and blush; Susan, Ginny and the others
realized that this was a discussion for another time and they turned their attention back to Molly
who was also staring at Fleur in surprise. Tonks' question, “What happened next?” made her snap
her head around to look at the metamorph.

“They had it out at the Burrow with Arthur's Dad … from what I learned later from Ian, the
place was nearly destroyed when Arthur and his Dad tried to hex them. It ended when Arthur's
Dad disowned Gideon and banned him from ever entering the Burrow again. Arthur, as the eldest and
presumptive heir, agreed with his father and the wards expelled Gideon and Fabian.”

Bill nodded; his father had explained the Burrow's defences to him two years before since he
was the presumptive heir and Arthur felt it better to clue Bill in before `something happened to
him' - a prescient move, given what happened in Christmas of '95 when Arthur was attacked
by Nagini. Expelling and keeping unwanted people out was only one of its many defences;
unfortunately, the wards were no match for Voldemort himself who'd gone there looking for Harry
when word got to him about Ron's faked spattergoit ...

She stood up and paced the room, walking over to the windows and staring out as she continued,
“Arthur and I were already married and I was carrying you, Bill … I was out on Order business when
Gid and Fabian had it out with them. I came home and we had a blazing row. He was cursing Ian and
Gideon's names and ordered me never to speak to them again. I slapped him and told him that
Fabian was my brother and presumptive heir to the Prewett family … he told me that I was no longer
a Prewett but a Weasley and he was willing to call Family Law on me.”

Molly was hyperventilating and the others looked worriedly at each other. “My temper got the
better of me” - she ignored the snorts from the others - “and I hexed him. He got a shield up and
it bounced back at me …I almost lost you, Bill…”

Bill walked quietly behind his mother and placed his hands on her shoulder; Molly spun around
and hugged him tightly as she sobbed, “We talked it out in St. Mungo's while I was recovering …
Arthur, however ... was firm about casting Gideon out of his family. Luckily for Ian, my father
took them in and accepted them for what they were - two people in love who simply wanted to have a
life together and to be left alone. Da' `adopted' the two and Gideon took on the Prewett
name.”

“They weren't twins?”

Molly smiled sadly at Remus. “Nym - *Tonks* isn't the only metamorphmagus, Remus. It
used to be a game for Gideon, growing up - like Tonks, he can and did change his appearance to
anyone he fancied but soon after his … his `marriage', he took on Fabian's face and looks
as his base form.”

She sighed. “It was for the best … none of our friends, even those in the Order, talked about
it. People who didn't know them - like the `Young Ones' (Remus grinned sadly at the name
the older Order members had called him and his friends) - assumed they were twins and they never
said anything otherwise; so people just naturally assumed that was what it was.”

Molly turned away from them and stared out the window. “Soon after, Arthur's father was
ambushed by Death Eaters. He was on the way back from the pub when they attacked him … they left a
note on his body … that he … he had sired an `unnatural child' and had to be erased since his
un-naturalness might spread.

“Arthur blamed Gideon for it, of course - claiming that it was Gideon's `unnatural'
relationship with Fabian that had caused their father to be a target. He would never accept that it
could have been because Gideon was a metamorph … or that *both* of them were `un-natural'
in Voldemort's eyes because they were purebloods who opposed him. Arthur, even then, had a
fascination for Muggles and had just started crafting the Muggle Protection Act for the
Wizengamot.”

She sighed. “Arthur swore on his father's grave that he would never let another freak darken
the family's name ever again … he never spoke to Gid or Fabian ever again, even when we saw
each other during Order meetings.”

She turned and sat heavily on the window sill. “I couldn't cut off my brother like that.
Every chance I got, I'd bring the boys over to their place and spend time with them … Albus,
bless his soul, never let on to Arthur; always said that he sent me off on some mission or other,
or that I was in the castle working with Minerva or Slughorn brewing potions.

“It was a wonderful sight to see, those two, so in love and deeply caring for each other. It was
truly a marriage made in heaven and blessed by the gods … there were times when I envied them for
what they had. What Arthur and I had … it was as close to that as we could achieve but theirs was a
whole level deeper or higher or whatever.

“When they were killed … I guess I over-compensated.” She gave Ginny a wry. “All I ever talked
about when Ginny was growing up was soul mates and soul bonds … except that I couldn't mention
Gideon and Fabian by name or Arthur would have freaked … so I kept on talking about Ginny and
Harry…”

“You and a thousand other mothers, Mrs. Weasley.” They all looked at Susan who was blushing
prettily and refusing to meet Ginny's eyes. “Err … Aunt Amelia was planning to offer Harry a
betrothal contract when he turned sixteen.” She bit her lip. “Except that … well…”

There was no need to say anything more; everyone there knew that Amelia Bones had been killed -
they all suspected it was by Voldemort himself - just weeks before Harry's birthday. Tonks
snorted and said, “Not just mothers, Susan…”

Her hair and face turned flaming red as all eyes zoomed in on her, Remus' eyes faintly
glowing as he stared at her. “Er … my Da' (*gulp!*) wanted to send a contract to `arry
when he turned sixteen … Mum was fit to tie and threatened to brain `im if he tried that …”

Silence fell - broken seconds later by a soft snicker from Fleur. One by one, giggles were heard
only to be suppressed; soon enough, though, they couldn't hold off and the room dissolved into
loud, raucous laughter that lightened the mood after Molly's painful tale.

Only to be broken by Remus' somber voice: “All well and good, Molly, but that doesn't
explain the love potions in *your* family's heirloom container.”

Molly sighed and hung her head; the others had to strain to hear her hushed, pain-filled voice:
“Arthur's been worried about Ron for years … at least, ever since he went to Hogwarts. Year in,
year out, from the first letter he sent to the moment he came home, nothing but Harry this and
Harry that - `youngest Seeker in a century,' `my best mate Harry', helping Harry defeat the
troll … saving Harry's life from Quirell …

“Summer before second year - `we better save Harry from his relatives', taking the car to
Hogwarts so that he *and Harry* will not be late … Third year, protecting *Harry* from
Snape and Sirius Black …Fourth year, months of nothing but `Harry betrayed me' and then,
finally, that he and *Harry* were friends again …”

She looked up at her children, a pleading look in her eyes. “Arthur was going spare … nothing
but Harry this and Harry that from his youngest *son* … he was beginning to have nightmares of
Fabian laughing at him, going on and on about how he and *Gideon* were the best of *friends
… best friends forever*, Fabian said once …”

“But Mum,” Ginny protested, “Ron's been friends with Hermione since their first year…”

A flicker of pain passed over Molly's face. “Hermione … `that know-it-all bookworm trying to
horn in on *his* friendship with *Harry*…” She didn't see the shocked look on
Ginny's face at this side of Ron that she had seldom seen. “That's what he said …
that's what he wrote in first year after pages and pages of `Harry this' and `Harry
that' …

She abruptly stood up and looked out the window of the classroom. “I kept telling Arthur that
there was *nothing* there … that Ronnie was still young, wouldn't know anything about
*girls* yet…”

“He didn't even realize that Hermione was a girl until a few days before the Yule Ball,”
Ginny said quietly to Bill, Charlie and Fleur; Susan already knew *that* tale.

Molly sent a pained smile at her daughter and shook her head. “You can imagine Arthur's
reaction when Percy owled us that *Ron* was the hostage in the second task of the
Tri-Wizard…”

“Ze one 'Arry will miss the most,” Fleur murmured, remembering that episode with a shudder,
especially since she was not able to save her sister from the lake. She'd been so worried about
Gabby, then was so grateful to Harry for rescuing her sister that the fact that *Ronald* was
the one Harry would miss most had completely flown over her head.

“And then the summer at Grimmauld,” Molly whispered. “Hermione and Ron were both going spare …
Hermione more than Ron, which was all right in a way - but then, Ron never really showed any
interest in Hermione in all that time … and kept talking and worrying about Harry …”

She fell silent after that; this time it was Tonks who asked, “The potions, Molly?”

Molly glanced at Ginny and her brothers briefly. “It took me some time to realize it, but have
you ever noticed how thin and starved Harry looked after the summers? He's been staying with us
every summer except for the time we visited Bill in Cairo; haven't you noticed how he looks
when he comes over?”

She smiled sadly at Ginny's guilt-stricken face. “It all came together for me after … after
Sirius died. The boy is well-fed and filled out when we meet up with you in London but looks like
death warmed over when he arrives at the Burrow for the summer, after he spends time with the
Muggles.

“Arthur and I went to Hogwarts to discuss it with Poppy Pomfrey -” and she smiled sadly at the
memory. “Poppy was cursing a blue streak - she'd caught the signs of malnutrition and abuse the
first time Harry was in hospital and took it up with Albus who promised that he `would look into
it' … but it seems he did nothing about it.”

“*What?*”

Molly looked at the visibly steaming Remus Lupin who had, with a start, remembered thinking that
Harry seemed to be small for his age and had not taken on the physical size or attributes of his
parents, both of whom were of above-average height when they first entered Hogwarts while Harry was
decidedly slim and small for his age. The statement that Harry looked like a `miniature James'
was quite apt - what even he overlooked was that Harry should *not* have been a miniature
anything by the time he was fifteen when Remus saw him again.

“Albus was in the castle then and Poppy, Arthur and I confronted him about it. He finally
admitted that he suspected that Harry had been abused and starved before he went to Hogwarts …
something about `condemning Harry to ten dark and difficult years' but that it was all for `the
greater good'.”

She ignored the snorts of derision at that phrase, the provenance of which Rita Skeeter had
exposed in her tell-all book on Dumbledore and Grindelwald as she continued, “Poppy tore into Albus
at that, pointing out that Harry should have undergone treatment much earlier and that filling
meals during school days, only to be starved and beaten during the summers was not going to help.
She suggested nutritional potions for Harry before he turned seventeen; while it would not undo the
damage of the previous years, it would at least help him grow to his full magical and physical
potential before he came of age.”

Molly shook her head; all this talking was getting to her and she nodded in gratitude to Tonks,
who had conjured and handed a glass of water to her. After a sip, she continued, “I volunteered to
brew the potions; there was no way I would allow Severus to handle it - no telling what that foul
bat would do to the potions, given the chance. The only problem was how to get Harry to take them
without knowing.”

It was Bill who raised the question this time, “Why?”

“You don't know Harry, Bill. He's spent more time in the Hospital Wing, downing more
potions than anyone I know … the moment he was out of Mum's sight, he'd be binning the
potions and telling mum that he'd been taking them,” Ginny said strongly. Bill looked at her
and nodded; he didn't know Harry all that well and could see the point.

“And giving it to Harry would make him ask why he had to take them,” Molly added. “Something
that Albus was loathe to allow. Harry would have gone spare if he learned that Albus knew or
suspected what was happening or had happened with the Muggles … he made us promise not to tell
Harry, just allow him to think it was a natural, albeit late, growth spurt when it happens.

“Albus suggested that Dobby - the Malfoy house elf that Harry freed - would be more than willing
to help, which was true. He called for Dobby, explained the situation and Dobby agreed to do it. I
brewed the potions, bottled it and Dobby would drop by the Burrow every week to pick it up.”

She shook her head. “I'm only guessing here but I suspect that Arthur switched the potions
after I'd brewed and bottled them. We were the only ones left at the Burrow after you lot left
for Hogwarts - there was no one else who could have done it.”

“Where would Dad have gotten the love potions, Mother? It's Ministry-controlled and having
someone brew it for him…”

“He's the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office, Charlie,” Susan Bones pointed out,
“which is a misnomer. Its primary function is to keep magical items, especially the harmful ones,
from getting into muggle hands.”

“So?”

“Aunt Amelia told me, just before she died, that the DMLE suspected that someone was selling
love or lust potions to the Muggles. There has been an increase in what she called `date-rapes'
on the muggle side where women were being drugged and then raped; she told me that Mr. Weasley was
asking for help in trying to track down the suppliers on our side of the fence. They'd done
several raids by then where they caught some low-level Muggles with the potions but were unable to
catch the suppliers.”

“I remember that,” Tonks interjected. “I was supposed to be reassigned to Arthur's office to
help out but then …” She shrugged; everyone else nodded. Things had quickly changed that year -
Arthur was reassigned to another office, tasked with stopping the flow of counterfeit defensive
spells and potions that had gained popularity with the revelation that Voldemort was back.
“It's possible, I suppose … Arthur would have captured stocks of love and lust potions …
easiest thing in the world to have kept them and say he'd destroyed them …”

“Possible, but there's no proof!” All eyes turned to Charlie, who flinched at their cold
glares. Swallowing, he tried to glare back at them. “This is *Dad* we're talking about
here …”

“And this is *Mum* we're talking with, Charlie!” The second-oldest Weasley son stepped
back at the angry teen witch who was standing in front of him, palpable waves of anger roiling off
her. “She's sworn a witches oath that she hasn't brewed any love or lust potions … she
wasn't the one who tried to hex Susan for being with me…”

“She wasn't the one who Obliviated Ginny of her memories of me,” Susan interjected gently as
she wrapped an arm around the shaking young witch. “I suspected Ginny was Obliviated around the
time you lot visited Ron in the Hospital Wing last year - the day before we were talking about
going to Hogsmeade together … the day after, she didn't even know who I was or what we had
together…”

She spoke louder, running over Charlie's half-hearted protest. “Aunt Amelia always said Mr.
Weasley was one of the best Obliviators in the DMLE, he could have headed the Oblivators if he
weren't needed in Muggle Artefacts. It may have been a factor in the move - rather than call on
the Oblivator Squad for every little thing, he can do it himself.

“Mr. Weasley had the means, the motive and the opportunity to obliviate Ginny of her memories of
me...”

“He did.” Ginny's face was painful to watch: tears flowing as she stared at the man she had
looked up to for years, the man who had carried her around, doted on her as she grew up, spoiled
her as much as their limited resources could allow, now seemed to be a stranger in her eyes. Her
pained whisper continued, “I asked to speak with him privately when I visited Ron ... we found an
empty classroom and we sat down ... I told him about Susan, about my feelings for her ... next
thing I remember is that he was drawing his wand and then ... and then ...”

She broke down, enfolded in Susan's tight grip even as Molly stood up and wrapped the two
young girls in her arms. The others looked at each other for a moment, a silent question being
passed from one to the other ... until Remus took the bull by the horns: “There is a way of
confirming all this, Charlie ...”

The Weasley brothers looked at each other for a long moment before Charlie nodded; with a pained
look on his face, Bill turned to Tonks who nodded at the unspoken message.

Grim faced, Tonks approached the still-unconscious Arthur Weasley, pulling out a phial of a
transparent liquid from her robes. Uncapping the phial, she used an eye dropper to carefully place
a few drops of the liquid inside Arthur's lolling mouth and then, with a deep sigh, pointed her
wand and said, “*Ennervate!*”

-->



7. Chapter 7.
-------------



Grace Aux Malfoys

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Finally, after several months, 24 or so drafts, false starts and
re-writes, the next chapter is out. I would like to thank everyone who's read and reviewed this
and express my infinite gratitude for your patience with this wayward, some time writer.

Without further ado …

The characters of Harry Potter, Hermione Granger-Potter and almost everyone else in this tale
are the property of JK Rowling, her companies, partners and whoever else has paid enormous amounts
of money for her work. I am not making any money from this tale, just enjoying the satisfaction of
exercising my creative juices as well as grabbing the opportunity to turn something I don't
agree with into something I had hoped would happen.

**Chapter 7.**

**Arithmancy Classroom, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

The Weasleys - Bill and Fleur, Charlie, Molly and Ginny - and the Lupins (Tonks and Remus),
along with Susan Bones, were in a state of mental and emotional turmoil, unable to believe what
Arthur had said under Veritaserum. This was a man they'd admired and respected, a man
they'd fought beside (Remus and Molly in two wars), a man they were proud to call father or
friend.

The man sitting in a chair, head lolling, eyes unfocused and voice slurred from the effects of
Veritaserum ... this was *not* the Arthur Weasley they'd known and loved.

Tonks and Remus had led the questioning, taking off from Molly's earlier assertions - much
of which Arthur confirmed. Yes, he'd been worried that his youngest son would turn poufter -
nothing but Harry on his mind, his best mate, his best friend, and sounding too much like
Arthur's disowned brother Gideon spouting off about Fabian (Gideon's best friend, lover and
soul mate) for the patriarch's comfort.

Ron being the person that Harry `would miss the most' during the Tri-Wizard increased
Arthur's concern … coming upon a loopy Ron giggling about `your anus' in the Department of
Mysteries drove him to distraction … learning about Ginny and Susan the following year was the
final straw … he had no choice but to take action.

He'd Obliviated Ginny, `revived' her feelings for Harry, replaced Molly's
nutritional potions (which she'd been sending through Dobby since the summer) with Amortentia -
all the while saying that it was within his rights as the Head of the Ancient and Noble House of
Weasley to do so ...

“*I DON'T BELIEVE THIS FUCKING SHYTE!*” Ginny's roar made Remus grateful that
he'd demanded the teens surrender their wands before they started questioning Arthur. Father or
not, the look on the young witch's face promised either a quick death or sustained pain for
anyone at the end of Ginny's wand.

Molly's reprimand of, “Watch your mouth -” was cut off by the furious witch who turned
blazing eyes on her: “Put a sock in it, *mother!*”

A burp would have sounded like an explosion in the suddenly silent room, only for the shock to
wear off as the raging witch turned and bellowed at her father: “WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU
THINKING?”

The question seemed to trigger something in the older man - and they gaped in surprise as
Arthur's demeanour changed. No longer slumping, he sat straight in the chair, head up and spine
rigid as if a broom had been shoved up his back; staring straight ahead although his eyes remained
unfocused and glassy; responding in a voice that was oddly flat, harmonious and lucid: “It is for
the greater good of the wizarding world.”

“*WHAT?*”

“Magical Britain is in peril ... there are far too few children of the Old Families left to
continue a viable society. It is the duty of every light-sided wizard and witch to marry and
produce children, preferably sons who can continue the lines and lead magical society towards its
destiny. Ensuring strong sons that can lead us in the future is our duty and responsibility.”

Tonks frowned - for a moment, she thought the voice sounded familiar … `Hal' talking to
`Dave' … which was strange because she was sure she'd never met a `Hal' before.

Her thoughts were interrupted as an incensed Susan Bones asked, “Is that why you were against
Ginny's relationship with me?”

There was a hard edge to Arthur's voice as he answered, a tone they had never heard before
from the mild-mannered man: “Yes! It is a *perversion* of the ideals of marriage. The purpose
of marriage is to ensure the continuity of family and society. Without children to carry family
forward, society is doomed. Since people of the same gender cannot produce children, they must be
cast from society and the protection of family.”

“If so, why go through all the *shyte*?” Susan gritted out through clenched teeth as she
glared at the Weasley patriarch, “Why obliviate Ginny, why dose Harry with love potions when you
could have simply *disowned* her!”

Arthur's disembodied, harmonious voice responded, “That is not an option. For the good of
the wizarding world, Harry Potter cannot be allowed to marry another muggleborn with flawed ideas
and outlandish notions. Only his marriage to Ginny, a pureblood witch from a family dedicated to
the `Light,' is acceptable. Harry and Ginny are the future of magical society, destined to
become the leaders of light who will bring magical Britain into the future.”

“*BASTARD!* THAT FRIGGIN' *BASTARD!*” Molly's blood curdling scream broke the
trance that had seemingly enveloped the room's occupants. Susan watched, confused, as Molly
charged for the door as Bill and Charlie tried to intercept the raging witch; Fleur's wand
flashed and Molly bounced off an invisible barrier into the arms of her sons as another spell
flashed from Fleur's wand - this time, shrouding Molly in a warm glow -

The sound of a meaty *SLAP!* followed quickly by Tonks' loud “STUPEFY!” had wands
pointing all over the room - and the Weasleys blinked at the sight of Arthur on the floor, an
incensed Tonks standing over him as Remus rubbed a bruised cheek. Tonks responded curtly to the
confused Weasleys, “-serum's wearing off ... Arthur tried to grab Remus' wand. I had to
stun `im.”

Molly, however, was oblivious to Tonks' explanation as she sat in a chair, mumbling an
unending mantra of, “That bastard! That friggin' *bastard*!” A befuddled Susan asked a
visibly seething Ginny who looked ready, willing and able to kill someone with her bare hands,
“Gin? What's wrong? What's going on?”

“Dumbledore,” Ginny spat and Susan blinked at the *non sequitur* - life on the run was not
conducive to reading and Susan hadn't read or even heard of Skeeter's book*.* Ginny
explained in short, terse sentences punctuated by Molly's new mantra; Susan's confusion
morphed to outright horror at the implications of Arthur's parroting of `the greater good
...'

“We can't be sure of that, Ginny,” Bill interrupted - and found himself behind his bemused
wife, looking over her shoulder as his favourite (and only) sister glared at him. “WILLIAM ARTHUR
WEASLEY! It's *obvious* that ...”

“It's one *phrase*, Gin!” Charlie interrupted from where he stood behind Molly's
chair. “*One* phrase that could be taken out of context - and Dad was already predisposed
against your relationship! He's already disowned Uncle Gideon for the same thing ...”

“But that's the *point*! Susan's right - if he was so *against* it, he could
have - he *should* have - disowned me! Why this elaborate plan ...”

“Ginny!” She stopped as warm hands gripped her shoulders and she glanced up to see the intense
blue eyes of Susan on her. “I *understand*. You want to blame *someone* ... you want to
believe that your *father* could not have done that ... but we can't be *sure!*”

Ginny was having none of this - she was prepared to argue her case, loudly, but stopped as
Susan's callused hand covered her mouth. “What are you gonna do? Blame Dumbledore? He's
*dead* - but he went out fighting and most everyone thinks he died a *hero**!* No
matter what, people still look up to him! Who do you think people will believe: Skeeter or the
`legend' that is Dumbledore? What are you gonna tell `em? That Mr Weasley's been under an
Imperius curse all this time?”

“I have to know, Susan.” The pain in the youngest Weasley's voice was evident in the tears
streaking her face. Her pained words cut through every one conscious in the room. “I *have* to
*know!* Dad - he was the one I ran to when I was hurt, who watched over me as I slept, who
woke me from my nightmares after Tom's diary was destroyed…

“I have to *know*, Susan, whether the man I thought loved me did that to me because it is
what he is … or because *someone* was playing games.” Susan hugged Ginny tightly but the
others could hear her muffled voice: “We lost a year, Susan … one whole *year* when we could
have been together…”

“Maybe it was for the best, Gin,” Susan said softly. Ginny tried to step back but was held by
Susan's hands on either side of her face, holding her steady as she locked eyes with the
younger witch. “*Think*, Gin … if we hadn't been separated, would you have stayed in
Hogwarts? Would you have stayed behind at school or at home with your family where you were
safe…”

“I would have gone with you, Suzie …”

“And do what? I've been on the run for a year, Gin … hiding from Snatchers, fighting Death
Eaters, moving from place to place, never knowing whether I would get through the day and see the
sun rise … it wasn't the best life for anyone, Gin - we'd go for days without food, not
even a chance to wash or change our clothes, every minute wondering whether we'd meet our end
…”

The others were silent - true, they hadn't had it as bad as Susan did but that didn't
mean that their lives were a bed of roses. They were able to survive in relative safety - but they
had to endure the anxiety of not knowing. Each day they listened to the wireless, hoping to hear
the Twins' voices or waiting for word from Harry, Ron or Hermione - heaving sighs of relief at
knowing they were still alive and in the next minute worrying whether that night or the next day
would find their siblings captured or dead …

“The only thing that kept me going, Gin, was the thought that someday it would be over … that
the war would end and that maybe … maybe I'll find you and learn that it was all a big
mistake…” Susan let go a small sob as Ginny's arms went around her, squeezing for all she was
worth. “And that you'd tell me that … that…”

“That I love you, Susan Amelia Bones. I love you, then and now, past, present and into the
future.” She entwined her hands in Susan's hair and locked eyes with the taller witch as she
continued, “Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you stay, will be my home. Your family will be my
family; your God, my God. Where you die, I will die and nothing but death can keep us apart.”

