Araminta Malfoy-Potter: Taking Hogwarts

LXXVIII.

"I can't deliver your baby!" Araminta shuddered with horror. This was certain to be messy and unpleasant. Sweat was running down Snape's forehead and staining his armpits.

"Please--please--I can't do this alone," Snape begged. "I'll do anything. What grade do you want for Potions?"

Araminta thought about this. She was doing fine in Potions, actually. "I want an O...for Harry."

"Never mind," Snape grunted. "I'll do this mysaaaaaah."

"All right, all right--what should I do?"

Snape had another contraction, and couldn't answer. Araminta scoured out the inside of her brain. She'd read a book about this once. She hurried over to the fire and put the kettle on. There was something about putting water on to boil...a knife under the bed to cut the pain...or was that to keep it handy in case the mother wanted to stab the father?

A book on Madam Pomfrey's desk caught Araminta's eye. A Magical Guide to Mpreg. Eagerly, Araminta paged through it, grimacing at each vile illustration. "Ew, so that's how they...and he's going to...oh, my..."

"Araminta," Snape said weakly, "I don't think I'm going to live through this. If I don't, promise me you'll take good care of baby Blake."

"Um, what about Pansy? I thought she was going to raise him, anyway."

Snape's face lit up like a halogen. "Oh yeah! Thanks... Ow... I want Pansy--I need Pansy. She should be here when Blake is born."

"Hedwig!" Luckily, Harry's owl was still hanging around. Araminta wrote a new note. "Take this to the giraffe!"

Hedwig winged her way out of the infirmary.

"Take my hand," Araminta said. "I want you to concentrate on a happy place. Someplace peaceful. Someplace where there is no pain."

"Okay...Fortescue's..."

"And I want you to imagine the baby, healthy and strong."

"Healthy...strong...butterscotch topping..."

"Breathe in deeply, then let it out slowly."

"Iiiiiinhale, eeeeeeeeexhale. Got it." Snape rested back against the pillows. A wave of pain washed over his features. "That didn't work for crap!"

Luckily, Pansy came sprinting into the infirmary with Millicent on her heels. "Is it the baby? Is it time?"

Araminta lifted the tome entitled A Magical Guide to Mpreg and swallowed hard. "We need to check." She reached out gingerly and started unbuttoning Snape's clothes.

"Oh. My. God."

The three girls could only stare at the gaping hole.

***

LXXIX.

While Millicent supported a very pale Pansy, Araminta consulted A Magical Guide to Mpreg. "It's all right, Pansy. He's supposed to look like that."

Pansy nodded dubiously. "Um, okay. If you say so."

Araminta pointed to the illustration. "They match, right?"

The Pansy and Millicent scrutinized the drawing. Millicent was satisfied. "If that's not a Snape, I'll eat my wimple."

The most striking part, though, was that both the illustration and the man had the same swollen, distended stomach. However, the Snape in the flesh was having a minor problem with his. His bellybutton had expanded to at least three times the normal size and an ectoplasmic green glow radiated outward.

"It's nowhere near big enough..." Pansy stretched out her finger but Snape slapped it away.

"Keep your finger out of there! That's how we got into this mess in the first place."

"How was I supposed to know?" Pansy protested. "I thought that thing about sticking your finger in somebody's bellybutton was just a joke. And you did have a lot of lint in there--you didn't expect me to be intimate with something furry, did you?"

"I didn't think it would be such a problem," Snape said, eying Pansy's giraffe costume. "Besides--"

Millicent interrupted them with a high-pitched scream. She too clutched her stomach.

"Did you have the fish tonight, Millie?" Araminta asked with concern.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Sympathy contraction. She gets them all the time."

"N-no," Millicent cried. "Not sympathetic. Time."

"What?" Araminta thought that Millicent would feel sorry for her head of house, and you couldn't call a time-out for pain.

"She's got a bun in the oven too," Pansy explained. "Haven't you noticed that her eating patterns have changed?"

"No, I just thought she was strange. How did this happen? Millicent isn't going out with anybody."

"It runs in my family," Millicent gasped. "Parthenogenesis," she explained.

"Help me get her on the bed."

Araminta and Pansy tried to make Millicent comfortable. They soon realized that this was a losing battle (and they hated being losers), so Araminta sent Pansy to search the tack room for a pair of stirrups while she measured Snape.

"Hmm, if you're going to give birth to a golf ball, you just may be able to squeeze it through." Araminta moved over to Millicent's bed and discreetly peered beneath her robes. "Millicent's got you beat for dilation."

