Harry Potter and the Triangle Prophecy

Harry Potter and the Triangle Prophecy

Chapter Nine

Cathedral

He had worked on a cathedral once.... he realized that the
walls of a cathedral had to be not just good, but perfect....the
slightest lean in the walls, the merest variation from the
absolutely true and level, could weaken the structure fatally.

"What are you doing?" he said warily.
"I...I was seeing how your cathedral is coming along."
He pointed to the capital above her head. "I did that."
She looked up. The stone was carved with the figure of a man
who appeared to be holding the weight of the arch on his back.
His body was twisted as if in pain....She had never seen anything
quite like it. Without thinking, she said, "That's how I feel."

--Ken Follet, Pillars of the Earth

Harry crossed the room, a feeling of urgency in his bones, while the man was still singing, the falsetto grating on him as it had in prison. When he reached the piano he halted, glaring at the man, who abruptly ceased singing, looking at Harry with an extremely alarmed expression. Harry could see him swallow.

Mr. Spinnet didn't realize immediately that he'd lost his singer; he continued playing for several bars before stopping and saying, "What's the matter, old boy? Cat got your--" Then he noticed where the man was looking; he jumped slightly when he turned and found Harry standing very close by. "Oh, hello there. Didn't see you come in. What's your name? Do you know everyone?"

Harry didn't take his eyes off Buttercup. "What are you doing here?" he ground out. The room was very still. The man swallowed again; beads of sweat were visible on his brow.

"Why shouldn't Roger's cousin be here? He's also singing for the wedding. And his mum's matron of honor. And you are--?" Alicia's father prompted him again. Harry looked at him now, frowning slightly. He was pink-cheeked and had waving light-brown hair and opaque blue-grey eyes. There was a very slight touch of grey at his temples. Harry thought he looked like many, many politicians he'd seen on television and would blend right in if he were elected to Parliament.

"Harry Potter," he said now; he couldn't ever remember having to introduce himself in the wizarding world before (at least, not in this life). Of course, this wasn't technically the wizarding world, even with so many witches and wizards about, and Alicia's father clearly did not immerse himself in news and information about the world in which she had lived since the age of eleven.

"Ah, yes! The last groomsman. Welcome, welcome! We've been having a ripping time here--"

But Harry saw that Roger Davies' cousin was still regarding him with a touch of fear; then he remembered that in this life, Buttercup might not have done anything that warranted his going to prison. He had been on the verge of asking him how he'd gotten out of Azkaban, and was very glad he hadn't. And even though he had been sent to prison, he reminded himself, that didn't have to mean that he'd done anything very bad. I was in there for killing my mum, but I was also protecting Ron's life. He might have been in there for a similar reason. Sam Bell was.

And then he remembered something else; Sam had described the cramped, combined accommodations for prisoners like him who weren't serving life sentences. Harry was unusual; he was in solitary confinement even though he only had a five-year sentence. It was for his own protection. Other people in solitary were likely to be there for more dire crimes--and they were likely serving life sentences. Life sentences were mandatory for the Unforgivable Curses.

But here he is, Harry thought. Free and getting ready to participate in his cousin's wedding. He looked around at the others surrounding the piano now; there was Oliver, whom he hadn't noticed before, and Lee, who nodded at him. He also saw Cho Chang, but he looked away from her before she met his eye.

Hermione moved toward him, frowning, only to find that Katie was also moving toward him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ginny looking concerned and reining herself in. Harry thought quickly and grabbed Hermione's hand before Katie could get to him, saying, hurriedly to Mr. Spinnet, "Will you please excuse us for a moment?"

He saw Katie frowning and stopping herself from continuing toward him while he dragged Hermione from the room, back out into the grand entrance hall. She staggered after him, nearly tripping twice and righting herself. He was aware of a score of eyes boring into the back of his head. Once they were in the hall, Hermione pulled her arm from his grasp and pushed her disheveled hair from her face.

"What's going on, Harry?"

Then he saw the nasty scab on the side of her face, running along her left cheekbone and into her hair, above her ear. It didn't look deep; it was a dark maroon color, only slightly raised, and when she saw him looking at it she hastily arranged her hair over her cheek again. He stepped close to her and held her right shoulder with his left hand, then pushed her hair back behind her ear again and looked closely at the wound. She didn't move, but looked into his eyes fearfully.

"I could ask the same thing, Hermione. Where'd you get this?"

Their faces were very close; she pressed her lips together, then said, "On my trip."

He brushed his fingers over it lightly; it was slightly rough under his touch. "Why didn't you let McGonagall heal it, then? It wouldn't take much."

She swallowed. "I--I didn't want her to know about it. I told her I hadn't had any problems--"

He frowned. "What? Weren't you together?"

She shook her head. "In her cat form she would have been considered food for the animals I was bonding with. I needed to go off on my own and find a group to accept me and let me live with them for a while. I had to maintain my Animagus form the whole time. It was exhausting. And then--then I got lost on the way back to Professor McGonagall. I wandered into this village--a town, rather--and--and--"

He put his hand on her cheek gently. "What?"

She swallowed. "A man saw me and--and he shot at me."

"Shot at you!" He was appalled.

"The bullet only grazed me!" she said quickly. "It was easy enough to hide it with my hair and some makeup, so I didn't show the wound to Professor McGonagall. I knew she'd blame herself. After the bullet grazed me, I ran behind a building and transfigured back into my human form. He came looking for a--an animal, and found me instead. I told him I'd seen it running off, and I pointed, and he went in the direction I'd said. He didn't suspect a thing, of course. I didn't let him see the side of my face, or he might have thought it odd that he'd just grazed an animal in that very spot, and here was a girl with the same kind of wound....I found a telephone and managed to call the little inn where Professor McGonagall was staying, so she could come and get me."

"Where was this?"

"Out west," she said vaguely. "I started off in Saskatchewan, actually, and wound up in northern Montana. Evidently, I had traveled quite a distance with the--the other animals. It's just a scratch, and it should be fairly inconspicuous by the wedding. It would have attracted a lot more attention if I had a huge bandage over it. Don't tell Ron, whatever you do. He'd go mad with worry--"

"And what about me?" he demanded. "You go off to America, or Canada, or whatever, and nearly get yourself shot and killed, and I'm not supposed to care? You act like it's nothing! What kind of animal is this, anyway, if people are just shooting them in the streets in America?"

She looked very grim. "It was a frontier town, Harry. Yes, they still exist. Mind you, they also have televisions and computers and carry telephones on their belts. They don't live in the past. Most people live on ranches miles from the town and just go there to do some shopping or pick up the post. They have to worry about wild animals attacking them or their livestock. Everyone has guns in their cars or trucks. Rifles, really. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but since this is the way you're reacting, can you blame me?"

They were still very close. He looked down at her, trying not to feel worried and failing. He was on the verge of saying, "If I'd known what you were planning to do, I wouldn't have let you go," but there wasn't any "let" about it. He was her friend again, not her boyfriend. And even when he was her boyfriend, she wouldn't have accepted being ordered about by him.

He reached into his shirt and pulled out his wand. Instead of saying what he thought, he said, "Here," very softly; "let me; it'll just take a moment." He touched the wand to the wound and smoothed it over the surface; tiny bubbles emerged from the tip, as though it was trying to emit champagne. The bubbles were flattened under the stroking, smoothing wand, and soon her skin was clear and free of the scab. The new skin was, however, a bit paler than that around it, which was tanned. Harry remembered the gash of white on Draco Malfoy's leg where his stepfather had healed the boy's wound at the seaside.

"That's a bit better. Now you just need to use the makeup to even out the skin tone, and no one will be the wiser," he said softly. She gazed at him, still a little fearful.

"And you won't tell Ron?"

He sighed. He didn't like this. "Well--can I assume that you were shot at because you're an animal that can hold its own against a werewolf?"

She gave him a small smile. "You could say that. Thank you, Harry." She stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.

"Now, now, is that a proper greeting for your best friend?" he asked mischievously, taking her in his arms and hugging her firmly.

She hugged him back, saying into his shirt, "I've missed you, you know." Then she backed up from him, although their arms were still around each other. "And now that I've told you about being shot at, perhaps you could tell me about that little display in there. Have you met Roger's cousin before? What could you possibly have against him?"

He sighed. "It's a long story, and one I was hoping to tell you and Ron together, after the term starts, although now....Right now, let's just say I don't trust him and it wouldn't surprise me to find out that Aurors are looking for him."

"Aurors! Why on earth would you say such a thing?"

Harry grimaced. "Of course, for that matter, I don't really trust Roger either, so--"

"Oh? Why don't you trust Roger?" Harry looked up, reddening; Alicia was standing on the stairs, looking down at the two of them. "And before you talk about not trusting other people, may I point out to you that you're holding your former girlfriend rather closely, that her current boyfriend--your best friend--is conveniently not here at the moment, and your current girlfriend--who also happens to be a good friend of mine--is right through those curtains?"

Alicia crossed her arms and looked at the two of them with a raised eyebrow. Harry and Hermione stepped away from each other awkwardly; Harry thrust his hands deep into his pockets and Hermione didn't seem to know what to do with her hands, but finally decided on folding her arms across her chest, like Alicia. She was very red.

"I just--I just don't trust him not to go looking for you on the wedding day," Harry lied, hoping it was convincing. "You know that superstition about the groom seeing the bride before the ceremony. But Roger probably won't be able to resist--"

Alicia gave him a reluctant half-smile; he wasn't sure she believed him, but she seemed to have a grudging respect for his being able to think quickly. "I see," she said, not sounding completely convinced. He hoped she would be unwilling to accuse him of lying to her.

She started down the stairs, but Harry said, "Actually, I've had a tiring day. Perhaps you could show me my room and I can rest a bit before dinner?"

Alicia turned and went back up the stairs, not saying a word, Harry and Hermione following her. She led them to a large chamber with two beds, one of which was liberally decorated with clothes spilling out of an open suitcase on a rumpled duvet; the other bed was made up neatly, with Harry's bag sitting at the foot. With her hand on the doorknob, she said tersely, "You're in with Oliver, which you can probably tell, given the mess." She turned to Hermione and asked, "Do you want to see your room, too?"

Hermione nodded. "I wanted to practice a little, in private."

They left and Harry threw himself on the bed, lying with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

Buttercup. Buttercup is here.

There were too many questions for his brain to handle. What did he do in my other life to land in Azkaban? Was it just bad luck, like with me, and Sam? Is he involved in criminal activity now, and he just hasn't been caught? Is he perhaps even a Death Eater?

He sat up on his elbows, remembering Roger Davies pursuing him in Fraserburgh when he landed there after escaping Azkaban. Roger was a Death Eater in that life. In this life, his brother had attacked him and others in the forest, as though he sympathized with the Death Eaters. And why should he sympathize? Why, because he'd found out his big brother was a Death Eater and he aspired to follow in his footsteps. And perhaps Roger was a Death Eater because of this cousin....

Brilliant, Harry thought. I'm supposed to stand up with a Death Eater at his wedding, and listen to his cousin the Death Eater sing, and watch the Death Eater groom marry a friend of mine, all as though nothing is wrong.