“So mote it be.” A crying Susan finished the oath as she leaned forward; their lips meeting and
the conscious occupants in the room turned away from the glow which surrounded the two young girls,
even as they surreptitiously wiped tears away from eyes invaded by dust motes.

Time passed - no one could say whether seconds or minutes had passed - but even young love had
to step aside for reality. Painful though it would be, Tonks and Remus knew there were things to be
done and Tonks cleared her throat, “Hem Hem.”

Susan and Ginny reluctantly broke apart but stood together, arms around the others' waists,
looking bemusedly at the Auror with the blindingly pink hair. Before she could say anything, Bill
interrupted her, “Hospital wing, for now, I think. I'll ask Poppy to dose him with Dreamless
Sleep for tonight … and then,” he took a deep breath even as he locked gazes with Tonks, “St.
Mungo's probably. Fleur knows a Mind Healer … I agree with Gin - we have to know. Not just for
their sakes but also for ours.”

The atmosphere turned tense as the Auror and the eldest Weasley son locked stares, until Tonks
nodded, at which the Weasleys heaved a sigh of relief.

“I have to tell Shack - the Minister of Magic,” Tonks amended - and raised a hand before the
others could protest. “Verbally, nothing written or in a report … including our `suspicions'.
Knowing Shack, he'll keep this to himself; it's not likely that he'll go blabbing to
Skeeter about this.”

Bill glanced at his mother who nodded her head in resignation. They knew there was no option -
what Arthur had done was beyond the reservation and over the horizon, whether it was from his own
prejudice or not; the only good thing about this whole fiasco was - as Tonks pointed out - the
Minister was a good friend and would keep this under his hat.

A palpable sense of relief could be felt in the room; they'd dodged a bullet and - if the
recent revelations panned out - they knew there was a basis for rebuilding their family and their
ties with their father. To all of them Arthur was the epitome of all that was good - brave in
battle, a large heart to his family and friends, a doting father to his children. There was hope
that the incident with Harry and Ginny was an aberration; that the world would not learn of it was
more than enough.

“We have to tell McGonagall something, though,” Tonks pointed out, reminding her husband of the
Headmistress' patronus earlier, directing them to a meeting in her office - a summons that
they'd responded to with a message that they were `busy'.

Remus shrugged; it wasn't that big a deal to him. “We'll just tell her that we assisted
Bill with a couple of cursed objects in the Arithmancy Wing. That should hold her off.”

He blinked at the wand that was under his nose; rotating his eyeballs slowly upward, he gulped
at the sight of Susan's icy eyes boring into his as she said, with a spine-tingling hiss, “Are
you calling Ginny and myself *cursed?*”

For a brief moment, Remus wondered whether he'd been channelling Ron Weasley from earlier -
it took a bit of effort to stop whimpering “Mummy”.

“Susan, let the wolfie go!” Tonks voice sounded as if it was coming from far away, or so it
seemed to Remus whose normally enhanced hearing could hear nothing save the rapid beating of his
heart.

He heaved a sigh of relief when Susan removed her wand - and watched the buxom redhead turn to
his wife with a raised eyebrow and ask, “You call Professor Lupin *wolfie*?

Tonks shrugged. “It sounded like a good idea at the time,” she said, “although I call him
something else when he's howling in bed…”

“TMI!” Two teens screamed as they clapped hands over their ears as Tonks giggled - which had
Fleur following suit, followed by chuckles from Bill and Charlie … followed by outright laughter
from Ginny and Susan, until they were rolling on the floor, laughing at a nonplussed Remus.

He shook his head; he must really be tired if Susan could get one over on him. This called for
retribution and he narrowed his eyes at the giggling girl, wondering what he could do … and fell to
his knees as a powerful magical pulse passed through him, striking like a bludger on the back of
his head … He didn't see Molly, who had also fallen on her knees, holding her head as if it
were threatening to split apart while Arthur fell off his conjured bed, face down on the floor, as
stiff as a board or Hagrid's rock cakes, and Ginny's shrill voice adding to the pain in his
brain: “WHAT *THE FUCK* IS GOING ON?

***

**Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and** **Wizardry**

“Bee in your bonnet, Headmaster?”

Severus Snape snapped out of his silent musing before shaking his painted head at the raspy
voice of the Sorting Hat. But then again, he thought, why should he be surprised? A lonely man by
choice and circumstance, he felt a curious kinship with the Hat when he held office here and
indulged its penchant for speaking its mind - something that the previous Headmaster apparently
neither appreciated or approved.

Something that he had noticed but never really thought about: when it came to words or ideas,
Albus Dumbledore would listen only to his own voice.

He shook himself from his thoughts and glanced at the Hat on its shelf. “Just thinking, Adrian
... just thinking.”

“Ah,” the Hat said, sagely. “The one thing we never stop doing for as long as we are tied to
this plane of existence - asleep or awake, we can never stop thinking.”

“Or talking,” Portrait-Snape snarked.

“How else can we bring our ideas across, Headmaster?” the Hat responded, reasonably. “That is,
after all, one of the reasons for the magic that has brought your essence to that portrait. The
Founders did not want the experience and knowledge of the Heads to be lost to future generations;
you are, after all, the conservators of their dreams and hopes.”

Snape couldn't help snorting. “Conservator? Dreams? *This* was never part of my dreams
or plans.” He sighed. “Now that my mission is done ... I would much rather be elsewhere.”

“A surprising sentiment, Headmaster. The others,” and the Hat seemed to gesture around him,
“would spend months or even years railing that they still have things left undone …”

“You forget,” Snape interrupted, “I never *wanted* or *expected* to be here. In fact,
I am surprised to find myself here in this frame along with all these other … *august*
personas.”

“Why should you be surprised? You did serve as Headmaster - and quite well, in fact - besides,
the castle's magic itself placed you there.”

A raised eyebrow was directed at the Hat, “Indeed? Either the castle is oblivious or the attacks
have addled it beyond recognition.”

There was no response as the door to the office crashed open and a harried Minerva McGonagall
rushed in, followed by Deputy Headmaster Filius Flitwick chasing after her like a terrier chasing a
car. Snape shook his head violently to dislodge an image of a bare chested, high-booted Flitwick
chasing a pussy around as he heard the fireplace roar and realized that McGonagall had unlocked the
Floo.

He looked up in time to see the fireplace flare green and Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt
step out. Smiling, the Minister discreetly waved his wand to clear the ashes from his robes as he
walked towards the older woman before enveloping her in a warm embrace - no words needed to express
their feelings at the moment. As he released her, he turned to Flitwick, dropping to one knee to
embrace the diminutive wizard. Snape's snarky reaction was cut off as the fireplace flared
again with Percy Weasley arriving and going through the same evolution as Kingsley: walking towards
McGonagall as he banished the ashes on his robe - but extending a hand as he said, “Headmistress, a
pleasure to see you.”

McGonagall took his hand, saying, “A pleasure, Mr Weasley” before also enveloping him in a hug -
restrained to be sure, but still a hug. Only to nearly throw Percy over her shoulder as her
favourite student stepped into the room.

Squealing “Hermione!” like a schoolgirl, the Headmistress rushed over and enveloped Hermione in
a hug to rival a python - completely forgetting the most basic rule of Floo courtesy: as soon as
you arrive, make way for someone else.

The reminder was not long in coming. The fireplace belched loudly and spat Harry Potter out on
his arse at tremendous speed, sending him straight into Minerva and Hermione, bringing them down in
a tumble of arms and legs … and Harry found himself staring into McGonagall's icy blue eyes as
a brogue straight out of the arctic requested: “Will you mind getting off me, Mr Potter?”

Only to hear Hermione say: “Um, Professor … you're on top of Harry?”

McGonagall blinked, looked down, realized her `compromising' position and jumped up - only
to fall on her bum as her feet were still entwined with Harry's, and froze as an unaccustomed
roar filled the room.

Shacklebolt, Flitwick and Percy had their wands out and ready as the others tried to disentangle
themselves - only to gape at the sight of Severus Snape laughing to beat the band, rolling on the
`floor' of his frame, kicking his legs in roiling hilarity!

“ALVIN SEVERUS SNAPE!” As the triple-name combination rolled off Minerva's tongue, Snape was
on his feet, but this was no frightened schoolboy - this was a seriously pissed adult whose icy
tone and laser-like glare could cut diamonds: “I would be most grateful, *Madam*, if you cease
your use of my first name - as I had requested before my Sorting years ago.”

He noticed Hermione mouthing “Alvin?” to a snickering Harry and turned a steely gaze at the
giggling teen. “And what are you laughing about, *Miss* Granger? I haven't had such a
laugh since I watched Benny Hill with Lily …”

Harry and the others (even Snape) cringed at Hermione's unholy shriek of indignation: “You
*LIKE* Benny Hill? That's …that's …”

Snape's raised eyebrow and trademark sneer were in full force: “Hilarious? Entertaining?
Riotous? Uproarious? Speak up, girl!”

“I was going to say obscene, Professor,” Hermione replied, only to be met by a roll of the eyes
that would put her own efforts to shame.

“You need a little more laughter in your life, Miss Granger,” the portrait replied in a
condescending tone. “Which I doubt you get much of from Potter…”

“Hey!” Harry's protest was cut off by McGonagall's surprisingly loud, parade ground
roar: “ENOUGH!”

McGonagall blinked at the sight of the breathing and the painted in the room (including the
Sorting Hat) standing stiff as boards, heads up, chins out, thumbs along the seams of their robes -
and rolled her eyes before moving towards her desk as she said, “Oh, at ease, all of you!”

As she sat down, she asked. “All right, what's going on?” She fixed a steely gaze at
Kingsley Shacklebolt who'd just settled in an armchair. “Let's start with you, Kingsley.
All I know is that the goblins are coming here for a `meeting,' the purpose of which is not
clear but that we are to regard it as a visit from a Head of State - not surprising since Ragnok is
not just the head of Gringotts but also Clan Chief of the Clan Chiefs of the Goblin Nation.”

She continued before Shacklebolt could say a word. “I have instructed the elves to clean up the
castle and set things up; Pappy the Head Elf has told me that they've been in contact with the
Goblins' elves -”

“The *Goblins* have elves?” Hermione's shrill voice stopped McGonagall, who turned her
laser-like focus on the teen, who cringed at the look.

“This is not the time for that discussion, Miss Granger. Suffice it to say that the elves have
things well in hand for this meeting and the dinner afterwards. Although it has not happened in
some time, the elves can and do coordinate with each other in making sure that the appropriate
protocols and arrangements are in place for meetings such as this.”

“Sorry, Headmistress,” Hermione responded in a small voice, feeling some small comfort as Harry
squeezed her hand. The elderly woman's stern face softened as she regarded her favourite
pupil.

“Apology accepted, Miss Granger - if you will, in turn, accept mine.” Hermione looked up in
surprise, but the Headmistress was focused on her desk. “I should have taken you in hand years ago
when you first embarked on this crusade - unfortunately, there were just too many things in the
way: the tournament, Harry's trial, Umbridge …”

“More like *some**one* didn't want you educating the young lady properly,
Headmistress.” The heads of McGonagall's visitors swivelled to the source of that gravelly
voice - and all eyes (except Harry and McGonagall) blinked as they realized it was the Sorting Hat
who spoke. “Foisting off all sorts of *menial* tasks on you while he kept himself locked in
his ivory tower spinning his plans …”

“Enough, Adrian,” McGonagall said in a weary voice, “as Deputy Headmistress …”

“It is your job to ensure a *quality* education for all who enter this school! Your first
responsibility, whether teacher, Head of House or Head of this school, is to the *students* …
not the wizarding world as a whole, not the magical government of Britain or the world, not even
for some fabled `greater good' that only *he* knew or understood …”

“I said *enough!*” McGonagall's voice lashed out even as her hand slapped down on the
desk. “I wish not to speak ill of the dead” - she ignored the snorts coming from two directions -
“but this is not the time for such discussions, especially when we have guests coming. We can
return to that matter soon … as I am fully confident that neither you nor Filius will allow me to
forget.”

She sighed tiredly as she glanced at Shacklebolt. “Filius and I have been urging Albus for years
to establish a mandatory course on Magical Culture and Lifestyle for our muggle-borns and
muggle-raised students; Albus insisted that we have neither the funding nor the teachers for that.
When things settle down…”

The Minister for Magic nodded; it was something that he'd been thinking about even when he
was on the run with Susan Bones and his team. Part of the reason for their successful evasion was
because of the Muggle born who'd been able to hide them in the muggle world. It was during
those times that he realized how woefully lacking in knowledge they were of the `outside' world
- and how woefully ill-informed the Muggle-born were of theirs.

He shook his head of the thought, and nodded to Percy who began briefing Minerva and Flitwick on
the upcoming visit. Administrative, logistical and security concerns were raised and dealt with; in
the end, the only issues left unanswered was the one that had bothered the Minister from the start:
no one had a clue why the goblins wanted a meeting with Harry specifically.

He listened as Flitwick pointed out that it couldn't be because of Harry's last
`visit' to the bank - the goblins would not be calling for any meetings but would simply seize
Harry's vault, and he was grateful that Minerva had thought to include the half-goblin in this
meeting. Percy was conscientious and a hard worker, but he was simply too junior and too new at
Goblin Liaison to provide truly worthy and in-depth insights.

“The problem is,” Flitwick explained, “Gringotts - like all banks - prides itself on its
security and the safety offered to its customers, provided they are willing to pay the price. For
three young people to break in, steal something of value and then escape aboard a dragon!” Flitwick
shook his head - whether in admiration of the deed or consternation at the political implications
was difficult to tell.

“Trust a Gryffindor to go for the spectacular publicity stunt rather than the sly cunning
approach! While I applaud the audacity of the deed, the consequences were apparently beyond what
their little minds could comprehend.”

The Gryffindors in the room all rolled their eyes at the acerbic comment coming from the peanut
gallery - or the portrait of Severus Snape - only to blink in surprise when they realized that
Phineas Nigellus Black had returned to his portrait and was listening in.

Before Harry or McGonagall could say a word, Flitwick spoke up, “He does have a point, Harry ...
did you *have* to do it in such a publicly spectacular manner?”

Harry's angry retort died on his lips as he caught sight of Flitwick's amused face; he
was, however, unable to stop Hermione from starting a rant: “Professor! You *know* why we had
to get in there and grab the Cup ... it was the key to defeating Voldemort!”

“Was it?”

The softly spoken question stopped Hermione in her tracks and she gaped at the Charms master,
who was looking at her with a bemused, sad look on his face. He held a hand up to stop her angry
reply as he asked, in the same soft voice, “Did you have to destroy those things *before*
facing Voldemort?”

The diminutive professor jumped off his chair and started pacing the floor, effectively cutting
off any further response, as he glanced every once in a while, at the still-empty portrait of
Dumbledore above them.

“I've been thinking ...” He stopped pacing to frown at the snorts that came from Snape and
the Sorting Hat before continuing, “Mr Potter ... you destroyed Voldemort's body in 1981.
Whether it was you by yourself or something that your mother did is open to debate. What hasn't
changed is that it took him fourteen - almost fifteen *years* to come back and that with
*all* his Horcruxes intact! Assuming, for the sake of argument, that you defeated him again
this time without going after the horcruxes first ... how long do you think it would take him to
come back?”

Harry knew that he'd opened his mouth to respond - but could hear nothing. Glancing around
from the corner of his eye, he realized that the others were acting similarly: mouths open, throats
working but no words escaping. The only ones not doing so were Phineas and Snape in their
portraits, contemplative looks on their faces as they, too, stared at the half-goblin professor, a
former Duelling Champion for whom strategy, tactics and planning were second nature.

Flitwick shook his head at them. “Exactly! He-Who-Is-Now-Gone spent *years* as a
disembodied spirit with those abominations hidden and his followers walking around as if they were
purer than the driven snow - and it *still took him fifteen years to come back!* In all that
time, we did *nothing!* No investigations, no effort to ensure that he wouldn't or
couldn't come back and when he did, that fool Fudge and the foul Umbridge led the rest of us in
hiding our heads in the sand, wasting *year**s* when we could have done
*something!*”

Harry felt he had to speak up, to defend Dumbledore's actions - but stopped. Flitwick had a
point: too much time had been wasted while Dumbledore dithered and played his games. There was the
decade Harry spent with the Dursleys ignorant of the wizarding world, when Dumbledore could have
tried looking for Voldemort's disembodied spirit … Merlin, Harry thought, it took Wormtail less
than two *months* to find and contact his Master!

True, Harry thought, the prophesy said that only *he* could `vanquish' the Dark Lord …
but didn't the first time count? Why did Dumbledore have to wait ten *years* before making
his move - and the first thing he did when Harry Goes to Hogwarts is set up either a test for him …
or a trap for Voldemort?

Dumbledore could have told him about the prophecy after he'd defeated Quirrel / Voldemort -
why wait four more years? Dumbledore should have suspected that Riddle's diary was a horcrux
when Harry brought it to him in '93 - why did he wait another *three* years before
`confirming' his suspicions? Flitwick told them, during their debriefings after the Battle of
Hogwarts, that Albus had never mentioned or even shown him the diary. If the Headmaster had,
Flitwick would have confirmed that it was a horcrux, giving them time to undertake search and
destroy missions for the abominations.

And it wasn't as if he, *himself*, had to be `the One' to destroy the Horcruxes!
Dumbledore destroyed the ring; Ron took on the locket; the Fiendfyre unleashed by Draco's
clueless minions destroyed the diadem; Hermione and her ancestor's fangs handled the cup while
Neville took care of Nagini. Of course, he had the `honour' of taking out the first horcrux -
the diary - while Voldemort took out his scar - the last Horcrux … irony or poetic justice?

He glanced at his best friend and their eyes met - they were both thinking of Aberforth's
ranting in the Hog's Head when he'd rescued them. At the time, they dismissed it as the
ravings of an old man who wouldn't give up his ghosts or his past ... now they had to wonder if
it was the anger of a man fed up with manipulations and lies, of hardships and death, who saw what
others did not: that the man they looked up to, the shining icon of the Light, was nothing more
than a man with feet of clay.

“Hem, Hem.” Shacklebolt cleared his throat, “Water under the bridge, Fil. It's over and done
with except for the historians and writers to argue and wonder about ...”

“You must admit, however, it does make for a fascinating adventure story - something that will
make some *fiction* writer” - Hermione felt herself flushing as Phineas Nigeullus directed his
gaze at her - “millions of galleons in spite of the obvious absurdities, inconsistencies and plot
holes ...”

Shacklebolt rolled his eyes before turning back to the others. “As I was saying, the question
remains - what can we do about the situation?”

He was looking at Flitwick as he said this, and the pint-sized professor nodded before releasing
a sigh. “Honestly? The only thing we can do is play it by ear ... the fact that they called for the
meeting rather than simply seizing Mr Potter's vault implies the possibility of
compromise.”

He gazed at each of them for a moment, lingering longest on Harry and the Minister before
continuing, “It would be best to approach this meeting with a view to conciliation rather than
belligerence. I somehow doubt that either the goblins or us are prepared for another conflict.”

He fell into contemplative silence for a while before continuing, “One thing to remember. The
goblins are, rather *were*, a warrior race for whom honour counts highest; they have held on
to that ideal even when they went into banking and finance. Profit is valued highly; profit
achieved through guile and cunning is valued even higher … but profit without honour is simply
dishonour.”

“Sort of like a cross between Klingon and Ferengi,” Hermione murmured to herself. To her shock,
Flitwick beamed at her as he said, “Exactly, Miss Granger! You have hit the proverbial nail on the
head!”

Before Hermione could ask about Flitwick's seeming familiarity with one of her favourite TV
shows, Harry interrupted her with an idea that had been forming in his head as Flitwick expounded
on goblin honour. The idea dropped into the conversation like a hand grenade and the next few
minutes were spent in loud, acrimonious debate with the Headmaster's portraits - again with
Dumbledore absent - joining in.

In the end, the Minister's decision prevailed - and a house elf was dispatched to the Three
Broomsticks to pick up Hermione's bag as well as Phineas' portrait which was still under
the bed in `their' room.

As they waited, McGonagall glanced at an ancient and oft-overlooked timepiece on her desk and
realized that it was only mid-afternoon. There was more than enough time before the meeting and she
felt the need to satisfy her curiosity. Turning a gimlet eye on Harry and Hermione, she said, “And
what about you two? You gave me quite a scare, Hermione, when Harry came rushing into the Great
Hall, claiming you were kidnapped ...”

The young woman's raised hand and apologetic look cut off McGonagall's impending rant
and Hermione launched into her tale, pulling out papers and photos as she explained to a fascinated
McGonagall, Flitwick, and Percy the high points of her day. Shacklebolt and Harry sat quietly,
interjecting when needed, but both glancing surreptitiously at the portrait of Snape who had
affected a bored and sleepy mien at the narrative.

Eventually, Hermione ran out of words and leaned back, smiling as she felt Harry's warm hand
gripping hers. A frowning McGonagall glanced at the Minister who nodded as he said, “We have the
time … I suggest that we start with the records Elphias said he sent here, Minerva.”

The Headmistress nodded and was about to call an elf when Snape's voice stopped her.
“They're in the centre desk drawer, Headmistress.”

At her surprised look, he continued (with his patent-pending sneer), “Against regulations, I
know - but better that than to have an elf running down to student records every hour or so. I got
tired of hosting `visitors' who all wanted a look at Potter's abysmal grades and decided to
keep them here for the next idiot who wished to prove he had better grades than the
Boy-Who-Lived!”

“Hey!” Harry's protest was sidetracked by McGonagall's muttering as she struggled with
the drawer: “I don't know where the keys are…”

“ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?” boomed out from Snape's portrait and a flustered McGonagall glared
daggers at the portrait who smirked back. She turned to the desk, wand in hand, and missed the
whispered, “That was fun,” that Snape said to Phineas who gave him a golf clap before looking at
McGonagall, who had pulled out a thick folder and set it on her desk, prepared to open it when
Hermione interrupted her.

“Allow me, Headmistress,” Hermione said and then, with a raised eyebrow at Snape, placed her
wand over the folder and intoned, “*Riddle me this, BATMAN!*”

Shacklebolt and Harry snickered as they recalled Elphias Doge's note, although only Harry
(and perhaps Flitwick) caught the reference to the classic comic book hero and his arch enemy. The
others - living and painted - were unable to say a word as a golden glow infused the room, centred
on the folder before dissipating. Without a word, McGonagall scanned the parchments within, raising
an eyebrow as she said, “Well, I can see why Elphias wanted this hidden … it wouldn't do to
have V-V-*Riddle* knowing this.”

There was a twinkle in her suspiciously moist eyes as she passed a parchment to Shacklebolt, who
perused it briefly before turning to the teens with a wide, wide smile.

“Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Potter!”