"Jolly good," Snape said sarcastically. "Five points to Slytherin."

"You're just jealous because she's going to have an easier birth," said Araminta.

Pansy returned empty-handed. "I think we're going to have to do this the old-fashioned way."

"Weren't--we--already?" Snape asked, bearing down. "Argh!" he yelled, as his bellybutton rapidly increased in diameter and the green glow intensified.

Millicent followed his contraction, gripping the handrails of her hospital bed. "Race you!" she shouted, bearing down.

"I will not lose to a student!" Snape pressed his hands against his sides, urging the baby out.

Araminta ran back and forth between the two. Luckily, both babies seemed to be progressing normally. She didn't know what she would have done for a breech birth.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" cried Millicent.

Snape matched her in a baritone: "Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnh!"

They finished at the same time, Millicent giving a mighty heave and Snape arching on the bed as their respective orifices were stretched to the max.

"It's a girl; it's a boy," Araminta proclaimed. "There, I've cut the cords."

"You do mean one of each, don't you?" Snape queried wearily as he reached for his son, who was being swaddled by Araminta.

"I've got the girl!" Millicent sighed, cuddling it close as it gave its first frail cry.

Pansy climbed onto the bed, curling up next to Snape. "He's beautiful. What are we going to call him?"

"Blake," Snape answered fondly. "Oh, he's got his daddy's hair, yes he does."

"Oh! I need a name for my baby too," Millicent said, apparently thinking of this for the first time.

"Her name's Selene," Araminta said absentmindedly as she used a cleaning charm on basically everything in the room, including herself. She considered Obliviating parts of this evening from her memory as well. "Listen, will you guys be okay? I'd like to catch the last of the dance..."

"Sure," everyone said.

"And thank you," Snape added, his dark eyes brimming with joyous tears.

***

LXXX.

Araminta trudged wearily back toward the Great Hall. Maybe she should just get some sleep and forget about having a really good time. On the other hand, she still had a half-hour's worth of time on her dance card.

When Araminta entered the Great Hall, the dancing had entered the full on stage. In other words, the six-inch rule was being ignored, swaying couples were ignoring the tempo in favor of looking into one another's eyes, and the lights were conveniently dimmed in the corners of the room.

Including Hermione's alcove...and Hermione was gone.

Araminta began to panic. Hermione was the type of girl who stuck around to clean up after dances, wasn't she? She couldn't have gone far. Araminta shouldered her way through the crowd, searching faces and costumes, and inspected every nook and cranny of Hermione's alcove a second time, just to be sure she wasn't hiding somewhere within.

"Hey there, sweet thing, want to do the twist with me?" a drunk voice asked.

Araminta managed to stop her grab-and-twist reflex just in time as she recognized the man dressed in green from head to pointed toe--he looked like a refugee from Santa's workshop. "Draco?"

He lifted his mask carefully. "Araminta?"

She grabbed him tightly by one gelatin ear. "Have you seen Hermione?" she shouted over the suddenly bass-heavy music.

"Been looking everywhere"--he hiccupped--"and I can't find her."

Araminta thought for a second. "Have you seen Trelawney?"

Draco nodded. "She's right there." His finger was extended toward the door to a storage closet on the side of the hall. "Looking for more cups, I think."

"I bet she needs some help. Trelawney's kind of a lightweight, you know?" Araminta squeezed Draco's bicep, which he flexed indulgently. "You could help her lift things."

"I could?" Draco asked. "Isn't that what house-elves are for?"

"Oh, yeah." Araminta's spirits plummeted. "Maybe we could see what sorts of things were in the storage closet, you know, in case we ever needed anything in there."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I have money to buy whatever I want. I don't need to steal things. In fact, the Malfoy Code of Conduct, section two hundred and twelve part a, forbids stealing anything as it does not allow one to show off one's wealth," he recited.

"Maybe it would be cool to sneak in. We'd get to be someplace we weren't supposed to be. It would be dangerous and exciting and very, very Slytherin."

Draco looked as if he didn't want to dignify this with a response. "It is Slytherin to sneak into the Oscars, or the White House, or the Minister of Magic's private quarters in order to watch his videos of pixies doing..." He caught himself and coughed. "Not that I've done anything like that."

Araminta's heart pounded. She had to get Draco into the closet! It might be her only chance to get her parents together! If she didn't, she might never be born, and the possibility that time would twist in upon itself and collapse upon her was too much for Araminta to handle.