Then he realized that it was odd that a Death Eater should be marrying a Muggle-born witch, or "Mudblood."

But was he going to just marry her? Was she marrying him of her own volition?

Or was Alicia in very grave danger?

He sprang from his bed and returned to the corridor, walking from door to door, calling softly, "Hermione! Hermione!" trying to find her room. Finally, he heard her cello and followed the sound to a door near the end of the passage, just before a swinging frosted glass door that seemed to lead to the service stairs. He cautiously opened the door from which the music was emanating and found her sitting in a chair near the window, bowing frightfully fast, practicing going up and down the scale, her left hand a blur on the strings.

"Hermione!" he called to her, making her jump. A moment of painful noise leapt from the cello as her bow scraped across the strings awkwardly.

"Harry! Don't do that! You almost made me break the bow, or a string, or something!"

"I'm sorry, Hermione. But--but I have to talk to you. I think I need to tell you some things now, especially with Buttercup here. I can't wait for Ron--"

"Especially with who here?"

"With--"

"Speaking of not trusting people," Alicia was saying, bursting into the room suddenly as though they had never paused in their earlier conversation, "have you read this issue of the Daily Prophet, Harry? Because you know what they say about glass houses...." She sounded very suggestive.

Then she left again, throwing the paper on one of the two beds and looking at Harry and Hermione as though she fully expected them to start shagging as soon as she was gone. Harry locked the door after her, then went to the bed to look at the paper and find out what she was talking about.

HARRY POTTER POSES
POSSIBLE SECURITY PROBLEM
AT QUIDDITCH MATCH

by Daisy Furuncle

At the recent semi-final Quidditch League match between the Holyhead Harpies and the Chudley Cannons, held at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, there was a disturbance before the match caused by none other than Hogwarts' new Head Boy, Harry Potter.

"I didn't cause a disturbance!" he said testily. Hermione looked at him, frowning.

"What on earth are you reading?" She put her cello down on the chair carefully and crossed the room, sitting next to him on the bed and looking at the article with him.

Potter was detained by Aurors who were screening spectators as they entered the stadium. Before Potter reached the front of the queue, he was heard questioning the Ministry's decision to continue to hold Quidditch League matches, since so much security is necessary to ensure the safety of all attendees. Potter called the matches a way to "pacify everyone," and added, "This way, they can simultaneously occupy people with mindless sport and make it look like the Ministry's really doing something, just because they're checking over everyone who's entering the stadium. I'm sure they're really going to get to the bottom of the Diagon Alley attack by doing that." He also called the policy to continue to hold matches, "bread and circuses."

"I didn't say that! Well, yeah, I said the part about bread and circuses, but Ginny said the other things--"

"She shouldn't be saying that where she can be heard! And neither should you!"

"That's what Ron and I said! I mean about what Ginny said. But apparently, it was too late by then. And now I'm the one who's supposed to have said all of it! And--and it sounds much worse than it did at the time...and it sounded bad then."

"You do realize what this means, Harry?" Hermione prompted him. He looked at her and shrugged. "It means that Rita Skeeter is not Daisy Furuncle."

"Or, like Sirius said, there's more than one. Blimey; how many people have I hacked off? How many times this summer am I going to be--to be--"

"I believe the words you're looking for are 'pilloried in the press,'" Hermione said helpfully. He made a face.

"I don't think I've ever used the word 'pilloried' in my entire life."

"Well, you should start, because it's the best description I can think of for what Daisy Furuncle is doing to you. Anyway, there's more."

Harry sighed. "Isn't there always?"

Hermione took the paper from him and read, "Ludo Bagman, who was once accused of being a Death Eater, saved Potter from further questioning by the Aurors after Potter whispered something in Bagman's ear. Whether this is a secret password for members of an underground society to recognize one another is unknown."

"Oh, please!" Harry exploded, glaring at the words on the paper.

"After the match, Owen Aberystwyth, captain of the Welsh national team, was seen speaking to Potter. Rumors that Potter may replace Audra Griffiths, the late Welsh Seeker who coincidentally perished in the recent attack on Diagon Alley, have yet to be confirmed."

He scowled. "They're trying to make it sound like I killed her or something, to have a chance at the team!"

'Oh, Harry! Is there any grain of truth to that?"

He looked at her in shock. "Of course not, Hermione! How can you ask me that?"

"No, stupid," she said, swatting him on the arm. "I meant the part about you possibly being on the Welsh national team."

"Oh. Sorry. Actually, for once, a small grain of truth. But I still need to try out. I sent Hedwig to Little Whinging, so Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon could send me my birth certificate, to verify that I was born in Wales and that I'm of-age, but she hasn't come back yet. She might come find me here, I suppose. Ron's thinking of trying out for an opening on the English team. Reserve Chaser."

He thought she'd be thrilled about this, but she frowned deeply. "Is that quite fair? With his, erm, special abilities? And aren't there a lot of night games, for security? What if it's--the wrong time of month?"

Harry shrugged. "I reckon he'll discuss all of that with the captain. It won't really matter unless he makes it through the trials, anyway. They might be very tough. In fact, they probably are."

She nodded, still looking thoughtful. "I don't know about this....I know Ron would be thrilled, but if he made it, he'd be in the public eye quite a bit. And that would have been fine before, but now..."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, Harry, you know the way Remus has lived for years! That horrid night-watchman's job at that warehouse. Never enough money, all of it. Just because he's a werewolf and most witches and wizards are so stupid and prejudiced...."

"It'll be fine, Hermione. Don't fret over something that hasn't happened yet."

She still looked vaguely discontented. "And then there's you. You'll make a lovely target, you will, flying around at a World Cup game...."

Harry rolled his eyes. Hermione would never understand Quidditch. "It's the European Cup, Hermione. And that's why they're checking everyone going to the matches. You should have seen all of the Aurors in the stadium; they were everywhere. Listen, when we get to school I can show you the game, since you missed it. It's recorded on my Omnioculars." She rolled her eyes.

"I can't wait," she said sarcastically. He laughed.

"No, you might really like this. The Harpies are an all-witch team, after all. And were they brilliant! Don't tell Ron I said that," he added sheepishly. She laughed.

"A turncoat, are we? Tired of crossing our fingers and hoping for the best?" she said smiling wickedly, paraphrasing the Chudley Cannons' motto.

"Well, it was pretty clear the Harpies were going to win, wasn't it? A pity the cup final is the same day as the wedding. I know what I'd much rather be doing..."

They were silent for a moment while Harry thought about having to be in a stuffy church in formal clothes instead of watching what promised to be a spectacular final between the Harpies and Puddlemere United. Hermione perused the Daisy Furuncle article again, frowning, then looked up from the paper and said to him, "You said you wanted to tell me something. That you didn't want to wait for Ron. And you were going on about 'Buttercup.' What was all that?"

Harry swallowed. Would she believe him as readily as Ginny? He had no idea, but he had to try. "Yes," he began slowly. "You see, I've met Roger's cousin before, and he sang that song all of the time and wanted to be called Buttercup, so that's the name I know him by."

"Where was this?"

He paused, breathing deeply through his nose. "Azkaban," he said finally.

She raised one eyebrow and looked at him blankly. "Azkaban," she said, incredulous. So once again, he went through the chain of events, the not-sleeping, followed by Voldemort influencing him to perform the spell which took them back through time. Hermione, however, was stuck on the sleeping problem.

"Harry! You never try to think clearly or make snap judgments when you haven't had enough sleep! Didn't my experience in third year teach you anything?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"When I was using the Time Turner. You remember how I was. A bit mad. Doing things I normally wouldn't have done. A loosening of inhibitions. I mean, no matter how much I longed to tell off Professor Trelawney from day one, I would never have done it if it weren't for my lack of sleep. And while you and Ron may not need an excuse like that to hit Malfoy, it's really not in my nature to just walk up to someone and smack him, no matter how much of a git he is." She grinned now. "Not that I've ever regretted hitting Malfoy...."

Harry laughed. "Who would?" She laughed guiltily as well, then sobered.

"I don't suppose you want to tell me how you went from saving your mother to being in Azkaban?"

He drew his mouth into a line. "Not at the moment, no," he said, swallowing, trying to prevent the image of his mother lying dead at his feet from creeping into his brain again. "What I did--I received a five-year sentence. But there was a worry about--about my safety--"

"I should think so! You were only sixteen! And they were proposing putting you in with hardened criminals--"

He shook his head. "No, Hermione. You don't understand. Azkaban isn't like a Muggle prison. The 'hardened' criminals are all crouched in corners, gibbering incoherently. Some of the other details I'll tell you and Ron together. The thing is--they put me in solitary, to protect me, and in the cell across the corridor from mine was Buttercup."

Her jaw dropped in shock. "Roger's cousin was in Azkaban?"

"Only I didn't know he was Roger's cousin. I didn't know much about him at all. I eventually found out that his father was an itinerant actor and his mum was a witch. I didn't even know his name, but one day I called him 'Buttercup,' just because he was singing that stupid song so much, and he finally spoke to me and told me about his parents and why he sang Gilbert and Sullivan tunes all the time."

She looked completely incredulous now. "Okay, Harry. You let Voldemort convince you to save your mum because you weren't sleeping. I believe that. You went to Azkaban. Less likely, but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. But how could a person in Azkaban, with those dementors all around, still be happy enough to sing Gilbert and Sullivan all the time?"

"You're assuming he liked singing Gilbert and Sullivan."

"Oh," she said simply, frowning. "So he didn't."

"Hated it. He seems to have made his peace with the Buttercup song, though. In this life. But did you hear the way he objected to the other one?"

She nodded, still frowning. "That's true...."

"Now, here's why I'm very, very concerned. Even though I was in solitary with just a five-year sentence, as far as I know, all of the other prisoners there had life sentences. That means Buttercup must have done an Unforgivable Curse, or killed a lot of people, like they thought Sirius had done. Unfortunately, I never did find out what his specific crime was, or how long he'd been in there. None of that. And, in that life--Roger Davies was a Death Eater."

"He was?" Her eyes opened wide in shock.

"He was trying to track me down after I escaped from prison--"

"Why should a Death Eater be tracking you, instead of Aurors?"

He looked at her grimly. "They both were." He saw understanding dawn on her face.

"That's why you were in solitary, wasn't it?" He nodded. She stood and began to pace, her hands on top of her head; he could see how fiercely she was thinking. Suddenly she stopped and faced him.

"Since there was such a to-do when Sirius escaped, I think it's fair to assume that he didn't go to Azkaban in this life, and that he didn't escape. Sirius was said to be the first person who'd ever done it."

Harry shook his head. "That's because Sirius was the first one who'd done it that they knew about. Remember, years ago, Barty Crouch and his wife helped their son escape, and they did it so cleverly no one was the wiser. When you think about it, Sirius was downright amateurish about it. Not that I can pass judgment; I escaped in exactly the same way. And the same thing happened--it was all over the wizarding and Muggle news, and I was hunted from Fraserburgh to Dover. No, the Crouches were frightfully clever. And if they could pull a switch like that, who's to say it's never been done before or since? We can't assume."

She frowned again. "All right. But we know his name. Wouldn't people notice if someone with the same name as an Azkaban prisoner was just out in the world doing things?"