From somewhere in the room, a powerful magical pulse erupted, passing through the occupants and
the room itself before sending its echoes the length and breadth of Magical Britain - and probably
around the world.

Harry, Hermione, Percy and Shacklebolt stared in shock as McGonagall and Flitwick were slammed
back into their chairs, backs straight and rigid, eyes open and staring, hands gripping their
chair's arms tightly …

Panicked, they looked around for help - only to freeze as they saw the paintings of Snape,
Phineas and the other Headmasters (except for the still-empty painting of Dumbledore) seemingly in
the same situation: faces blank, eyes staring at nothing, breathing stopped.

Even the Sorting Hat seemed frozen - and they could only glance at each other in
bewilderment.

Within the castle, the magical pulse was felt by all but the impact differed greatly …

Older people seemed to be the most affected, albeit in different ways. For most, it was a moment
when they stood still with unfocused eyes; only to shake their heads in the next moment, blinking
before going back to whatever it was they were doing.

The Hogwarts staff, especially Pomona Sprout and Horace Slughorn, exhibited the same reactions
as those in the tower: sitting still as statues for a long moment before biting their lips and
shaking their heads, wondering...

In the thestral's paddock, Hagrid was on his substantial behind, his ham-like fists
clenching and unclenching as tears fell down his face as he mumbled, “What have I done?”

In the Arithmancy classroom, the Weasleys and Susan jumped back as Remus threw his head back and
howled … a long, heart-rending wail of anger and loss - and watched a crying Molly who looked, for
the barest of moments, as if she was going to join in with Remus.

In the Hog's Head, Aberforth Dumbledore sat down heavily, the dirty washcloth in one hand
forgotten as he stared at the ceiling of the tavern, mumbling to himself, “What the *fuck*
have you done now, you old goat?”

Above his head, a magical portrait went suddenly still. It had shown very little activity over
the years but - for the past few hours - was occupied by a young girl and an old man with a long
beard who were engaged in an animated conversation that few could follow or easily understand. The
young girl cast worried eyes at her companion who had suddenly sat down as if gut punched and could
only mumble, “It's too soon, it's too soon, it's too soon...”

Deep within the catacombs of Gringotts, a bruised and bleeding goblin stirred and realized that
he was still hanging from his wrists, the chains holding him suspended in the air. He felt the
magical pulse pass through him and sighed ... he'd gambled and lost; the only thing left to him
now was a merciful blade to end his current misery. *If*, he thought, Ragnok would be willing
to grant him that mercy ... somehow, he doubted it.

High above him in an elegant but opulent office, the Clan Chief of the Clan Chiefs of the Goblin
Nation paused in his preparations for the meeting with the humans at Hogwarts. He also felt the
magical pulse and knew what it meant … and he released a long stream of profanity at the imbecilic
toe-rag that was in chains far, far below him. One thought kept swirling in his mind, however: hope
that the young scion of the Potters was a magnanimous, forgiving sort...

In Malfoy Manor, the Head of the Family and the Mistress of the House were staring at the other
with wide, shocked eyes. Lucius' pale, aristocratic features were ruined by the pasty,
unhealthy complexion of his skin while Narcissa's face seemingly glowed from the dark, flushed
skin that was in stark contrast to her blonde locks, neither of them unable to express in words the
horror and fear that was gripping their guts...

In the Headmistress' office, Harry, Hermione, Percy and Shacklebolt breathed a sigh of
relief as Flitwick and Minerva shook their heads from the trance that had gripped them. Before
anyone could say a word, however, a visibly-raging Minerva McGonagall jumped to her feet, turned
and let loose a bolt of incandescent magic which completely obliterated the magical canvas and
frame that once held the twinkling portrait of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of
Merlin First Class, former Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, former
Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, former Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and
Wizardry.

***

**The Front Lawn, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy**

Harry Potter stood quietly on the front lawn of Hogwarts, shaking his head and wondering why it
looked as if the Fates or whichever Deity held sway over the lives of men and mice had it in for
him. Either that or the Divine Author who controlled everything in his world seemed to delight in
making him run through the hoops...

He shook his head as he looked around the great lawn, sighing as he remembered the last time
he'd been here with a horde of people, waiting for someone to arrive: October 30, 1994 ... the
day Hogwarts turned out to greet the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons who were arriving for
the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

The memory gripped him: standing in disciplined rows with Ron, Hermione and his classmates,
McGonagall admonishing Parvati before glaring at Gred and Forge, daring them to pull a prank;
Dennis and Colin Creevey bouncing on their heels like animated jacks-in-the box, little Natalie
McDonald looking around, still awed at everything ...

Where were they now, he wondered? Most of his year mates were missing: the Gryffindors were in
St. Mungo's where Lavender and Dean were still recovering along with some of the `Puffs and
`Claws ... there were very few Slytherins in the ranks and Harry had to grit his teeth at the
memory of Pansy Parkinson advocating that he be turned over to Voldemort during the Battle of
Hogwarts ...

“Harry?” He blinked and saw the concerned eyes of his best friend on him and he smiled,
tremulously, fighting the urge to hug her tighter than Molly Weasley on a good day ... only for
Hermione to grab him and provide one of her signature, rib-breaking hugs while whispering softly,
“It's all right, Harry, we'll get through this together.”

He returned the hug fiercely for a moment before stepping back and admiring her. She looked
absolutely stunning to his unbiased eyes - mature, self-assured, and confident, in work robes of a
deep blue that matched his own ... but he was still miffed with Winky.

The now-happy elf had quickly conjured robes with elfin magic (although he wondered whether a
quick trip to Madam Malkins was the *real* magic), but insisted that while it was appropriate
for him to have the Potter Family crest on his robes, Hermione was *not* entitled to the same
thing. His protestations that Hermione was now his wife in the eyes of magic and entitled to the
Potter crest was met by a firm shake of the head and the words, “is not proper *yet*” - an
action mirrored by both Shacklebolt and McGonagall, who both said that they would explain later.
His glare was met by a similarly steely stare from McGonagall; it was Percy, however, who reminded
Harry that they had no more time - the goblins were on their way and they had to hustle to set up
for their arrival and reception.

Hermione's hug and kiss on his cheek dispelled his anger and he realized that he was being a
prat - this was not a case of his `elders and betters' withholding information `for his own
good' ... it was a straightforward case of not having the time for explanations or
discussions.

Much like the promised discussion between Minerva and Hermione on the matter of house-elves.

And *that* made him scowl even more.

He'd never really thought of house elves before, at least not in the same way as Hermione
and the never to be mentioned S.P.E.W. It still hurt to remember Dobby and his sacrifice … he had
promised, as he stood over Dobby's grave, that he would do whatever he could to help them and
their kind…

But what the hell was he supposed to do with *twenty* of them?

Twenty house elves bound to his service because he was Lord Harry James Potter, Thirty-Fourth
Earl of Ravenscroft, Fifty-Third Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, and -
surprise! descendant of Godric Gryffindor.

And he never knew.

Neither did anyone know … except for Albus Fucking Dumbledore, Secret Keeper of far too many
secrets than was good for any man.

The mere thought of Dumbledore and he found himself fighting back the red mist that threatened
to descend over his mind as sheer, unadulterated rage swept over him.

***

**[Flashback:****]** **Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and**
**Wizardry****, Earlier**

He had barely heaved a sigh of relief that McGonagall and Flitwick were seemingly unaffected by
whatever it was that hit them when McGonagall's office was inundated with a horde of crying,
delirious, bouncing house elves wearing tea towels with different crests (including Hogwarts),
wrapping themselves around his legs and arms or the chair he was sitting in.

The assault was so sudden and unexpected that no one had time to react - only Hermione's
scream of “STOP!” kept him from being crushed beneath the overwhelming horde … and then a
high-pitched voice cried, “We's have a mistress! We's have a mistress!”

This time, it was Harry's shout of “STOP!” that kept a shocked Hermione from being
overwhelmed. Harry's roar, however, had the elves backing away in fear; several were on the
verge of running for the walls or bashing their heads on the nearest hard objects when Harry
repeated his order and they stood there quivering as Harry took a deep, calming breath before
asking, “Can someone tell me what's going on here?”

Harry and Hermione blinked when a crying Winky pushed to the front of what they now realized was
only some twenty or so elves, blinked again as she bowed low to them and said, “Winky remembers,
Master Harry … Winky now remembers … she is a House-Elf bound to the service of the Ancient and
Most Noble House of Potter.

“We's,” she gestured to the others, “are Potter House Elves until magic, bad magic, made us
forgets our bonds.” She paused, biting her lip before continuing, “Not knowing what to do, we goes
to elf-auction, looking for families to bind to …”

She stopped. Harry kneeled in front of her, lifting her face to meet his eyes as he whispered,
“Dobby?”

Winky nodded, sniffling. “Dobby, too, was House Potter elf and betrothed to Winky before
forgetfulness happened and we became separated. Dobby went to Malfoys while I went to Crouch family
… others here (she indicated several elves) went to Hogwarts while others…”

“I understand, Winky,” Harry said calmly although his insides were roiling and his face
reflected his complete confusion. His *family* owned elves? And apparently, more than one?
Why? What were they doing … what were their jobs … what the hell was the Potter family doing with
all these elves? His eyes met those of a stunned, speechless Hermione who was doing a credible
impression of a landed salmon.

“Master?” Winky's squeaky, contrite and frightened voice made him look at her. “We is sorry
that we could not remember … one minute we were working, happy, busy and the next moment we were
standing outside our homes. Magics be shutting down our homes and throwing us out …”

Harry could only drop to his knees and hug the crying elf; he felt Hermione dropping beside him
and hugging both Winky and him which was the signal for the other elves to rush in, also crying and
trying to get into a group hug with the pair of tearful teens.

“Just what the hell is going on here?” Kingsley's booming voice was hushed in seeming
deference to the moment; his tone, however, made it clear that someone had better start talking or
he'd be locking the whole lot of them in the Potions dungeon - with Snape's portrait for
company.

It was Flitwick who took centre stage, literally. Climbing on top of McGonagall's desk (as
he was wont to do in his classroom), he sat down heavily on the edge, “That magical pulse you felt
earlier? It was a modified Fidelius Charm finally breaking.”

“How can a Fidelius Charm just `break'?” Percy Weasley had apparently found his voice but
his curiosity was evident - he had, after all, achieved top marks in Charms in both OWLs and NEWTs.
“They're supposed to break on the death of the Secret Keeper with the knowledge that was hidden
being spread among those who know, making each one a Secret Keeper …”

“I did say `modified,' didn't I, Mr Weasley?” Flitwick's smile robbed the words of
any offense, and Percy nodded. Flitwick continued, “But you're quite correct. A Fidelius breaks
upon the death (whether accidental, natural or intentional) of the Secret Keeper and that makes it
vulnerable.

“Lily Potter was working on a modified Fidelius which combined features of Family or Blood Wards
with the Fidelius, adding another layer to the charm. She hypothesized that a secret can be hidden
or `entrusted' to the collective unconscious or, from another perspective, that magic itself
can be `entrusted' with the secret, ensuring that the knowledge will remain hidden even after
the death of the Keeper … the only thing that can break or release the secret in such an event is
if specific conditions set by the Keeper are met.”

The little man looked around him, realizing that everyone - including portraits, elves and the
Sorting Hat - was hanging on to his every word. “I believe that the `conditions' set for
breaking the Secret is for a person in magical authority, such as the Minister of Magic to say the
words `Mr and Mrs Potter' …”

He held a hand up, cutting off Percy who had a look of utter incredulity on his face, and rolled
right over his embryonic protests. “Consider what happened - Kingsley merely said those words in
jest although it is based on a magically-proven fact - in the next moment, Minerva and I are
suddenly aware of things that were, *at one time*, literally part of our lives and everyday
knowledge.

“The three of you -” indicating Harry, Hermione and Percy - “were not affected because you were
never aware of the information that was hidden. I suspect that Kingsley, on the other hand, may
have been `aware' of it but did not consider it as important or had any real impact on him,
which is also why he was not as affected as Min and I.”

“Excuse me, professor, but what kind of secret could it be that even house-elves are affected?”
asked Percy.

It was McGonagall who responded in a hissing whisper that sounded more like a viper than a cat,
“Charlus Potter is the Fifty-Second Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter and the
Thirty-Third Earl of Ravenscroft.”

Kingsley, Percy, Harry and Hermione looked at each other in confusion - how could such an
innocuous sentence have so much impact in their world?

The pain and bitterness in McGonagall's voice was evident as her eyes flicked to the
destroyed portrait of Dumbledore. “Charlus - Lord Potter - is your grandfather, Harry; he was
James' father. He was killed in a Death Eater ambush in October '81 … James should have
claimed his title as the next Lord Potter but he never did.

“I suspect -” She glanced at Filius who nodded vigorously in confirmation - “that the Charm was
cast soon after Charlus was killed, which was why James never took on the mantle. When James was
killed …”

She took a deep breath, knowing in her heart what Harry's reaction would be and cursing
beneath her breath the person she knew - not `suspected' but *knew* - had cast the charm
that erased the memory of Charlus' status in their world. “The Potters are an old and wealthy
family - they are truly `ancient' and `noble' being among the `First Families' of
magical Albion but also granted land by Edward I of England in the late 1200s when a Potter was
invested as the Earl of Ravenscroft for services to the Crown.

“They own several properties that I now remember visiting … Potter Manor in London, a seaside
residence in Brighton, a villa in the south of France … others around the world, I understand, but
have never visited.

“When the charm was cast, all knowledge of Charlus as Lord Potter went hidden - including
knowledge of properties and possessions of the Lord and Head of House Potter …”

“Properties?” The word was a whisper laced with infinite pain and Hermione, shocked at the
revelation, was not quick enough to stop Mount Potter from exploding, “MY FAMILY OWNED PROPERTIES
AND ELVES AND I HAD TO SPEND SIXTEEN FUCKIN' YEARS AT THE DURSLEYS? WHY?”

He felt Hermione's arms embracing him tightly, but he was on the edge of reason as a scream
of pain, a *cri de couer* of anger, roared from his very being, “*WHY?*”

There was no need to ask WHO had done the deed; there was only one person in living memory who
would have the sheer guts or will to initiate something like that; only one person with godlike
discernment who would think that such an action was necessary; only one person with the power and
the will to do it … what Harry needed to know was WHY.

The answer came from a wholly unexpected quarter.

“Use your brains, Potter,” Snape's portrait said but strangely, none of the sarcasm, scorn
or disdain which had marked his every encounter with Harry, could be heard. It was a voice laced
with anger, bitterness, resignation as he continued in a hollow voice, “D'you think Lily would
have gone to Godric's Hollow if she knew about the Potter properties?”

The words had dropped into the room like a pebble in a silent pond, but the ripples it created
could well be the harbinger of a tsunami of magical destruction. The shocked Flitwick and
Shacklebolt stared at each other as the implications came to mind; surreptitiously, both fingered
their wands as they warily turned to Harry who now had Hermione in his lap as she embraced him and
- surprisingly - McGonagall at his back, rubbing his shoulders in an effort to calm him down.

It seemed to be working, as a seemingly calm and composed Harry Potter stared at the portrait of
Snape and asked, “What do you mean, Professor?”

For a long, tense moment, the two were locked in a staring contest, one where Snape broke first
as he sighed. “The Potters had numerous properties, true … but Godric's Hollow is not one of
them.”

“How do you know that, Sev?” Flitwick asked while he kept a watchful eye on Harry.

The portrait sighed before gesturing to Hermione, as he asked, “I assume you've told her
*everything*, Potter?”

“No, sir.” Harry shook his head. “Bits and pieces … She does know about your mother -”
Snape's eyebrows rose at this - “she was the one who realized what the `Half Blood Prince'
was all about.”

Snape nodded slowly. “My father was a muggle,” he began. Only Percy and Shacklebolt looked
surprised; Minerva and Flitwick knew, having known him as student and colleague for nearly two
decades. “What very few know is that he was a handyman … fixing muggle appliances and the like.

“And his biggest client was Lord Potter.”

The expressions of surprise were muffled; none wanted to distract him from his musings. “The
Potters had a fascination with muggle appliances which would have put Arthur Weasley to shame.
Except that, being well-off, they could afford to have the real thing, as well as keeping these in
working condition unlike the collection of junk that Arthur keeps in his shed.

“Which was how I knew them. My father was always on call to the various properties to fix things
… being warded properties and with my father a Muggle, the only way he could do his job was for my
mother to portkey or side-along him to whichever property needed his services. Flooing in was out -
my father never liked that `infernal contraption,' as he called it.

“Sometimes I would go along with them … which was how I knew James Potter even before we
`met' on the Hogwarts Express …”

He shifted his gaze to McGonagall and Flitwick. “I hated him … his arrogance, his bullying of
others `lesser' than him, his `airs' … he was rich, he was magical, and he was the
Laird's son! There is no difference between the Potter who walked into Hogwarts as if he owned
the place and the *boy* who taunted me whenever I was in his home. He knew that I was nothing
more than the hired help and treated me lower than the house elves …maybe because he knew his
father would thrash him if he touched the elves so he took it out on *me!*”

Harry glanced at McGonagall, hoping that the old woman would step in and tell the bitter man off
- and sighed when he saw her looking at him, infinite pain and sadness in her eyes and he nodded
back.

Snape's memories made it clear - his father was a totally arrogant berk who, Harry now
realized, knew of his title and position and had taken on the airs of an Artistocrat a little too
literally. He shook his head and focused on Minerva whose Scottish brogue was leaking through:
“Wha' cae you expect from the lad, Severus? Growin' up alone in that bloody huge manor with
nae but house elves and his *witch*” - it was obvious from her tone that she had substituted a
`b' for the `w' in the word - “of a mother - and I find it hard to even call Dorea
Black-Potter a `mother'!

“My Jamie tried to teach his namesake proper, he did - but how can one teach properly when we
only saw him rarely a' that! T'was a good thing that Charlus hae tol' him never to
abuse the elves, else he'da been worse than even Sirius was…”

“Coming to Hogwarts and making friends with Sirius didn't help any,” Flitwick interjected,
softly.

“Aye,” McGonagall said. “They were a right handful, they were but pranks I could live with - it
was the meanness of spirit that made me despair o' James ever becoming a man to be proud of. It
took a student nearly getting' killed” - she cast a sideways glance at Snape - “as well as Lily
almos' killin' `im before he was able to pull his head out his arse!”

Even Snape had to blink at the last word. He'd known Minerva McGonagall as student and
colleague for nearly thirty years, been subjected to her fierce glare and acidic tongue and in all
that time had never heard the Scotswoman say anything `improper,' even when she was in her
cups.

He shook his head when he heard the brown nosing Percy Weasley ask, “How come you know so much
about the Potter properties, Headmistress?”

A pained look passed through McGonagall's face as she looked apologetically at Harry. “The
Burns and McGonagalls have been allies and companions to Clan Potter for centuries beyond
imagining. They were crofters on Potter lands but the Lairds had always treated us well,
considering us more family than mere tenants.

“Charlus was my Jamie's best friend and stood with him at our wedding; Jamie was supposed to
be your father's godfather, Harry, but Dorea put her foot down. She said that since your father
was already named after my Jamie, someone else should stand as godfather, though in truth, she
didn't think a crofter's bairn was even worthy of her *son* ...” She sniffled. “My
Jamie died in 1970 when James was here … years later, when you were born, James asked his Aunt
Minnie to be your godmother …”

“You were my godmother?” Harry whispered, shocked. “But I thought … I thought …”

“Sirius is - was - your godfather, Harry,” McGonagall explained. “When the Charm was cast, we
lost all memory of Charlus as Lord Potter along with every memory where `Lord' Potter was
present - including your christening. Another ceremony was done in October … where Sirius and Alice
Longbottom were named as your godparents.”

Harry had stood up while McGonagall was explaining; Hermione had stepped to one side, teary as
she listened to the older woman's tale, cursing beneath her breath at the incompetent old coot
whose interference had denied her Harry years of a normal childhood. Her mind flashed back to the
tent where Harry explained, once again, how Dumbledore delivered the prophecy to him - and shook
with rage as she recalled the old cootie claiming that he'd placed Harry with the Dursleys so
he could have a `normal' childhood.

Harry said he understood - being raised in the magical world would have made fame go to his head
… but now, Hermione had her doubts. Minerva had more claim to Harry as a magical godparent than
even the blood-related, non-magical Dursleys. Knowing her, Hermione knew that she would never allow
Harry's fame get to his head - she'd have learned her lesson from James Potter's
arrogance and would have taken steps to ensure her godson didn't follow in his father's
footsteps.

And as for the so-called `protections' made because of Lily's sacrifice … it wasn't
as if Number 4 Privet Drive would be the *only* place in Britain where such `protections'
could be placed!

The Burrow had been more than adequately protected - she remembered Ginny saying that they'd
been all right there until Old Snake Face *himself* had gone there to bring down the wards …
Grimmauld also had more than enough protections even before the Fidelius was cast …

She blinked as connections formed in her churning mind.

Fact: The Potters were an ancient and noble family with properties under some, as Minerva said,
`nasty and vicious protections' - probably on the level of or even better than Grimmauld Place
or the Burrow. Add on a Fidelius to one of the Potter properties and it would have been nigh on
impregnable.

Even if Voldemort himself showed up, it would have taken time to break through rather than, as
far as Harry could remember, Voldemort literally waltzing into the house!

Fact: The charm that hid the knowledge of Lord Charlus Potter was cast *after* he died -
months after Dumbledore learned the prophecy, weeks after two babies were born to `those who had
defied the Dark Lord three times' … born to `ancient and noble' families with
well-protected properties whose defences could be easily upgraded …

She didn't know where the Longbottoms had hidden out, but she suspected that they'd
stayed on in their ancestral home. Dame Augusta Longbottom would not allow anything else … and it
would have been dicey to try to cast the modified Fidelius to hide any knowledge of the
Longbottom's heritage while she was alive.

Dame Longbottom was a very public figure, Neville had said over the years - charity balls and
functions, sessions of the Wizengamot, teas and garden parties with the Grand Old Ladies that
Neville hated with a passion since, chubby boy that he was, he'd been treated to years of old
ladies pinching his cheeks…

The Potters, from what Sirius had said, were more the quiet, sedate kind. Charlus and,
surprisingly, Dorea Black-Potter preferred anonymity - living far from London, seldom attending the
Wizengamot or Ministry affairs. Which meant few people would have interacted with them ... making
it much easier to `hide' the knowledge of Charlus' status - and denying James the knowledge
of his birth right.

And that thought led to the next one: casting the charm would have literally thrown baby Harry
and his parents on the street with no knowledge about their ancestral homes or properties. Except
that Harry and his parents were *not* living in a Potter property at the time. Sirius and
Remus had reminisced about visiting the Potters at a London flat where James and Lily lived …
`because Lily hated apparition and James loathed the floo' - something, it seemed, that had
been passed on to Harry.

The Potters had a London flat which was close to the Ministry and Diagon Alley. They'd given
the flat up in order to move to Godric's Hollow because of the `threat' of Voldemort where
they went under the Fidelius and had Wormtail as Secret Keeper…

All of which led to the conclusion that …

“THAT FUCKING BASTARD! HE SET YOU UP!”

The roar of a wounded lioness would have paled beside a totally riled Hermione Granger; an
approaching thundercloud would have fled in shame at the magnificent sight of an angry Hermione
Granger.

