Rating:
PG-13
House:
The Dark Arts
Ships:
Ginny Weasley/Harry Potter
Characters:
Harry Potter
Genres:
Mystery
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix Quidditch Through the Ages Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Stats:
Published: 02/19/2004
Updated: 07/29/2007
Words: 410,658
Chapters: 40
Hits: 159,304

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Barb

Story Summary:
Aunt Marge's arrival causes Harry to flee to avoid performing accidental magic again. But when number four, Privet Drive is attacked, he becomes the chief suspect and a fugitive from both the Muggle police and the Ministry. He tries going to Mrs Figg's but finds unfamiliar wizards there. With an Invisibility Cloak and nowhere to turn he hides in the house next door, to keep watch on Mrs Figg's. He has no idea that this will irrevocably alter the rest of his life....
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Chapter 29 - I am the Walrus

Chapter Summary:
Harry's old nemeses keep popping up: when Tilda's honor is impugned by the first one, Julian performs accidental magic in a very public place; the second one appears while Nate is at the bookshop with "Percy," who is behaving strangely; and the third presents herself at Snape's wedding, making Ginny feel like she wants to disappear. But Harry has no idea that the worst is sitting in a house in Wiltshire, planning to steal Harry's son's magic...and only the "butler" can stop it. Maybe. I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together...
Posted:
10/04/2005
Hits:
2,055
Author's Note:
The snippets of song lyrics and the title of the chapter are, of course, from

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~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I am the Walrus


Tilda heard Teddy before she saw him.

"You take that back!"

She glanced quickly at Severus, who was very grim. "I believe that we have found him," he said in that low, methodical way he had.

Tilda fought the urge to snort and say, "No kidding." Instead she pushed through the crowd, which had grown into a thick wall before them. When she finally broke through it was as though Teddy was in an arena; the people around him had purposefully pulled back to give him room for combat. However, when she saw who his opponent was she stopped abruptly in confusion.

A middle-aged woman with steel-coloured hair in the shape of a helmet, a stout, tweed-encased body and no neck (plus quite a bushy moustache) stood glaring at Teddy with narrowed eyes. She clutched a small bulldog under one arm, its face a mass of wrinkles; it looked terminally aggressive and annoyed and seemed to have been surgically attached to her. Perhaps, Tilda thought, it was feeding its mood to her, so that she was also terminally aggressive and annoyed. Or maybe she was feeding her mood to the dog; it was hard to tell.

"Take it back? Oh, you're just like him aren't you?" the woman sneered as the dog growled in agreement. "So full of yourself, so convinced that your father wasn't a wastrel and a criminal, like his father before him. Hmph! I've been coming here on holiday for years. Clearly I'll have to rethink my future plans if this is what the place has come to..."

"My dad's not a criminal!" Teddy cried, looking like he'd just run a long race and was trying to breathe normally again. "And neither was his dad! I don't know who you are, but--"

She gawped at him, as though he should of course know who she was. "Don't know who I am?" she breathed, incredulous. Her eyes narrowed even further and, suddenly sounding very crafty, she asked him, "How old are you? When is your birthday?"

"May Day!" he spat. She chortled, her large tweedy belly shaking like a very strange woollen pudding. Tilda didn't know what the woman was thinking to dress this way in August.

"I'm not doing anything to you, boy, don't get so dramatic. ‘May Day.' You're not at sea, you know. You needn't cry out to be rescued... It's your no-good father who--"

"No, you stupid old cow! That's my birthday! May Day. I just turned thirteen, not that it's any of your business!" Teddy was quite red and seemed like he might actually strike her. Tilda watched, fascinated, unable to say or do anything but also unable to look away.

"May Day..." She drew it out, the narrowed eyes boring into him, as though his birthday were some sort of indictment, final proof against him. Which, Tilda immediately realised, it was. It suddenly dawned on her why this woman looked so familiar; she'd never actually met her before, but-- "May Day!" the woman said again, this time spitting it out in disgust. "Thirteen! I knew it! I knew it! Fourteen years ago, while I was in hospital, recovering from a brutal attack, your criminal father, who firebombed my brother's home, was off shagging some tart, producing you, his bastard!"

Tilda stepped up to Teddy, still holding Julian's hand; she put her other hand on Teddy's shoulder and glared at the woman she now knew had to be Marge Dursley. Harry's descriptions of her were spot-on, so much so that seeing her in the flesh was a rather surreal experience; she felt that she couldn't possibly be more horrified or amazed if one of the mythical creatures Harry had told her about had suddenly materialised before her. Marge Dursley was every bit as monstrous and as horrible; she was exactly the sort of creature you hoped never to meet, even in your worst nightmares. Give me fire-breathing dragons any day, Tilda thought.

Before she could open her mouth to speak, though, the shrill, yet calculating voice continued, this time directed at Tilda, a steady stream of hatred and bile: "I should tell you, madam, that this boy you've adopted is the product of the absolute dregs of human society! I've seen it with dogs and there's no difference; you can't be too careful when you're taking in a stray. Oh, sometimes someone will turn up on my doorstep with what seems like a perfectly good pup, but if they don't know where it's from, and especially if they don't know the bitch, I always advise them to drown it. Of course, the idiots never do and then they find themselves stuck with a worthless mongrel just because they took pity on a puppy.

"That's what the government does... They use soft-hearted idiots' sympathy toward babies to foist human mongrels on them and then everyone is amazed when the brats grow up to be whores and drug dealers and burdens on the rest of us!" she proclaimed. "They're homeless and parentless for a reason. I tried to tell my brother that when this one's father turned up, needing a home, but no, he said that his wife was determined to keep him. Her sister's son... Bad blood, bad blood, you know, probably no better for this one, very likely worse, if possible... Who else would deign to let that delinquent touch her, after all? She was probably a--"

"Shut up!" Teddy screamed, his voice cracking. Marge Dursley looked at him in shock, as though she couldn't understand why anyone shouldn't love the sound of her voice, much less what she was saying.

Tilda couldn't stop herself from tightening her grip on Teddy's shoulder; she wanted to be tightening her hand around the vile woman's neck, but she'd have to find it first. She tried to keep her voice as even as possible as she said, "I'll have you know that I am his mother, that he is not adopted, and that there is nothing wrong with either my blood or Harry's, thank you very much," she ground out, her jaw hurting from being clenched so hard. It was also very difficult not to remember all of the taunts from when she was young, the accusations of either being dotty, since she was the daughter of the biggest liar in eight counties and was said to believe everything her dad said, or untrustworthy, because of her dad's prison record. She actually didn't mind being thought a nutter as much as being watched constantly by people who seemed to think it was only a matter of time before her criminal tendencies rose to the surface, as though it was inevitable that she should go to prison, like her father.

Marge's piggy eyes landed on Tilda with evident delight; she was not going to let this go. "You? And young Potter?" She looked Tilda up and down, appraising her and clearly finding her wanting. "You're not exactly a spring chicken, are you? Going on fifty, I'd say..."

"Forty-six," she practically growled, "not that it's any of your--"

"So! You were twice his age when this happened!" Marge quickly calculated, waving her arm at Teddy as though he were a biological experiment gone very wrong. "Just par for the course, isn't it? A junior gangster and a child molester..." she suggested with a lewd drawl and a wink to a shocked-looking old man standing nearby. He started edging away from Tilda as though she might be thinking of branching out into molesting the elderly--and then edging back towards her as though he'd decided that he wouldn't mind that after all.