"Maybe. It depends. Since he's a half-blood, and it seems that he traveled about quite a bit and lived in the Muggle world, he might not have very much to do with wizards."

"But wouldn't his wizard relatives, like the Davies family, know that he was sent to Azkaban?"

He thought again about the man's face. Something about it wasn't right. "Not if he didn't give his real name when he was arrested. He might have given a false name, confessed to whatever charges they brought against him, and escaped, while making them think they still had him in prison...."

Hermione shook her head. "I think you're getting a bit far-fetched now, Harry. And I say that having heard about the time-travel and everything. It's probably more logical to assume that he didn't go to prison in this life. It would be far more plausible."

Harry finally conceded this. "The trouble is--he's the sort of person who could do something that would land him in solitary in Azkaban. He's capable of it. I mean, how likely would it be for two prisoners to be across the corridor from each other, both framed? Although, technically, I wasn't framed....At any rate, I'm just saying that in a world where Voldemort never fell, he did something dreadful enough to go to prison. Perhaps the only reason he's not in prison in this life is that Voldemort fell before he could find himself in a situation where he was tempted to do that dreadful thing. But now that Voldemort is back--"

Hermione sat down on the bed next to him again. "I see what you mean. Of course, if he was the one who'd fixed the timelines and remembered you from that life, he might assume the same thing about you, Harry. After all, you were in solitary in Azkaban."

"I was a strange case. Like I said, how plausible would it be for two of us to be in a similar situation? I just don't see it. Most of the people who were in there belonged in there. I'd be very careful around him, if I were you, Hermione."

She shrugged. "You'll be having a lot more contact with him than I will, Harry. And Roger, too. I mean, you've got your fitting tomorrow, and the stag party later in the week. Haven't you checked your timetable?"

"My timetable?"

She walked to the desk by the window and came back with a neatly-printed grid that looked as though it was computer-generated. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Alicia is as orderly as ever, eh?"

Hermione nodded. "She's my role model as Head Girl."

"Ah, but she's with her former Head Boy now." Hermione blushed.

"I meant the way she ran the prefects' meetings and things like that, Harry."

"You mean the way she emasculated Roger at every turn? Oh, very charming. I'm really looking forward to the new term now."

She threw a pillow at him, laughing. "Yes, well, don't take any personality lessons from Roger and I won't have to emasculate you, will I?"

He grabbed another pillow and hit her back. She looked shocked, but quickly recovered, and soon they were laughing hysterically and thwacking each other with the pillows repeatedly, until they collapsed in a tired heap on Hermione's bed, breathless. Harry landed face down, his head near the foot, while Hermione was lying the opposite way. He looked down at the time table that had fallen on the floor, forgotten during their roughhousing. He picked it up, groaning.

"What?" she wanted to know, moving to the end of the bed.

"According to this, tomorrow all of the groomsmen are going to London to be fitted for our wedding clothes."

She shrugged. "I told you. So what? The bridesmaids are doing that as well. Lucky me! I get to decide on my own clothes. She tried to sell me on dressing like one of the bridesmaids, but I explained to her that I already had an ensemble that was designed to allow me to play the cello, and a long tight skirt wasn't part of the plan. It looks like a floor-length skirt when I'm just standing about, but it's actually divided. The best of both worlds, trousers and skirts."

He shook his head. "Well, while you're wearing something like trousers, I'll be busy wearing a skirt."

She laughed, her brow furrowed. "What?"

He showed her the time table for the groomsmen. "Oh," she said, a smile curling at the edge of her mouth. "I hadn't noticed that before." He strongly suspected that she was thinking of his legs.

"Right," Harry sighed wearily, falling back on the bed again. "On the day of the wedding, I'll have to put up with Buttercup, who may or may not be a dangerous criminal; I'll have to put up with Alicia and everyone else believing that damn article in the Daily Prophet; I'll have to stand up with Roger-bloody-Davies as a groomsman on the last Saturday of August--and I'll have to do it all while wearing a--a kilt."

* * * * *

"You shall change," Sandy had told him as he washed his hands, preparing to go down to dinner. He frowned. Did that mean he was going to need to perform the Animagus transfiguration for some reason? He really shouldn't, he knew. Not away from school, even though he was of-age. He wasn't going to be registered until after the end of his seventh year. He shrugged. Sandy must have meant something else.

Harry was about to enter the dining room when one glance through the curtains in the doorway informed him that he was woefully underdressed. He swiftly ducked into the hall, whispering to Sandy, "If you meant I should change, I wish you'd said that, instead of saying you shall.," he said irritably. She didn't answer. He decided to transfigure his shirt into a dinner jacket, and his vest into another shirt, with a green tie already tied around his neck. He also decided, as he would be seated much of the time, that his trousers would do.

As he finished adjusting his magically-enhanced clothes, Sandy said, a little testily, "I was right, wasn't I?" He didn't answer her.

"Harry!" Alicia cried when he finally entered the room, with a smile that didn't extend to her eyes. He looked around nervously; again, he was the last to arrive. "There you are. I've put you here, between Hermione and Cho."

Brilliant, he thought, taking his seat, giving Cho a small smile which she returned briefly. Mostly, he thought she looked sad. He had a sudden thought. That's terribly tactless, to ask someone to be in your wedding just after she's lost her second boyfriend in as many years.

Frightfully crisp and precise servers brought the food around, and when a plate was put in front of him, Harry leaned slightly toward Hermione and asked her, "Erm, what is this?"

"Aspic," she said out of the corner of her mouth. "It's nice. An acquired taste, perhaps. You should try it to see whether you like it."

He looked down at the array of forks to the left of his plate. The other diners had started to eat, and a low murmur of dinner conversation started up at the table. "Which fork do I use?" he asked her now, trying not to move his lips.

"Start from the outside and work your way in," was the hushed reply, as Hermione took a bite of aspic from her fork.

Right, he thought, picking up the outermost fork. However, one taste of the aspic, and he had a problem. He held it in his mouth, not chewing; after a few minutes, his eyes started to water. Hermione looked at him, then away, then did a double take, her eyes widening as she saw the look on his face.

"Do you have a problem, Harry?" she whispered, lifting her wineglass to drink.

"You could say that," he said, pushing the offending piece of food into his cheek with his tongue so he could talk. This unfortunately brought it into contact with his tastebuds again. "I can't stand it," he whispered.

She grimaced. Still behind the cover of her glass, she said, "Don't be a baby. Chew and swallow, and then don't eat anymore."

What he really wanted to do was spit it out into his napkin, but he had the distinct impression that that would be frowned upon. He tried to swallow it without chewing, so he wouldn't have to taste much of it, and almost gagged. He started coughing very loudly, and Hermione had to pound him on the back and thrust his water glass at him, which he gulped greedily. When he was composed again, he saw that everyone at the table was looking at him. He smiled feebly, muttering, "Just went down the wrong way. I'm fine now."

The conversational murmur started up again after that, but Harry had noticed who was sitting across from him now.

Ginny.

She looked at him desperately, as though worried that he might really be choking to death. He found that he couldn't not look at her; he gazed into her large brown eyes and felt lost in them, felt like he never wanted to look at anything else.

He thought Hermione a bit rude for kicking him in the shin.

Harry bit his tongue, rather than call attention to himself again. He frowned at Hermione, but she was gesturing with her head to a person sitting across the table. To Ginny's right was Lee, and on Lee's other side was Katie. She was looking strangely at Harry. Then, when she realized he was looking back, she colored deeply and turned to Fred, on her right, asking him something Harry couldn't hear. He looked down at his plate of uneaten aspic. She'd seen him looking at Ginny. She seen the emotion on his face. She knew.

He spent the rest of the dinner studiously ignoring both Katie and Ginny, feeling that this was the safest course of action. He tried engaging Cho in conversation once or twice, but she was chatting in a subdued manner with Oliver, on her left, and seemed to be ignoring him. Mr. Spinnet stood after they were done their puddings and addressed them all, thanking them for coming to help celebrate his daughter's marriage (it sounded rather like a campaign speech) and suggesting they move to the drawing room for coffee and cognac.

Harry didn't want to go to the drawing room; he just wanted to go to sleep. He especially didn't want to socialize with Cho or Buttercup, and Alicia was getting on his nerves now, too (although he felt more charitable toward her and was willing to excuse it as prenuptial nerves). He quietly explained to Hermione that he was going upstairs, and she nodded before following Ginny into the drawing room with the others. He slipped into the entrance hall and started up the stairs to his room, but a moment later he heard a voice behind him.

"Harry!"

He turned; it was Katie. She was wearing a peach-colored sheath that made her tan look very pronounced. Her hair was pulled up in a loose twist at the back of her head but some tendrils had escaped and lay on the nape of her neck. He swallowed, wishing she didn't have to look so pretty just now. He stood half-way up the stairs, drumming his fingertips on the banister waiting for her to catch him up. We have to get this over with, he thought. He knew he had to break up with her, make it clean. He shouldn't continue to let her think he was even trying to get over Ginny, because it would be a lie, and he knew it was a lie now. He had been blind and stupid and hadn't known, before (or hadn't wanted to admit it to himself), but now--now he had no excuse.

"Katie," he said slowly as she climbed the stairs, her heels clicking on each step. We have to talk, he was going to say. Then he thought, Oh, that's dreadful. Everyone knows that nothing good ever comes after that...

"We have to talk, Harry," she said, now standing on the same step with him. He had opened his mouth to speak, but she had beaten him to it, and he snapped it shut again, feeling rather stupid.

"Er, sure. Let's go upstairs." He looked around the entrance hall; since reading the most recent Prophet article, he'd felt more paranoid than ever, expecting someone to be listening to him every moment of the day. She followed him up to the room he was sharing with Oliver Wood; just as he put his hand on the doorknob, his jacket suddenly reverted to a blue shirt, which he was wearing unbuttoned over his thin cotton vest, rather than a white button-down shirt with a green tie. There was no tie at all. Harry looked down, embarrassed. Katie frowned.

"I--I hadn't really brought anything appropriate for a dressy dinner, so I transfigured my clothes before I went into the dining room. It was a sloppy spell, obviously. Already worn off." He hoped she didn't think he was disrobing, that he had designs on her (especially after her saying, We need to talk.) He opened the door and as she closed it, he hurried to button his shirt, so his vest was no longer exposed.

He waved to a chair, but she stood near the door, looking like she wanted to bolt any second. "Harry--I need to talk to you because--because I don't think this is working out. You and me. I mean, we started off with my dad fixing us up, and then you moved to Scotland, and you're going back to school soon, and I'm starting Auror training, and--and I just don't think it's working. I'm sorry, Harry."

She finally met his eyes. She'd been looking all around him while the words came tumbling out of her mouth, as though she was afraid to look straight at him. He nodded, glad that he didn't have to do it.

"I understand," he croaked. Well, he thought. At least we're in agreement. "I'll--I'll miss you."

She smiled. "Well, we're both staying in the same house for a week. But--I think we should probably spend our time with other people, if you know what I mean."

He nodded. "Right. Of course."