Harry broke away from the embrace of his now-revealed godmother and threw his arms around a
shaking Hermione and held on tight; Hermione also wrapped her arms around him as she blubbered and
stammered an explanation … while a bit confusing, enough got through the tears and hitched
breathing that he and the others understood what she was saying…

Two babies, one prophesied with the power to vanquish a Dark Lord - but the `Chosen One' had
to be marked. But how can `The One' be marked if both were under heavy protections?

Simple - manipulate one of the two into a vulnerable position.

Remove him from his ancestral home … let them *associate* with people of questionable
loyalties. They'd known there was a spy in the order and it could be anyone … Sirius because of
his family; Remus because of his ailment; Mundungus because of his `connections;' Daedalus
because of his foppishness …

It was a set up for disaster and it went into motion when Dumbledore cast the spell obliviating
their world's memories of Lord Potter and his properties.

As Harry listened, he felt something breaking within him … something hot, raging and begging for
release in a torrent of destruction aimed at anything and everything that he could find to vent on
…

Unknown to him, his magic was pulsing along with Hermione's - and each pulse was causing
magic to flare all over the place - demolishing an armchair, blowing open the windows, sending
vases flying, sending elves, portraits, and people scurrying for cover.

The elves cowered behind McGonagall's desk; Kingsley Shacklebolt, Filius Flitwick and Percy
Weasley had cast shields while edging towards the door; the portraits of Headmasters past fled
(Dillys Derwent to her frame in St. Mungo's, Phineas Nigellus to his other portrait inside
Hermione's enchanted bag).

Unfortunately for Severus Snape, he was too new at this game to know what he could do so he was
left to cower behind his portrait's chair. McGonagall had needed a wand to obliterate
Dumbledore's portrait; scary Granger's eyes were flashing such that he feared a mere glance
at his painting would incinerate him. Although it wouldn't be *that* bad, he thought to
himself …

***

**The Front Lawn, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy**

“Are ye alright, bairn?”

Harry Potter shook his head to clear the cobwebs, the memories receding as he saw the concerned
eyes of the Headmistress and realized that McGonagall's hand was on his arm, a sign of
affection that ageless Scots had never shown anyone before.

He gave a tremulous smile as he looked around, noting that nothing much had changed in the time
that his mind had run the memories of an eventful afternoon in the Headmistress' office. The
students, adults and staff of Hogwarts were still arrayed around them; Minister Shacklebolt was
still standing tall as an obsidian idol to one side with Percy beside him, both of them, however,
shooting him occasional worried looks.

“*Aam braw*, godmother.”

McGonagall blinked; she had always known that Harry was an extraordinary boy and man - but for
him to say “I'm fine” in Gaelic was beyond imagining. She caught the amused glances exchanged
by Harry and Hermione and raised an eyebrow in question.

“Hermione got tired of hearing me say `I'm fine' every time she asked how I was during
our fifth year. So I asked a few of our friends - Seamus Finnigan, Parvati Patil, Su Li - how to
say `I'm fine' in their native languages.”

He snickered as Hermione punched his arm. “You should have seen Hermione's face when she
asked me how I was doing and I replied, `*Aam braw.*' When she said, `What?' I
answered `*sijambo*', which is Swahili for the same thing.”

“An excellent use of your free time, then, Harry … five points to Gryffindor.”

Harry's smile faded. “Natalie McDonald was trying to teach me Gaelic, ma'am …
there's no word yet of her?”

McGonagall felt her eyes prickling with tears - another of her young lions missing. Natalie had
joined Hogwarts in time for the Tri-Wizard but, as a muggle-born witch, was a prime target for
Snatchers and Death Eaters. She hadn't returned to Hogwarts this past year and there had been
no word of her or her family …

“We cae onla hope that the wee ones made it, Harry,” she said as she tried to control her
breathing. She smiled as she felt the teen's arms around her, giving her a comforting hug
before stepping back and looking Harry in the eye. “*Fit loch*,' Harry?”

He took a deep shuddering breath as Hermione and Minerva watched him, concerned, and he shook
his head as he answered, “I've been better, ma'am … still need to wrap things in my head
and sort it all out.”

“Aye.” The older witch said with a sigh; there was nothing more to say. She was relieved at the
thought that she still had an office - although, if worse had come to worse, she could still camp
out in her old office, the one she'd occupied for almost thirty years.

She shook herself of her thoughts of what had almost happened when the combined magics of Harry
and Hermione threatened to blow them into the next dimension; she had instinctively grabbed hold of
the pair in a tight hug - and found herself in the middle of a group hug composed of elves and
people as Winky, Kingsley, Filius, Percy and the elves joined in, helping to ground the two and
dissipate their building magic.

“Eh?” She'd allowed her ruminations to distract her from the two young people with her and
she shook her head as she tried to understand why Hermione was staring at Harry like a deer caught
in headlights. Something about secrets but what kind of … her eyes widened as her brain finally
caught up and she opened her mouth to interrupt …

“Oh honestly, Harry, it's not that big a deal! I owled Professor McGonagall early last
summer asking for help in obliviating my parents. I've *read* about it but wasn't sure
if I could do it!” She stopped him with a gesture. “Memory charms are tricky, Harry, you know that!
I wasn't about to start practicing on my parents so I owled the Professor…”

“I told her I had a better idea,” McGonagall interrupted them. “My daughter was in town trying
to convince me to leave … I dinna want to leave the bairns in case the school opened …”

“Excuse me? Your *daughter?* How come I never knew …”

McGonagall smiled. “Probably because I never talked much about it … security, you know.”

Hermione took pity on Harry's confused state. “The professor's daughter is Samantha M.
Wallace, the Minister of Magic for Australia.”

“The Minister is your *daughter*?” McGonagall nearly jumped at the incredulous voice behind
her and turned to the gobsmacked faces of Shacklebolt and Percy. She smiled and nodded,
understanding the awed look on Kingsley's face. Her Sammie had quite the reputation with
Magical Law Enforcement in the Pacific Rim, being a legend on par with the likes of Mad-Eye Moody
but thankfully without the eye or the wooden claw for a foot … although she shuddered at the
thought of her bairn *almost* becoming like Captain Hook. She shook her head and tuned in on
Hermione …

“Anyway, Minister Wallace offered asylum to my parents and they left soon after. I asked the
Professor to obliviate me and `replace' the memory with the one I told you - of using Memory
Charms them and hiding them under other names in Australia. The Professor lifted the charm the
other day … which was why I was so knackered and went to bed early.”

There was no need to say anything more - Harry realized that Hermione turning in early that
night provided the opportunity for the Malfoys to kidnap her and Ron out the castle … He blinked
when he realized that, while his godmother was talking to Hermione, she was also casting an evil,
wicked grin at him and he gulped, wondering what anvil was heading directly for his head this time
…

“Communications has been difficult,” he heard McGonagall say to Hermione. “Although I believe
that it's a given that they know what's happened here already so I suspect you'll be
seeing Daniel and Emma before long.”

She smirked in Harry's direction. “It will also give you the chance to correct your dress
robes.”

“Ma'am?”

“The Potter Crest on Hermione's robes, Harry. Winky's right. Tis not proper for Hermione
to be wearing your family crest - not until you're properly wed.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but McGonagall went right over him. “Tradition, Mr Potter.
While you and Hermione are considered married in the eyes of magic, it is not considered legal and
binding until you (a) place a ring on her finger; (b) pledge your troth to one another before
family, friends and a Ministry-approved Binder or other authority.

“Only then can Hermione be allowed to wear your family crest on her robes.”

Harry smiled - what could be so difficult with that? If that was all it took to make Hermione
and him married in the eyes of law and magic …

“Which presupposes, of course, that you get Dan and Emma Granger's permission to marry their
daughter.”

Gulp.

Magic could do a lot of things, Harry knew, but did it have something to do with the sudden lump
in his throat, the sweat on his forehead, the oh-so-tight band around his chest … and the hole
where his stomach once resided?

Meeting the parents shouldn't be a problem - he had, after all, already defeated a Dark
Lord, not only once but several times; slain a basilisk; ran rings around one dragon and escaped on
the back of another; faced giant spiders, Inferi and so on … what can two dentists do?

Two dentists who just happened to be Hermione's parents. A memory from their first year at
Hogwarts flashed through his mind - Ron calling Hermione `brilliant but scary.' The thing was,
he thought, it had to come from somewhere … chances were that Hermione's mother was brilliant
while her father was scary …

Or the other way around.

Or maybe even both.

Harry shuddered. True, they hadn't really done - *much* - of anything but still …

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard Shack's low voice say, “Heads up, people, here
they come.” He shook his head of those thoughts and focused; the goblins were arriving and game
faces were the order of the day.

He banished thoughts of Hermione's scary mother and brilliant father from his mind for the
moment; he still had time to write out a will, right?

He shook his head.

Just another day in the life of Harry Potter.

**Final Note.** I hope the next chapter doesn't take as long to work out. Thank you for
reading.

-->



8. Chapter 8.
-------------



**Grâce aux Malfoys**

**Standard Disclaimer: Nope, not mine, never has been and never will be. All characters that
you recognize are the property of Scottish author and the various companies and whatnot who have a
slice of a lucrative pie. My eternal gratitude to Ms Rowling, however, for letting us romp in her
playground.**

**Author's Notes**: The usual apologies for the delay in the update and my continuing
gratitude to all those who have commented, or marked this as a favourite and included me - and this
story - in their favourites.

Two more chapters to go and hopefully, the last chapters will be uploaded very soon. One chapter
is almost complete and the last (an epilogue) has been blocked out for some time.

Without further ado …

**Chapter 8.**

**The Front Lawn, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

“Heads up, people. Here they come.”

It was a measure of the Minister's commanding presence that the people gathered on the front
lawn visibly straightened, flexed their shoulders and took on a serious, determined air.

Kingsley Shacklebolt looked around and gave a tight smile of approval even as he straightened
his robes and put his game face on. This was his first `official' function as Acting Minister
of Magical Britain and - he sincerely hoped - it wouldn't be his last.

Try as he might, though, he couldn't help a worm of unease from squirming in his mind.

They'd planned for this `meeting' with the precision of a military campaign or a Steven
Spielberg production.

Hagrid, as Keeper of the Keys and Grounds and assisted by house elves wearing footmen's
uniforms from a century before, would accompany the thestral-drawn carriages to Hogsmeade where the
goblins would gather in front of the Three Broomsticks. Hagrid would then lead the procession to
the Front Lawn where Minister Shacklebolt (with Headmistress McGonagall and Deputy Headmaster
Flitwick on either side) would stand, ready to welcome their guests with the appropriate words and
ceremony. Standing behind and to the left of Minerva would be Harry and Hermione (as nominal Head
Students) while Percy would be standing behind and to the right of Flitwick, as head of Goblin
Liaison. Remus and Tonks would be in the front row behind their `leaders' while the others
(including Aurors and DA members) would be spread among the crowd, alert but non-threatening - no
wands in evidence.

Simple.

Except for a few things that bothered him.

For one - why the Three Broomsticks? Gringotts had a Hogsmeade branch. Stands to reason,
Shacklebolt thought, that the goblins will use their own transportation network to get from their
main office to the Hogsmeade branch and proceed from there … so why `gather' at the Three
Broomsticks?

Second - why were *all* the carriages in use for this? He was looking out the
Headmistress' office when the carriages departed and he'd idly voiced the question of how
many goblins were coming to visit.

The only times when *all* the carriages were used were on the first and last day of the
school year - the first, to transport students Second Year and above from Hogsmeade station to the
school; the last, to move the students from school to station for the return trip to London.

Even Hogsmeade visits did not warrant all the carriages being used since only Third Years and
above needed them … so how many goblins were visiting?

And the most vexing question of all: what was this about? True, Ragnok said he wanted to meet
with him and Harry - but did that require so many carriages? Or so many goblins? And did this have
anything to do with the shocking revelation about Harry's heritage which had been hidden away
for so long?

Goblins were, for some reason, immune from mind and compulsion magic - which made them the
perfect bankers and financial managers for the wizarding world. After all, what trust can be placed
in a bank if any competent wizard can use the Imperious or other compulsion spells to make an
illegal withdrawal?

The question was, what did the goblins know about Harry's inheritance? True, Filius had been
affected by whatever spell or ritual Dumbledore used (they all agreed that no one else could have
done it) - but Filius was the first to admit that he could have been affected since he was not
`full' goblin.

He shook his head and squared his shoulders - the lead carriage was in sight and the next few
minutes would tell the tale.

The crowd stood in tense expectation as the carriages rolled to a stop and elves jumped down to
open the doors. From the lead carriage, a distinguished-looking goblin wearing a well-tailored
waistcoat and half-trousers stepped out, followed by a decidedly feminine goblin in beautifully
embroidered robes …

Kingsley Shacklebolt blinked when a vaguely familiar face came into view behind the female
goblin - a once stocky, now rather thin man with an arm in a sling, who limped as he stepped down
from the carriage -

“DADDY!” The shout rent the air, quickly followed by cries of joy and surprise as people - some
healthy, others apparently walking wounded - began stepping out from the other carriages, several
being assisted by goblins and elves.

The disciplined ranks of Hogwarts' defenders broke; Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin led the charge,
heading straight for the wizard who'd shared the carriage with Ragnok and his companion, crying
“DADDY!” the whole time.

Chaos was inevitable (the Thestrals that everyone could now see rearing up in their harnesses
from the commotion) were it not for Hagrid who, placing two fingers in his mouth, let out an
ear-piercing whistle that calmed the unearthly horses and froze everyone in their tracks.

Except for Tonks who was face down on the grass, having apparently tripped in her dash for her
father. In the sudden silence, Ted Tonks' long-suffering voice came loud and clear: “My
apologies, Clan Chief. My daughter is rather … excitable.”

“To say nothing of clumsy,” Remus' aggrieved voice followed, just as Tonks leaped to her
feet, eyes blazing and apparently anxious to start throwing curses at her husband for his remark.
Her father's sharp “Dora!” made her pause - allowing the goblin chief to step forward and say
loudly, “Please! Let us not stand on ceremony! This is a joyous occasion for all!”

Ragnok's words triggered a more controlled surge towards the humans who accompanied the
goblins, leading to exuberant reunions all over the lawn.

As families reunited and friends embraced, Flitwick, Minerva and Shacklebolt approached the
Leader of the Goblin Nation.

Flitwick took the lead and saluted the Goblin leader with a clenched fist over his heart; Ragnok
returned the salute but followed this by wrapping Flitwick in his arms and lifting him up before
setting him down and giving the diminutive professor a slap on the back that would have staggered a
lesser man as the goblins with him (who'd approached from the other carriages) snickered in the
background.

Shaking his head, Flitwick then introduced McGonagall and Shacklebolt with the former curtseying
while the Minister bowed. Ragnok returned with a fist on chest salute before extending his hand to
shake theirs.

Harry and Hermione stood back, watching exultant reunions (they recognized Natalie MacDonald
surrounded by her year-mates) and biting their lips in sympathetic pain at the sight of a few who
wandered around seemingly aimless, searching the crowd for a remembered face - and finding
none.

“Harry?” Shacklebolt's deep voice interrupted their thoughts and Harry saw that the Minister
was beckoning him over. He took a deep breath and, grabbing Hermione's hand, walked over.
Stopping a few paces from the group, the two stood at attention for a moment before simultaneously
bowing at the waist to the goblin leader as Shacklebolt performed the introductions: “Director
Ragnok, may I present Harry James Potter, Heir-Apparent of the Ancient and Most Noble House of
Potter and his … best friend and companion, Hermione Jane Granger.

“Harry Potter, Hermione Granger - Director Ragnok of Gringotts Worldwide, Clan Chief of the Clan
Chiefs of the Goblin Nation and his Consort and life-mate, Reena.”

The two teens straightened and Harry took a step forward, hand extended, saying, “Clan Chief
Ragnok, Consort Reena. A pleasure to meet you both.”

For a long moment, Harry stood with his hand out as deep, dark eyes locked with his. He was
beginning to wonder if he had committed a breach in protocol when the apparently middle-aged goblin
sighed before extending his hand and touching Harry's briefly.

“Potter.” Turning his head, he gave a short neck bow to Hermione. “Miss Granger.” He bit his
lip, looking uncomfortable for a moment, before addressing Harry. “Protocol dictates that I address
you as `Mister' Potter until the time you ascend to your titles. It would seem that, if not for
… *interference* from wizards or witches unknown, I should be addressing you as `Lord'
Potter now. My apologies.”

“No need for apologies, Clan Chief,” responded Harry. “I assume that you were affected, as we
all were, by whatever ritual or magic was used to hide the knowledge of my inheritance from our
world?” At Ragnok's raised eyebrow, Harry continued as he inclined his head to one side,
“Deputy Headmaster Flitwick was kind enough to explain. He had emphasized your nation's
immunity to mind and compulsion magic; as a half-goblin, however, he was unsure whether the effect
on him extended to yours.

“It would seem that whatever was cast or used has affected us all. As such, no blame or
culpability can be imputed to the Nation for any lapses or errors. If anything, blame or censure
should be attached to the *person* responsible, whoever it may be,”

“Well said, Mr Potter. The Nation thanks you.”

The ensuing silence was awkward as Harry and Ragnok, Hermione and Reena assessed the other - all
of them waiting for the next move. The silence lengthened and human and goblin mouths opened to
speak when ethereal phoenix song washed over everyone, just seconds before a flash of flame had
everyone blinking, except for Harry's excited cry of “Fawkes!”

Harry's elation was replaced by a soft and pained “Oh” of disappointment as they stared at
the beautiful blue and white phoenix flying above them, singing as it made a circuit of the lawn
before gliding elegantly to McGonagall's outstretched arm.

“Hello, Anastasia. I trust all is well?” McGonagall said as she conjured an elegant perch on the
lawn, to which the phoenix hopped before extending a scroll to the Headmistress. McGonagall turned
to see everyone, including the goblins, gaping at her.

It was Ragnok who broke the silence. “I didn't know you had a phoenix companion,
Headmistress.”

“Unfortunately, Clan Chief, Anastasia isn't mine,” McGonagall said as she removed the scroll
and gently scratched the firebird's chest, which set it crooning. “She's my daughter's
familiar.”

McGonagall smiled at the goblin leader's raised eyebrow. “Samantha Minerva McGonagall
Wallace … she dropped the McGonagall when she came of age, saying that she didn't want to be
labelled a candy for the rest of her life.” She sobered. “We also felt it best to obscure her
origins, for reasons I am sure you appreciate.”

“I see.” The goblin chief sounded distracted and McGonagall frowned. Turning, she blinked when
she saw that the phoenix had locked eyes with Harry Potter and was holding a seeming conversation
with him: a burst of phoenix song would be followed by Harry nodding, shaking his head, or
shrugging his shoulders - like a man giving non-verbal responses to questions asked.

As they watched, the phoenix and the young man bowed to the other and Harry turned to the others
with a sigh.

“Harry?” Hermione asked worriedly as she gave him a hug.

“Hmm?” he absently replied. “Oh - Fawkes is all right. He's home now but would be back
soon.”

He blinked when he felt Hermione pushing him back and staring at him. “What?” he said petulantly
- and then realized what he just said. “What? Didn't you hear what she said?”

“Ummm - no,” replied Hermione, shaking her head - an action that everyone within earshot
emulated.

Harry rolled his eyes as a series of notes that sounded like laughter came from the phoenix.
“Great! First, talk to snakes … now I can talk to a bloody bird?”

He raised an eyebrow at an indignant squawk. “Well, what else are you? I know … I know,” he
said, in a placating manner. “You're not just *a* bird, you're *THE* bird.” The
phoenix responded with a sound suspiciously like a raspberry. Rolling his eyes, he turned to
McGonagall. “Umm, Headmistress? The letter? I think Ana's waiting for a reply.”

“Oh!” McGonagall shook off her surprise and scanned the letter, smirking momentarily before
schooling her face into impassivity and turning to Shacklebolt and Ragnok.

“The Minister of Magic for Australia,” she began in a formal tone, “extends her congratulations
to the magical peoples of Britain -” she nodded at Ragnok who bowed back - “for removing the blight
on the world that is Voldemort. She expresses a wish to visit and pay her respects.”

She paused. “If you don't mind, Minister, Clan Chief, I would like to invite her to dine
with us tonight.” At their nods, she continued, “She also begs our indulgence as she wishes to
bring some … *guests* … with her.”

“Guests, Headmistress?” Percy asked. McGonagall glanced at Harry with an evil smile before
responding. “Ms Granger's parents will be joining her.”

“Is it too late to have a will prepared?”

The silence that followed Harry's unthinking outburst was broken by a bark of laughter
followed by a loud `OOF!!' as Reena elbowed the goblin leader in the ribs. Straightening,
Ragnok said in a pained voice, “Gringotts would be more than happy to assist, Lord Potter.”

“Ummm … thank you?”

It was Anastasia's trilling laughter (for that was the only way to describe the burst of
phoenix `song') that broke the awkward moment as goblin, human and half-goblin smiled or
silently commiserated with Harry. McGonagall couldn't hide her smirk as she penned a reply on
the parchment and handed it to the phoenix who'd jumped to Harry's shoulder and was
crooning sympathetically to him.

The phoenix took the parchment in her beak and leaped, disappearing in a ball of flame even as
phoenix song surrounded them.

McGonagall broke the ensuing silence, “It will take Anastasia some time to head back; may I
suggest we retire to the castle for our meeting?” She gave both Harry and Shacklebolt a meaningful
glance, to which the Minister responded, “Of course, Headmistress. If you would lead the way?”

As they proceeded to the open doors of Hogwarts, an errant thought flashed through Harry's
mind: all they needed was a priest incanting prayers as the party headed for the gallows and his
impending doom.

***

**The** **Front Parlour****, Malfoy Manor**

It was a silent family that sat down to tea in Malfoy Manor - a most accurate term, Draco Malfoy
thought to himself, as `tea' was the only thing they had. No scones, no sandwiches, no sweets …
nothing but tea.

Not even milk or cream.

And no house elf to serve them.

He sighed; who could have thought that the Malfoys would sink so low? They were the top of the
magical food chain only a year before … and now, reduced to this. He shuddered as he wondered what
would be for dinner tonight - the elves had always done the cooking at Malfoy Manor; with no elves
around (and no prospect of getting a replacement soon), it was either scrounge in the kitchen or
starve.

He watched as his mother poured; one thing he could say for Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, her hands
didn't even tremble. As he watched, his mind drifted off to the events that led to the present
situation …

They'd adjourned to the parlour after their tense lunchtime discussion. His father, in a
rare display of affection, had offered to teach him the basics of magical poker while his mother
curled up on the lounge with a book. He was about to lay down his cards - a straight flush - when
the magical pulse hit and he sat there confused, wondering who the hell Charlus Potter was.

Only to gape at the sight of his wide-eyed father sitting frozen in front of him, mouth open,
cards forgotten - comically in the same pose that his mother was in, except that it was her book on
the floor.

Their stupor was broken by a loud crash from the door, and all three Malfoys were on their feet
with wands drawn - only to see Blinky the House-Elf standing there, the Malfoy sterling silver tea
service on the floor where he'd dropped it, eyes glazed and defocused. Seconds or minutes
passed before the elf shook itself from his immobile pose, suddenly standing straight and small
before declaring loudly, “Yous is *not* Blinky's masters!”