Tilda glared at the old man and then at Marge. "I am not a child molester!" Tilda retorted, the pain from her jaw sending stabs of agony into her brain, which throbbed, it seemed, with every syllable she spoke. "I never--! Just shut up, you old--you fat old walrus!" Tilda sputtered in frustration and indignation. "Talk about someone who's not a spring chicken--!"

"You never..." Marge chortled, ignoring Tilda's last remark. "Oh, that's rich. You've just admitted to being a cradle-robber--"

Suddenly Julian stepped in front of her and Teddy, his face contorted in rage. "Oi, shut up, you! Tilda's right, you're just a big fat walrus! And you can't talk to her that way! She's going to be my step-mum and just 'cause her dad went to prison doesn't mean she'd steal anyone's baby!"

Tilda squeezed her eyes shut and slapped her brow, realising what all of this must sound like to a seven-year-old; she also wondered who had told him about her father's history; that was just giving the woman more ammunition. "Julian, darling," she started to explain, crouching down to talk to him, "she's not saying that I took anyone's baby... of course I wouldn't do that..."

"So, you come from a family of criminals as well... Why am I not surprised?" she said to a middle-aged man with white cream on his nose, for sunburn, as though he was certain to agree with her; however, he was looking with leering interest at Tilda and did not seem to be on Marge's side, so she quickly turned away from him. "And some other respectable man is marrying you and allowing you to take care of his child?" Marge sneered, moving her eyes to Severus, who had his hand on Teddy's other shoulder as though holding him back from Marge. "Hmph! I shouldn't have said 'respectable' so quickly, should I? Obviously you're no prize yourself," she said to him; "probably also some sort of gangster, but still, are you quite certain that you want a woman near your son who would--" She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Tilda turned away from her, certain that her face was bright red; Marge Dursley was evidently incapable of not insulting everyone she met, let alone feeling any compunction not to air out the dirty laundry of perfect strangers. Tilda continued to crouch beside Julian, very careful now not to touch him, suddenly very self-conscious after Marge's insinuation. She whispered to Julian, "It's all right, just Teddy's dad's horrid old aunt. We'll go and--"

"Bloody hell," she heard Severus whisper, standing on the other side of Teddy. Tilda looked up to see that Marge Dursley was growing--which was an appalling development in itself--but in addition to growing larger she was also growing body parts she hadn't had before:

Flippers.

That explains why she stopped talking, was the first thing Tilda thought upon seeing her. It might also have had something to do with the enormous tusks now growing down her front. Marge Dursley was looking in speechless horror at what used to be her hands and feet; in addition to the magnificent flippers that had replaced her human appendages her tweedy suit seemed to have been incorporated into her walrus skin, which had a distinctive herringbone pattern to it, with brassy buttons down the front and small flecks of red and green in amongst the grey. Even more horrifying, she seemed to be gazing at her dog with a greedy hunger in her eyes, as though she wasn't just looking the part of a walrus...

Tilda saw now that Julian's dark gaze was trained steadily on Marge and she realised that it was not Teddy who had performed the magic, which was her first thought (based on years of experience). She glanced up at Teddy, who was laughing uncontrollably and slapping Julian on the shoulder, as though congratulating him. Tilda was vaguely aware of a quick motion out of the corner of her eye; she saw Severus pocket his wand again and when she looked at Marge once more she was deflating, returning to her previous human form, no longer as large nor as flipper- and tusk-endowed as the walrus that had been standing before them; her eyes were closed and the people all around them also had their eyes closed, wobbling uncertainly on the balls of their feet. Tilda felt a sudden very inappropriate urge to laugh as she remembered the Daily Prophet advert: Side effects include dizziness, vomiting and tusks. Perhaps Marge had accidentally used a magical product without reading the fine print... She stifled a snort at this thought and looked furtively at Severus, struggling with all her might to keep a straight face.

"Back away," Severus said to her quietly, evidently not noticing Tilda's effort to control her laughter. "Take the boys to the cottage. I'll be there soon."

Tilda nodded and stood, pulling the boys away with her; it was difficult because Teddy was weak from laughing (which made it even more difficult for her not to laugh) and Julian was still stiff with fury. She looked over her shoulder; Severus was moving his wand under cover of his jacket and suddenly the people who'd been surrounding Marge and Teddy looked about with disoriented, sleepy expressions, resuming what they had been doing. Severus brushed past Marge Dursley without a second look and Tilda turned around once more, hustling Teddy and Julian before her as quickly as she could, so that Marge couldn't get a look at Teddy again. She knew that he was instantly recognisable as the offspring of Harry Potter in the wizarding world and was accustomed now to the staring and pointing whenever they did Teddy's school shopping, but she hadn't expected to meet someone on the Isle of Wight who knew Harry.

When they returned to the cottage Tilda scolded Teddy for encouraging Julian. "You know it's illegal for either one of you to do magic..."

"Well, they can't exactly expel Julian from Hogwarts, since he's not at school yet. I doubt his Muggle school cares about him doing magic. And she made a brilliant walrus, didn't she?" he laughed, grinning at her. "Fantastic idea, Mum!"

Tilda was about to retort that it was not her idea when she realised that she had been the one to say "walrus" first. Clamping her mouth shut, she carried the food they'd bought to the kitchen; after putting the bags on the scrubbed wooden table she took a large pot and filled it with water, putting it on the cooker and adjusting the flame under the pot so that it was a hot, brilliant blue. She'd been surprised that Severus had absolutely no magical gadgetry in the holiday cottage, but also relieved; living at Hogwarts was so full of surprises that it was a relief to know how everything around her worked. When Julian was born Severus had bought the place so that he had somewhere to take his son that wouldn't betray his identity as a wizard, in accordance with Penelope's wishes. Besides, he rented out the cottage to other holiday-goers through a Muggle estate agent and all of the tenants were Muggles. It wouldn't do for them to find anything magical lying about or for the tenants to need to be magical to do a simple thing like boil a pot of water.

Teddy helped her put the food away without prompting but she only acknowledged this with a terse, "Thank you," before relenting and abruptly pulling him into a hug; he was rather stiff and awkward about it, patting her on the back before pulling away, turning red. Breaking the cardinal rule of being thirteen, she thought. Don't show any affection toward your mum. "Thank you," she said again, quite earnestly, searching his face. "For standing up for me when she was--she was insulting me. And also--thanks for keeping yourself under control. Although I wouldn't have been surprised if you had been the one to turn her into a walrus, you're not seven years old any more..." More than once, when he was younger, Teddy's accidental magic had been a direct result of someone in the village saying things about her.

Teddy's redness had subsided. "I know that. I was doing my best to stay in control. I've been at school for two years now, after all. I think it helps; once you actually start doing magic it's probably not going to, erm, 'leak out' when you don't want it to..."

Tilda snorted as she broke a fistful of spaghetti in two and put the pasta on a plate next to the cooker; if she was remembering correctly, Harry had inflated his aunt after he'd completed two years of school. Having seen Marge Dursley in action she wasn't the least bit surprised that Harry and Julian had lost it and was even more surprised that Teddy hadn't. She was running water over a sieve she'd filled with tomatoes when a small voice said, "Tilda?" very timidly, except that it sounded more like Tilder. She turned off the tap and left the sieve sitting in the sink, turning to Julian, who looked quite abashed.