She put her hand on the knob and turned to go, but looked at him again first. "Harry--I really am sorry this didn't work out." She seemed to have let her guard down now, and Harry gave her a feeble smile. Her hazel eyes were just a little shiny.

"Me too," he said softly. Then she was gone.

He undressed and turned off the light, deciding that Oliver could bloody well find his way to bed in the dark. He let a single tear fall in mourning for what he and Katie might have had were it not for all of the other complications in their lives. Wiping the tear away, he rolled over, punching his pillow, trying not to think. His exhaustion finally overwhelmed him and he fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * * * *

Harry never understood how he survived to Friday of that week. He withstood being fitted for a kilt in the tartan of the Davies family, plus the other gear to go with it; he withstood a cocktail party to which Mr. Spinnet's many political supporters had been invited, honoring his daughter and her fiancé. He had hoped to talk to Roger's cousin at the party, but the man always seemed to find a way to avoid him. He withstood going to the races on Wednesday, trying not to remember when he'd been there with Draco in his other life, cheering on Alicia to her win on Granny's Ghost. That Alicia had been much less annoying, in his opinion. This one he barely recognized. He was starting to feel very sure that she wasn't marrying Roger of her own volition, her personality seemed so altered, but he didn't know to whom he should talk about this. Hermione seemed to have noticed nothing wrong, and he was afraid she'd think he was mad and becoming as paranoid as Moody.

She had accepted his not telling her more about his other life yet, as he wanted to tell her and Ron other details with the help of the Pensieve. She was one of the few people he wasn't avoiding (like Ginny, Katie, Cho, Alicia and, when he was at the house, Roger), but she needed to spend a good deal of time practicing the cello, so he often found himself wandering over the grounds aimlessly, hands sunk deep in his pockets, having rambling conversations with Sandy and wishing he'd had the nerve to say 'no' to Alicia's request to be a groomsman.

He didn't really want to avoid Ginny, and had to force himself not to send stupid lovesick stares her way at meals, but he was afraid that if they were alone together he would be tempted to do something which, if Malfoy saw it while holding the basilisk amulet, would mean an all-out declaration of war.

He understood now why she'd kept her feelings from him for so long; he was going mad knowing that she loved him and that she knew he loved her, but they couldn't even sit beside each other or hold hands. He didn't remember things being so difficult for him, somehow, when he thought she loved Draco Malfoy.

The rehearsal dinner was Thursday night. That afternoon, Angelina had presided over the hen party, and Harry had escaped the house to avoid the chorus of oohs and ahs over the gifts the women had given Alicia and Roger. He went running around the paddocks, sometimes racing with one of the Spinnets' horses, for fun, and rested, eventually, far out in a field so distant from the big house, all he could see around him was green grass, hedges, some fences and hot, blue sky.

The next morning, at breakfast, Harry received a very rude shock when he entered the dining room and discovered the last person he wanted to see sitting next to Ginny, contentedly eating bacon and eggs and talking to Oliver Wood about Quidditch.

It was Draco Malfoy.

He looked levelly at Harry, a challenge in his eyes. Then suddenly, he grinned and laughed. "I hear you're all wearing kilts, Harry!" he said cheerfully. "I'd have brought mine if I knew. Ah, well. We can get Davies good and pissed tonight and he won't have any bloody idea what he's agreeing to tomorrow at the church."

Harry smiled feebly. Next to Malfoy, Ginny laughed and looked every bit his happy companion, so that Harry almost wondered for a moment if he'd dreamt that night at Hog's End, telling her about his other life, her telling him she wasn't in love with Draco Malfoy. He tried to ignore her, so he wouldn't seethe, walking to the sideboard and getting a plate for his food.

"I didn't know you were coming, Draco," he forced himself to say as he put some kippers on his plate from a silver salver.

"Well, Ginny arranged for me to come for tonight--I can come along for the stag party-- and then I'm staying over for the wedding tomorrow. I'm going to kip on a camp bed in Fred's and George's room. Ron's here too; he already finished eating and he and Hermione have gone off somewhere. He's going to be in with you and Oliver."

Harry felt very petty as he mouthed the words, Ginny arranged for me to come for tonight with his back to them. He arranged his face into a smile before turning around, saying, "That's nice. Fred and George were speculating that Oliver would know the best way to do--erm, to do this."

Ginny looked wickedly at Draco Malfoy now. "Well, good. That'll keep you boys occupied while we keep Alicia busy, having her last wild night before the ceremony--"

"Hey!" Malfoy responded, although he was laughing. "You girls already had the hen party, you said."

"This isn't a hen party," Ginny said, her voice very suggestive. "It's more of a distaff version of what you all will be getting up to."

"Oh," said Oliver, sitting across from her and eating some toast with marmalade, "so you're going to get Alicia pissed and see if she'll make a pass at a stripper? Roger might like to see that, actually."

Ginny frowned, confused. "Why would Roger want to see her with another man the night before their wedding?"

"Oh," Oliver said again, with an expression of complete innocence. "I wasn't talking about a male stripper." He started laughing then, and Malfoy joined in. Harry sat next to Oliver, thinking about half-heartedly joining in with the laughter, but changing his mind. Alicia came sweeping in then and they sobered, although Harry saw Oliver sending merry looks at Draco Malfoy, like they were part of the same conspiracy. Which they were, Harry reckoned. Why did he feel like he was on the outside looking in? he wondered. He should be looking forward to this. And yet--

"I feel like doing some riding," Alicia announced when she was done her breakfast. "Would anyone else like to come along? Some of the horses could really use some exercise."

"Yeah, I'd like that," Draco Malfoy said, finishing his tea. "Haven't been riding in ages. We used to have some nice horseflesh. I rather miss that," he added a little wistfully, and this time, when Ginny looked sympathetically at him, Harry wasn't so sure it was an act.

Harry rose to leave, feeling a bit grumpy. "I've never ridden, so I suppose I'll pass," he said before leaving the room. He strode up the stairs, two at a time, and almost ran over Hermione as she was coming out of his room.

"Oh, there you are, Harry--"

"Hullo," he said, surprised to see her. "Where's Ron? I thought you two had gone off together."

"He was feeling a bit grimy and wanted to take a shower, so I cleaned a lot of the girly things out of our bath and he's using it now. You must have used it earlier, when we were eating breakfast. Was Oliver using yours, or something? Anyway, I didn't know whether you'd already gone down to breakfast, so I was looking for you to give you this." She was holding one of the basilisk amulets by the chain; it swung back and forth, catching the morning light. Harry frowned.

"Why are you trying to give me that?"

"I found it in the bath, on the counter next to the sink. You must have forgotten it when you took your shower."

Harry shook his head. "That's not mine anymore, remember? That's Ginny's. I never took mine off when I had it, anyway."

She swung it up so that it landed in her hand, and she hefted it, feeling its weight against her palm. "That's right, you didn't. Well, almost never," she added, reddening, evidently remembering when she had asked him to take it off. She closed her hand around it and then froze, startled. She closed her eyes for a moment and her mouth dropped open in surprise. "Oh...." she said slowly. Harry furrowed his brow, wondering why she was doing that. She used to look that way--she used to look that way when he was her boyfriend, and especially when he was doing certain things to her....He opened his eyes wide when he realized the cause of her reaction.

"Hermione Granger!" he said, shocked by her behavior.

Startled, she opened her eyes, still grasping the amulet. "What?" she said quickly, looking very guilty. But Harry saw that she was still grasping the amulet. He held out his hand and tried to look very stern, hoping he wouldn't start laughing. She grimaced and put it in his hand. He clasped it and closed his eyes for a moment, seeing Ginny and Draco Malfoy and Alicia walking across the lawn, talking casually. He opened his eyes again.

"Ron's still in the shower, isn't he?" he said pointedly, still being the disciplinarian. She was turning very red now, and he could see her swallow. He was having a very difficult time now keeping a straight face. "Get a good look, did you?"

She was clearly very irked. "I didn't know that's what I'd see! I didn't know I'd see anything!"

"Well, you continued to look even after you knew, didn't you? That's called an invasion of privacy, I believe, Miss Granger." He felt a smile pull at the corners of his mouth, and opened his eyes wide, trying to suppress it.

She looked at him with narrowed eyes. "And you've never used it that way, I suppose?"

He looked at her guilelessly. "No. Not once." That was the truth. He was tempted to finally let himself smile, but then he didn't feel very much like smiling. Suddenly, he had a terrible thought: Draco Malfoy could see Ginny any time. That meant any time. He thought for a moment of Ginny taking a shower, remembering her standing under the warm spray in the Quidditch changing rooms the morning after that dreadful storm....

He put it in his pocket. "I'll take this to Ginny," he said. "You go practice cello and let poor Ron shower in peace. When he's ready for you to see him in the shower, I'm sure he'll let you know." He tried to put Malfoy out of his mind and continued to rather enjoy winding up Hermione.

"But--but--" she sputtered. "What is that thing? What does it do?"

Harry looked up and down the corridor, then hustled her into his room. "I'm not sure what it is," he whispered to her, after closing the door. "I can only tell you what it seems to do. When you held it, you saw Ron. Not just an abstract Ron, like a photograph you might keep on the mantle. But Ron right now, what he's actually doing this very minute."

"Right--"

"Now, when I hold it, I see--" He swallowed, looking down at it, wondering whether he should say. And then it turned out that he didn't need to.

"You see Ginny, don't you?"

He looked up and nodded at her, feeling like a fist was clenching his heart. She put her hand on his arm sympathetically. "I'm not blind, you know. And you should bear in mind that Draco Malfoy isn't, either."

He sighed. "I know." He looked down at the amulet in his hand again. "That's why I'm taking it to her."

Suddenly she had put her arms around him and was hugging him tightly. She backed up a little, stood up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. "Poor Harry," she said softly, a pity in her eyes that he didn't like. He stepped away from her.

"You'd better go practice. I'll take this to Ginny."

When he reached the front door, he clutched the amulet again, seeing Ginny talking to Alicia while standing next to a strawberry roan with a snow-white mane and tail. Alicia was patting the horse and Ginny was nodding. She had bundled up her hair so that it was a mass at the back of her head. Alicia helped her adjust the chin strap on the black dome of a riding helmet she'd put on, and then gave her a leg up. Ginny put her foot in the stirrup and swung her other leg over the horse's back, sitting uncertainly on the roan, holding the reins, and Alicia's head was near her knee, talking again. Harry assumed that Alicia had given her the jodhpurs she was wearing.

Then Alicia disappeared and Draco Malfoy moved into sight, also wearing jodhpurs and a riding helmet, mounted on a large chestnut. His body moved easily with the horse's, a complete natural. Ginny looked far less natural on her mount. Their horses walked side by side at a slow, easy pace, Ginny holding the reins nervously, and then Alicia was beside them on a black-maned piebald steed which looked far too large for her to control, but which seemed to be obeying her every whim. She had also bundled up her hair and wore a helmet and jodhpurs. The three of them sped up a little as they left the cobblestone-paved stable yard. Harry remembered Malfoy's Alicia-on-a-horse fantasies, and wondered if they were coming true. Except now he was probably having Ginny-on-a-horse fantasies. Harry put the amulet back in his pocket and sat on the front steps that led down to the drive, deciding that he didn't have to give it back to her right away. Soon they would be galloping across the paddocks, and he wouldn't be able to reach her anyway.