Before he could pop away, a silvery curse impacted the elf - and Draco watched as its head
separated from its body before the elf slumped to the floor, followed by an unholy screech from
Narcissa Malfoy: “*WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE NOW?*”

“Stopping him,” a shaken Lucius replied. He shook his head as he stared at his wife, “Don't
you see, Narcissa? *He's a Potter elf* - why else would he declare that we are not his
masters, so soon after that damned block was lifted? He'd probably be on his way to
*Potter* if I didn't stop him … if he had, all our plans would be ruined! I did what I had
to do!”

Draco fully expected his mother to start screeching worse than a Molly Howler - and gaped as she
slumped to the floor, hands over her face even as his father wordlessly began banishing the
evidence of the house-elf's demise from the room - including the food spilled when the magical
pulse hit.

He glanced at his father, sitting and staring into the distance, unaware of the cup of tea in
his hand. Who could have known that a simple and straightforward `prank' could become so
complicated so soon? Although to be fair, no one could have anticipated what the old goat
Dumbledore had done …

He shook his head of the thought; unless his father's plans came to fruition and Draco
became the Head of the Black Family, his mother - and even he, himself, would have no choice but to
*work*. He shuddered at that … what sort of work would *he* find with average grades in
everything except Potions (and that only because of Snape's tutoring)?

No, Draco thought, the only chance to avoid that fate was to be declared the Head of the Black
Family … but that seemed to be a slim chance that was getting slimmer with each passing hour.

Potter, he thought viciously. Who would have thought - Potty, the Half-Blood Prince, Head of an
Ancient and Most Noble House, with *titles* in both magical and muggle worlds and an unbroken
magical lineage going back *centuries*?

Or that Potty's *grandmother* was Dorea Black, which made the *batard* the
*senior heir to House Black*. There was no need for Sirius Black's Blood Adoption - except
that the memory of Potter's lineage had been removed from their world …

The lifting of Dumbledore's block - they all agreed he was the only one who could have done
it - meant that Gringotts and the Ministry would investigate … which would lead to Potter's
Black inheritance which could lead to Lucius' `prank' and all it implied … which would mean
the end of the Malfoy influence forever.

To say nothing of the Malfoys themselves.

Or maybe not, Draco thought. Lucius' quick action ensured that the only one outside the
family who knew the entire plot was silenced. Lucius insisted that he had nothing to do with
keeping the Black inheritance from Potty … possible, Draco thought. His father had done quite a few
stints as a guard at the bank - further humiliation by the Dark Lord of his once-trusted lieutenant
- he could have overheard something. He was sneaky enough for that …

He shook his head. Four months. If Potty didn't marry or name an heir in that time … he
could only hope that Lucius was correct, and the Prophet's story on the Weasel-Granger
`wedding' would send Potty running for the hills and out of their lives.

He sighed, covering this by appearing to be blowing on his tea.

It was going to be a long four months.

***

**Anteroom off the Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

It was a stately if informal procession that entered the castle, headed for the Great Hall and
an anteroom that Harry was all too familiar with from his fourth year.

In the lead was Filius Flitwick and Ragnok's consort Reena who were engaged in an animated
conversation that Ragnok, who was following behind with Kingsley Shacklebolt at his side, was
watching with a grin. Behind the Clan Chief and the Minister strolled Harry, Hermione and
McGonagall, who were also watching the half-goblin and the goblin consort in amusement.

Trailing behind were Percy Weasley (who was looking at the `procession' disapprovingly),
while Remus (who had left Tonks with her father outside) was engaging several older goblins - who
had the look of advisors to Ragnok about them, being in the same sort of elegant outfit as their
leader - in a conversation.

Taking up the rear in a defensive formation were several goblins whose movements shouted
`protection detail' to anyone who cared to look. Even they, however, were clearly amused at the
conversation taking place at the head of the procession.

“So, Fil,” Reena said to her diminutive companion. “Deputy Headmaster already? My dear old dad
would be so pleased … Little Fil Flitwick, all grown up and Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts.”

She grinned at the blushing professor and turned to wink at her husband, who smirked back.
Ragnok turned to Shacklebolt and the others behind them. “Reena's father is the Headmaster of
our equivalent to Hogwarts … Filius, Reena and I were in the same class until Filius decided to
transfer to Hogwarts where Armando Dippet accepted him.”

“It was a loss to the Nation, Minister Shacklebolt,” Reena said. “Filius was well on his way to
a Mastery in Charms even then, as well as becoming a rising star on the duelling circuit.
Unfortunately,” her expression darkened as did her husband's, “*circumstances* at the time
made him opt for your world. Many of us were saddened to see him go but heartened that he has made
his mark.”

“Your loss, our gain, Consort Reena,” Kingsley said in his deep voice. “I have to admit that I
owe my current position to Filius; he has generously lent his time during my school days and after
in helping me hone my combat skills.”

“I am right here, you know,” the red-faced Flitwick piped up. “Although I haven't yet
congratulated you, Reena, on either your acceptance as instructor at the Academy or both of you, on
the latest addition to your family! When will I get a chance to see the newest rascal?”

A shadow passed over the faces of Ragnok and his consort - something that all nearby noticed.
Flitwick spoke quickly, “Is there something wrong, my friend?”

The consort shook her head and smiled, although this did not seemingly reach her eyes. “No, no …
the little one is fine. Her naming day is coming soon but she does misses her playmate so.” She
thought for a moment. “When you have time for a visit, Fil, I would appreciate it if you ask Miss
McDonald to join you. She is not aware of our private access and cannot be told of these, but I
have no wish to deny my little one of her companionship.”

The procession stopped as Flitwick, McGonagall, Harry and Hermione stopped to gape at the
consort. It was McGonagall who broke the silence: “Miss McDonald? *Natalie* McDonald? I
thought …”

“We saw her outside, Headmistress,” Harry interjected. “She was there with her family but we
were unable to approach …”

“Thank Merlin,” McGonagall whispered. She smiled, tremulously, at Ragnok and his consort. “She
was one of my students and a member of my house … as well as a good friend of these two (indicating
Harry and Hermione). Being Muggle-Born, she was unable to attend last year and since we had no word
of her …”

“I understand, Headmistress,” Reena said. “She and her family were granted asylum by the Nation
and has been with us for some time. We were more than happy to have her.”

There was a hint of something more in Reena's voice but no one was sure how to comment on
it. Minister Shacklebolt cleared his throat, “Hem, Hem. I was unable to say this earlier, Clan
Chief, Consort Reena … but I wish to express the Ministry's gratitude and appreciation for the
… `repatriation' of our citizens.”

He paused and shook his head. “My apologies but I cannot find a more suitable term … that
sounded like you were returning prisoners of war but it is obvious that that is not the case …”

“No apologies needed, Minister Shacklebolt,” Ragnok responded. “The Nation understands … in
fact, the Nation owes a debt of gratitude to those who were with us.”

He smiled, a smile mixed with sadness, pain and a hint of anger, at Shacklebolt's raised
eyebrow. “Therein lies a tale, Minister, but all in good time …”

Shacklebolt blinked; he hadn't realized that they had passed through the Great Hall and were
already standing at the door of the anteroom where their meeting was to be held. Percy had
unobtrusively moved ahead of them and had opened the door and, with a flourish, bowed them through
- every inch the perfect assistant to the Minister of Magic.

Without a word, the Minister of Magic and the Clan Chief of the Clan Chiefs of the Goblin Nation
entered the room, followed by Flitwick and Consort Reena - and then Percy followed, leaving
Hermione, Harry and McGonagall staring at his back before the three placed hands over their mouths
to stop themselves snickering. Behind them, Remus was biting his lip while the goblin advisors were
rolling their eyes in amusement.

Harry paused before entering, a fleeting memory of a Halloween years before flashing through his
mind. He remembered that moment, wondering what the *hell* was going on with the Goblet of
Fire and why Fate chose him as its boy toy … and stopped when he saw a small table with two facing
chairs in the centre of the room, a single chair slightly behind and to the right of each of the
facing seats, clearly for a designated advisor or assistant while the walls were lined with chairs
- obviously for whoever else was expected to be here, whether advisors or spectators.

Ragnok was standing to one side of the table; he saw Reena by the wall behind her husband;
without a word, an older goblin that Remus had been speaking with slipped by his side and walked to
the chair immediately behind Ragnok.

It was the sight of the Minister, McGonagall and Percy standing by the wall opposite the goblins
that truly disturbed Harry - the seat across from Ragnok was clearly for him. As he gaped, he felt
Hermione's hand entwining with his, and give a reassuring squeeze.

Unthinking, he stepped forward and pulled her along - he would be damned if he faced this
without his best friend at his side.

As he approached `his' chair, Ragnok spoke in his gravelly voice, “I believe it is time for
us to rectify an oversight.”

Without a word, a goblin approached and handed a small, ornately carved box to his leader who
opened it, revealing a modest, unassuming ring: a simple silvery band, somewhat wide as would befit
a masculine hand. It had a flat surface where a stone would be, with a barely legible seal which
looked like crossed sticks or wands beneath a crude rendition of a crown.

Ragnok extended the box to Harry, and formally stated, “Harry James Potter, in accordance with
treaties signed between our peoples and the Laws of Inheritance of the Ancient and Most Noble House
of Potter, in the presence of the Minister of Magic, Gringotts Bank turns over the titles,
inheritances, and properties of the Potter Family.”

“Thank you, Clan Chief,” Harry whispered. He silently removed the ring from the box (handing
over the latter to Hermione for safe-keeping) and held it up. He saw runic writing inscribed around
the band; like the seal, it was clearly worn down by age and countless fingers rubbing it as the
runes were barely legible. Harry affected peering at the writing intently as he muttered, “One ring
to rule them all - OW! Hermione!”

“This is *serious*, Harry!” Hermione hissed - but her impending rant was stopped cold when
she heard the stifled giggles and muffled laughter of the others. Turning, she saw Ragnok with a
benign smile on his face as he said, “Tolkien had a most facile pen, Lady - Miss Granger - although
his unflattering description of the Nation saw him banned from the bank for the rest of his natural
life.”

“Besides,” McGonagall said from her position behind them, “there will always be one or two who
will say that when they receive their head of house ring.”

Harry poked a tongue at Hermione before turning back to Ragnok and bowed, again thanking the
goblin leader. Ragnok watched as Harry placed the ring on his finger and grinned when a golden aura
surrounded the young man, confirming the fact that Harry James Potter was indeed Lord Potter, with
all the titles, inheritances and responsibilities inherent in the name.

He was about to congratulate the young lord but stopped as he realized that tears were falling
from Harry's eyes. A worried Hermione looked ready to launch herself at him when Harry held a
hand up to stop her, even as the other was wiping at his eyes. Glancing around apologetically, he
whispered, “I'm sorry … I was hoping …”

“Harry?”

He sighed. “It's nothing … I was just hoping that the ring held some … memories or
something. I mean … I have no memory at all of my grandfather and was hoping that the ring …” He
shook his head, “My apologies, Director … Consort Reena.”

“No apologies needed, Lord Potter,” Ragnok said softly. “I'm just sorry that the ring is not
what you expected or hoped for. The only magical property it has is that of recognizing or
confirming the rightful Head of an Ancient and Noble House …” At the curious look the two teens
gave him, he continued, “The rings for the Most Ancient Houses have enchantments to prevent
unauthorized use by anyone not entitled to wear it. Those same enchantments are used in the rings
for the newer families, although many of the latter have additional magic on them.” He smiled at
their curious looks. “As I understand it, some Head of House rings are charmed to never be removed
or hidden unless the Head of House passes on.”

He shook his head. “I see it as a case of simple vanity; a means of constantly proclaiming the
head's status to the world at large.”

This time, Ragnok cast a curious look at the teens who exchanged meaningful looks with each
other - but before he could inquire, it was Harry who was standing tall in front of him, saying in
a formal tone, “Clan Chief Ragnok, before we proceed, there is a matter that I feel should be
settled first.”

Ragnok blinked but quickly recovered and nodded for Harry to proceed. Harry turned to Hermione
who reached into the bag that they'd carried around for most of a year and started pulling
something out. The goblins watched closely, alert for treachery or betrayal - and gasped when
Hermione pulled out a canvas-wrapped sword whose handle gleamed with rubies the size of eggs.

With a slight bow to Ragnok, she handed the sword to Harry who removed the canvas, revealing the
silver blade with `Godric Gryffindor' inscribed below the hilt. Turning to the shocked Ragnok
(and mindful of the tense stance of Ragnok's guards), Harry stated in a firm voice, “As
representative of Hogwarts and a past wielder of the Sword, I return this to the descendants of its
makers in the hope that such gesture will remove one of the many contentious issues between our
peoples.”

The silence in the room was the proverbial `so thick you can cut with a knife' as Ragnok
stared at Harry, who held out the sword to the goblin leader. Ragnok flicked his eyes to
McGonagall, then to Shacklebolt and Flitwick who nodded in agreement or resignation.

It had been a controversial issue in the Headmistress' office earlier - although the
argument was between the living and the dead. The portraits of Headmasters past were adamant about
keeping the Sword of Gryffindor in the castle; Hermione and Harry were just as resolute to return
it while the Minister, the Headmistress and her Deputy were unsure.

The argument ended when Harry banished the glass case holding the Sword and turned it over to
Hermione for safe keeping.

A sigh escaping Ragnok's lips broke the silence - Ragnok gestured for Harry to place the
artefact on the table between them instead of accepting it. As Harry complied, the head of
Gringotts sank into his chair with everyone else following.

“Lord Potter …” Ragnok's gravelly voice broke the silence, “while the Nation is appreciative
of your gesture … what makes you think that we *want* the sword back?”

A school of goldfish would not have done a better impersonation of flap-mouthed surprise; not
surprisingly, it was Hermione who first found her voice: “Bu-ba-but-huh?”

“I assume that a certain *p'tahk -*” Ragnok said, even as Hermione blinked at the
goblin's invective - “told you that it was `*taken*' from my ancestor, Ragnuk the
First, by Godric Gryffindor?”

At their nods, he continued, “May I further assume that the pathetic *tahkeck* said that
this was the price of his cooperation to get you into the Lestrange vault?”

Again, Harry and Hermione nodded; the latter's brains near-melting as she wondered how
Klingon epithets made it into the Goblin dialect … or was it the other way around? She shook her
head as she realized that Ragnok was muttering imprecations under his breath - she was sure that
she could pick up a few more Klingon words in there.

“Clan Chief?” Harry's query stopped Ragnok's diatribe and focused the latter back to the
room and its occupants. Ragnok sighed and shook his head. “Lord Potter, Goblin history notes that
Gryffindor *defeated* Ragnuk in single combat and claimed the sword, as was his right as a
valiant and honourable warrior.

“There are those in the Nation, however, who choose to believe that it was a treacherous
Gryffindor who `stole' the sword from the valiant Ragnuk - and that he who succeeds in bringing
the sword back to our ancestral halls will be acclaimed a hero!”

Ragnok's eyes turned flinty as he continued, “Tell me, Lord Potter, what honour is there in
displaying a symbol of our defeat? It would be a constant reminder of our loss - *no!* Far
better to hold on to symbols of victory, of celebration, rather than fester in thoughts of what
might have been!”

A squeak and a thump broke the tension generated by Ragnok's words; all eyes turned to see a
mortified Professor Flitwick climbing back into his chair.

“It would seem, honoured friend,” Ragnok's advisor said to him, “that Filius was asleep in
that class!”

A loud bark of laughter erupted from Ragnok, only to be interrupted by the melodious voice of
his consort: “Oh no, Honourable Ironclaw! Filius and Ragnok decided to sneak out of class for some
`herbal experimentation,' I believe they called it. Apparently, *someone -*” she gave an
apple-cheeked Flitwick an evil smirk - “got his hands on some muggle weed called `ganja' and
decided to share it with Ragnok.”

The goblins in the room were snickering at their leader's sputtering while the humans -
especially McGonagall - were gaping at the totally mortified Flitwick.

“My father, the Headmaster, caught them on the training grounds,” Reena continued. “Buck naked
and running around, proclaiming they were Pan and a nymph … Pan, of course, trying to do what myth
says he always does to nymphs.”

She paused before casting a meaningful glance at McGonagall. “I still have the pictures.”

It was too much - humans and goblins exploded in laughter, Hermione and Harry clutching each
other as they roared, Remus and Ironclaw on the floor holding their stomachs as McGonagall gaped at
her old friend and the image evoked of two young men stoned out of their minds and chasing each
other around the grounds.

A loud “Hem, Hem!” halted the hilarity and they tried to look serious (although an occasional
giggle broke through). Ragnok glared at his consort - who gave him a wide, wide grin to which
Ragnok responded with a roll of his eyes and muttered maledictions which the goblins (and Flitwick)
knew were along the lines of spoiled brats and Headmaster's daughters.

Standing up, the goblin warrior spoke formally, “The Nation and Clans thank you for the gesture,
Lord Potter, but we cannot accept such a gift. It is rightfully yours, won in battle by your
honoured ancestor and - as I am made to understand - it has found far more use than it would have,
rusting away in whatever mouldy storeroom Gryffindor found for it.”

The thought of the Sorting Hat's outrage at being called a `mouldy storeroom' made Harry
grin - almost; jumping to his feet, he bowed to Ragnok and accepted the Sword back before turning
it over to Hermione for safekeeping. Turning back to Ragnok, he asked, “Why would Griphook lie
about something like this, Clan Chief?”

“Ah,” the venerable goblin said with a sigh as he glanced at his consort. “We come close to the
heart of the matter.”

He sat down heavily in his chair, clearly gathering his thoughts. “How much do you know of the
Goblin Nation, Lord Potter?”

**Additional Note:** My deepest thanks to the wonderful people who put together the
**Khemorex Klinzhai!** Website for the database on Klingon epithets and vocabulary. I would also
like to acknowledge a favourite author, **robst**, who cited Alorkin's review on a story
which provided a perfect description of the goblins: “… a combination of Ferengi and Klingon. They
have a strict ethical moral code and they stick to it assiduously.”

-->



9. Chapter 9.
-------------



**Grace Aux Malfoys**

**Standard Disclaimer**: As always, none of the characters you recognize came from me; I just
borrowed them from their owner to play around with a bit. They are rightfully the property of Dame
JK Rowling, her publishers, the movie companies, and whoever holds the stocks of those
companies.

As before, I am extremely grateful to the people behind the **Khemorex Klinzhai!** Website
for their extremely enjoyable and very useful Klingon dictionary.

To all who have read, left reviews and marked this for alerts or as favourites, my deepest
thanks.

**Chapter 9.**

**Anteroom off the Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

*Ragnok* *sat down heavily in his chair, clearly gathering his thoughts. “How much do you
know of the Goblin Nation, Lord Potter?”*

Harry blinked; the question was unexpected. His response was hesitant; he may have read a lot
during the past year but still - “Not much really, Clan Chief. I … well, never really gave it much
thought until recently.”

Ragnok nodded. “No doubt your impression of the Nation is that of a single, purposeful entity,
attuned to war and bloodshed, chaffing under the `enlightened' views of the wizards and
constantly seeking a way to get away from your control?”

Harry shrugged in reply, his face impassive. Ragnok continued. “The truth is, the Nation is
divided. Many clans,” his gesture clearly indicating those in the room with him, “have long
realized that not all wizards or witches look down on us or treat us with contempt. These witches
and wizards are, in the main, half-bloods with ties to the muggle world or First Generation
muggle-born … in other words, those who have not been exposed or with limited experience with the
inbred bigotry of many `pureblood' families.

“Over the years, our clans have built successful business relationships and personal friendships
with a selected few and their families. Money, after all, has no borders and we would be remiss if
we allowed opportunities to slip by without doing our best to gain some of it.” He paused and shook
his head. “We've had to keep these relationships very discreet, however, for fear they would be
harassed, either by wizards who want *no one* to do business with us beyond what the treaties
provide and those in our world who feel the same way.

He paused before continuing thoughtfully, “Of course there are those who resent those alliances,
being envious of the wealth that we brought to the Nation and our clans …”

His face darkened. “Those who resent us have found alliance and a willing ear among those who
would have nothing to do with you or the muggles. To the minds of the bigoted, inward-looking
*baktag*, the Nation has lost its pride, becoming nothing more than clerks and servile
*t'gla*, totally unbecoming of the `glorious history' (he rolled his eyes) of the
Goblin Nation. That we were almost wiped out in the wars of attrition with your kind is
conveniently forgotten - they choose to remember old wounds, to keep alive past conflicts and
slurs, constantly picking at the scabs in an effort to keep old hurts fresh.

“The Sword, for example,” he said, nodding at Hermione's bag. “They call it the `Lost'
Sword of the Nation, holding it up as an icon and symbol of all that is wrong in our world: lost
through a wizard's treachery, a relic that we `allow' to remain lost, willing as we are to
roll over and present our backsides to the wizards who control our world.”

Ironclaw spoke up from his seat beside his leader, “They are a small but vocal group of
malcontents, but their numbers were never high, especially as the Nation has grown prosperous and
content with its business and financial dealings. Of course,” he grimaced, “having those hotheads
around virtually guarantees continuing tensions with *your* world.”

Ragnok nodded. “The Nation would have healed were it not for the stupidity and pig-headedness of
your leaders. Your government has constantly insulted and disrespected the Nation; this has found
fertile ground among those who continue feeding on old wounds.” He broke off to stare at Kingsley
Shacklebolt, who was seated behind Harry.

“Tell me, Minister Shacklebolt, how would you view a government whose dealings with you are
through the Department for the *Regulation* and *Control* of Magical *Creatures?*
How would you react to a government who sees you as *beasts* that need to be `regulated'
rather than sentient beings that *deserve* respect and friendship?”

There was no reply - there could be no answer. Even Shacklebolt - loyal Ministry worker that he
was - had never really thought of it that way. Ragnok had a point - the wizarding world entrusted
the goblins with their monies, so why should they be dealt with as `creatures'?

The reason was simple, of course. Treat them as `beasts,' think of them as
`*creatures*' and it is easier to do anything you want to them - deny them their rights,
impose any restrictions, handle them with contempt … they are only creatures, after all.

Shacklebolt shook his head. True, he had never been in a position to make such changes before …
But he could now. First thing, he thought, transfer Percy and Goblin Liaison to International
Magical Cooperation - the goblins were a `nation' after all, right? After that … let's see
what Percy can come up with.

He shifted his attention back to Ragnok who was talking, “It is the transgressions of those in
power which kept the clique opposing us alive - stoking their anger, feeding their hatreds,
awaiting an opportunity to vent their frustrations. And then circumstances arose that gave them an
opening …”

“Voldemort,” Hermione said.

The goblin leader nodded. “Indeed, Lady-Miss Granger. When Voldemort exposed himself in '96,
we knew that war would soon be joined, and the Nation would be called to take a stand with one side
or the other.”

He grimaced. “Not an ideal situation for us. On the one hand, there was that traitorous
*p'takh* that never showed respect and caused the death of several families over the
years. On the other was the *qoH* Fudge and his Ministry *Qovpatlh* who had never been
friends to the Nation.

“But Professor Dumbledore…” Harry stopped at Ragnok's impatient gesture.

“The Clans never considered Dumbledore as friend or potential ally. He's held the highest
positions in your government from where he could exert considerable influence and yet he's done
*nothing* to temper the hatreds. Despite representations made for Bagman's arrest and
trial under goblin law, he never lifted a finger to assist us.”

“But that was during the Tri-Wizard …” Harry stopped as Hermione squeezed his hand and he
nodded. They'd discussed this before: Dumbledore was the head of the Wizengamot - so why should
he spend more time `overseeing' the tournament rather than settling a dispute between the
Goblin *Nation* and one lowly wizard - one who had gypped other wizards, including the Twins,
Dean's father and others?