"Yes, Julian?"

"You're not--you're not cross with me, are you?" he whispered. It was a good thing she was looking at him head on; he was speaking so quietly she was certain that if she hadn't been able to read his lips she wouldn't have understood him. His large dark eyes were apprehensive, as though worried that he'd committed an unforgivable sin. "I--I didn't mean to turn her into a walrus... Until you said that I was thinking that she was a bloody great cow, actually..."

Tilda threw her head back and laughed, then enfolded the little boy in her arms; unlike her own son, he didn't pull away with embarrassment. He hadn't reached that stage yet. Julian threw his thin arms around her waist and closed his eyes while she kissed the top of his head. "No, Julian," she murmured against his hair, "I'm not cross with you. Would you like to help me chop up the mushrooms?" She smiled down at him and he smiled back.

"Okay. And I promise--no magic."

She nodded, trying not to laugh again. "I promise too. No magic."

He laughed at that and she gave him a plastic knife to cut the soft mushrooms while she chopped the tomatoes and onions with a proper knife and wondered what was taking Severus so long. When he finally arrived she had to bite her tongue to keep from asking him where he'd been; she didn't fancy getting a straight answer so it seemed pointless to ask. To her relief, though, he didn't give Julian a long lecture, just a simple admonition to keep control of his emotions, to which Julian gave a soft, "Yes, Dad."

Tilda couldn't help thinking, Yes, you're the master of keeping control of your emotions, aren't you? Sometimes...

He gave her a quick peck on the cheek before tucking into his food and used his wand to expedite the clearing up afterward, delighting Julian with this show, although Teddy looked rather bored about it--as though he'd seen something similar far too many times at Harry and Ginny's--and asked repeatedly whether he had to wait a half-hour after eating before going swimming again; Tilda sighed with exasperation.

"I feel like a broken record saying this, but yes, you have to wait..."

Teddy frowned. "A broken what?"

She raised one eyebrow at him. "You know, a record. Those things I sometimes play on your grandfather's old Victrola..."

He suddenly broke out into a grin. "I knew what you meant."

She pretended to swat at him. "Go and change for your swimming. Time's almost up. It moves so quickly, you see, and makes you into an elderly, decrepit person before you know it. Like me."

He laughed as he sprinted upstairs. "I was just playing with you, Mum. And you've got, oh, at least five years yet before you're elderly, surely..." He grinned at her before running off to his room, singing softly, "Coo coo ca choo, coo coo coo ca choo... Sitting in an English garden..." Since that was on one of the records she used to play most often she knew that he did indeed remember the days when she would play her old Beatles albums and dance around the house with him in her arms. It seemed so long since he'd been small enough for her to do that...

"If the sun don't come you get your tan from standing in the English rain..." she sang softly to herself as she returned to the kitchen.

When the time limit had finally passed both boys were ready to jump into the water again and the late, slanting summer sun was gilding their personal pier, just outside the kitchen door. Tilda seated herself on the edge of the pier and watched the boys jump into the water, frolicking like puppies. She smiled at them, enjoying their enjoyment, but something at the back of her mind nagged her. Severus wanted to read The Evening Prophet, so he'd stayed indoors, letting the three of them soak up the last rays of the sun. She couldn't stop herself from singing, "See how they spy, like pigs in the sky," when she thought of Severus, the former spy, which was real, unlike Harry's tales of being a spy-in-training before she found out that he was a wizard. She sighed, trying to work out just what was bothering her but couldn't; she inevitably ended up going over and over the encounter with Marge Dursley in her head... "I am the egg man... we are the egg men..." She was glad that she'd bitten her tongue and hadn't said something that would really have caused Severus to brood, but convinced that she'd said something that was making him brood just the same.

Experts, sexperts, choking smokers, don't you think the joker laughs at you?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Nate had hoped to meet up with Teddy in Diagon Alley to do their school shopping, but after Teddy had left the Isle of Wight he'd gone to stay with Harry, Ginny and their kids again and had already gone shopping with them. Instead Nate was going shopping with his mum, dad and Julian, who had been uncharacteristically subdued about his holiday, saying to Nate, "You know how boring it is there..." He knew very well that Nate loved going to the cottage. Nate was having the worst summer in his life and as far as he could see it was all because of his dad.

It wouldn't be quite so bad, he thought, if his mum and dad had really got back together, if the three of them plus Julian were a happy family now. Instead he knew that his mum and dad would dance around the fact that they weren't even living together during the trip to Diagon Alley and that his mum would be miserable the entire time. The summer was nearly over and Nate couldn't wait for school to start for two reasons: he'd be able to see Teddy again and he wouldn't be able to see what his dad was doing to his poor mum.

They met Percy outside Gringotts after exchanging some Muggle money for wizarding silver and gold. He seemed oddly cheerful. "There you all are! Let's get started on the shopping... What's first? Do you need new robes?" he asked Nate. Nate nodded.

"He had a growth spurt just in the last fortnight, I think," his mum said, a stiff smile on her face.

"I need some new books, too," Nate said. "The third-year books for Transfiguration, Charms and Defence, plus the ones for my new subjects."

"Oh! Right. Third year. Erm, what did you choose?" Percy asked him.

"Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. Uncle Harry--I'm allowed to call him that when we're not at school," he added quickly, because his father seemed to be making a disapproving face. "Anyway, he said that Divination is frustrating, because when you don't predict something correctly the prediction is useless, but when you do it's usually depressing, so Teddy and I decided to avoid that. I didn't want to take Muggle Studies, since I already know what it's like to live as a Muggle and Teddy isn't taking it for the same reason, plus his mum's the teacher."

Percy looked jolted. "Do you mean a Muggle is teaching at Hogwarts?" he hissed. Nate was surprised; he could have sworn that he'd said that Teddy's mother was teaching at Hogwarts. And Nate's mother was Muggle-born. Nate looked sideways at her to see her reaction, but she was trying to drag Julian past a fascinating display in the window of The Magical Menagerie: salamanders crawling over a pile of glowing coals sitting in a large, shallow cast-iron bowl.

"Didn't I mention that before?" he said. "Thought I did. Anyway, Teddy doesn't have any choice about his dad and stepmother teaching Defence, and his future stepfather teaching Potions, but he didn't want to throw in his mum as well, since he does have a choice about that. I could have taken Care of Magical Creatures, but I don't mix well with animals, as a general rule... Teddy decided to take that instead of Arithmancy, so we won't be in all of the same classes together in September," he added, feeling a little sorry for himself.

"Don't get me started on what a dangerous subject Care of Magical Creatures is," Percy practically snarled, shaking his head as they walked.

"Um... okay," Nate said in confusion, since his mother had told him that his dad had not taken Care of Magical Creatures but thought that it was excellent preparation for his Uncle Charlie to have taken up the study of dragons. His mum had told him that she suspected that he got his uneasiness with animals from his father, that it was genetic, rather than learned. That's probably why dad thinks it's dangerous and why he decided not to take it, Nate thought. He couldn't picture Percy taking up dragon-keeping, like his Uncle Charlie, whom he'd only met twice, briefly. Charlie seemed as different from his brother Percy as night and day.

"You probably should have gone for Divination and Muggle Studies," Percy said as they passed by Ollivanders; Julian started hopping up and down..