Growing restless after a while, he finally decided to walk down to the stable yard to wait for them instead of sitting in the sun on the front steps. The yard was orderly and well-kept, with a couple of grooms bustling about, tending to the horses. Harry walked idly from stall to stall, looking at the handsome beasts, then stopped when he saw a familiar face.

"Magic Man," he said softly to the horse with the lightning bolt blaze between his eyes. What do you know, he thought. He patted the horse's neck, smiling grimly, and fed him a carrot one of the grooms had handed him, with an admonition to be careful of his fingers. Sighing, he leaned against the gate to Magic Man's stall and put his hand in his pocket again, feeling for the amulet. He closed his eyes and could see Ginny quite clearly; she and Draco were not on their horses any more. He could see the horses' legs, so they were somewhere nearby; Ginny and Draco were on the ground, their helmets on the grass next to them, and Alicia was nowhere in sight. Draco Malfoy was kissing down the side of her neck while she threw her head back in abandon, and his fingers were deftly unbuttoning her blouse. Harry's mouth went dry when he saw this.

Damn. They'd managed to shake the chaperone.

Just then, Alicia came walking into the stable yard, leading her horse by the reins. "Knox! Knox!" This seemed to be the name of one of the grooms. Harry wasn't sure where they'd gone, but they had seemed quite busy. He put the amulet back into his pocket and walked out into the yard to meet her. She looked startled to see him.

"Er, hullo, Harry," she said, her voice shaking. "Ali Baba's gone lame. I had to walk back." She cleared her throat and called the groom again. "Drat!" she added. "Where is that boy?"

"So," he said, trying to sound as though it didn't matter a great deal to him. "You left Ginny and Draco on their own?"

She shrugged. "He's an experienced horseman. We talked about that on the one date we had. You know; the ceilidh. The one I asked you to, and you turned me down. Remember?"

"I remember," he said. "How could anyone forget being kissed by you?" he added, intentionally stroking her ego.

He smiled at her now; for someone about to be married, she suddenly seemed very insecure, and in need of having her ego stroked. As the groom she called hadn't answered her (Harry suddenly felt very superstitious, wondering whether this was a bad sign), she led Ali Baba into his stall and continued talking to Harry while tending to the horse herself.

"Yes, well, there are very few men whom I've kissed, but you are one of them. Glad to know it was memorable, especially as you were secretly seeing Hermione at the time and probably snogging her senseless every chance you got, if not shagging."

He frowned; now she sounded bitter. She'd been having frequent mood swings during the week, which he'd put down partly to nervousness about the wedding, and partly to the suspicious nature of the wedding.

"Of course," she went on, "I thought I was going to the ceilidh for Draco to be able to dance with Hermione, not with Ginny...." She spread a blanket on Ali Baba and patted his side affectionately, giving him some sugar cubes from her pocket and stroking the long nose gently.

Harry was utterly confused now. "You what?"

She emerged from the horse's stall and closed the gate securely behind her. "He asked me to go to the ceilidh and said it was very important to him because he was seeing a girl in Gryffindor, and they didn't want anyone to know about the two of them. He said Ron would be especially upset if he knew. Well, it didn't occur to me he meant Ginny. I just couldn't picture her doing that, knowing how much bad blood there was between their families. You don't have to be wizard born to know about that. I naturally assumed it was Hermione, if Ron was supposed to be upset. I mean," she said, rolling her eyes, "he was completely obvious at the Yule Ball."

They walked back out into the yard and sat on a bench pushed up against the grey stone of the stable. "He was actually very sweet, going on about his girlfriend, saying how smart she was, top marks in her year. As he'd had the good taste to choose a Gryffindor, and as I assumed it was Hermione, and that Hermione wouldn't be with anyone who was unworthy of her, I agreed to do it. You and Hermione did say you were going just as friends. I believed you. Then, at the ceilidh, when Draco and Hermione went off to dance together, and she made that crack to the Malfoys about her parents being dentists, I was certain I had been right. I mean, you were so obviously trying to pair off Draco and Hermione. And I assumed that's why you were surprised he'd brought me; knowing his father didn't want his son with a Muggle-born, to camouflage a secret relationship with Hermione with a date with another Muggle-born seemed rather guileless. He did switch to dancing with Ginny, but I thought that was just to throw off his father.

"You could have knocked me over with a feather when, after the Quidditch final, there you were on the pitch, kissing Hermione, while Draco Malfoy was kissing Ginny Weasley! Until then, I rather thought you fancied Ginny." He didn't comment on this. She laughed and shook her head. "It's a good thing Katie's the one who's going to be an Auror. I'd be dreadful."

Then, with absolutely no warning, her lips were suddenly on his and her tongue was pushing insistently at his mouth. He sprang to his feet, definitely not interested in giving in to temptation this time.

"Alicia! Stop that! You're getting married tomorrow!"

She raised her eyebrows. "Right. Tomorrow. So shouldn't I have as much fun as possible today? Oh, speaking of Katie, did I mention that she told me she'd broken up with you?"

"No, you didn't, but that's not why I'm--" His eye was caught by something; he looked at her now, at her boots. They were quite clean. His own shoes were rather muddy from his walk down to the stables; it had rained overnight and the ground was still damp. He saw her shoes, the ones she'd worn at breakfast, sitting against the outer wall of the stable next to what he recognized as Ginny's shoes and Draco's shoes. All three pairs of shoes were as muddy as his. Of course, he thought. They changed into riding boots after they reached the stables. He had seen an array of boots lined up inside the stable, below some pegs with extra helmets. And she had said she was walking Ali Baba into the stable yard because he was lame....But he wasn't, Harry realized. He wasn't lame at all.

"Ali Baba isn't lame," he said with certainty. She looked at him with her jaw dropped. He pointed at her boots. "There isn't a speck of mud on your boots. If you'd walked your horse all the way back, they wouldn't be so clean. You only walked from just outside the stable yard, didn't you?"

She looked down at her boots now, in shock. "Bloody hell. You're good, Harry. Oh, I just wanted Fred and George to think they had someone with them, you know. They still treat her like such a child! I wasn't expecting you to be here. I decided that, in case anyone asked, I had come back because of a lame horse. I didn't want the twins trying to beat Draco to a pulp. Please don't tell them. Draco and Ginny are really very sweet together, aren't they? I'm sorry for being a romantic...."

He plunged in. "Such a romantic that you're marrying someone you don't love?"

She froze, then her eyes iced over. "What makes you say that?"

He sat very close to her now. "Maybe it's that you didn't tell your two best friends you were even seeing Roger. They didn't find out until you sent your wedding invitations! Maybe it's that I don't think you've been seeing each other very long, and you're already getting married. Maybe it's that I never saw you even be civil to Roger Davies until last spring when I was reading to your class at the village school, and then, out of the blue, I saw the two of you kissing in your classroom, before Disapparating. Fleur was looking for him that day, and I lied to her and told her I hadn't seen Roger. So he was obviously still seeing her--or so she thought. That day I saw you do two uncharacteristic things: you were kissing someone I could have sworn you hated, and you were being the 'other woman.' Somehow, I thought that only an Alicia Spinnet who was not in control of her own actions would do these things. Unfortunately, I didn't come to this conclusion until later, when--when there were just too many things happening to deal with it."

She swallowed and looked at him. "I'd made no bones about not liking Roger when I was in school, that's true. I didn't know how to tell Katie and Angelina I'd had a change of heart. I was afraid they'd laugh at me. And then there was the original reason why I went after Roger..."

"You went after him? Not the other way around?" Harry was skeptical.

"Yes. When Roger started seeing me behind Fleur's back--it was just because I didn't like her. All right, couldn't stand her would be far more accurate. Ever since she came here....Well, that's a long story. Anyway, I went after Roger. Made a big show of burying the hatchet, all that. It worked. And Roger--"

"--wouldn't believe you any more than I do. Why are you marrying him, really?"

She had her mouth open, then closed it again. Finally she gave him a steely gaze and said, "You wouldn't understand, Harry. There are a lot of reasons two people might get married. I have my reasons, and I don't have to justify myself to you. I have my eyes wide open and I am going to marry Roger Davies tomorrow."

He looked at her shrewdly. "Now I believe you. That you have your reasons, and that you believe you know what you're doing. However--when I saw you two kissing in that classroom, that didn't look like someone who would say, 'I'm with Roger because I have my reasons;' that looked like someone who was acting blindly. Someone who was under a curse or a spell or the influence of a potion. You may be acting freely now, but I don't believe you were then. And I have a very bad feeling that if Roger has convinced you that he's not up to no good, you've made a very big mistake to believe him. Evan died because he aspired to be a Death Eater, he wanted to do something that would get him noticed by Voldemort." He noticed that, as a Muggle-born witch, she didn't wince at the name. "Roger was blaming me, but I had the distinct impression he was really blaming himself and just lashing out at me. I think Evan found out his big brother was a Death Eater. You're not safe, Alicia. You can't marry Roger."

She crossed her arms. "When you're quite finished, Harry," she said, "I would like to ask you just what the hell are you talking about? Roger, a Death Eater? Did you hit your head or something?"

"Have you ever seen him with his clothes off?" She hesitated, and Harry had a feeling she hadn't. "You haven't, have you? Waiting for the wedding night? How traditional."

She looked very offended now. "Of course I've seen him with his clothes off! Don't be daft. All right, I'll bite--how can you tell a Death Eater when he's not dressed?"

He looked at her; she didn't know. She really didn't know. Was Roger all right? Did he not have the Dark Mark? He couldn't decide whether she was incredibly thick or an even better actress than Ginny.

Alicia didn't wait any longer for an answer. She retrieved her shoes and removed her boots with a jack while talking to him. "I think you need to go have a lie-down, Harry. I am marrying Roger tomorrow. I am not under Imperius. I am not under any other spell. I am not being influenced by a potion. Just because I kissed you--well, isn't it normal for a nervous bride to be thinking about all of the boys she's kissed before and never will again? I'm sorry I startled you. It was a stupid impulse. It doesn't mean I don't want to marry Roger. In fact--I've quit my teaching job and Roger and I will both be working on getting my father elected to Parliament. We're going to be married and working together. Oooh, he's a Death Eater, you say. Yes, every day Death Eaters marry Muggle-born witches and work to get their fathers-in-law elected to Parliament. Very likely. I'll see you at lunch."

She turned and started walking away from him, but he caught up to her and grabbed her arm, turning her around. "Alicia," he said urgently. "What will happen if you don't marry Roger?"

She suddenly looked frightened, very frightened, and he knew he was onto something. Yes, she was marrying him of her own free will. Because she was trying to avoid something worse. (Harry tried to think of something worse than marrying Roger Davies, and failed.) What was she afraid of?

But her face had closed up again. She glared at Harry. "What will happen is my father will have paid thousands of pounds for the perfect wedding for no bloody reason, that's what. And I will tell you this now, Harry Potter," she hissed between her teeth. "If you do anything--anything--to make tomorrow less than completely perfect, I will hunt you down, torture you, and kill you. That's a promise."