She dropped to the floor and wrapped her arms around Draco. "Draco, please." She clutched him tightly so that he couldn't walk off. "Please, please, please, please--"

"I'm usually the one begging in these sorts of situations," Draco noted.

"Don't interrupt!" Araminta snapped. "Please, please, please, let's go over to the closet and let's go inside and if it's boring or you don't like it, we can leave."

"Fine," Draco acquiesced to her demands. "No more than three minutes, though."

"I think that's the limit for closets, anyway," Araminta said, relieved. She took his hand and they trekked through the huddled masses that were bumping and grinding on the dance floor (and they gave Dumbledore and McGonagall a wide berth for the sake of their sanity and stomachs).

"Here we are," said Araminta. She shoved Draco forward as hard as he could and heard him yelp as he fell against Hermione, knocking her over into the back of the closet. Araminta jumped forward and pulled the door closed, locking them all inside.

She pulled the string that she could feel hanging down and a bare lightbulb came on with a ch-ching, filling the closet with a weak, dusty light.

"Mom? Dad? I have something to tell you before we all come out of the closet."

***

LXXXI.

Hermione ripped her mask off and stared at Araminta as if she'd gone off the deep end. "Are you on some sort of medication? What's your problem?"

"Shut up and listen," Araminta began to say, but Hermione continued.

"I don't know who you think you are, but this closet is for storage, not snogging, and I'm not your mother, and...who is that?"

Draco removed his mask. "Just me, dearest," he said with a sneer. "Forgive me for intruding upon your earnest quest for the Holy Styrofoam. We'll leave you to it." He reached for the doorknob, but it wouldn't turn.

"Oh, move over." Hermione pushed past them in the enclosed space and drew her wand. "Alohomora!" Still the knob would not turn.

"I tied the locking spell to my own will," Araminta said smugly. "I have a few things to say, and you two need to hear them."

"I can't think of anything that you could have to say that I could possibly want to hear." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest.

Draco did the same. "I really sort of have to agree, Araminta. I'd be happy to listen, but I don't think we need to do this in the closet."

Araminta hopped up and down and clapped her hands. "There! You agreed on something! Maybe I don't have to die after all."

"What?" Hermione looked concerned. "Nobody has to die."

"Yes, well, you're killing me here," Araminta retorted. "Can't you see that Draco is madly in love with you? Can't you see that you are madly in love with him and want to bear me?"

"I do want to bear you, Araminta, but I find you unbearable--"

"Shush!" Draco interjected. "I want to know what she's getting at." He leaned back against the wall languidly and his hair fell over his stormy gray eyes. "Go on."

Araminta steeled herself. "Okay, but you both have to promise me that you won't interrupt." She fished around in her bodice, pulling out a vial of love potion. "Don't make me use this."

Draco said, "Of course," and Hermione gave an exasperated nod of agreement.

Araminta closed her eyes. "In the future...my past future...I lived at Malfoy Manor with the people I thought were my parents. My parents were married on the basis of their foretold love. Elves of Middle Earth delivered the prophecy because our line--the Malfoy line--still carries traces of their noble blood. The prophecy said 'Potter will find true happiness in the arms of a Malfoy.'"

Draco choked and Araminta glanced in his direction. His hands clenched into fists. "Potter's not putting one hand on my father!" He glanced at Araminta and Hermione. "Or my mother," he finished.

"I told you not to interrupt," Araminta said. "In my future, everything was wrong. The prophecy didn't happen like it was supposed to, because my mother sacrificed everything for her best friend and her one true love. Can you think what might have happened?"

Hermione paled. "Your...mother...she told her best friend that his happiness was the most important thing, and arranged for her best friend and her one true love to find true love...she convinced them to go along with it..."

"My mother is not, and never has been, a know-it-all." Araminta tried to hold back the tears. "I know, because she didn't pass that particular trait on to her daughter. She got the wrong Malfoy. The Malfoy she wanted hadn't been born yet."

"You...you mean..." Hermione's voice was thick with tears. "You mean that I really can be with Draco, no worries?"

"Yes." Araminta smiled as the tears slid down her cheeks. "No worries."

Draco looked confused. "I don't get it."

Hermione fell upon Araminta's neck, sobbing. "I'm sorry, so sorry for everything.... Can you forgive me? Can we get to know each other better?"

"I'll forgive you on one condition," Araminta said, laughing as she cried. "You need to get to work on Draco. I'd like to be born sometime in the near future."