"Ooh, Mum! The wand shop! Oh, can't I get a wand? I promise not to do any magic until--"

"Are you mad?" Penelope said to Julian, snorting. "You want me to get you a wand four years before you're old enough for Hogwarts?"

"But Mum... Can't I at least see the wands?" Julian pleaded. Penelope rolled her eyes.

"Fine. You can see the wands. But you may not try any of them." She turned to Percy. "Can you get Nate his robes and books? We'll also go to the stationer's and the apothecary and then meet you outside the bookshop afterward."

"No problem," Percy said jauntily, taking Nate's hand; Nate pulled it away again.

"Erm, I know that you've been away and didn't have the chance to be my dad when I was little, but I'm kind of old for you to hold my hand..." he tried to explain discreetly. Percy nodded.

"Erm, right. Sorry. I've got used to holding your brother's hand when we cross the street."

Yes, but he's seven years old, Nate thought, trying very hard not to roll his eyes.

Nate stood patiently while Madam Malkin pinned up the hems of his new robes; his dad disappeared for a while but returned when she was done. As they walked to the bookshop, Percy suddenly said, "Does he ever get on your nerves?"

Nate was jolted. "Who, Julian? He's okay. I miss him when I'm at school, actually." He eyed his father out of the corner of his eye; was Julian the reason that he hadn't been very eager to get back together with his mum? He longed to ask him this, but instead said, "Why did you say that I should have signed up for Divination and Muggle Studies?"

As they entered the bookshop the musty odour of old books assaulted their nostrils. Nate breathed it in, loving it, trying not to be disturbed by the idea that Percy might not want to be Julian's stepfather. Tilda doesn't mind the idea of being his stepmother, he thought, remembering a few less-than-generous things he'd heard his uncles, Fred and George, say about his dad when they didn't know Nate was nearby. Percy the ambitious, Percy the Head Boy, Percy the swot. He'd been torn between defending his father and defending himself, since he knew what it was to be called ambitious and a swot and wondered whether his uncles thought he was beneath their notice because he was a great deal like his father. With a sigh he tried to put these thoughts out of his mind and just enjoy being in Flourish and Blotts. The bookshop was his favourite place in Diagon Alley and the next best thing to being back in the Hogwarts library.

"You're just going to make it hard on yourself, taking things like Ancient Runes and Arithmancy," Percy said suddenly, making Nate jump; he'd forgotten that he'd asked his dad a question. "I know blokes who did that and they ended up as swots. You don't want to be a swot, do you?" Nate swallowed, unwilling to admit that he'd already had this reputation since first year; but his dad had had this reputation in school as well, so Nate was torn between being insulted--like when he'd overheard Fred and George talking--and being understanding, since his father obviously still didn't remember large parts of his life.

"Since you already know all about Muggles you could have done that in your sleep," Percy went on, "not to mention your best mate's mum is teaching it--and your little brother's future stepmother--so she's not going to give you low marks. And you can skive off most of the work in Divination by just making up predictions... "

Still thinking that Percy's attitude toward "swots" was very strange, he said, "Yeah, Uncle Harry and Uncle Ron said that's what they used to do... They still thought it was tedious, though, and not very useful. I mean, unless you're born with the Sight, or if you're a centaur..."

"Potter and Wea--I mean, Harry and Ron made up their Divination homework?" he said, looking and sounding outraged.

Huh, Nate thought. That's more like it. That's more like a former prefect would react.

"Well--yeah. That's what you were just telling me I could do." Nate peered at his father, who was looking very pale; even his hair was starting to look pale. "Are you all right?"

"Fine. Need to go to the loo," he said quickly, his eyes darting around quickly. He dashed to the back of the shop without any more words. Nate frowned, watching him.

He seems to get the trots a lot, Nate thought idly, before his eye was caught by a table of new books about the war that had ended twelve years before with his uncle's defeat of Voldemort.

Harry Potter and the End of the Dark Lord:
A Complete Disregard for Wizarding Law?

An Expose by Michael Corner

Nate rolled his eyes and did his best to ignore the author, who was sitting next to a table stacked high with a pyramid of his books, signing each one with a flourish. This was nothing new; as many books as had been published about Harry Potter being the saviour of the wizarding world there were just as many lambasting him for being nothing more than a vigilante, because Voldemort was never tried by the Wizengamot. The debate raged on, even though the war had been over for twelve years and Harry and Ginny were firmly ensconced as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers at Hogwarts. Nate didn't recognise the author, a handsome man about the same age as Harry, with wavy dark-brown hair and a ready smile for each person waiting for an autograph. His deep blue robes sparkled with iridescent stars where the light hit them and matched his tall hat; Nate heard him talking to someone for whom he was signing a book.

"I always did think he was a bit full of himself at school... wasn't above stealing someone else's girlfriend, was he?" he said to a pale woman with a nose that was so upturned it was possible to look right into her piggish nostrils. "So is it still 'Parkinson' or are you married now...?" he asked suggestively, while she simpered and giggled and told him that she wasn't married.

Nate shook his head and tried to slip past, accidentally knocking over a stack of books with the man's preening, smiling face on the front, surrounded by the twinkling title. Questions about Harry kept appearing on the cover and then disappearing again. Nate watched First-Year Quidditch Player--Or Should He Have Been Expelled? come and go, and then Admits He Opened the Chamber of Secrets blinked on and off in sparkling acid green letters.

Nate snorted; he knew all about that one from his extensive reading. He admits to killing the bloody great snake that was living in the Chamber, too, and to having saved my aunt's life. He knew that Harry was always going to be a somewhat controversial figure in the wizarding world, no matter what. And he knew that the news about Teddy's existence didn't reduce the controversy surrounding Harry; quite the opposite.

Nate didn't bother fixing the spilled stack of books, although this would normally have been his impulse, out of politeness; he didn't want to touch the things at all, let alone help this Corner fellow, who seemed to hate Harry but had no qualms about making a living writing about him. Suddenly a wizard stopped him as he was about to take a book down from a shelf. He had a camera slung around his neck and Nate glanced around quickly, looking for somewhere to hide. "Did I see you talking to Percy Weasley?"

"Erm," he started to say, when suddenly an all-too-familiar figure emerged from around the photographer.

"Bozo, did I hear you say Percy Weasley? I can't get near him, every time I try, that damned brother of his--"

"You mean my Uncle Ron, who's the only one who's managed to print any interviews with my dad since he's come back?" Nate gave the witch a cold glare; she froze at the sight of him, her stiff blonde curls immobile and the light flashing off her bejewelled spectacles. "You're Rita Skeeter, aren't you?" he asked flatly. Teddy had told him about Rita showing up in Harry and Ginny's Hogwarts flat (describing her vividly, including drawing a very unflattering cartoon of her) and Nate had been bracing himself for a Rita-appearance ever since his father had returned. According to his grandmother, they'd had to get what Nate thought of as the wizarding equivalent of a restraining order against her; she wasn't permitted to use the Floo network to call The Burrow and she was supposed to stay at least half a mile away from the Weasley home. Nate looked nervously at the back of the shop, where his dad had gone looking for the loo.

Rita slowly smiled at him. "Why, you must be his son. Poor lad! So," she went on, removing some parchment and an acid-green quill from her red crocodile-skin handbag, "what did you think when you finally met your father? Did you tell him that you'd been crying yourself to sleep every night of your life, wishing your dad hadn't been killed in the war? Was it like a dream come true for him to take you in his arms and tell you that he loved you?"