She turned on her heel and marched out of the yard, leaving Harry standing, staring after her, completely stumped. Against his better judgment, he wrapped his hand around the amulet in his pocket again, despite telling Hermione he didn't do that sort of thing, but instead of seeing Ginny succumbing to Draco Malfoy, he saw her buttoning her blouse, standing, and screaming silently at the blond Slytherin. Draco Malfoy seemed to be screaming right back. She clapped her helmet on her head and struggled to get back into her saddle again. Looking annoyed, Draco helped her, appearing to be continuing to give her an earful. They were riding along again after he leapt effortlessly into his saddle, and then he saw Malfoy reach out and give Ginny's strawberry roan a great slap! on the rump.

Suddenly, the horse reared, while Ginny held onto the reins for dear life; then it was galloping as if running for its life, and Harry's view of her moved along with her. He could see how terrified she was, pulling at the reins to get the horse under control, but it still ran on, and now she was sinking her hands into the mane, horror distorting her features. Finally, the horse stopped abruptly, and he saw her body go flying from the saddle, and then her figure lying on the grass, her eyes closed, her limbs splayed out around her.

Nooooo! his brained screamed.

He couldn't see Draco Malfoy anywhere near her. Harry couldn't take this. He stuffed the amulet into his pocket and ran into the stable; he started to move toward Ali Baba, but the animal backed away from him. Two other horses clearly recognized his agitation and moved to the backs of their stalls as well. When he came to Magic Man, however, he was able to open the stall and bring the animal out with no problem. He looked around for a saddle, but didn't know where they were kept, or, indeed, even how to properly attach one to a horse. He gave up and led Magic Man out to the yard, using a mounting block to jump onto the horse's quivering back, holding onto his mane tightly with his fingers.

He held onto the horse tightly with his knees and pressed his heels into the horse's sides and told him, "C'mon, boy. We've got to find Ginny." His voice shook, and when he smacked him smartly on the rump, as Malfoy had done with Ginny's horse, the horse abruptly galloped out of the stable yard and toward a large fence with a stile. Harry swallowed, his fingers holding the mane securely, his thighs already aching from gripping the horse's body with them. He stared grimly at the fence, and then a moment later, he felt the horse gathering himself to jump. When he did, it was amazingly like flying, Harry thought. They landed with a thud on the other side, and continued galloping across the paddock, Harry's teeth chattering in his head.

Harry wasn't sure how long he had looked for Ginny and how many miles he'd ridden when he saw Malfoy's abandoned chestnut steed about a quarter-mile away in the next paddock. He clicked his tongue at Magic Man, who resumed galloping, and soon, Harry was jumping over the fence into that paddock, feeling much more natural about this after the sixth or seventh time. Ginny was lying on the ground near the chestnut, not moving that he could see. He leapt onto the ground from his bareback mount and his tired, aching legs collapsed under him. He crawled to Ginny's side.

He took off her helmet and patted her cheeks gently. "Ginny! Ginny!"

She opened her eyes groggily, giving him a small smile when she saw him. "Harry," she said softly. "Oh, good. I seem to have fallen from my horse...."

She sounded delirious; he asked her desperately, "Do you think you've broken anything? Does it hurt more in one place than another?" He began feeling her limps gently, holding her wrist between his fingers, gently touching her knees, her ankles. She groaned.

"No," she managed to say. "I don't think I've broken anything. I just ache all over. It is a good thing I had the helmet on, though. My head feels like it's exploding."

He was afraid that meant she had concussion. He helped her to sit up; her back was covered in mud. "I think it was the damp ground that saved you," he informed her, although he wondered how much of that was from her lying on the ground earlier with Draco Malfoy. He decided not to say anything about that. After all, she hadn't succumbed, clearly. When he'd seen her in the amulet, on the out-of-control horse, it was from the front, so he hadn't known about the mud.

"Where's Malfoy, anyway? He's just left you here? Did he take your horse? His is still here."

She shook her head. "I don't know where mine is. Ran off. He didn't want to waste time riding back for help, he said. He was going to Apparate to the lodge and bring Alicia back with her car."

He helped her to stand, shakily. "I'll take you back. You can ride with me. That all right with you?"

She looked at him with her mouth open slightly, and it took all of his willpower not to pull her to him and start kissing her desperately; she looked like she might be having a similar thought. She swallowed.

"All right."

He took out his wand and made a piece of earth rise up next to the horse, so he could use it as a mounting block. Ginny nervously stepped onto the raised earth. After leaping onto the horse's back, he reached down from his seat on Magic Man and put his hand around her wrist. "Hold onto my arm. Come on; I'll pull you up."

"I don't know, Harry..." she started to say, although she did hold his wrist, as he was already holding hers.

Suddenly, he'd already pulled and cried "Accio Ginny!" at the same time, to help it along, and now she straddled the horse, sitting behind Harry, one arm wrapped around his waist. "Hold on tight," he told her, putting his wand away, so she put her other arm around him too.

"Harry," she said nervously, "this horse doesn't have a saddle!"

Harry urged Magic Man on and he started galloping across the damp earth, his hooves raising great clods of turf. Harry turned slightly and smiled at her. "You've ridden a golden griffin without a saddle."

She laughed and held him more tightly, leaning her head on his shoulder. "It was lovely, too," she said in his ear. "Much less bumpy."

They rode back in silence; Harry loved the feel of her pressing against him, warm and solid and Ginny. She was all right, that was the important thing. He couldn't prevent the image he was seeing in his mind's eye, Ginny being thrown from the horse and lying on the cold, damp ground, so still....He'd thought--he'd thought the worst. And it would have been all Malfoy's fault, he seethed. But as they galloped on, and he felt her warm breath on his neck and her body pressed against his back and her arms around his waist, he calmed a bit. I've got you, Ginny. You'll be all right now.

* * * * *

Ginny was given a clean bill of health by the doctor, who said she did not have concussion. She was to rest during the remainder of the day, however. Harry wanted to sit by her side in the drawing room, at her beck and call, but Draco Malfoy was doing that instead. Hermione and Ron had gone for a walk on the grounds, and he felt utterly superfluous.

Finally, the time came for them to leave for the stag party. Harry was not looking forward to this. He hadn't been able to talk to Roger when he'd been fitted for his kilt, as Roger hadn't gone with them. (Mr. Davies had taken them to London.) And Roger's cousin had been managing to avoid him as well. He knew he wouldn't get the opportunity to speak with them quietly during the evening's scheduled debauchery, and he was starting to feel more and more that the wedding should not go forward....

When he returned to the Spinnet estate with the others, as the only one who had decided not to drink (even Ron had had a pint) he felt very restless, pacing back and forth in his room, thinking furiously, while Oliver snored loudly, grunting and making other noises occasionally which made Harry wince. Ron, at least, was sleeping quietly on the camp bed.

Near dawn, he finally fell asleep. When Ron woke him, the room was bright with late-morning sunshine, and his best friend was laughing at him. "Harry! Get up already! What's your excuse? I didn't see you drink anything last night."

Harry rubbed his head. "It's a good thing, too. My head feels bad enough without adding alcohol."

"Well, although I'm a lowly guest and not a member of the wedding party, I've been dispatched to get your lazy bum out of bed and see to it that you are arrayed in your Highland regalia for photographs. Everyone's waiting."

"What time is it?"

Ron checked a carriage clock on the mantle. "Eleven. Workmen have been clearing all of the furniture out of the drawing room for three hours already. That's to be the ballroom. And a huge tent is being erected on the lawn for dining. You've missed all the excitement."

Harry swore. He didn't exactly agree with Ron's assessment. "The wedding isn't until four o'clock! We're going to spend five hours taking photographs?"

"No," Ron said. "The groomsmen are going to be photographed, then eat lunch. After lunch, Alicia and the bridesmaids are going to have their hair and makeup done to be gorgeous, and then they'll be photographed. Then we all get into cars to go to Kettering. I'm riding along with the musicians: Hermione and Ruth and Roger's cousin. He's a nice bloke. He'll be driving us."

Harry said, "Hmph!" but didn't elaborate. Somehow he managed to drag himself to the shower and then donned his gear for the wedding. It was the worst of both worlds. He had a stiff white shirt front, white tie and tails, and an itchy wool kilt. It's the last Saturday in August! he thought, not for the first (or last) time. Ron grinned when he saw him.

"I have to say, Harry. You don't look very happy."

"Yeah, well, maybe that's partly because I'm wearing a wool kilt in August, but it's also partly because Alicia should not be marrying Roger Davies."

Hermione knocked on the door, which was slightly ajar, and entered without waiting for permission. "What did you say about Alicia not marrying Roger?"

He had her lock the door and he told both of them about his conversation with Alicia the day before. Ron whistled. "I don't know, Harry. I'd take that part about her torturing you and killing you very seriously. Girls can be completely irrational about wanting perfect weddings."

Hermione bristled. "There's absolutely nothing irrational about it," she said stiffly. "Many girls start dreaming about their weddings when they're very young...."

"My point exactly," Ron said, rolling his eyes.

Harry started pacing again. "She's worried that something dreadful will happen if she doesn't go through with this--I'm sure of it. How did she seem last night, Hermione?"

Hermione snorted. "You don't want to know."

"No, I really do. Did she seem happy about the wedding?"

Hermione frowned. "Hard to tell. She became pissed very quickly and started telling old Quidditch stories. Oh. My. God. I thought the pair of you were bad about that. She kept saying to Angelina and Ginny and Katie, 'Remember that game against Hufflepuff when....Remember that game against Slytherin when....I don't know when I've been more bored in my life. It almost drove me to drink."

"You mean you didn't?" Ron asked her, as though doubting this.

"Ronald Weasley! Of course I didn't."

"Yeah, well you had wine with your dinner, I noticed. Before you went out."

"That is a glass of wine in a private home with a large meal. I've also had wine with dinner when I'm at home with my parents, on special occasions. That is hardly the same thing as ordering hard liquor in a public house at the age of sixteen. For one thing, the publican could get in a great deal of trouble."

"Er," Harry said, before she could continue this diatribe, "how was the rest of the evening? When Alicia wasn't talking about Quidditch, I mean."

Hermione started ticking off points on her fingers. "Well, let's see. Angelina must have had too much to drink before she left, because I didn't see her drink anything at the pub, but she kept running to the loo and spewing anyway. Yarrow kept complaining to me about her break-up with Fred--I really don't care for her--Cho didn't seem to drink anything, but she kept going on these crying jags and wanted to talk to me about Viktor. Erg. And then Katie...."

Harry frowned. "What?"

Hermione reddened. "Well, she was pretty pissed as well. She kept cornering me to talk about you."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Hermione was growing redder by the second. "She, er...she wanted to compare notes, you might say."

Now Harry felt his face grow warm. "Good Lord," he breathed. "You didn't--"

"Of course I didn't!" she exclaimed, her voice a trifle squeaky. "I mean--that is the last conversation I want to have ever. Well, it's a draw. I didn't want to talk to Cho about Viktor, either." She sighed. "That had to be one of the most uncomfortable nights of my entire life. Oh, and Ginny didn't help. She was being so silly--"

Ron looked alarmed. "You didn't let her drink, did you?"