And it wasn't as if Bagman was an indispensable part of the Tournament and thus deserving of
the protection! Apart from the drawing of the names and the weighing of the wands, he was there
only to commentate - and run his betting business on the side!

The two teens shook their heads and turned to Ragnok, who had been watching them with interest.
“You see the point, then?” As the two nodded (along with, Ragnok noted, the other humans in the
room), he continued, “And consider his approach to the Nation when Voldemort returned … a
*private* initiative through his Order of the Phoenix, not his *official* position as
Chief Warlock - in effect, it is a *personal* approach with *none* of the force of
law!”

Ragnok slammed his fist on the table, making them jump. “Did he think we were *fools?* He
wanted us on `his' side but without the backing of the government …what would happen to the
Nation if he lost? We would be left hanging when Voldemort took over! Why take his side, why play
his *games* … why fight for his `ideals' which the government he led never even
shared?”

His eyes impaled McGonagall who looked ready to protest, “Please don't speak of how
powerless the position of Chief Warlock was, Headmistress … if that were true, why hold on to his
positions? Why cling to something with no power or influence, claiming all the while there was
`nothing he could do' while Malfoy and his ilk bribed and threatened to achieve their goals? If
Dumbledore needed gold to counter Malfoy and his poisons, the Nation was more than willing to
help!

“But no! The great Albus Dumbledore would never stoop so low …if all he wanted was to keep his
hands clean, he should have resigned his position and openly take a stand rather than play
*games*!”

McGonagall's lips were set in a thin line as she stared at the goblin leader - but bowed her
head in defeat. She may have worked with Dumbledore the longest, but admitted that Ragnok had a
point. She remembered Harry's horrendous fifth year when Dumbledore did nothing and kept
silent, claiming `his hands were tied' the whole time - but still finding time to play games
with `his' Order and taking action only when forced to by circumstances.

And *that* did not even include whatever he did to hide Harry's inheritance and
position in their world from them!

She shook her head. She, like so many others, had placed their blind faith in Dumbledore only to
realize that the “Leader of the Light' had feet of clay and blinders to boot … and never
trusted them the way they trusted him.

Ragnok composed himself. “Is it any wonder then that the Nation chose to stay out of your war?
Much as we hated Voldemort and his ilk, there was little to admire in either the Ministry or
Dumbledore! There was only one option for us: to follow our obligations to the letter and provide
no more and no less than the services mandated by treaty.”

He paused, his gaze seemingly in the distance as he whispered, “What we didn't realize was
that we were going to be faced with a dilemma … one with consequences we could not have
foreseen.”

It was Reena who spoke next. She had silently walked to stand beside her husband, her hand on
his shoulder and the others noticed that Ragnok's fingers were intertwined with hers.

“We seriously underestimated Voldemort's insanity, Lord Potter,” she said. “We assumed that
by staying neutral, we would be left alone to do what we will,” she shook her head in dismay,
“Including maintaining our friendships and alliances with families who had access to the muggle
world. How were we to know that he would target and go after them - the information provided by
traitorous *t'ooho'mIrah* out of their envy and spite!”

Hermione blurted, “Natalie McDonald?” The consort nodded. Turning to the others, Hermione
explained, “Natalie's father is a stockbroker … what better `contact' in the muggle world
would Gringotts need than him?”

Reena smiled. “To say nothing of the fact that young Natalie is also a most engaging person.”
The teens and the teachers nodded, remembering the vivacious and friendly witch. “It was Curse
Breaker Weasley - no doubt acting on information from his father - who alerted us to
Voldemort's plans; we had mere *hours* to act and we did our best…”

“We could not allow them to be taken,” said Ironclaw. “They had been of great help and conducted
all dealings with honour, respect and profit … we could not stand aside, our honour dictated no
less. Fortunately, the Council agreed with us … we ventured into your world and made contact,
offering shelter with our families and asylum within the Nation. We were able to save some but
others …”

He shook his head; the humans in the room nodded. Hermione, especially, was shivering as she
remembered her encounter with the Muggle-Born Registration Committee. She looked up as Ragnok
sighed. “It is embarrassing to say this but we realized that we never really did a head count on
how many friends and business partners we've made over the years … when we had gathered
everyone and did so, we found we had around thirty families … and close to two hundred people that
we had granted asylum to.

“It was not a strain to us; our living areas can accommodate far more since they were built at a
time when we were more numerous. Neither did their `residence' with us strain our available
resources - again, there was more than enough for everyone, our friends included.”

He snorted. “This, however, provided the other faction with another cause. They began harping
that we had allowed `*human filth*' into the nation, giving them shelter, consuming our
food and drink … in other words, they had another opportunity to inflame old passions and hatreds
and trying to provoke them into open conflict.

“Fortunately, our friends refused to take the bait and did what they could to be useful and not
be a burden to the Nation. On the other hand, the inflammatory rhetoric emboldened some
*idiots* who did not - or could not - distinguish between those who were our friends and the
*Qa'Hom* who were infesting the bank …”

“Griphook and Gornuk,” Harry murmured.

Ragnok shook his head. “Gornuk was a simple hothead whose mouth was bigger than his brain and
made a run for it when he finally insulted the wrong *toDSaH.* He was lucky to have fallen in
with Dirk Cresswell and Ted Tonks; they helped him escape when they got ambushed. One of our rescue
teams was in the area and recognized Dirk - we were moving to rescue him but had been taken already
and then escaped; the rescue brought them in and we granted asylum to them.”

Shacklebolt and Remus nodded; that would explain why Ted and Dirk were believed dead and why
they didn't get the word out. Better safe than have Voldemort learn of the goblin's
assistance, Shacklebolt thought; Remus, on the other hand, felt that his mother-in-law would
eventually forgive Ted … in about a hundred years or so.

“Griphook, on the other hand …” Ragnok shook his head. “He was a leading light amongst that
clique, having inherited his hatreds and resentments from his ancestors. He was most vocal against
the `human filth,' didn't like our alliances with the muggle-born, and was the most
aggressive in baiting Voldemort's minions. We thought it best when he fled after insulting the
wrong *toDSaH*. Let him play his games outside while we kept the Nation safe … but he fell in
with you.”

“And we had the Sword,” Hermione murmured.

Ragnok nodded. “Griphook saw an opportunity to retrieve it for his faction and use it as a
rallying point for their long-planned assault on those they disagreed with.”

Ragnok's face, eyes and voice turned icy-cold. “The `return' of the sword was what
they'd been waiting for, it was a sign from the gods that their side was `right' and they
would win.”

“It didn't help that it happened after your … `adventure',” Ironclaw added, “which
diverted our attention. The miserable *taHqeq* and his people attacked the following day -
striking at the Council in their offices while the jackals fell on the families in their homes and
other places ...”

“The day after?” Harry interrupted him. “Oh Merlin,” he breathed, “we were at Hogwarts …
Voldemort attacked…”

“While we were fighting for our lives down below,” Ragnok nodded. “Their attack was swift and
brutal and caught us unawares. If it were not for your friends who all say that you had taught them
magical defence …”

“Young Natalie was babysitting my youngest while I was out,” Reena interrupted her consort.
“They thought they would be unopposed but what they found was a young witch who fought like a
lioness, stunning three of them before the fight turned lethal …” A pained expression crossed her
face. “Natalie found herself in a kill or be killed situation but she still fought back. I am so,
so sorry that it had to happen to one so young but Natalie was able to save my child, and for that
I am forever in her debt.”

“A group of the *maghwl* attacked the hospital,” a grim Ironclaw growled, “headed for the
maternity wing where my youngest daughter was in labour …Ted Tonks and Dirk Creswell were there for
an examination and stopped them in time. Ted was wounded; Dirk was killed before help arrived.”

He stood and met Remus Lupin's eyes. “My family owes the Tonks the life of my grandson. For
that I am grateful beyond measure and extend my family's friendship to yours.”

A flustered Remus was on his feet and bowing in acceptance, even as Ragnok stood, “Others here
have much the same tale to tell; if we allow them all to do so, we will be here for hours yet.
Suffice it to say that the Nation owes Natalie and the others a debt, Lord Potter, and by
extension, we owe *you* the same. The training you provided gave them the means to help us; at
the very least, they were able to hold off the enemy, protecting both their families and ours until
help arrived and for that the Nation will be ever grateful to them and to you.”

Harry nodded, torn between pride in his friends and sickened that Natalie had been exposed to
war and its horrors at such a young age. He felt Hermione squeezing his hand and he squeezed back,
reassured. At the very least, he thought, Natalie was alive … he looked up at a snicker from
Ragnok.

“There is one thing,” the goblin leader said. “We saw the *Quovpatlh* Griphook was waving
the Sword, running around like some great warrior-general when the sword in his hand suddenly
disappeared. He continued waving his hand, urging his followers to attack while everyone looked at
him as if he'd gone mad …” The grin turned feral. “The look on his face when he realized he no
longer had a sword was priceless … I was able to approach and punched him, knocking him out and
ending the battle.”

He looked at Harry and the others, “May I ask what happened to the sword?”

McGonagall's brogue responded, “Neville Longbottom, one of my students, had need of the
sword … he faced Voldemort with the Sorting Hat and, at the right time, reached into the hat and
pulled it out … He was not sure if it would work but …”

She shrugged, to the snickers of the goblins. Ironclaw spoke up, “Perfect timing, in any case.
It left Griphook looking like an idiot, gaping at his empty hands and his clique looking like fools
… a perfect ending for a bad day.”

The sombre mood in the room was broken by Shacklebolt's discreet cough. “Forgive my
rudeness, Clan Chief, and thank you for the assistance you have extended to our friends. But I must
ask … what has all this got to do with Lord Potter?”

The goblin chieftain blinked, his mind called back from his musings. He stared vacantly at Harry
for a long moment before giving a deep sigh.

“Griphook and his band of traitorous *t'ooho'mIrah* could not have done the damage
they did without logistics and financial support. They'd been plotting for years but have never
progressed because they simply didn't have the resources for it. They needed resources,
galleons to finance their clique, stockpile weapons and potions, establish safe houses for meetings
…” Ragnok glanced to one side, and a goblin silently placed an ornate box similar to the one that
held the Potter Ring before Ragnok. The latter opened it to reveal a similar ring to the one that
now adorned Harry's hand.

“On 02 July 1995, Sirius Orion Black named Harry James Potter as Heir-Apparent of the Ancient
and Most Noble House of Black, as witnessed by the Black Account Manager Tailhook and Assistant
Account Manager Griphook. The notice was filed with the bank the same day. You were then adopted as
his son via blood ritual on 25 December 1995; the information being filed with us, along with his
last will and testament, on 13 January 1996.”

“WHAT?” Harry's surprise was echoed by the adults; Hermione's eyes, however, narrowed
into slits as her brain processed the information, coming to conclusions that roiled her
stomach.

Ragnok's gravelly voice took on a strange, echoing timbre which was the only hint of a
tightly leashed anger. “Griphook *claims* that he informed your magical guardian, Albus
Dumbledore, of the terms and provisions of Lord Black's will on 08 July 1996. Dumbledore wanted
the will kept silent, claiming that you already had too much on your plate … and offered Griphook
access to the Black Vaults as well as to use a forged will…”

“That pathetic Q*u'vatlh**!”* Flitwick fell from his chair at the vile Goblin
curse - they were all gaping at the young witch who was standing, eyes blazing and hair seemingly
floating in an unseen wind, fists clenching as she said, in a sibilant whisper redolent of danger
and destruction, “The old *k'pekt* had NO FUCKING RIGHT TO DO THAT!”

The room rumbled in apparent agreement, causing the goblins to look around uneasily but the
angry witch was not yet done: “That miserable, stinking, traitorous, ungrateful, uncouth son of a
*forshak!* We could have used Grimmauld as a base rather than wander the friggin'
*countryside* for an effing *year* … cast a new Fidelius with you or Remus as Secret
Keeper … used the library to research … found the fucking *locket* before Fletcher stole it …
we could have done so much more if the pathetic *k'pekt* pulled his head out of his arse
and stopped playing his *games!* *Qu'vatlh guy'cha b'aka!!”*

To say that the goblins were impressed is putting it very, very mildly: Ironclaw was on the
floor gaping as Hermione let loose.

The waves of magic grew intense; shocked at the waves of magic buffeting him, Harry took the
only path open to him - he grabbed Hermione and placed a resounding kiss on her lips - `*To Hell
with it!*' he thought, he deepened the kiss into a tongue-tying, teeth-cleaning,
tonsil-seeking snog which held with it all the frustration, confusion and pent-up emotions that had
built up in him throughout the long day.

Hermione's anger dissipated as she melted into the kiss, her raging emotions seeping away as
her hands found their way to Harry's hair and the air she'd drawn in for her rant found its
path out blocked by Harry's tongue.

The room's occupants covered their eyes as a brilliant gold nimbus surrounded the snogging
couple. While the humans knew that they were soul-bonded, this was their first real experience of
the phenomenon and they were awed.

“*Maw'tok!*” Ironclaw exclaimed. “They have a soul bond?”

“They do,” Reena said quietly. “I could see the aura when we met them … although I have never in
my life seen one as powerful. Even at rest, and the soul bond not fully mature, I was getting a
headache watching them!”

“Is that why you kept stumbling over Miss Granger's name, Clan Chief?” Flitwick asked. The
other humans turned to the goblin leader, who gave a wry smile and nodded.

“Yes, I could see the same thing that Reena did; luckily not at the same intensity with which
she sees auras … but you know the law and protocols on that! I cannot address the Lady Potter as
such until they are truly bound in law … while magic may acknowledge the bond, it has no legal
meaning or force.”

The humans nodded; goblins were sticklers for protocol and procedure - they had to, in order to
retain their tenuous hold in a hostile world where every small infraction could be used against
them. That it also provided them with a means to subtly insult and demean those who they considered
uncultured snobs was left unsaid.

They didn't hear him murmur in a sibilant whisper that had his consort and Ironclaw nodding:
“At least it will make things easier.”

Soon enough, the light show ended as lungs desperate for air pushed the lip-locking teens apart.
For a long moment they stood there, forehead to forehead, eyes closed but arms around each other -
it took the others a few moments to realize that the two were blushing badly, embarrassed beyond
all measure by the public display of affection in front of their teachers and other
dignitaries.

Realizing this, Reena took matters into her hands, saying, “You curse well, Miss Granger. You
must have Goblin blood in you!”

Hermione's muffled voice came from Harry's chest where she had burrowed her face: “Oh
no, Consort Reena … just a morbid fascination with Star Trek: The Next Generation.”

Her comment set off a roar of laughter from the goblins and Flitwick - compounded even more by
the confused faces of Percy and Shacklebolt. Harry's eyebrows were raised as he glanced at
Hermione, who gave him a look that promised explanations later and both teens turned back to
Ragnok, who had finally settled in his seat, a grim expression on his face.

Without a word, the two teens resumed their seats even as the others did the same, all of them
assuming serious expressions in deference to the goblin leader. Ragnok visibly centred himself
before speaking, “There isn't much more to tell. Griphook's minions support his claim that
an `arrangement' was made with Dumbledore, allowing the miserable *p'tak* to abstract
galleons from the Black vault. Dumbledore thought he was catering to goblin greed, Griphook found
it funny that he'd pulled the wool over the `greatest wizard in the world'.”

He paused. “We have seized the personal vaults and properties of all those involved in this
attempted rebellion against the Council; we will be transferring these to the Black vaults as
replacement for what was taken, as well as a penalty for the transgressions and the inconvenience
to you, Lord Potter.”

It took Harry a minute or more to comprehend Ragnok's words; his mind was too busy parsing
through the information about Dumbledore, Griphook and Sirius' inheritance to register. He had
to agree with Hermione - Dumbledore's games had denied them valuable resources for the war:
Grimmauld and other Black (to say nothing of Potter) properties as secure bases for training,
operations and as refuge, the Black library for research … His mind flashed to Dumbledore visiting
him at Privet Drive that summer after losing Sirius, his hand shrivelled and black after putting on
Slytherin's ring … could that have affected that once brilliant mind? It was possible … he
remembered his sixth year as a confusing time, more of what Dumbledore claimed as an effort to give
him the carefree days that he'd missed growing up with the Dursleys - but shouldn't he have
used the time for training?

His thoughts were cut off as Hermione's fingers dug into his hand; shaking his head he
focused back on Ragnok who was saying something about compensation for Griphook using the Black
fortunes for his own end … he cut the goblin off.

“Director Ragnok, would it be possible to use the money you intend to return to the Black vaults
as compensation for the … err, `insult' we visited on the Nation for our robbery of the
Lestrange vault? I am aware that apologies are not enough but would rather have the monies used for
a better cause than just being returned to me. At the same time - and I hope that this is not taken
as presumption on my part - I would like a portion of whatever monies are due me to be used to
provide assistance and recompense for the goblins whose lives were affected by Griphook's …
*misuse* of the Black Trust.”

The goblin leader blinked. It was one of the items that he wished to discuss with the young Lord
but had been unsure as to how to bring it up. That Lord Potter brought it up without prompting
raised his esteem for the young man higher; he decided then and there that those matters could be
discussed later … right now, there was something else he would have to burden the young man
with.

He glanced at the young woman beside the young Lord and grinned to himself; watching their
interaction had been just like watching his in-laws: the same level of deeply held affection and
concern, the palpable need to be constantly in touch … that the two in front of him were
soul-bonded would be helpful …

He shook himself and responded to Harry's offer formally. “The Nation thanks you for the
gesture of cooperation and trust, Lord Potter. If I may, I would like to schedule a separate
meeting to go over finances and inheritances in greater detail …” He paused as the young Lord
glanced at his consort before nodding acceptance; the goblin leader took a deep breath before
bracing himself.

“There is one other thing we need to settle.”

Harry tensed and Hermione bit her lip in fear of what other anvil was heading for Harry's
head, and gripped his hand tightly as Ragnok intoned, “You have twenty-four hours to find a mate
and marry, Lord Potter, unless you want Draco Lucius Black Malfoy to inherit the estate as the next
Lord Black.”

For a long moment, Harry stared at the goblin leader before giving a single-word response:
“Huh?”

***

**The Hospital Wing, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

Ronald Weasley blinked and sat up, his senses screaming danger even as he scrabbled around for
his wand, relaxing as an ethereal voice floated into his consciousness: “Hello, Ronald.”

He collapsed back into his bed; he'd seen his wand on the bedside table and swiped it,
quickly hiding it under his blankets. He glanced around, realizing that his bed had been
partitioned off before turning to Luna Lovegood who was looking at him with her usual dreamy
expression.

“No need for that, Ronald,” Luna said. “We're the only ones here; the others have been
released or sent on to St. Mungo's. Madame Pomfrey's in the Great Hall - she needed a
break, poor dear, so Bill, who was here earlier, set up some wards to tell her if she's needed
here.”

“Luna …”

“Oh, you can reach for the glass of water, Ronald. You're not seriously hurt … escaping
Hermione and apparating to your mum shouldn't have drained your magic - it's less difficult
than your other adventures with Harry and Hermione.”

“Luna …”

“Or maybe it is,” Luna said thoughtfully. “Oh! Poppy said to make sure you drank the potion
there, otherwise you'd be having a terrible, terrible headache, so chug it down, Ronald!”

There was more than a grain of truth to what Luna said - Ron couldn't be sure if the
pounding between his ears was due to Luna's prattling or the headache Madam Pomfrey was warning
about. With a wince and a resigned air, Ron sat up (Luna placing pillows at his back) as he grabbed
the vial of a sickly yellow potion.

Nodding gratefully, he pinched his nose and tossed the potion down, letting go a sigh as the
pounding eased. He cocked an eye at the young witch who was, once again, staring at him intently
with her slightly protuberant blue eyes.

It didn't take him long to start twitching under that steady gaze. “What are you doing here,
Luna? I mean, I appreciate it and all ...”

The blonde witch blinked as if her mind had been elsewhere, her staring at Ron notwithstanding.
She visibly gathered herself before answering: “I'll be leaving after the feast tonight,
Ronald. The Aurors found my poor father in Azkaban and brought him to St. Mungo's so I'll
be staying there for a bit.”

“*Poor* father? Traitorous bastard,” he mumbled (and missing Luna's wince at his words)
and then visibly brightened at a word he recognized, “Feast? There's a feast …”

“I suggest you stay here, Ronald.” He started to protest but stopped at her gesture. “After what
happened this morning, I somehow doubt that Hermione'll be in the mood to see you tonight ...
if ever. A house elf will bring you dinner later.”

“What are you talking about,” Ron said, defensively.

“Your `wedding'?” He gaped at Luna as she continued, “Really, Ronald. You all but announced
in the Great Hall that the `wedding' the Prophet reported was a sham. True, only your family
and some professors were there but you know how the walls have ears: human, ghost and Extendible
...”

He slumped against the pillows, face red from embarrassment as the memories flooded his mind: an
enraged Hermione stalking him, death in her eyes; escaping her only to land naked as the day he was
born in the Great Hall, which triggered a major wand battle; cringing at Fleur's dulcet tones
proclaiming, “he ees a *leetle* boy…;” trying to hex the Twins who he *knew* had pranked
him and …

Nothing.

Try as he might, he couldn't remember anything from that point … Luna watched him closely;
Poppy had warned them that Ronald may suffer some memory loss. Ginny's stunner was overpowered
from her emotional turmoil … that and no one had realized that he'd slammed his head on the
table, *hard*, when he'd `slumped' when Ginny's stunner hit him. His next words
would tell the tale of what he *did* remember …

“What are you doing here, Luna?” he asked tiredly. He couldn't remember anything from that
point on and so, just decided to go with the flow. He was disoriented and disconcerted from
Luna's steady gaze; Luna could pick up nothing but straightforward confusion from him and knew
that he truly did not remember anything.

And *that* gave her the chance to clarify some things before she left the school. “I wanted
to ask you something before I left, Ronald … I need to know something before I take up my life and
move on and grow up …”

“Oh?” He stared out the window, mourning about the feast and the missed opportunity to stand
tall and proud, basking in the adulation of the wizarding population -

“Were you using love potions on Hermione Granger?”

He spun around so fast that he heard his spine crack, felt the blood rushing into his face as he
stared at her bug-eyed for a second before roaring, “ARE YOU NUTS?! WHY SHOULD I USE A LOVE POTION
ON THAT BUSHY-HAIRED, KNOW-IT-ALL *MANIAC?* I WOULD BE DRAWN AND QUARTERED IF SHE EVER FINDS
OUT I TRIED SOMETHING LIKE THAT!”

He huffed to himself as he slumped against his pillows, “I may be dumb, Luna, but I'm not
*stupid*!”

He didn't see the wisp of a smile on Luna's lips as the blonde glanced to one side in
triumph, only for Luna's neck bones to nearly snap as she spun around at his whispered words:
“Lavender, on the other hand …”

“*WHAT DID YOU SAY?!?*”

Ron gasped - did he just say what he thought he said? One look at Luna's steely, steady eyes
was all the answer he needed. He gulped, trying to moisten his throat but before he could utter a
word, Luna's harsh voice shattered the air: “The *truth*, Ronald!”

They locked eyes for a moment before he shrugged and turned away, staring out the window, as he
said in a voice barely above a whisper, “I didn't want to … Merlin knows I didn't want to …
but what was I to do?