"All right." Hermione leapt into Draco's arms, smothering him with her love. "We don't need to use spells anymore, Draco! We can just enjoy each other." She ripped off his shirt and ran her hands down his chest while Araminta, slightly horrified, fumbled for her wand to unlock the door.

"Yes, you two enjoy yourselves," she said, not quite able too tear her eyes away from the impending event that would bring about her conception. "Oh, be careful there..."

Hermione was kissing Draco too hard to really pay attention to what she was doing, and as she reached for his belt, her finger caught on the lip of his bellybutton. A shower of red and green sparks exploded between them.

"What just happened?" Draco asked, breathless.

"I think you'd better speak to Professor Snape," Araminta offered, and then she ducked out, slamming the door behind her.

***

LXXXII.

The evening had been almost perfect, Araminta thought to herself as she put as much distance between herself and the closet as she possibly could. The only thing missing had been Harry. As the DJ announced the last dance of the evening, Araminta pulled off her mask and rubbed her eyes gently. She'd sleep like a log after tonight.

"Araminta?" A hand tapped her on the shoulder and Araminta turned around to see a...well, she wasn't sure.

"Harry, is that you?"

The costume nodded.

"Are you...a yeti?" Araminta asked.

She was pleased to hear Harry's deep voice chortle. "No, I'm hairy...just hairy. May I have this dance?"

Araminta let Harry lead her onto the dance floor and she relaxed into his embrace. "Were you, by any chance, dressed as a superhero earlier this evening?"

"Nope. Why?"

Araminta shuddered. That meant she'd let spandexman grope her for nothing. "No reason. Did you have a good time?"

Harry shrugged. "More or less. It's been pretty uneventful. How about you?"

"Uneventful as well," Araminta lied coolly. She smiled and pressed her lips against his neck. "Let's not talk. Let's just dance."

Harry held her closer and they turned slowly like two figurines on top of a music box while the band played Beethoven's piano composition For Elise. (They played it in translation.)

Araminta sighed. This moment was perfect. Harry's muscular arms were wrapped around her tightly, and his chest rumbled low like a cement mixer as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear. She'd remember this peaceful moment for the rest of her life. Nothing could go wrong now.

The music ground to a halt and Araminta reached for Harry's hand. In a minute the lights would come on again and everyone would look sweaty and tired and not as good as they had a moment ago. She closed her eyes against the change in wattage.

A white-hot flash burned against her eyelids, accompanied by a crack louder than thunder. Araminta blinked, wondering what had happened.

Screams filled the hall. Voldemort aka He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named aka Tom Marvolo Riddle aka Julius Marvolo's grandson had Apparated into the Great Hall.

Araminta knew again that she would remember this night for the rest of her life--but now she wondered if it had been worth committing it to her long-term memory.

***

LXXXIII.

"I've come to kill Harry Potter," Voldemort hissed as the hall emptied. "I've been waiting to get him at his moment of true happiness, and it appears that I've chosen the perfect time! Here he stands, holding his foretold love in his arms, ripe for the picking."

Araminta threw herself in front of Harry, arms outstretched. "He can't help the smell! I bet the costume is rented, right?" She felt, rather than saw, Harry's nod.

Voldemort narrowed his red eyes. "You look familiar, for some reason, but never mind that now. Get out of the way. I'm going to kill him."

"Have you no mercy?" Araminta screeched. "At least let me say goodbye!"

"Fine. But make it snappy." Voldemort lowered his wand.

Araminta turned to Harry and passionate green eyes met gray-green. "I wanted you to know, Harry, that I am your foretold love. The prophecy you heard that night outside Dumbledore's office wasn't about Draco. It was about me."

"I've been wondering about that," Harry said. "I meant to ask you...you told us your name was Malpot, but on your medical records--I read them by accident when you let me give them to Madam Pomfrey for you, that day when you fainted--you wrote that your name was Malfoy-Potter."

"Yes, I did. Both of those names are mine...in the future, things went wrong. Hermione forced you and Draco together for your own happiness, because she didn't know that the Malfoy you were supposed to love wasn't Draco."

Harry tilted his head to one side. "Was the prophecy about Lucius, then? I don't know Narcissa as well."

"No," Araminta said. "Draco and Hermione are my parents, and like I said before, the prophecy is about me."

"How did you get here?" Harry's eyebrows touched in confusion.

"An accident with a Time-Turner. I think I won't get to stay in this time much longer."

Voldemort yawned. "No, not if you're dead. Hurry it up."