Nate stared at her, incredulous; despite the fact that he wasn't saying anything her quill was skittering quickly over the parchment and he had a bad feeling that he wouldn't like what it was writing. "Mostly I was afraid that someone like you would try to get in my face and make up stories about me and my family," he said between gritted teeth, suddenly snatching the quill out of the air and breaking it in two before grabbing for the parchment as well. However, Rita was too fast for him; in a trice she was grasping the other end and they were both tugging on it. It ripped, leaving Nate holding the larger part, although Rita did still have some of what the quill had written. They both fell over backwards when the parchment ripped and several books fell on Rita from the shelves above her head; Nate knocked over more of Michael Corner's books.

"What's going on here?" Percy had suddenly reappeared, looking in confusion between Nate and Rita, whose stiff blonde curls had fallen into her eyes; she was still on the floor and looked a bit disoriented. Blinking a bit, Rita adjusted what was clearly a wig, stood shakily (neither Percy nor Bozo offered to help her up), and pulled yet another quill out of her handbag.

"There you are!" she cried in an oily sort of voice. "I've simply been dying to speak to you... And if your son had made any more heavy books fall on me that might have been quite literal," she added, glaring at Nate and rubbing her brow.

Percy grimaced and grasped Nate's shoulder. "Tell me where to send condolences; I should probably do something for your relatives, since your death'll be all my fault," he sneered. "However--are you supposed to be this close to me?" he asked, his eyebrows raised. Rita blanched and retreated as Percy turned abruptly, guiding Nate right into the pig-nosed woman who'd been talking to Michael Corner. He stopped immediately, looking shocked, then pleased.

"P-Pansy?" he breathed, as though he couldn't believe his eyes. She frowned at him.

"Perhaps Bozo could get a picture of you and Mr Corner together!" Rita screeched, no longer attempting to get close to Percy but instead hopping up and down, trying to see over the crowd of people around Michael Corner's book-signing table, which seemed to be impassable to the feeble old Bozo. Corner did not looked pleased at the idea of sharing the limelight. Percy ignored Rita and her photographer but the pig-nosed witch was another story. She ducked her head and stood very close to Percy, speaking angrily.

"Why are you talking to me as though we know each other?" she said in a low voice, looking around, as though afraid that someone would get the "wrong idea." Straightening up, she raised her voice: "I, for one, do not worship at the altar of the Weasleys, nor of Harry Potter." She grasped her autographed copy of Corner's book and tried to turn away but Percy followed her a few steps and whispered something in her ear that made her stare at him. In the end Nate saw her give Percy a very small nod; he felt like kicking something. If his dad was going to be picking up strange witches while they were shopping that was hardly likely to lead to his parents getting back together. What's he want with her, anyway? he thought, furious on Harry's behalf, as she'd been buying Corner's book. He was glad his mum wasn't with them after all.

While they were paying for the books, Nate said, "You don't want anything to do with her, trust me. She was buying one of those books about Harry, about how he's some sort of vigilante. I'm not just saying that because of Mum. Obviously your private life isn't any of my business; I'm just warning you about her, so you're not surprised," he added tonelessly, not looking at his dad.

As they turned to leave the shop, Percy said awkwardly, "Sorry, son. I--I appreciate the warning. You're right. I wouldn't want anything to do with her." Nate looked up at his dad uncertainly, but Percy was giving him an apologetic smile, so Nate tried to smile weakly back at him. When the bookshop door had closed behind them they didn't see Penelope and Julian waiting for them, so Percy said, "Looks like they're still busy. We probably have a few minutes--fancy an ice cream? We'll see your mum and brother when they pass by when they go back to the bookshop."

Nate nodded and followed his father to Florean Fortescue's; they took an empty table near the door to the shop and soon each had a large chocolate ice cream cone. Nate looked warily at his father as he ate; he was very neat about eating his ice cream, even using a spoon, despite its being in a cone. Since his father was being a bit dainty about the way he was eating Nate felt brave about bringing up what might be a touchy subject. "It's funny; I thought you were supposed to be a bit of a swot in school. That's what Mum said. Not in a bad way, I mean. But, you know, twelve OWLs and all that. I've got a little bit of a reputation as a swot, too. Mum just reckons it's a combination of having you for my dad and a Ravenclaw for my mum...."

"Erm, right... a swot..." his dad said awkwardly, staring at Nate as though at a complete loss for what to say. "Well, yeah, I was like that in school... But sometimes I think I missed a lot, you know? It's good that you're getting good marks, but don't forget how to enjoy yourself, yeah?" Nate found this more amusing than he should have, given that his dad resumed eating his ice cream cone with the spoon immediately after. Let the good times roll, dad.

"I'll try not to," he said, trying not to smirk. "Of course, we thought some of our worries would be over last term, 'cause loads of kids are really glad that we helped get rid of Binns, but now it turns out Borodin is such a nightmare as a teacher that everyone wishes Binns were back and Teddy and I have had to sneak around the castle in secret passages just to get from one class to another without being hexed..." Nate let his voice sink down into despair again before resuming eating his ice cream. Percy didn't respond but he did look thoughtful, two vertical frown-lines between his brows as he ate, as though contemplating a solution to Nate's problem. Nate wasn't certain whether it was the ice cream or the feeling that he did finally have a father to talk to, someone who might try to come up with a solution to some of Nate's school problems (even if they didn't work), but he started feeling a little more optimistic. Even if his mum and dad didn't get back together, it couldn't be all bad to have another parent, could it? The more people looking out for you, the better, right? he thought. Percy took some getting used to, but since he'd been a swot in school maybe he would have some tips for coping.

Percy looked like he was about to open his mouth and say something when Nate's mother and Julian, about to pass them by on the way to the bookshop, happened to turn and see them sitting outside Fortescue's. Penelope waved to them, smiling, and soon she and Julian were sitting with them and Nate was letting Julian finish his ice cream, as he was full.

"Sorry we took so long," she apologised. "There were queues everywhere... Shall we have tea at The Leaky Cauldron and then go back to the flat?" she suggested, giving Percy a sideways look after this subtle invitation. "If you're not both full of ice cream, that is," she added, gently scolding Percy for allowing Nate to have this treat before his tea. Percy immediately bristled.

"We were hot and tired and wanted ice cream," he shot back. "And did you know that he and Pot--erm, Teddy got rid of Binns at the school and now all of the other kids are out to get them?"

Penelope frowned at Nate. "No! Did you say anything to Professor McGonagall about this?"

"Erm, no, since we were worried that she'd just say we deserved it, since we got rid of Binns--"

"That's ridiculous! You're already doing detention for that--"

"Well, they're right, aren't they? The other kids. Had a perfectly good, boring ghost for a teacher. Now they probably can't fall asleep or talk or anything fun. I used to catch up on my sleep in Binns's lessons," Percy added, taking a spoonful of ice cream from deep inside his cone.

Penelope was looking at him in shock. "You must be joking! He was a horrible teacher; you used to criticise him yourself! And when did you ever catch up on your sleep in History of Magic?" she demanded.