"Of course I didn't, Ron! What do you take me for? No, she didn't need any help from alcohol; Alicia had given her some pain pills earlier, because of that fall she took yesterday. She had some more this morning. That's why she was being so giggly at breakfast. I'm not sure what Alicia gave her, but I don't think she should have any more. How did the stag night go for you and the lads?"

Ron groaned. "Not much better than your outing. Let's see; Roger was pissed and kept calling everyone 'old boy;' Fred and George kept trying to give Muggles Canary Creams; and Harry and I had to keep intercepting them, so they wouldn't get in trouble. Lee was trying to sell the publican on carrying their product line, which, luckily, the man thought was a drunken rant. Actually, it was a drunken rant. Malfoy kept going on about how much money he used to have. You'd think when he's drunk he'd be improved, but he's just a bore. Percy eventually showed up and helped keep the twins in line, luckily. That was one good thing. And if there's one thing I can say for Perce, he can hold his liquor, although I think he had more than a pint. Let's see, what else....Oliver made a pass at the wife of a lorry driver, who threw a chair at his head. He must have weighed twenty-five stone, this bloke...."

Hermione laughed. "And most of them had terrible headaches at breakfast this morning. Did you see Oliver? The way he winced when anyone made the slightest bit of noise? I'm glad you two had the sense not to drink."

It was Ron's turn to become slightly red; Harry had the feeling he wasn't going to tell her about having the one pint of stout.

"No strippers, then?" Hermione asked suggestively.

"Not a one," Ron sighed. Hermione swatted him.

"You're not supposed to sound so disappointed."

He grinned. "You're not supposed to be so gullible." That earned him another swat. He pretended it hurt.

Someone knocked on the door. "Ron! You were supposed to get Harry to come downstairs!" It was Roger.

Harry strode to the door and opened it. "Sorry, Roger. Hermione was just telling me and Ron about the girls' night out."

He raised his eyebrows, looking interested. "Oh? I haven't heard anything about it yet. Anything juicy?"

"Er, not really. If you want to hear Alicia go on for hours about Quidditch, just give her a little too much to drink. That's evidently the result."

Roger grinned. "That's the result when she's with a pack of women," he said suggestively. Harry wondered again what Roger was holding over her head, but he seemed perfectly happy and jovial, getting ready to be married. If he was a Death Eater now, and somehow blackmailing Alicia into marrying him, it ironically had made him a much more pleasant person to be around. Harry didn't know what to think.

The afternoon sped by, and Harry thought he would go blind from the number of times he saw the camera's flash. Finally, at three o'clock, they piled into cars to drive to Kettering. The church was bedecked with more flowers than Harry had ever seen. Everywhere he looked, he saw white roses surrounded by thistles and greens, and tartan ribbons hanging down from the arrangements.

Promptly at three-thirty, Hermione began playing her cello. Harry smiled, watching her. He sat in the front row with Roger, Fred, George, Lee, Oliver and Roger's father. Harry turned and saw Ron sitting several rows back on the bride's side with Percy; they were both watching her play, but Harry could see that Ron was following every movement she made. Much of the time, Percy was listening with his eyes closed, a placid smile on his face. They looked rather foreign in their stiff formal clothes; Hermione had been admiring Ron in his before they left. Harry had never seen him look so adult. It was hard to equate with him with the eleven-year-old he'd met on the Hogwarts Express. Ron had been admiring Hermione's outfit as well; she was wearing what appeared to be a long silky purple dress, but she had given a little kick, showing them that the skirt was really very full trousers, allowing her to hold her cello easily. The bodice was rather tight, with a low draped cowl and full, translucent elbow-length sleeves.

"Thank goodness I do not have to wear a bridesmaid dress," she had said, rolling her eyes. Harry hadn't seen the dresses; after his stint in front of the photographer had ended, he had gone back up to his room for a nap. It was also clear that she was very pleased by Ron's reaction to her appearance (which was, for lack of a better word, gawping).

Hermione and the singers took turns performing before the ceremony. In addition to Ruth and Roger's cousin, a baritone and alto from the church choir sang; the four performed several madrigals without accompaniment, their harmonies tight and perfect. Harry smiled when he heard Ruth's perfectly round tones; her clear, high voice was most easily heard of the four, and he almost found it possible to forget his other concerns as he listened.

Finally, Hermione and the singers sat in the pews and the organist began playing. Roger gestured to his groomsmen, and they all stood with him before the altar rail, looking to the back of the church. Harry had heard the guests entering, but he hadn't realized how full the church was getting. The organ stopped suddenly, the priest entered and stood next to Roger, and someone opened the doors at the rear of the sanctuary. The organ started up again, a huge fanfare this time, and an older woman Harry now knew to be Ambrose Davies' sister (mother of Buttercup) began walking down the aisle in a matronly dress the same shade as the thistles she carried amongst the white roses. Angelina followed, wearing a dress of the same color, but a slightly different style. It appeared to have a halter top, although Harry couldn't tell very well by seeing it from the front. She wore a wreath of thistles on her hair. Katie followed, wearing the same wreath of thistles and a version of the same dress that was appropriate for her height, her tanned arms fully visible. Harry met her eyes for a moment, but she quickly looked away. Yarrow followed, tall and stately, then tiny Cho. Lastly, Harry saw Ginny walking down the aisle, dressed the same as the other girls, but somehow....Somehow it all looked so very different on her, Harry thought. Her arms were pale and freckled, not tan, her long red hair had been pulled up into a loose arrangement on her head, topped by the thistles, but some long curls ornamented her bare shoulders, and her thistle wreath sat on her hair with a slightly rakish tilt, as though her hairpins had come loose. He thought it was possible that she was holding her bouquet of roses and thistles upside down. But even though she wasn't perfect, he still could have looked at her all day. He thought the color of the dress suited her far better than any of the other girls, although he knew he shouldn't tell anyone this.

The organist played yet another fanfare when Ginny finally joined the other bridesmaids, and then Alicia appeared in the doorway, on her father's arm. He was wearing very stiff-looking white tie and tails. And Alicia--

She looked like a princess, was the only thing Harry could think. His throat felt very tight as the guests all stood and watched her walk toward Roger Davies, the organ blaring deafeningly. Please, he prayed silently. Let it be all right.

The service didn't seem to last any time at all. At some point, Ruth stood to sing, and then Roger's cousin. In the blink of an eye, it seemed, Alicia and Roger were kissing and the organ was blaring again, and the happy couple was walking up the aisle, while the attendants paired off behind them; Ambrose Davies with his sister Bronwen; Angelina with George (he knew it was George because he'd started growing a mustache), Katie with Fred, Yarrow with Lee and Cho with Oliver. Suddenly, he realized that not only had Alicia redone the pairings, but--but this left him walking up the aisle with Ginny. He shook as he held out his arm to her and she took it, holding up her dress a little with her right hand as they walked, so she wouldn't step on the hem. He tried to look straight ahead, but it was very difficult not to turn and stare at her.

The photographer had them pose for some more photographs with the bride and groom and wedding party outside the church. Three pairs of attendants were placed on each side of Alicia and Roger, and each groomsman was supposed to put his arm around his partner. Since their dresses had halters on top, the girls' backs were all bare from the neck to the waist. Harry put his hand on Ginny's smooth back while the photographer fiddled with his equipment; she looked up at him for a moment, shivering a little.

"Is my hand too cold?" he whispered to her.

She shook her head. "No. No, it's--" she bit her lip. "It's very nice," she said softly, turning to smile for the photographer. "I wish you didn't have to move it ever."

Hearing her say that almost made him smile like a complete fool for the photo, but he managed to temper it a bit by the time the flash exploded in his face. After a few more shots, they piled into the cars to go back to the Spinnets' house. Harry found himself in the same car with Ginny, Yarrow, Lee, Angelina and George. No ex-girlfriends of mine, he thought gratefully. Ginny was pressed against him from waist to knee, and he was trying not to think about this.

When they arrived at the house, they found that there were candles lining the drive, although it wasn't dark yet, and an enormous white tent on the lawn between the house and the stableyard with numerous servers bustling about. They were instructed to go into the drawing room and wait. Harry took Ginny's hand as she climbed the steps beside him. I will take advantage of touching her and being with her as much as I can today. I have a perfectly good excuse, as we're both attendants, so I might as well take advantage of that. Let Draco Malfoy try to tell him off for just doing his job. Let him try.

The orchestra was still tuning up; Alicia disappeared upstairs to touch up her make-up while the guests arrived. Harry fetched Ginny some punch and stood in a corner with her, just enjoying being near her.

"Didn't Hermione sound wonderful?" she asked him. "And Ruth?"

He couldn't take his eyes off her. "You look beautiful, Ginny," he said softly. She smiled, turning a little pink.

"You look very dashing, you do. I know you're annoyed, but I think a kilt suits you. It really does."

He grinned. "If you want me to wear a kilt every day for the rest of my life, I will."

She laughed. "I may hold you to that!"

Finally, the orchestra was done tuning up and began playing in earnest. Harry watched nervously as George and Angelina and some other couples began taking to the floor, turning in circles, laughing and enjoying themselves.

"Would you--would you like to dance?" he asked her, uncertain.

"Yes," she said simply, taking the hand he was holding out to her. And then he just knew that there was Ginny in his arms, and music, and Ginny's eyes close to his....

They remained on the floor for three songs, not even stopping between. Then suddenly, Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, and saw Ginny's face drain of color. He turned and found Draco Malfoy, in immaculate formal clothes, his white shirt and tie roughly the same color as Ginny's face at this moment.

"Thanks, Harry, but I think I can take it from here," he said between his teeth. There was a challenge in his voice.

"Ah," Harry said, trying not to squeak. "There you are. About time. Now I can go and dance with some of the girls who are actually available." When he said this, he felt dreadful, but it was necessary for Draco Malfoy's benefit. He nodded at Harry approvingly.

"That's right. Just remember. This one's not."

As he took Ginny in his arms, she raised her eyebrows at him. "Oh, that's nice. Talk about me like I'm not here."

But instead of acknowledging this remark, Draco Malfoy simply held her at arm's length, with a lascivious half-smile. "You look smashing," he breathed. She colored, and looked down, as though she didn't want to be pleased about his saying this, especially in front of Harry. Harry cleared his throat.

"I kept telling her that, but you know women. If it's a bridesmaid's dress, they think it's automatically dreadful."

Malfoy laughed. "True. C'mon, then," he said to his girlfriend. "Are you still loopy on painkillers? Can you dance?"

She didn't comment on the painkillers. "I can dance."

Harry walked to the edge of the dance floor, watching them. They actually moved very well together, he had to admit, and were probably the finest-looking couple on the floor, if one was being objective. (Malfoy's lucky he can wear proper formal clothes, Harry thought. With trousers.)

He sighed. Watching Ginny with Malfoy for hours on end. This is going to be a very long night, he thought.

He was relieved when Ron and Hermione arrived.

Ron looked around the transformed drawing room, whistling. "Hey," he said suddenly. "In the car, Hermione and I were talking. Do you suppose they invited Fleur?"

Harry practically choked on his punch. "Er, I sincerely doubt it."