Araminta decided that explanations were worthless at this point. "Just know that I love you." She took Harry's hand in hers and began to sing with a voice more beautiful than phoenix song. She sang a song by Dolly Parton (which is generally misattributed to Whitney Houston) called "I Will Always Love You."

And I will always love you

I will always love you

"Woe!"

Araminta and Harry were startled out of their music-videolike reverie.

"Alas!" Voldemort had crumpled to the floor and tears leaked from the corner of his ugly eyes. "Your voice...it burns...it's so precious..."

Araminta patted Voldemort's shoulder. "You know, when I'm sad, I like to take a bit of sugar. Would you like a piece of candy?" She fished around in her bodice for a piece.

Voldemort nodded, a few sobs still hissing their way out between his lips. He unwrapped the candy Araminta gave him and popped it into his mouth.

And then he fell over, motionless.

"What have you done?" Harry asked in surprise. "Is he dead?"

"No, he's just passed out. I gave him a Fainting Fancy."

Harry grinned. "This is wonderful! Now he can go to Azkaban where he belongs."

"Absolutely not." Araminta decided to put her foot down. "Don't be so wishy-washy about it. You have to kill him."

Harry rolled his eyes, but mumbled "fine" and pulled his wand out of his pocket. Shaking slightly, he walked forward and raised his wand for the killing curse. As he pronounced the fatal words, he sneezed.

"Aveda...ah-choo...Kedavra."

Voldemort was lifted into the air by an unseen wind and he hung there, glowing softly at about the brightness of a nightlight or a few candles. He began to sparkle, and then he started to really shine. First, his body filled out so that it was a healthy shape. Next, his skin healed and looked new again. Then, his eyes turned from red to a beautiful blue and finally his hair grew curly and dark again.

Where a nasty old wizard had been stood a handsome young man of about sixteen, wearing Slytherin robes. He conjured a mirror and looked at himself in awe.

"How can I ever thank you two?" he asked. "Look at me!"

"Who would have known you were so good-looking?" Araminta said to herself. "Harry, you must have accidentally performed the makeover charm!"

Harry looked from his wand to Tom Riddle in disbelief. "I must have. But he's still an evil monster!"

"Not anymore," Tom proclaimed. "It's impossible to be a thing of beauty and be evil at the same time. It just can't happen. Evil makes you ugly faster than smoking, beer, and littering combined. Anyway," he said, staring at his reflection again, "now that I look so good, I don't feel like doing bad things anymore."

"Remind me to introduce you to a guy named Lockhart," Harry snorted.

Tom Riddle put the mirror in his pocket. "I hope you don't mind, but I need to go. I have amends to make with a lot of people."

"No problem." Araminta gave him a kiss on the cheek and Harry shook his hand. "I think my parents would be proud of both of us."

Voldemort gave them one last thankful smile and Disapparated.

***

LXXXIV.

Araminta hugged Harry tightly. "I think everything is right in the world, for now," she said. "My mom and dad are procreating instead of hating, we're safe from Voldemort, everyone's babies are doing fine, and I have you."

"It seems too good to be true, doesn't it?" Harry replied, kissing Araminta on the forehead.

"You shouldn't say things like that unless you're going to knock wood," Araminta teased.

Too late.

A giant, swirling vortex had opened up a few feet away. Araminta felt herself being sucked toward it.

Harry grabbed her hand and pulled. "No, I won't let you go! I'll never let you go!"

Araminta looked into the void. It felt like she was being watched from the inside as well. She shook the feeling off. Actually, now that she looked, she could see the inside of the Great Hall in the future. Blake and Selene were sitting side by side and having lunch.

"Harry, I think I have to go back, I mean forward. Forward in time. I'm not supposed to be here. I haven't been born yet. I only came back here to make sure that you would find your foretold love, and you did--we found each other."

"But we've had such a short time together!" Harry protested. "Don't leave me!"

"Harry, I have to. Please know that I love you, but I have to." Araminta's heart was breaking into a million sharp-edged pieces that were like scalpels left inside her chest after surgery. "Will you wait for me?"

Harry drew himself up bravely. "I will. I swear that I'll be true to you, Araminta, and I'll be waiting."

The two lovers kissed passionately, clinging to each other like there was no tomorrow.

Harry swiped his thumb across Araminta's lips. "I love you," he whispered forlornly.

"I know," Araminta replied touching his mouth with her fingertips. "In my heart, I've always known."

She let go of his hand and stepped backward into the abyss.

***

LXXXV.