Percy blanched. "Er, I mean, I can't stay to tea. Promised Mum I'd be home tonight--she's been cooking all day. See you," he said suddenly, getting up and striding off down Diagon Alley. Percy didn't look back; they stared after him, incredulous, but the crowd had soon swallowed him up. Nate watched where he'd been, shaking his head.

I have the world's weirdest dad.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The night before the new term, Tilda and Severus were lying in bed, Tilda staring at the ceiling, when he finally asked, "Why did you say, 'I never'?"

Tilda had thought that he might be asleep already but wasn't really surprised that he'd spoken; she didn't turn her head to look at him. "What?"

"When the Dursley woman was accusing you... You said, 'I never'."

She continued to stare at the ceiling. He'd finally brought it up. She felt her heart beat faster; she wasn't at all surprised, even though he was behaving as though he was commenting on something that had happened minutes earlier. She'd been expecting it, ever since the day they'd encountered Marge Dursley. "It's true," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "I'm not what she said..."

"I know. But--"

"In a way I am a child molester? Is that what you're implying?" she demanded, sitting up and glaring at him.

"No, no..." Severus frowned. "If the Dark Lord possessed Pot--erm, Harry--"

"What do you mean if?" she spat.

Oddly enough he seemed more sad than angry. "Have you really convinced yourself that is what happened? Have you rewritten history even in your own mind?" He surveyed her far too dispassionately for someone who planned to marry her, she thought.

Tilda gaped at him. "Have you--have you looked into my memories? Have you--"

"I have not used Legilimency to see memories of your son's conception, nor do I want to see--that. But I also do not believe that you shagged an innocent boy, even one who was possessed..."

"You're damn right I didn't sleep with a sixteen-year-old!" she confirmed angrily, wishing he'd either attack her or shut up. However, when he raised his brow and gave her a very penetrating look she gave a very small gasp, realising what he'd made her say. "Damn you!" she immediately spat at him, starting to cry. "Damn you..." she whispered, raising her knees and wrapping her arms around them, hiding her face from him.

The bed moved as he rose. When she looked up he was standing at the window, gazing out at the moonlit paddock. His dark hair hung loosely on his shoulders; for some reason when his hair wasn't pulled into a ponytail he always looked to her like the epitome of an evil wizard, scheming to take over the world, or some such nonsense. Tilda wasn't certain why she thought this, but she always hesitated to speak too freely when his hair was down; she was worried that he could tell that she was a little afraid of him, too, even though he had only ever used rather inconsequential magic around her. That she harboured even a slight fear of the man she planned to marry made her feel rather annoyed with herself; he'd never given her a concrete reason to feel this way, it was just the things Harry had told her about him, especially his having been a follower of the wizard who had killed Harry's parents and whom Harry had finally defeated. But he'd been on Harry's side in that fight; Harry had finally admitted as much, even as he still resented his former teacher for the indignities visited upon him during his school days.

It's stupid, Tilda told herself, even as her heart thumped very quickly in her chest; he'd never do a thing to hurt me or Teddy. And he was so patient with Julian, even after the accidental magic. Hair up or down was no reason to suddenly fear Severus, she tried to tell herself. She came up behind him slowly, deciding that she should speak first so that she wouldn't surprise him. "Severus?" she said tentatively when she was a few feet away from him.

He didn't turn around. "Yes?"

"Severus, I--I want to--to tell you everything. But I can't--"

"Can't? Or won't?"

She bit her lip. "Well, it's both, isn't it? I--I promised--"

Severus nodded. "That is logical. But you only promised? He didn't bind you magically?"

"Bind me--? Erm, no. I gave my word, though. And I don't intend to break it..."

"You haven't." She stood beside him, watching his profile; he seemed to be expressionless but she knew this was from years of cultivating an ability to hide his feelings. It had once been a matter of self-preservation for him to do so.

"Well...I suppose...I'm not sure that you do understand, though, and I absolutely cannot tell you what really happened..." He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Do you--do you still want to marry me?" She felt like she was proposing again. Severus turned suddenly and kissed her; she was caught by surprise but quickly recovered, sliding her arms around his neck. When he broke the kiss she looked up at him hopefully. "I'll take that as a 'yes'--?"

He nodded, although he still looked very grim to her; in the dim light she couldn't see his eyes, which added to the effect. "I will put it out of my mind," he said, obviously with a great effort.

She nodded. "Yes... You have to. We both have to." She sighed wearily, running her hand over her eyes. "It was fourteen years ago, Severus..."

"No it wasn't," he said in a low growl, turning away from her.

"Yes it was," she emphasised, grabbing his arm and forcing him to face her again. "And to me? It feels longer. It was a lifetime ago. I was a different person. I can't even believe now that I--that that was me..."

He nodded again, swallowing. "I understand. And why you cannot talk about it. And..."

"What?" Tilda whispered anxiously.

He shrugged. "Ginny Weasley. I mean--Ginny Potter. The way you are with her..."

"The way I am?"

"Apologetic."

Tilda sighed. Yes. That was the best word for it. Apologetic. That was how she always felt around Ginny. Her guilt would never let it be otherwise. "That's my burden," she said softly. "Don't let it be yours."

Severus led her back to the bed without saying anything and held her tightly, even after falling asleep. As Tilda listened to his slow, even breaths she knew that sleep would not come to her as easily; for one thing, even though he was asleep she felt as though his fierce grip on her belied his claim that he would put it out of his mind. For another, she couldn't help seeing Ginny's face the first time she'd laid eyes on her, the woman who'd had her husband's son. Please don't hate me, Severus, she thought. And Ginny...I'm so sorry, you have no idea how sorry... But in a way, for you to hate me would be redundant, since I already hate myself so...

In the morning she felt that she hadn't slept well at all, held tightly in Severus's grasp all night, even while running, in her mind, from the demons that had plagued her for fourteen years.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Are they ever going to get here?"

"Yeah, I'm cold. Can't you warm me up with a spell, Mummy?"

"Ssssh! They'll probably be here soon," Ginny told Ruby and Rory. "And no, I can't warm you up with a spell," she said, dropping her voice. "We're here with Muggles, so we can't do magic or talk about it. Professor Snape has put a spell on the barn to make it warm inside but he did that hours ago, before they left for the registry office. Today we are Muggles. We're not--well, you know. Don't make me remind you again."

Seeing that they were going to get no help from their father, who was holding Charlotte tightly in his arms and trying to make her laugh by puffing out his cheeks, the twins buried their chins in their mufflers and wrapped their arms around themselves as they hopped from foot to foot in front of the house at Latere Farm, waiting for Tilda, Severus, Teddy, Julian and Tilda's siblings to return from the registry office where they were having a very small, private ceremony. Teddy and Julian were sharing the duties of the best man, each having been put in charge of one of the rings, while Tilda's sister Audrey was her attendant and her brother Jack had also come along to witness the ceremony. (He'd been so late they had almost given him up as a bad job and left him behind.) The others who'd been invited were all waiting for the party to start.

The drive leading to the farmhouse from the road was decorated with strings of tiny white lights and the house itself was dripping with swags of evergreen and holly, with a large wreath on the front door, as it was Christmas Eve. It was the barn, however, that had been cleared out and made fit for the reception, decorated with greenery and lights, equipped with tables and chairs, a dance floor and a raised dais for a Muggle band.