“Everyone had someone - Harry had Cho; Hermione had Krum; Ginny was with Dean, and had Michael
Corner and Neville before that … Seamus was boasting about some girl or other every week …
Merlin's balls! Even Neville was spending time with Hannah Abbot!

“And Ron? Poor, pathetic Ron with the emotional range of a teaspoon? Who did *he* have? Who
would even chance a *look* at poor Ron? You don't know what it's like, Loony … every
one looking at you and laughing behind your back, people knowing who you are only because
you're Harry Potter's best friend!”

He didn't see Luna rolling her eyes at his rant - she, *Loony Lovegood*, not knowing
what it was like? At least he had *friends*, the daft idiot - and bit her lip to stop herself
launching into her own tirade.

She'd had enough of self-pity, she reminded herself - enough of pondering the `what ifs'
in her life. What if Ronald noticed her rather than focusing on his friendship with Harry … what if
she'd tried to get closer to Harry or Neville after the DOM rather than falling back into her
`loony' persona …

“Dad had some potions in his shed,” Ron rambled on. “Things that he'd captured in some raid
or other … he showed them to me that summer after we went to the DOM … telling me what they were
and what they were for … How was he to know that Slughorn would be teaching us about Amortentia
last year?

“Mum used them on him, he said.” Luna gasped but Ron continued, oblivious. “Not that he minded
too much; she admitted it, soon after they started dating … told him that she knew he was too shy
to make a move so she did … I was shocked but he said no harm done - Mum was right, after all
he'd never have had the courage to make the first move … funny thing that - he was in
Gryffindor but he always said Mum had courage enough for the both of them …”

“And you thought you could do the same thing to Lavender?”

“Why not?” He spat at her, as he turned to meet her eyes. “It was all in fun … nothing serious
about it … how else was I going to get a chance at a snog with someone? Lav didn't mind
...”

“Are you saying Lavender *knew*?”

Ron smirked. “She knew … I told her about it. She didn't have any problems with it.”

He shrugged as she gaped at him. “Turns out she had some … *feelings* for me but didn't
know how to let me know, clueless git that I was. So it was all to the good … we had fun, snogged
quite a bit …”

“Why did you break up with her, then?”

“I didn't want her, all right? *She* had feelings for me … I never did! I wanted
someone else …”

“Hermione.”

“Are ye daft, woman?” Luna blinked at the raw anger that Ron displayed. “Who would want to have
that bossy, bushy-haired, muggle-born *bookworm*?” The words rocked Luna back in her seat and
she stared at Ron as if she'd finally come face to face with a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.
“Besides, have you *seen* her outside her robes? All straight lines, no curves to hold on to
... now, Bones - despite her name - is *all* woman...”

Luna heard someone gasp but stopped herself from turning, focused as she was on a Ronald Bilius
Weasley that she had never seen or heard before, lost in his verbal painting of Susan Bones'
“womanly” charms …

She cut him off. “So why didn't you, Ronald?” At his confused look, she clarified, “Make a
move on Susan? You knew what you wanted; you'd already broken up with Lavender...”

“Vane,” Ron spat. “The stupid bint! She ruined everything! If she hadn't given Harry those
cakes ... if I hadn't been laid up in here for *weeks* ... things would have worked out.”
He let out an angry breath. “I was planning to break up with Lav anyway but after that and drinking
Slughorn's poisoned mead? There was no chance to do *anything* right!”

Luna moved away from the ranting redhead - shaking her head as his aborted plans unfolded like a
well-planned, calculated chess game. He'd noticed that his sister was close friends with the
buxom Hufflepuff and planned to ask Ginny to introduce them; he'd use their almost similar
experiences in disastrous Apparitions to ask Susan to `tutor' him; eventually, he'd use
this as an excuse to break up with Lavender so that he could `concentrate' full time on Susan
... but Vane's abortive dosing of Harry had thrown his plans into a loop.

He decided to bide his time - it wasn't as if there would be no chance or opportunity in the
coming year ... and then Dumbledore was killed, Harry told them about his `mission' and he
promised to join the quest, figuring that this would take only a bit of time and he'd come back
a hero ...

Again Luna cut him off, wondering as she did what was in the potion that he'd drunk that
made him this chatty - did leaving the headache potion for too long turn it into Veritaserum? It
was apparent that Ron didn't know Susan used a love potion earlier else he'd be over the
moon ... “And Hermione?”

“Huh?” At his confused expression, she explained, “Hermione, Ronald? Despite what you said when
you arrived at the Great Hall this morning, the Prophet's announced you're married to
her?”

“Oh that?” Ron waved a negligent hand. “Don't know, don't really care ... someone
probably pranked us. It'll get sorted out ... too bad, though, I thought we were going to get
it on first before she went mental ... we'll be shot of each other sooner or later, anyway. But
not after I've gotten a taste of her ...”

It was Luna's turn to wonder where *her* mental train had gone off to as Ron continued
his reverie about what he and Hermione could have done when he woke up that morning. She shook her
head; right now, she needed to get the moron on track before she threw up ...

“RON!” He blinked and stared at her. “Prank or not, there's no divorce in the wizarding
world, so how are you and Hermione going to be `shot' of each other?”

For the longest moment, Ron stared at her as if *she* was the Snorckack - and Luna blinked
when he started roaring with laughter.

She wasn't impressed. Ron never needed much of an excuse to laugh at her unlike Harry or
even Hermione; the latter at least never laughed *at* her, only rolled her eyes in
exasperation when she went into her spaced-out mode but -

“Oh Luna, don't tell me *you* of all people believe what the *Prophet* prints?”
Before she could reply, Ron continued, “Did the Prophet show a copy of the contract?” She shook her
head. “So it could be some people polyjuiced to look like Hermy and I, right?” Luna shrugged. “I
sure as hell don't remember any wedding. And anyway, even if whoever pranked us went all the
way and filed a marriage contract with the Ministry … it's all to the good!”

Her expression must be priceless, she thought, for Ron started snickering again, so she cocked a
pale eyebrow at him as she glared. A final giggle and Ron started talking, “Come on, Loony! Get
with the program! Hermione and I aren't meant for each other ... we don't *think* the
same way, we don't *like* the same things, there's nothing *much* we can talk
about aside from Harry bloody Potter! You want a disaster? Put Hermy and I together in a room!
There's nothing between us … sex, *maybe* - but how long do you think the silly bint can
put out for that?”

Luna kept quiet, surprised that Ron had seen the same thing that she and many others had - if
there were two people who were totally not meant to be together, it was Ron and Hermione. For that
relationship to work, one or the other would have to be Obliviated and implanted with a different
personality ... probably Ron, she thought, much less to change. Unless the Divine Writer who'd
placed Nargles in mistletoe to confuse people wrote it that way ... She shook her head and focused
on Ron, who continued talking.

“Tell Hermione that we're married and she'll take a runner for the muggle world … and
*I'll be free!* Free of Hermione and her nagging, free of Harry and his fame - I'll be
left here *alone*, the last of the Golden Trio, the last of those who'd defeated
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!” His grin was maniacal and Luna unconsciously fingered her wand even as
her mind pondered where this was coming from. Probably a bad batch of potions, she thought, but
wait, - “What does *Harry* have to do with this?”

The stare that Ron gave her was so incredulous that she wondered if a Blibbering Humdinger was
perched on her head, followed by a look of sheer pity and a voice that sounded so much like older
brother talking to imbecilic sibling that she almost pulled her wand on the prat: “D'you think
Harry will just let her go? The moment she takes a runner, Harry will be chasing after her … come
to think, I'm surprised they're both still here. I was half-expecting that she'd be on
her way to Australia by now to get her parents … and Harry will be with her, of course.”

He grinned, viciously. “And when they do … they won't be back.”

“Harry won't do that …”

Ron cut her off with a snort. “Oh please, Loony! Even I'm not that thick! Harry *hates*
his fame ... he's told me that often enough! D'you really think he'd stick around as
our world's pinup boy, worshipped one day and treated like a prat the next? You can see it on
his face … the longer he stays here, the more he looks like he's gonna run … all that he's
waiting for is Hermione leaving which will give him an excuse to join her … and leave.”

“Hermione won't let him …”

“She's loyal to *Harry*,” the redhead spat. “She's never shown that kind of loyalty
to *me* or the school or even to Gryffindor!” Luna blinked at the *non sequitur*.
“She's only in the stands because of *Harry* - she's never there to cheer *me*
on, she doesn't give a *hoot* about Quidditch unless *Harry*'s playing ...
Between the wizarding world and Harry, who d'you think she'll choose?”

He huffed abruptly, trying to calm down. “Whatever! He'll be gone ... Miss Bushy Head will
be with him like always ... he'll convince her to stay in *their* world and I'll be
left here alone, the last of the Golden Trio, Defender of Hogwarts, Destroyer of
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named … I'll have a chance at Bones or Abbot or the Patils … I'll be the
*hero …*”

It was taking everything Luna had to keep from grabbing another headache potion - only the fear
of another bad batch stayed her hand. She stared at Ron who had a euphoric look on his face, no
doubt thinking of naked witches and willing wenches surrounding the Hero of Hogwarts …. She shook
her head, unable to believe that the person she'd known since childhood could have hidden this
side of him for so long.

But then why should she be surprised? Behind his terrible manners, his laid back manner and lack
of ambition, his fits of jealous rage, lurked a keen mind - something all too often overlooked
because of his association with the Boy-Who-Lived. `He should have been Slytherin,' she
thought, and wondered how the Hat had got it wrong, all those years ago.

She shook herself, realizing that her stomach was aching slightly which meant that it would be
dinner time soon. `Perhaps there'll be pudding,' she thought to herself. She needed pudding
right now ... it was her comfort food, something her mother made for her every time she was upset
or in one of her moods.

`Maybe I can get some from the kitchens.' With that thought, she stood up and turned around,
fully intent on leaving Ron to his foggy daydreams, only to fall back as if she'd slammed into
an invisible wall. Ron blinked - and paled when the air shimmered as Disillusion Spells were
removed, revealing Susan Bones with Ginny beside her, arms around each other and murderous glares
focused on him. Ron's mouth dropped open as his mother shimmered into view, face as red as a
Howler and mouth working at a furious rate although no words could be heard.

He understood why in the next second as his older brothers dropped their Disillusionment and
Bill pointed his wand at their mother, apparently preparing to remove the Silencing Charm he'd
cast at the living Howler. Ron turned to Luna, betrayal clearly on his face as he glared at the
young blond.

Luna smiled sweetly and said “I lied,” before turning and skipping out the room just as “RONALD
BILIUS WEASLEY!” rattled the walls. She hoped that Bill remembered to cancel the alarm wards and
replace them with silencing wards; poor Poppy needed a break and rushing back to the Hospital Wing
to restore shattered eardrums was not, by any stretch of the imagination, `taking a break'.

She made a mental note to ask the elves to send the Weasleys and Susan some pudding later.

***

**Additional Author's Notes.** Another cliffy, I know … but again, the story was running
away from me (at almost 16,000 words) and I was getting bored reading it myself! So I decided to
split the chapter once again but am getting more confident that I will have the next chapter out
soon, hopefully by tomorrow.

Stay tuned!

-->



10. Chapter 10.
---------------



**Grace Aux Malfoys**

**DISCLAIMER:** As usual, not mine, never has been and - the way I write - will never be.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**: I am dedicating this chapter to a lovely and wonderful author,
**FLETCHER DELANCEY**, for reasons which will be explained in the notes at the end of this
chapter.

**Chapter** **10****.**

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

It was a celebration to rival the ones that had exploded across Britain nearly two decades
before when it was announced that baby Potter had defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. For the
students of Hogwarts, it was a feast that outdid everything they'd experienced in the castle
before. Not just the food but the presence of *liquor* (butterbeer, fire whiskey, elf-wines,
goblin ale were flowing freely), a seating arrangement like the Yule Ball (round tables rather than
the long House tables, with a central aisle leading to the `head table' at the end), House
banners and goblin clan crests hanging from the ceiling, the lights from hundreds of candles, the
ghosts of Hogwarts engaging in various antics including formation flying …

At a table near the aisle, the Tonks family sat with Remus, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood
and several bandaged and banged-up Gryffindors, all having a good time watching Ted play with his
grandson Teddy who, having an audience, delighted in constantly changing his hair colour, to the
quiet dismay of his grandmother.

At another table a large group of redheads and others gathered - seven redheads aside from a
blonde (Fleur), three dark-haired young women (Katie, Angelina and Alicia) and a dreadlocked,
mummified young man (Lee Jordan). To those who knew them, it was easy to identify the Weasley
Family - although a second look would be needed to realize that the redheads were missing three of
their number (Ron, Arthur and Molly) although they had an additional one (Susan Bones) sitting with
them.

Several tables held a mixed bag of humans and goblins, although they were as raucous as the rest
and seemingly not at all affected by the prospect of sharing a table with virtual strangers. These
tables were not shared by strangers - these held the wizards and witches who'd found haven in
the Goblin Nation and they were now happily sharing a meal with their goblin friends.

The noise level was high as conversations and laughter flowed; beneath this, however, a palpable
tension existed. They had barely sat down for the feast when phoenix song erupted in the hall and
they all watched as the blue and white phoenix from earlier appeared, only to disappear with a
flash seconds later, bringing with it the Headmistress and Hermione Granger.

Proving again that the only thing faster than a phoenix is rumour - or even rumour masquerading
as fact - the word had spread: the Australian Minister of Magic was arriving, and bringing
Hermione's parents with her. And *that* had led to a further spate of speculation as
everyone realized that Hermione Granger - who the Prophet declared that morning as having married
or eloped with Ron Weasley - was holding hands with *Harry* *Potter* when the
Minister's party entered the Hall.

This led to the realization that Ron was missing and supposedly in the Hospital Wing along with
Arthur and Molly.

Combine the above, toss in a healthy dose of guesswork - both reasoned and alcohol-induced - and
everyone knew something was going to happen. What it was, very few knew; whether it was good or
bad, no one could tell … that it will be entertaining, well *that* was a given …

Every once in a while, eyes shifted to the head table where they could see Minister of Magic
Kingsley Shacklebolt, Deputy Headmaster Filius Flitwick, two goblins that had been identified as
Director Ragnok of Gringotts and his consort Reena, and the man of the hour, Harry James Potter.
They could see that he was nervous, fidgeting more than usual, and he looked more than ready to
hurl or to bolt - maybe even both at the same time.

The others at the table were silent, seemingly sympathetic to the young man's plight, or at
least that was what they could infer from the occasional glances cast at the young man. That
something was wrong was obvious; what it was became the subject of still more conjecture.

*If they only knew*, Remus thought as he kept a strong grip on his emotions - torn as he
was between anger at a certain white-haired, long-bearded, manipulative old meddler and amusement
at Sirius' father for pulling a prank that would have done Phineas Nigeullus proud - but with
consequences that would have Orion and Walburga and their bigoted ancestors spinning in their
pureblooded, *Toujour Pur* graves.

He had to shake his head at the elder Black who'd come up with a twisted idea that only a
Slytherin could dream of. All to get around the ancestral laws of the Ancient and Most Noble House
of Black which had *primus genitor* and the continuity of the line at its core, and ensure
that Sirius - who reverted to Heir-Apparent of House Black with the death of Regulus in '79 -
would never become Lord Black.

Orion, the then-Lord Black, imposed a new codicil on the Laws of Inheritance: that the incoming
Lord Black (Sirius, as he expected) should be either (a) married at the time he took the mantle,
(b) name an Heir (who must be a descendant of the Black Family), or (c) *should* be married
within 24 hours of being informed of his inheritance by the goblins - otherwise, the mantle of Lord
Black would pass on to the next in line. In the event there was no one, the Black Trust would be
sequestered until a new Lord Black emerged.

To ensure that he did not just marry some tart off the street, the old *veQ* (Remus had
picked up some words from Filius) stipulated that the marriage (in the 24-hour option) must be
public and use a Druidic bonding ceremony that wouldn't work unless the couple were truly
committed to each other - unless there was a betrothal contract already in place which only need to
be consummated within the time frame.

Remus shook his head. The codicil was devious and cruel - and Sirius wouldn't have been able
to comply with it at the time. When Orion died later that year, Walburga Black was still in
residence at the manor; since Sirius had vowed he would never return while either of his parents
were still alive, he wasn't able to comply with the residency codicil of the will.

On the other hand, Remus reflected, the way the codicil was structured left a glaring loophole
that he suspected old Orion had completely overlooked: Sirius could have named James Charlus Potter
as his Heir-Apparent, since James was Dorea Black-Potter's son which made him, technically,
Sirius' uncle.

And *that* was the reason why Sirius was able to get around Orion's codicil in '95
when he was finally able to claim the title and property of the Black Family: he named Harry (who
was technically his second cousin) as Heir-Apparent the moment he was informed of it.

Which made Harry also a second cousin to Andromeda and Narcissa - Remus snickered. Tonks would
have a field day when it came out; he could just see her calling Harry `Unca Harry' and
teaching little Teddy to call Harry `Gramps'!

The problem was that Sirius, for whatever reason, forgot to rescind the codicil before he died …
and *that* left Harry in a major bind. Refuse it and House Black and its considerable fortune
would go to Draco. That the ponce could meet the requirement was a given - he had an existing
betrothal with the Parkinsons that they knew about … he would have the simpering pug Pansy before a
binder within minutes, which meant Lucius would be back in power, slithering his way through their
world and spreading his poisons once again.

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration; he understood Harry's aggravation at the
situation. The problem was that they had no other viable option. Harry's first thought was to
name Teddy as his Heir-Apparent but that got shot down by both Ragnok and Shacklebolt who pointed
out that, at the moment, Teddy couldn't be named an Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of
Black because he was *technically* a werewolf.

Harry growled at that - he had become quite attached to his godson the past few days - only for
Remus' own growl shutting him up and making him listen. The fact was, as Kingsley pointed out,
the anti-werewolf laws were still on the books and it would take time to get them removed. Given
the timeline imposed by Orion Black, there was no way this could be done.

His suggestion of Harry adopting Teddy using the same blood adoption ritual that Sirius used was
shot down by Ragnok - apparently, Orion had thought of that dodge and stipulated against it. Harry
didn't need the blood adoption to become Heir-Apparent; Sirius had apparently done it just so
he could legally lay claim as Harry's guardian that summer, Dumbledore's insistence on
Harry returning to Privet Drive be damned … and, Remus knew, Sirius wanted to have that emotional
and `spiritual' connection with Harry as his `son' in law and in blood.

Remus smiled wistfully, thinking of Harry's reason why he didn't want to `jump' into
marriage with Hermione, even if it was the easy thing to do: he and Hermione hadn't gone
through the expected `rituals' leading to such: dates, holding hands, checking out the broom
closets, asking permission from the parents, shopping for rings ...

It was Flitwick who pointed out that as far as the school was concerned, they'd been dating
for the past seven years. True, they may not have had a `real' date (as in time spent at the
movies eating popcorn or just staring at each other across a table in Madam Puddifoot's) but
they had spent more time together than most couples had before they were married!

Minerva also pointed out that *magic* - and their world - already considered them married,
being soul-bonded as per the Book of Souls and the evidence of their own eyes.

Having no other options, Harry finally acceded - only to turn green and almost lose his lunch at
the mention of the fact that he still had to ask permission from Hermione's parents. That they
were on their way was no consolation … Harry's complaint that he could just imagine being
introduced as “Lord Harry James Potter-Black, *blah blah blah* and Hermione's soul mate
which means I need your permission to marry her right away.”

The snickering in the room ended with Hermione's saucy yet heartfelt “I'll protect you,
Harry … I always do” to which he answered with a much more controlled kiss than the one they'd
witnessed earlier.

Remus sighed; the appearance of Anastasia the phoenix a few minutes earlier meant that the
Grangers were at the gates … he wondered if Kingsley would send him and Tonks to Azkaban if they
*Imperio'd* the Grangers to agree to the marriage between their only daughter and Harry
Potter …

***

**The Front Gates, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

A ball of fire flashed in front of the gates with winged hogs and three people materialized out
of the flames. A heartbeat later, and the firebird flamed out on her mission, leaving the three
behind - an apparently middle-aged, auburn-haired woman wearing a smartly-cut business suit beneath
her wizarding robes, and a man and woman in jeans, shirts and denim jackets who blinked and shook
their heads - moments before, they were looking at a magnificent castle bedecked in lights and
enchanting in the moonlight; right now, all they could see was an expansive patch of wild grass
with ancient ruins in the distance.

“Calmly now,” the auburn-haired woman said. “Hold on to me if you must; Anastasia's gone to
fetch mum. She has to be here to adjust the wards for you.”

The two nodded, looking around uneasily at the moonlit terrain. They were in the middle of a
dark and gloomy forest that they knew was full of magical creatures both light and dark … Dan and
Emma Granger relaxed as much as they could, although both were near-bouncing in eager anticipation
of seeing the daughter they loved after nearly a year of being apart. Their time in Australia had
been good for them: they were tanned, much fitter and healthier than they were for the past two
decades; and they understood their daughter's world much better now, given the environment of
Magical Australia and their friendship with its head of government.

At the same time, Dan was nervously fingering the hard plastic case that he was lugging under
his arm - only to freeze when he realized that the Minister of Magic for Australia (and former
Master Auror) Samantha Wallace's eyes were glinting as they focused on him. With deft flicks of
her wand, the hard case was in her hand - along with the 9 mm Browning pistol that was hidden,
holstered, beneath Emma's jacket.

“I'm holding on to this,” the former Auror said as she shrunk and pocketed the items. “I
*know* you want to scare off that redheaded buffoon who had the sheer gall to elope with your
daughter but it will be Mum you'll first see … won't do to kill the Headmistress because of
itchy trigger fingers now would it?”

The two looked sheepishly at the ground but were unrepentant; Samantha sighed. She'd tried
to warn them about bringing their personal weapons to the school; they may be proficient with those
things but against several hundred wands …

Samantha smiled when she heard the warbling melody of Anastasia's song; with a flash of
phoenix fire, two people were visible in the moonlight. One, a young woman with bushy brown hair,
hurtled towards Dan and Emma and nearly bowled them over with the ferocity of her hug.

Samantha Minerva McGonagall Wallace, Minister of Magic for the Commonwealth of Australia,
watched the scene with fondness, teary-eyed as she remembered past reunions with her own parents.
Smiling, she watched as the other person approached at a dignified pace and Samantha, throwing all
dignity to the wind, simply jumped and wrapped her arms around her mother before lifting her up and
giving her mother a kiss on the cheek. She then held Minerva at arm's length, her eyes moving
down in a well-practiced pattern to check for wounds, ailments or other flaws even as Minerva stood
still and allowed the scrutiny.

“William couldn't make it,” she replied to her mother's questioning look. “The bairns
are teethin' so he told me to go ahead … those two (she indicated the Granger parents who were
still wrapped around their daughter) were about to go postal on us …” She smirked at her
mother's puzzled look and said, “You don't want to know … but there's something
you're supposed to do?”

Minerva nodded and approached the Grangers, where Hermione was still talking a mile a minute.
Samantha giggled. “Goodness,” Samantha said in admiration, “does the child even take a breath?”

“Give her a break, Sammie,” Minerva said softly. The three Grangers turned and smiled with
Minerva exchanging hugs and cheek kisses with the parents of her favourite pupil. She then pulled
out her wand and began the complicated movements and murmured chanting that would attune the muggle
Grangers to the wards.