Araminta tumbled to the ground between two sticker bushes. Twenty feet away, Melannen jumped the fence. Twenty-five feet away, she saw herself fumble with the Time-Turner and then disappear.

"Melannen!" she exclaimed. "I have to save Melannen before something happens to her. Hogsmeade is a rough town!"

Araminta tugged on the bars of the fence, but they wouldn't budge. She tried to slip between them, but her hips were too wide. She tried to climb the fence, but it was simply too high.

"What am I going to do?" Araminta moaned.

She was struck with a sudden electric jolt of inspiration. Araminta backed up about twenty feet, braced herself, and said "Animagus." She was conscious of her body changing shape, growing equine. She pawed her hoof against the ground and made a run at the fence.

A little more...a little more...jump!

Araminta told herself. She wasn't sure she would make it.... She would probably be impaled on the spikes that topped the iron bars....

Yet, she cleared the fence by a dozen feet. Araminta twisted her head to look at her back. Enormous, feathery wings had sprouted there and they flapped gracefully to hold her in the air. She couldn't tell for sure, of course, but she had the sneaking suspicion that her unicorn horn was gone. She was no longer a unicorn; she was a pegasus!

A memory came back to her, a memory with Professor McGonagall's voice: "Of course you can. Actually, everyone can, if their magic is strong enough, up until the time they--well, up until the time they lose their virginity. Then their Animagus form is different, and reflects who they are as an adult. You don't hear of children turning into unicorns very often because most don't have your advanced magical skill."

Araminta had found her adult form. Well, McGonagall did warn you that it would change, she thought, and then she blushed, remembering the afternoon when Snape had almost caught Harry in her bedroom in the past.

There was no time to think about this, though. She had to think of Melannen! Araminta flew down to the ground and concentrated on being herself.

"Melannen!" she shouted as she ran down the road to catch the other girl.

"Yeah? You decided to come along after all?" Melannen waited in the road, cracking her gum.

"No," said Araminta as she caught up. "What you're doing is wrong and it's going to cost your House points. You're putting yourself in danger and you're putting me in danger. I think that you don't like yourself very much, and that you have low-self esteem, so you are trying to impress me by being a punk. Well, you should now this. I'm impressed by people who are true to themselves and who aren't influenced by their peers, except when their peers are right. Today, Melannen, I'm right. Come back to Hogwarts with me."

Araminta waited. She hoped this was going to work.

Melannen looked at the road to Hogsmeade, and then back at Araminta. "True to myself?"

Araminta nodded.

"Well, you know, I've really been itching to spend a day in the library, and I hear Hogwarts has an excellent collection."

Araminta looped her arms through Melannen's in a friendly way. "I've heard that same rumor."

They walked back toward the castle, each lost in their own thoughts. For Melannen, these were thoughts of spellbooks and volumes of magical history; for Araminta, these were thoughts of her future. Harry would surely be waiting for her at Hogwarts, now that she'd changed the past. They'd ask Dumbledore to marry them, and then, tonight, they'd spend the night in the Hogwarts honeymoon suite which was reserved for just such an occasion.

They'd spend tonight in each other's arms, as they were destined to.

***

Epilogue

Harry and Araminta slept late the next morning. After devouring a platter of Eggo waffles (toasted by Bollocksy herself), they took advantage of the glorious day outside.

A warm zephyr rippled across the surface of the lake, following the ripples made by Harry. He had stripped off his shirt to row them out into the center, and now Araminta lay sprawled across his bronze chest (which wasn't rippling, for the moment).

The boat acted as their hammock and they watched the marshmallow clouds drift across a delft-blue sky. Harry twirled a lock of Araminta's golden tresses around his finger. "Penny for your thoughts, love."

Araminta sighed and buried her face against his well-defined pectorals. "It's been a very long fortnight or so. Do you ever feel like people are just out on a witch hunt, or that they want to label you--or have you label yourself? Do you ever feel like everyone's a critic? That people are willfully blind to the writing on the wall?"

Harry gave Araminta a long look. "What brought this on?"

She shifted restlessly, rocking the boat. "I don't know. Maybe I have prometasyndrome. I feel like I want to break down the fourth wall and scream to the world yes, Virginia, this is a--"

Harry quickly muffled her words with his questing mouth, plundering her honeyed lips with his tongue. Her heart beat a rapid tattoo against her breast and she wrenched herself free with a strangled gasp. "What was that for?"

"Show, don't tell, remember?" Harry winked.

Araminta burst out laughing.

******************