Ginny couldn't help thinking that she would like to be in the pre-heated barn already, instead of in the cold, waiting to greet The Happy Couple. It wasn't as though she wasn't happy for Tilda and Severus. In truth, she was very, very glad that they'd found each other; it made it far easier for her to convince herself that Tilda and Harry didn't still have something between them. She knew it was mad to think that they might, but there were times when her heart didn't pay attention to what was mad and what wasn't, and anything that helped her stay on this side of sanity when it came to wondering about her husband was certainly welcome. She only rarely felt threatened by Harry's fame and the many women who thought it appropriate to throw themselves at him because of it, but Tilda hadn't been in love with him because of his fame, and Harry hadn't been in love with those other women. Only one woman was the mother of his son.

Ginny also knew that, despite having occasionally made a small effort (very small), Harry had never truly come to like or respect Severus Snape, and the fact that it was this man who was marrying his son's mother rankled with Harry, even though he'd never admit it. She could barely see Harry, as he was bundled up to the eyeballs at Charlotte's insistence; she'd had a fine time ordering Daddy to put on one hat after another, his hood, and two scarves to wrap around it all. His scar wasn't even visible, just his eyes, and sometimes not even that, as his glasses kept fogging up due to the combination of the cold and his breath.

A formidable-looking tweedy woman with her snow-white hair up in a severe bun accosted Harry suddenly. The cold had failed to put even a small amount of colour in her sunken cheeks. "How much longer do you think it will be?" she demanded in an imperious voice that was used to being obeyed. "I've got arthritis and I'm rather feeling the cold... I'd nearly forgotten about her, you know, but her sister sent me an invitation and I felt it was good form to show up with a gift. If only she and her groom felt the same way. All the way from Hampstead in this cold..."

"Erm," Harry said, looking as though he wanted to sink down even further inside his winter coat, "don't know when they'll get here. Soon, probably."

"I shall wait inside," she said huffily, stalking off to the front door of the farmhouse, where Minerva McGonagall was also sheltering her cold-sensitive joints.

When she was out of range, Ginny asked Harry, "Do you know who that was?"

"Unfortunately, yeah. Former headmistress of Greater Whinging primary. Old Soberley. Retired now, I reckon. You think she saw my scar?"

"Harry, Mad-Eye couldn't see your scar right now, you've got enough layers on."

"Mad-Eye can see what I ate for breakfast last week, Ginny. I just--she terrified me when I was a kid. Always calling my uncle. I always ended up staying in my cupboard without meals..."

"How awful! I'm--I'm sure she didn't know what would happen..."

Harry made a sceptical sound and Ginny sighed; she couldn't bear the thought of the way his family had treated him as a child. More than once since they'd been married he'd thrashed about in the night, having a nightmare, and she'd thought it would turn out to be about Voldemort (her nightmares were usually about Tom Riddle), but quite often it was Harry begging his uncle not to lock him in the cupboard once more. Harry denied that he'd ever begged like that in life, however, and Ginny did not doubt him, but his dreams seemed to betray the possibility that he'd wanted to beg and only his pride had prevented him.

She pulled Ruby and Rory close to her, hugging them from behind and bending over to whisper to them, "Come here, Mummy'll keep you warm the old-fashioned way..."

But a moment later both girls pulled away from her. "There they are! There they are!" they squealed, pointing at the glow of headlamps making their way through the trees, piercing the grey winter dusk. There was a scramble of other guests spilling out the front door and otherwise organising themselves in front of the house to greet the newlywed couple.

The small crowd was about evenly divided between Hogwarts instructors and Muggle friends and relatives of Tilda's. (Ginny's mother had given her an earful about not being invited, talking about all of the times she had fed Severus Snape at Order headquarters, evidently forgetting that he didn't usually stay to meals.) Professor McGonagall was looking very dignified in what Ginny recognised as the Muggle dress and coat she had habitually worn as a member of the Order; although the style was years out of date it suited her. Professor Flitwick looked unintentionally comical in a very small purple morning suit and top hat, while Professors Sprout and Vector could have passed quite well as typical village matrons done up for a formal tea. Theo Nott had told Ginny that he wasn't certain he was coming but he had shown up wearing impeccable Muggle formal clothes protected by a heavy woolen coat, looking rather abashed, as though he were dressed for a costume ball and felt ridiculous.

"Snape's a wizard," he mumbled, disgruntled; "don't know what's wrong with dress robes..."

"You look lovely, Theo," Ginny told him, trying not to laugh at his discomfort. He pulled at his bowtie, as though he felt strangled.

Even Filch and Madams Pince, Hooch and Pomfrey had been invited as well as Professors Borodin and Grubbly-Plank. Dumbledore had, evidently, sent regrets but a lovely gift. Ginny thought it a little sad that the only wizards Severus thought to invite, other than his own son, his son's brother, and his stepson, were his fellow teachers, none of whom were really close to him. She'd thought that he might perhaps invite some members of the Order, but she'd found, a week before the wedding, that Lupin, Tonks and Shacklebolt were shocked to learn that Severus Snape was getting married (although they were not shocked that they had not received invitations). For her part, Ginny wondered why neither Penelope nor Percy were present, since Penelope was the mother of Severus's son and Percy was Nate's dad, and Severus had practically behaved as Nate's dad for years... But even as she thought this she realised that that might be precisely why neither were in attendance. Plus, she knew that Severus had proposed to Penelope.

What was even sadder to her than Severus's only inviting other Hogwarts teachers was that Tilda had invited even fewer people. Her immediate family was small, just her brother and sister, her sister-in-law, Nicola, and her nephew, Jimmy. The Latere Farm housekeeper, Beatrice, was also there with her husband, as well as the horse-groom, Dorothy, and her boyfriend. There was also a friend who used to work with Tilda, plus the friend's husband, but other than those people and Tilda's old headmistress there was only Tilda's former next-door-neighbor, Mrs Figg (who was a member of the Order but wasn't being invited because of that).

Exactly one month earlier Tilda, Teddy and Severus had had to go to Australia unexpectedly for Tilda's mother's funeral, so her mother never got the chance to meet the man her daughter was marrying. They were going to meet the week before the wedding, when Mrs Harrison was planning to come to Latere Farm. Her heart hadn't been able to hold out long enough.

It was a decidedly small wedding. Ginny and Harry had had a small ceremony in the drawing room of St Clare's, but they'd had to erect a large tent just outside to hold the reception, and members of the Order had to keep stopping reporters from sneaking in. Despite this being the wedding of the mother of Harry Potter's son, there seemed to be no danger of wizarding reporters crashing the party; it helped that there had been no announcement in The Daily Prophet. Everyone invited was under strict orders not to tell anyone. (Nate had forgotten when he'd told his grandmother.) Ginny forced a smile as the cars swung into place before the waiting guests; she was truly happy for Tilda and Severus. She was more worried about Harry's reaction, although he'd sworn that he was happy as well. I wish you sounded more convinced when you say that, she'd thought grimly, an irrational stab of jealousy piercing her heart.

"Congratulations!" Minerva McGonagall said warmly to them, leaning in to kiss both Severus's and Tilda's cheeks. Ginny saw with amazement that Severus was smiling quite naturally, as though he did this every day, and that he looked happy. Tilda was glowing, even while bundled up. Ginny moved forward herself to wish them congratulations and tried not to wince when she saw the insincerity in Harry's face as he awkwardly shook hands with Severus while still holding Charlotte; he missed kissing Tilda's cheek, his lips instead brushing her hat briefly.