It was the only thing that had stopped Anastasia from depositing her daughter and the Grangers
right in the Great Hall; there was no telling what the wards would do to the Grangers if they just
`dropped in.' The wards were up and running just before the goblins arrived; they may not be at
full power yet but what they may do to unauthorized muggles did not bear thinking about.

On the other hand, Minerva thought to herself, it could be a good thing … at least Hermione will
have a chance to talk with them and prepare the way, so to speak.

She heard simultaneous gasps and knew the wards had accepted the Grangers; Dan and Emma were
staring in wide-eyed surprise at the magical castle in all its ethereal beauty and shimmering
majesty, lit by moonlight and magnificent in the midst of the gloom.

Hermione started dragging her parents through the now opened gates of the school, following a
well-worn and well-remembered path to the castle's front doors, talking a mile a minute and
causing the mother and daughter who were following to chuckle.

Minerva and her daughter walked in silence, comfortable with the proximity to the other that
they'd missed over the past months. Minerva was trying to work out something in her mind - she
needed to ask a favour from her daughter but wasn't sure how to ask.

It was Samantha who provided the opening she needed: “So, mother, things are settling down, I
heard … I understand that congratulations are in order?”

A puzzled Headmistress turned to her, and Samantha rolled her eyes. “Oh really, mother! The
Prophet started delivering again in Australia and we saw the news …”

She stopped in her tracks at hearing the fervent “*Shyte!*” that escaped her mother's
lips - Minerva McGonagall *never* swore - but her brain got a kick start when she heard an
angrily raised voice ahead of her: “THAT IS A LIE! Someone pranked us - we think we know who and
why but I am not, and NEVER WILL BE, married to Ronald Bilius Weasley!”

A murmur of voices and the raised voice rapped out, “How can I be sure? Simple - I'M
SOUL-BONDED TO HARRY JAMES … meep!”

For the first time in her life, Samantha M. Wallace saw her mother *wilt*. It took a moment
to process the information - she was McGonagall's daughter, after all - and she grinned at her
mother as she said, “Oops!”

Her statement was punctuated with a warbling song from the phoenix who was riding on her
shoulder and she smiled - Anastasia was on the ball, as always, and she could see the three people
ahead of her relax as seemingly unbearable tensions flowed away from them, carried off by the
soothing sound of phoenix song. She saw her mother shake her head, straighten her shoulders and
walk with grim determination towards her favourite student.

She moved to catch up with her mother, her mind focused on a single thought: “This should be
good!” Anastasia's warble at her shoulder told her that the firebird agreed with her
completely.

***

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

It was the sudden hush that that alerted Harry to his impending doom. He looked up from his
contemplation of the tablecloth in front of him and gulped at the first sight of Hermione's
parents in almost six years.

The Mr Granger that Harry remembered was a tall man with Hermione's brown hair and eyes,
eyes that had a dreamy quality to them which could sharpen with a hidden wit and intelligence.
Those eyes were not dreamy this time, they were sharp and focused; it was also apparent that Mr
Granger had taken up body building in the meantime as the chest beneath the pale blue shirt and the
legs within the denim jeans were rippling with muscles that were not apparent the last time Harry
saw him.

It was Mrs Granger, however, who had Harry shivering as his eyes met hers. He remembered a tall,
slim woman with dark brown hair, curly as opposed to Hermione's bush, but with surprisingly
blue eyes in a rather pale face. What he was looking at could have stepped out of Vernon's
large-format telly - the lead character in a much-favoured show that Vernon and Dudley religiously
followed while Petunia sniffed and was busy in the kitchen, Harry with her … something about a
warrior princess.

The incarnation in the Great Hall was a close approximation: the dark brown, almost black hair
was now straight and fell to broad shoulders, muscles rippled beneath the shirt and jeans … Mrs
Granger looked as if she would be far more comfortable wielding Gryffindor's sword while
battling the basilisk than Harry ever would!

The elder Grangers had locked on Harry moments after they'd entered the hall; they started
walking with purposeful steps up the centre aisle with Hermione beside them, whispering in a voice
so low that no one could understand a word. No one noticed the Australian Minister of Magic who was
standing in the doorway beside the Headmistress; if one had looked, the resemblances between mother
and daughter would have been cause for comment.

As the Grangers approached, Harry wondered why Hermione had sent them away. To keep them safe?
That was a laugh … the way those two looked now, Voldemort would have two options if he confronted
them: run for the hills screaming like a little girl facing the bogey man - or fall down on his
knees to worship them (or worship Emma, if he hadn't lost his male hormones).

Knees.

The word lingered in Harry's mind … and something deep within Harry came to life and flared
within his brain.

Deliberately, he stood and stepped off the platform on which the head table sat, and started
walking with a measured pace to meet the parents of his beloved.

The older Grangers were impressed when they saw this but did their best not to show it; they
had, after all, spent almost seven years with nothing but stories and pictures of Harry Potter. Ron
Weasley they knew about, but this was almost always in a pejorative sense except for a brief time
in Hermione's sixth year. It was Harry they thought they knew best - except that they always
treated the stories with a huge pinch of salt since they could see their daughter's utter
fascination and dogged devotion to the lad.

The Prophet's arrival at Samantha's home this morning was a rude shock which had Dan
cleaning his shotgun and the service pistol he'd kept from his time in the Royal Marines, while
Emma contemplated bringing along her Japanese-made kitchen knives. Samantha (who had heard much
about Hermione and Harry from the Grangers and her own mother's frequent letters and infrequent
visits over the past seven years) had calmed them down, but it was a near thing.

The time spent walking to the castle and the Hall had been well spent, however. Between
Hermione, Minerva and Samantha, the Grangers knew there was little they could do - magic had
apparently intervened and their daughter was married to her young man, although she still needed
their permission and a ceremony to make it official.

That they would grant permission was a no-brainer; that didn't mean, however, that they
couldn't have some fun with their daughter and his intended. All this had been decided with a
few glances and unconscious flickers of their facial muscles.

The Grangers and Harry Potter approached each other silently; the tension in the Great Hall was
ramping up exponentially; even the ghosts were silent as they watched - the Bloody Baron's
sharp gaze had silenced Peeves. Unknown to everyone there, nervous hands had palmed wands all over
the hall … the Granger parents didn't know it but a sneeze would have sent hundreds of lethal
hexes, jinxes and curses flying at them …

The Grangers stopped in the middle of the Great Hall; less than three feet away, Harry Potter
also stopped, eyes switching from mother to father - not in a shifty manner but deliberately
holding each for a long moment before moving to the other.

Hermione had fallen silent, shifting her weight from foot to foot in nervousness. She'd done
her best to explain the situation that Harry and she found themselves in; McGonagall had tried her
best to clarify things and even Samantha had put her two knuts in, but everything seemed to have
fallen on deaf ears. Her parents started walking like a pair of articulated robots with focused
expressions on their faces … pausing only at the entrance to get their bearings and spot their
target before continuing in the best traditions of classic Western films like `High Noon'.

The silence stretched to the breaking point; when it seemed to Hermione that her only option was
to scream just to release then tension in her gut, Harry James Potter did something that caught
everyone - human, goblin, (disillusioned) elves and ghosts - by surprise: he dropped to his knees
in front of her parents but kept his back straight and his arms by his side … his eyes locked
firmly with Emma's.

The silence in the Hall was broken by Harry's ringing voice: “Honoured Emma Elizabeth
Granger,” he turned his head to meet Mr Granger's eyes, “Honoured Daniel Marion Granger.” He
paused as he centred himself and his mind focused on the page he'd read in a cold tent months
before, words that had not been heard or uttered for hundreds of years by wizards or witches:
“Under the eye of Fahla who sees all, I say that I am deeply in love with your daughter. Her
happiness is my ambition; her well-being is my purpose. All that is mine I place freely at her
disposal, including my heart, my soul, and my life, which I would gladly lay down to protect hers.
This I swear in Fahla's name. I am Harry James Potter, and I ask this gift of you and all your
ancestors: Will you do me the honour of accepting me into your family?”

For a single moment, even the candles in the Great Hall stopped flickering as everyone and
everything held its collective breath. The shocked Grangers stared at Harry, speechless, only for
the elder Grangers to nearly jump as they realized that their level-headed, strong willed daughter
had moved to kneel beside Harry.

Hermione silently grabbed hold of his hand before turning to them: “Under the eye of Fahla, who
knows all and sees all, I say that I am deeply in love with Harry James Potter. His happiness is my
ambition; his well-being is my purpose. All that is mine I place freely at his disposal, including
my heart, my soul, and my life, which I would gladly lay down to protect his. This I swear in
Fahla's name. I am Hermione Jane Granger, and I ask this of you: Will you speak for all of our
ancestors, and accept Harry into our family?”

Her last words were choked as tears spilled out of her eyes; this was a moment that she had
never envisioned in her wildest dreams, and would never have been able to predict in a thousand
years. She waited breathlessly for her parents' response, not realizing that she and Harry had
caught them by total surprise!

What the Grangers must do was clear - they knew it going in; they simply thought to have some
fun with their daughter's intended. But how to respond … instinctively they both knew that the
response had to be exactly right, else everything that should be would be lost.

The silence of the Great Hall was broken by soft buzzing as people whispered, wondering what in
Hades their heroes were doing. To their surprise, it was the goblins who knew the answer: this was
an ancient rite, of which the origins were lost in the mists of time. The goblins still practiced
it (in fact, many of the goblins in the Great Hall had gone through it) but it had fallen out of
favour with the humans. In fact, one goblin at Natalie's table said that it was Godric
Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw who were among the last they knew who'd used it.

Emma was about to wing it when she overheard the whispers … and her memory kicked in, her inner
eye reflecting the page from a centuries' old book she'd perused in Samantha's library
… she gave her husband a glance and he nodded to her to respond for them.

Without hesitation, Emma stepped forward and placed her hands on Harry and Hermione's heads.
She spoke in a clear, ringing voice: “My children, we hear your petition. Under the eye of Fahla,
who connects our past with our future, and in the name of all of our ancestors, we say that Harry
James Potter is now one of our family. May our descendants rejoice in this bond, which enriches our
family beyond measure.”

The candles in the Great Hall flickered wildly as a collective breath was expelled; there were
no cheers or applause, however, for the Hogwarts ghosts - the Bloody Baron, the Grey Lady, the Fat
Friar, Sir Nicholas and even Moaning Myrtle - had hurtled around the room, finger to lips in a
clear sign to keep silence.

Harry and Hermione had stood up and were embraced in turn by Hermione's parents, who both
had tears in their eyes. Hermione tapped Harry's shoulder and nodded; as one and still holding
hands, they walked to the table where Remus Lupin stood gaping -Hermione dropped to her knees as
her soprano voice cleaved the silence: “Honoured Remus John Lupin, as Harry's only remaining
true family, I ask you to hear my petition.”

Like Harry before her, she visibly centred herself before continuing, “Under the eye of Fahla
who sees all, I say that I am deeply in love with Harry James Potter. His happiness is my ambition;
his well-being is my purpose. All that is mine I place freely at his disposal, including my heart,
my soul, and my life, which I would gladly lay down to protect his. This I swear in Fahla's
name. I am Hermione Jane Granger, and I ask this gift of you and all your ancestors: Will you do me
the honour of accepting me into your family?”

Remus' cheeks were awash with tears, as was Tonks', when Harry joined Hermione on the
floor, and his voice filled the silence: “You are my family; the only one whose acceptance I would
seek.” Taking Hermione's hand, he repeated the ancient words: “Under the eye of Fahla who sees
all, I say that I am deeply in love with Hermione Jane Granger. Her happiness is my ambition; her
well-being is my purpose. All that is mine I place freely at her disposal, including my heart, my
soul, and my life, which I would gladly lay down to protect hers. This I swear. I am Harry James
Potter, and I ask this of you: Will you speak for my mother and father, for my godfather and
yourself and all of our ancestors, and accept Hermione into our family?”

Remus couldn't speak - like Hermione, this was something that he had never envisioned
happening, not even if he lived a thousand years. His heart swelled at Hermione's words,
calling him Harry's only true family; his heart nearly burst when he heard Harry affirming his
place in the young man's heart.

He had to be poked by Tonks before he could move. Placing his hands on the two teens' heads,
his choked voice responded, “My children, I hear your petition. Under the eye of Fahla, who
connects our past with our future, and in the name of my …” he sobbed, “my best friends James, Lily
and Sirius and all of our ancestors, we say that Hermione Jane Granger is now one of our family.
May our descendants rejoice in this bond, which enriches our family beyond measure.”

As Harry and Hermione rose to their feet, a resounding cheer that threatened to crack the
ceiling of the Great Hall broke - people and goblins were on their feet cheering, clapping,
stomping their feet (the goblins joining in), whistling … the two teens felt themselves being
wrapped in hugs from behind and they knew that it was Hermione's parents … before they could
protest, Remus and Tonks were hugging them from the front and a group hug was in progress.

“SILENCE!”

It felt like a guillotine cut the noise into deafening silence as people looked around for the
source of the shout - and gaped when they realized that it was Headmistress Minerva McGonagall
who'd done so.

“There is one final step, if Harry and Hermione are willing?”

The two looked at each other and nodded; they turned to Hermione's parents - who also nodded
in resignation. They knew what Minerva meant, having discussed this only minutes ago; Remus,
however, looked bemused but was willing to go along.

Minerva turned to her daughter, eyebrow raised. Samantha, with Annabelle still on her shoulders,
shook her head and smiled as she said, “The problem will be the rings …”

Ragnok interrupted her, “Hem, Hem … after our meeting, and on the advice of my consort, I took
the liberty of having something retrieved from the Potter vaults. Lord Potter?”

He held another ornate box out to Harry who hesitantly approached, took and opened it to reveal
a pair of rings - clearly ancient, with no stones or other adornments except a line of runes
running around their golden surface. He looked at Ragnok curiously but it was Remus who drew a
sharp breath, “It's the Potter ancestral wedding rings, Harry! The last time I saw them, James
and Lily wore them …”

Ragnok nodded. “Actually, these are the wedding rings of the Lord and Lady of Clan Potter.
Goblin-forged, they were a gift from the Goblin Nation to Clan Potter for being the first
depositors and clients of the bank. Aside from the protective magic, they have one other function:
to be transported magically to the vaults on the passing of their owners, to be ready for retrieval
when needed by the next Lord.”

He turned to Harry. “I hope I was not too presumptuous …”

Harry stopped him. “I thank you for your kindness and foresight, Clan Chief. I see it as a
reaffirmation of the bonds between the Nation and my Clan. Would I be overfamiliar in turn if I ask
that you and your Consort stand as witness to me and my Hermione?”

Ragnok glanced at his wife, who winked at him. “We would be honoured, Lord Potter.”

It took some time to prepare but between magic, the Hogwarts and Potter elves (which included
Kreacher at both Harry and Hermione's insistence), they were ready in no time.

A wave of Minerva's wand and the candles in the Great Hall were extinguished, leaving the
moon, which was at its zenith, to cast its silvery rays through the transparent ceiling of the
Great Hall, bathing the entire space in ethereal moonlight.

In the centre of the Great Hall stood Samantha Minerva McGonagall Wallace, Minister of Magic for
Australia and a registered Binder, Annabelle the phoenix on her shoulder, its soft croons the only
music the event needed. In front of her stood Harry and Hermione, with her parents and Remus and
Tonks directly behind them and slightly to either side.

To Harry's left stood Ragnok and Reena, representing the Goblin Nation, along with Hagrid
and Firenze the Centaur. To Hermione's right stood the Weasleys, with Molly having been called
from the Hospital Wing (she explained that both Arthur and Ron were still sedated and unable to
make it). Hermione's disappointment was only slightly faked; she'd hoped that Arthur could
have joined but was relieved that Ron wasn't there. Hermione blinked when Ginny pulled Susan
with her in line; she had half-expected some fireworks from the redheaded former girlfriend of her
Harry but was gratified when Ginny merely winked at her and blew her and Harry a kiss.

Behind Samantha stood Kingsley Shacklebolt as the Minister of Magic for Great Britain, with
Minerva McGonagall and Filius Flitwick standing in line. All around the Hall were students, parents
and teachers, all of them grateful for the opportunity to be witness to what they knew would be a
once in a lifetime event.

Moving around was Luna Lovegood, carrying a magical camera that a Potter elf had retrieved from
somewhere they all knew was best not to ask about. After a brief discussion with Harry and
Hermione, she was designated the official wedding photographer and the Quibbler was granted
exclusive rights to both story and pictures. All three felt keenly the loss of Colin Creevey, one
of the few casualties of the war that they knew … but life must go on.

Samantha Wallace took a final look around and said to the couple in front of her, “Let's get
this show on the road.”

She took a deep breath and began.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today beneath the light of the moon to witness the joining
of two souls …”

She spoke briefly of the two that she had heard so much about, from proud parents and an even
prouder teacher; talked briefly of love, commitment and love's endless promise, about how
patience and compassion were the keys to a successful marriage.

She then asked for the rings - and blinked when two elves (Kreacher and Winky) stepped forward
to hand the box to her.

Nodding, she handed one to Hermione and the smaller of the pair to Harry.

“Place the ring on each other's finger and present me with your left palms please.”

Both rings were slipped on and as the teens held out their hands she made a cut across each of
the palms with her wand.

Samantha then asked them to clasp their hands and said, “Don't release until I tell you.”
They nodded at her. “Harry. Hermione. Please repeat after me. With this ring, this symbol of our
vow, I bind my heart to your heart, my magic to your magic, and my soul to your soul, forever and
eternity.”

As Harry and Hermione began to repeat after Samantha, the air turned a pearly colour.

When they said they bound their hearts to the other's, a gold ribbon wound around their
hands, a second ribbon appeared when they bound their magic, and lastly a third ribbon wrapped
around them as they bound their souls.

On the word, eternity, there was a blinding gold light and the ribbon disappeared.

“So mote it be.”

The words were said reflexively - Samantha, like everybody in the Hall (except for Harry and
Hermione) were trying to blink the spots out of their eyes. Luna was seated at a table, her camera
beside her and hoping that the flash she'd seen through the lens hadn't burned the film -
and that there was a picture she could develop. It wouldn't be a picture if all anyone would
see was a field of golden light!

Soon enough, Samantha turned their palms over and inspected the cuts and smiled at the two.
“Congratulations. The tradition is for you now to kiss.”

She blinked when she heard a sibilant “*Shyte**!*” from behind her, and turned to
glare at her mother - and blinked again when she realized that Minerva had conjured a pair of
sunglasses which she handed to the Minister before conjuring another pair for herself. She opened
her mouth, only to close it as Flitwick handed her another pair.

All over the Great Hall, people were looking askance at the goings on around the wedding party:
Bill Weasley (who had worked with Gringotts-Cairo and was familiar with desert attire) had conjured
a pair of dark glasses for his wife and then himself; the twins, after observing their eldest
brother, had quickly followed his example and were conjuring the same for their siblings and
mother.

Reena, who had headed the Gringotts Curse Breakers, had copied Bill's actions and had dark
glasses for herself and her husband. Luna Lovegood, seasoned traveller that she was, was putting on
a pair of dark glasses shaped like goggles. The Grangers, seeing what was going on around them,
pulled sunglasses out of their jackets - many of the muggle-born blinked at the sight of Dan
Granger looking like Arnold Schwarzenegger in Terminator II - square faced and square-jawed,
muscles bulging and dark glasses covering the upper half of his face.

They shifted their attention to Harry who was smiling at Hermione as he cupped her cheeks in his
hands. He leaned forward and gently met her lips with his.

Within seconds those who wondered at the actuations of those around the pair understood as a
fiery red and gold aura, burning in its intensity, sprung into existence around the kissing couple
- the light growing in intensity to rival anything that they had ever seen before. Those with
unprotected eyes tried to turn away, in fear of their eyes melting away as the fiery aura turned
into a golden pillar of flame that reached to the ceiling.

None realized that they had fallen to their knees in the presence of so much magic - all they
would remember later on was the golden pillar of light and the sensation of *something* on
their skins before the triumphant cry and song of a phoenix penetrated their numbed senses.

They cautiously opened their eyes to see the pillar of flame fading away and they waited,
half-fearfully, to see if Harry and Hermione had turned to ash from the intensity of the flame. A
collective breath was released when they saw the couple holding hands, looking around them,
bemused.

As they shakily got to their feet, a shaken Samantha Wallace cast a silent *Sonorus* on
herself and said, in an amplified voice, “Ladies and Gentlemen … Magical Peoples of Britain … I
give you Mister and Missus Harry James Potter-Black!”

She paused, her hands in the air, and said the words that would soon become a part of every
magical wedding around the world: “May our descendants rejoice in this bond, which enriches our
world beyond measure.”

As the cheers echoed and re-echoed around the Hall (again threatening to bring down the ceiling
on their heads), something was happening in the Master Bedroom of Malfoy Manor. A sleeping Lucius
and Narcissa Malfoy never saw it but pinpricks of golden light seemed to emerge from their bodies …
which swiftly coalesced into a dense cloud at the centre of their chests before seemingly imploding
silently and disappearing in the wink of an eye.

In another bedroom, Draco Malfoy rolled over as he dreamed of swimming in a sea of gold -
galleons, necklaces, rings, goblets - and never noticed the same thing happening to him.

In the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, a bleary-eyed Ronald Bilius
Weasley stared at the golden glow suffusing his father but he quickly fell back on his bed as his
head was still ringing from the non-stop Howler pouring words directly into his ear from
earlier.

In the Great Hall, the celebration interrupted by the arrival of the Grangers continued but with
an even more intensified pace as numerous toasts were raised to the goblins, to Harry and Hermione,
to the Grangers, to Hermione and Harry, to the Ministers of Magic, to Harry and Hermione, to
Minerva McGonagall, to Harry and Hermione …

***

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**: When I started this story almost exactly a year ago, the basic
outline of this chapter as well as key passages was already in my head. Who knew it would take me a
year to get to this point? And it's not over yet … one more chapter to go.

Before I even put the first word to `paper' or saw the first word on the computer screen, I
sent an email to **Fletcher DeLancey**, a fiction writer whose story “**Without A Front**”
was one of the many that enthralled me during the months (or was it years?) that I thought I had
abandoned the HP universe. I requested permission (which she so graciously granted) to make use of
portions of her story for this tale.

The “Testament to Fahla” (or at least what I called these passages) were lifted in their
entirety (except for the names and gender) from her tale. The first time I read the novel (WAF is
book-length) and encountered the passage, I knew that I would be making use of it if ever I got my
writing juices back. It did and I did.

If you wish to read her stories, they can be found at
**http****://****fletcherdelancey****.****com**. Fair warning, though, Ms DeLancey
writes lesbian fiction; if that bothers you, don't read it. If you get beyond that, you will
find a series of beautifully written, totally exciting, thought provoking and ultimately wonderful
stories set in the Star Trek: Voyager universe, of which WAF is one.

If you do drop by her site because of this, please drop a note as to how you found her tale.

You may also recognize the wedding scene from the above. Yes, it came from “**Breach of
Trust**” from **Hlpur** and yes, I most definitely asked permission from Helena to make use of
it. A strange coincidence … it is also just about a year since she's updated her stories …
here's hoping that she will get back to her writing soon.

To all those who've read this tale, marked it as a favourite, or include it in their alerts
- as well as those who've reviewed, my deepest gratitude.

Right now, it's time for a break … some sleep and back to the keyboard.

Thank you.

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