Hermione shrugged. "Oh, you never know...." But she didn't elaborate.

They kept him company for a while, chatting and drinking punch, but finally, Hermione dragged Ron out to the dance floor. Harry laughed at the expression on Ron's face, but that expression changed abruptly when he had his arms around her, holding her to him....

Several women Harry had never seen before boldly asked him to dance. He went along, going through the motions, constantly searching the dance floor for Ginny and Draco, who never seemed to sit down.

Finally, Roger and Alicia entered and had their first dance, and soon after, they were all ordered into the dining tent on the lawn, and ate the most complicated-looking, least filling, and, probably (Harry thought) the most expensive food he'd ever had in his life. He listened with only half an ear to Ambrose Davies' toast to the newlyweds, sipping his champagne, wondering if it would make him drunk. Ginny sat by his side, his dinner partner, and he was startled when, at one point inexplicably eating with her fork in her left hand, she reached under the table and took his left hand in hers, where no one could see their joined hands. Harry's heart turned over and he squeezed her hand reassuringly. She gave him a small smile and went back to eating. We have to appreciate the small things, he thought. And take advantage of even the briefest opportunities.

After the cake was cut and passed round, they returned to the house for more dancing. By this time it was dusk, and a teal blue sky was starting to show a star here and there, while the candles lining the drive flickered like stars that had fallen to earth.

Harry, Ron and Hermione stood together, talking, and Remus Lupin saw them and joined in, sipping his champagne and looking around the dance floor a little wistfully. When they'd been talking for a few minutes, Hermione waved at someone on the dance floor suddenly.

"Maggie! Professor Snape!" she called.

Harry's jaw dropped. Snape was wearing white tie and tails, like the rest of the men, looking dashing enough that many, many women in the room were giving him quite appreciative glances. Maggie walked by his side, as he strode over to them, smiling happily, her ecru gown clinging to her slim body, an asymmetrical hem making it possible for her to walk without being hobbled. Her short curly hair looked very cool, and long silver earrings just touched her shoulders.

Ron goggled at his older sister. "Look at you!" he said in surprise. She laughed, eyes the same blue as Ron's positively sparkling.

"I could say the same thing. And you're supposed to be one of my little brothers?" Harry realized, with a slight shock, that Ron and Snape were now the same height.

"Bear in mind that he wasn't even "little" when he started school," Hermione said with a half-smile, looking up at him with an expression of clear admiration and affection. "And you two!" she said to her professor and his date. "It's so unbelievable that you met years ago and are together again! What are the chances of that?"

Maggie laughed. "How did you find out?"

Ron shuffled his feet. "Well, Ginny told me and Fred and George and Harry, and I told Hermione. Oh, Percy knows, too." He looked thoughtful for a second. "And I think he told Bill and Charlie and Mum and Dad. So that's everyone."

Maggie's eyes opened wide. "Goodness! At first I thought it would be difficult keeping so many family members up-to-date on what was going on in my life, but clearly that's the last thing I need to worry about."

Severus Snape turned to his date. "I forgot to inform you, my dear, that because you told your sister certain--things--it is now common knowledge that we first met six years ago." He looked meaningfully at Harry. Harry suddenly had a better understanding of what Snape had meant when he'd said he wasn't looking for Annie Weasley for his sake; he was clearly doing it for Maggie's sake. His black eyes glittered with amusement, despite the ominous tone. Harry gave him a half smile.

"Oh, Severus, there's little harm in them knowing, is there?"

Hermione shook her head. "I still can't believe what a coincidence it was that you two met that way..."

"Oh," Maggie said calmly, taking a sip of champagne from a flute she nicked from a passing server. "It wasn't a coincidence."

Hermione frowned. Realization dawned on Harry.

"You knew. You knew you were going to meet him. So you asked for sailing lessons...."

She laughed again. "Full marks, Harry. Although I simply knew I was going to meet someone important in my life. I had a very, very strong premonition. And I had a dream about sailing on the Firth of Clyde. Mum and Dad were mystified about why I should specifically request sailing lessons there, of all places, when there were other possibilities that were closer to home. And when the summer was ending--" her voice became softer. "Even though I was sad that we were going off to our separate lives, I also had a very strong feeling that we would meet again." She seemed mesmerized by him for a moment, before shaking herself and smiling round at them all. "And I was right, wasn't I? I'll tell you the full story another time. Right now, I want to dance some more..." she said, putting down her drink and pulling their acquiescent Potions Master back to the dance floor, while they struggled to pick their jaws up off the floor. Harry turned to Remus Lupin, surprised to find him chuckling.

Then Ron cleared his throat and said, "Er--I need to talk to Remus about something. Why don't you two have a dance?" he said to Harry and Hermione. "You haven't yet."

So Harry and Hermione took to the dance floor, and after that, Alicia was tapping him on the shoulder.

"I haven't danced with all of the groomsmen yet," she informed him. Hermione relinquished him, going to find Ron, and Harry took the bride in his arms and they began to dance.

"Alicia, I--I don't think I've ever seen a more beautiful bride," he told her quietly as they moved around the floor. She shrugged and blushed.

"All brides are beautiful," she said simply.

They danced for a few more minutes before he said, "Alicia--"

"Are you going to apologize for yesterday?"

"Sorry. I mean--no." He smiled. "Now I seem to be apologizing for not apologizing. No, I was going to say--it's a shame."

"What is?"

He held her so that his mouth was close to her ear and he didn't have to speak loudly. "That in years to come you won't remember this day as the day you married the man you love."

She backed up from him slightly, her eyes very large and frightened, but she continued to dance with him, perhaps aware of the fact that everyone was probably watching the bride to a certain extent.

"Harry--"

"Listen, Alicia," he interrupted her. "I know you think you're alone. But you're not. If you ever need someone to talk to--" He swallowed. She looked up, but there was a cloud behind her eyes. "What I mean is, I have some friends. Friends who could help you. If you need help. Of any kind. If you--if you ever feel you're having trouble coping on your own. Do you know what I mean?"

She was very quiet. Finally she lifted her eyes to his and said. "Yes, Harry. Thank you."

The music ended and the dancers stood back and clapped politely. Roger strode over to his bride and said, "There you are!" before leading her off somewhere. He didn't seem to notice Harry at all. The fearful look she gave Harry as she walked away with Roger gave him a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He hovered at the edge of the dance floor for some time, watching people who'd had quite a bit of champagne continue to try to dance. Remus, Ron and Hermione seemed to have disappeared, and he didn't see Snape or Maggie, either. His head was buzzing a little, he had to admit. It wasn't unpleasant; and it tasted a lot better than that watered-down whiskey he'd had in Snape's office....

"She comes on wings of vengeance."

Harry froze. He wasn't sure whether the voice came from his head or from Sandy, concealed under his clothes. When he realized it was Sandy, he turned away from the crowd, so no one would see his lips moving, and said, "Well, that's very poetic of you, Sandy, but what the hell does that mean?"

No answer. He sighed. No, she wouldn't tell him, would she?

"All right, then," he said to her. "At least tell me--what should I do?"

"Go outside."

"Huh?" He was startled, not really expecting an answer. He looked around, but no one was taking any notice of him. Of course, he thought, that meant someone probably was taking notice of him and writing down everything he said or did for yet another Daisy Furuncle article. I'll just have to take my chances, he thought, as he strode to the curtained doorway to the entrance hall.

There were at least a dozen people in the entrance hall, standing in groups of twos and threes, chatting and laughing. Harry eyed them warily, wondering again what Sandy's prediction had meant, as he walked to the large arched door, which had been left open for air circulation. He walked through the doorway and stopped at the top of the steps leading down to the drive, hoping to catch a cool night breeze before he decided what to do next. However, the still summer night offered him no respite from the oppressive warmth of the bodies on the dance floor inside the house.

He looked down the gravel drive with its candles, and then he saw her, a lone figure walking toward the house in robes so pale they seemed to shine with their own light. As she came closer and closer, Harry recognized her, and realized that what he thought was a cape was her hair streaming out behind her. She stopped and gazed up at the house, gay with laughter and merriment, music floating on the night air. She didn't seem to notice Harry, but was looking up above him, at the second floor of the house. When Harry looked up too, he saw that Roger and Alicia were on the balcony above the front door, standing very close together.

Just then, Hermione and Ron practically plowed into him. They were out of breath; Ron's eyes had a wild look to them, with that red light Harry was still getting used to.

"Harry!" he whispered fiercely, looking up at the balcony quickly. "I've got something very important to tell you. You--you know, don't you, that I can hear really well now, right? Well, I heard Roger and Alicia talking, and you won't believe it! I already told Hermione, and she thinks--"

"Not now," Harry interrupted him, nodding at the figure standing in the drive. Ron turned, his jaw dropping. On his other side, Harry was aware of Hermione stiffening and clutching at his arm.

Harry looked back at the pale figure; she seemed nominally to be a beautiful woman, the same as ever, but there was a fire in her enormous blue eyes that both mesmerized and terrified him. Her sheet of long, silvery blond hair started whipping behind her in an unseen wind. He could hear the orchestra's music behind him still, but suddenly it sounded as though all of the instruments were out of tune, as though every note were somehow being distorted into a misshapen, warped cacophony. Her skin shone like the moon, and when she lifted her hands--

The three of them gasped. It appeared that she was holding a ball of fire in each hand. Her face elongated and her nose and mouth seemed to merge into a long, sharp, cruel beak. The candles that had lined the gravel drive started to shake, and then they rose into the air, floating in frantic circles around her. Harry could feel Hermione shaking as she gripped his arm harder. He glanced at Ron, who looked horrified.

"Harry! Look!" Ron said now. Harry turned again and saw that enormous wings were unfolding from her shoulders; they seemed to have ripped through the fabric of her diaphanous white robes. They weren't angel's wings though; they weren't something from a greeting card or Sunday School book. They were green and scaly, like dragon's wings, shining in the light from the candles and the fire in her hands. As they unfolded, Harry gasped. Her gaze did not waver from the second floor balcony.

"So," Ron said in a strangled voice, "Fleur decided to come." He was clearly attempting to seem lighthearted, but he sounded too terrified for it to be convincing. "We wondered whether she would," he added, his voice going a bit squeaky now. Harry nodded dumbly, looking at the spectacle before them, and keeping a sharp eye on the floating candles, which were starting to whirl even faster.

She lifted her hands with their balls of fire and a sudden wind arose, making the pale robes whip around her legs. Now the ribbons and flowers that had adorned the railings flanking the steps went flying free, swirling around her, some getting caught on her wings momentarily before blowing about again. Ron, Harry and Hermione were all holding onto each other tightly as the gale grew stronger, and they had to screw up their eyes, squinting into the wind. Hermione's hair was blowing in her face, and Harry was thinking that a kilt was really the last thing he wanted to be wearing right now. Fleur Delacour continued to stand at the center of the maelstrom, an electric crackling emanating from her now, her eyes completely blue, no trace of white or black in them as she gazed malevolently at the balcony.

Hermione leaned toward both Ron and Harry so they could hear her. "I think," she cried above the howl of the wind, "that Fleur may have a little bone to pick with Roger!"

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