Finally they were inside the magically-warmed barn, shedding their coats and admiring each other's finery. (The Muggles didn't know that magic provided the warmth.) Ginny felt a little dowdy in something she was certain had been a Muggle girl's party dress a good fifty years earlier; her mother had taken it out of mothballs in The Burrow's ghoul-infested attic, making Ginny sneeze. At first the pale green bodice and billowing forest-green skirt had looked all right; beside the other dusty things in the attic it had seemed positively grand. (She'd simply told her mother that she needed it for a party on Christmas Eve, and when Nate spilled the news to his grandmother about the wedding, that was when the rants about not being invited started.) Now she wished she'd simply gone shopping for something new and appropriate, something that looked like proper modern Muggle clothes. But somehow she hadn't been able to muster the enthusiasm to go on a shopping trip just for Tilda and Severus's wedding. It doesn't really matter what I wear, she'd thought. Everyone should be looking at the bride, anyway.

The evening passed in a whirlwind of colour and noise; Ginny felt a bit overwhelmed, as though she wasn't quite all there. Just keeping track of her daughters seemed enormously difficult. She occasionally accepted Harry's invitations to dance, glad to let him steer her around the floor while she her mind wandered; at one point it was decided that it would be "cute" for Ginny and Tilda to each dance with their stepsons, but while Tilda seemed to enjoy stooping over to let Julian lead her, it was a bit trying for Ginny to dance with Teddy, as he hadn't had any lessons and tread on her toes even more than she remembered Neville doing at the Yule Ball, so many years ago. (He was just as apologetic.) She smiled tolerantly at him, her heart skipping a beat because of how very much he looked like Harry in their matching formal clothes. She was going to sit again when she noticed Harry holding out his hand to Tilda. They began to dance, laughing at something Ginny couldn't hear on the other side of the dance floor.

Teddy had already gone off to talk to Nate and Ginny was grateful; she didn't want him to wonder why she couldn't take her eyes off his dad dancing with his mum. Turning away from them, feeling as unable to breathe as though she'd been punched in the stomach, she immediately collided with Theo Nott, who looked down at her kindly.

"Care to dance?" he asked softly. Ginny moved her mouth soundlessly but Theo spoke again before she could get any words out: "I admit that I have ulterior motives..."

She smiled grimly. "Now, now, Professor Nott... I'm a married woman..."

"I know, and your husband is over there dancing with the bride, so I thought that if I asked you to dance and we edged close to them, then I could cut in on them, not having danced with the bride yet, and then you could dance again with your husband without looking like you want to scratch out the bride's eyes for putting her hands on him. People tend to think it's pretty bad form, at weddings, to scratch out the bride's eyes."

Ginny laughed as Theo steered them around various other dancing couples. "I promise; no scratching out anyone's eyes." She glanced quickly in Tilda and Harry's direction before lowering her voice. "Please tell me I'm not being that obvious. I really do like Tilda..."

Theo shrugged. "So do I. But, well, you had this look on your face for a moment..."

Ginny sighed. "Working on that," she said wearily.

He grinned at her. "So it's a work in progress, then? How about this: I'll hate her and you can be the gracious one."

She laughed again and shook her head. "No, no, she doesn't deserve that. What happened... It's not her fault."

He nodded, smiling ruefully. "That's good, because we've become friends. She helped a few of my students with their Transfiguration essays last term. But it's funny...whenever I hear someone say, 'It's not her fault,' or, 'It's not your fault,' I always think of you and Harry in the hospital wing with me, after I woke up, and you both telling me it wasn't my fault. The diary..."

"You didn't know. Riddle fooled you, like he fooled me..."

Theo looked at her intently. "Something--something I never told you was that he--he told me some things about you when I wrote in the diary. He remembered you. From before."

Ginny was startled. "Wh--what? What did he tell you?" She felt like her heart had sped up.

He sighed. "Things you'd written about Harry. So... I was probably the last person who should have been surprised when you two got together..."

The look in his eyes was unmistakable. "Oh, Theo..." she said helplessly.

"I'm fine. No problem. Although, for a while, I stupidly thought that, if Harry still hadn't noticed you... I mean, you and that Ravenclaw git had broken up... Riddle wasn't exactly encouraging. I--I liked watching you fly," he added, turning a little pink. "But he told me that a Slytherin was probably the last thing you'd be interested in--"

"You're not a thing," she interrupted him swiftly, but then ducked her head guiltily. "And, well, he may have had a point, but only because the last time I befriended a smooth, winning Slytherin--him, in other words--he turned out to be--" Ginny stopped herself when she saw Theo's face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean... You know I know you're nothing like Riddle, right?"

He gave her a sad half-smile, nodding. "Well, it's true that no one will ever accuse me of being smooth and winning.... I'm just saying... If there's anyone who knows about being irrationally jealous, and still liking the person who's causing the jealousy, it's me."

Ginny wished they were dancing to a fast number, so that he wasn't holding her so closely. She knew she shouldn't encourage him, yet she wasn't sure how to discourage him without being rude. Theo was her friend. "My jealousy is stupid and childish and my problem," she said, looking toward Harry and Tilda. "Although not as much of one as it used to be. Tonight it's rearing its ugly head, but I suppose that's to be expected... And Teddy is such a dear..."

They had finally moved close enough to Tilda and Harry for Theo to cut in; Ginny was relieved, as the conversation with Theo had taken some very uncomfortable turns. He nodded at Ginny, that sad smile still pulling at the corner of his mouth, before asking to make off with the bride. Harry made a joke she wasn't listening to very closely; she only knew he'd been joking because Theo and Tilda laughed. She laughed too, after a moment, rather feebly, wondering what had been said. But then it didn't really matter, because Harry had her in his arms and Theo was twirling Tilda so that her ivory-coloured skirt belled out around her. Ginny looked up at Harry for only a moment before he gathered her closer to him, so that all she could see was his neck.

"Are you okay?" he whispered.

She instinctively tried to shut down her emotions so that he wouldn't suspect that she'd been extremely jealous of his dancing with Tilda; she knew it was stupid and didn't want him to know just how stupid she'd been. She pictured him on their wedding day, standing at the foot of the stairs in St Clare's Chapel, waiting for her, and when she looked up at him she was able to say, quite truthfully, "I was just thinking of our wedding day."

He raised one eyebrow. "Really? Is it so awful being married to me? You looked like you wanted to kill yourself. Or me."

She tried to laugh but failed and decided to confess. "You caught me," she admitted, grimacing.

He wrapped his arms around her more tightly and kissed her on the forehead. "I was thinking of our wedding day, too. You were--and are--so beautiful..."

Ginny burrowed into his arms, feeling a bit better after confessing. The music continued and she closed her eyes, just knowing Harry's arms around her. A comforting warmth crept into her heart, which seemed to be beating with the music now...

When the song ended they walked off the dance floor holding hands and Ginny wondered whether there was any place they could slip off to just for a wee bit of snogging. She simply felt like being mindlessly physical with her husband, as stupid as she knew that would sound if she said it aloud. However, the small groups of guests edging the dance floor made it impossible to make a clean getaway and the next thing Ginny knew Minerva was hailing them.

"Harry! I've just been speaking to some old friends of yours," she said brightly. "Ginny! Come meet them..." Ginny suspected that she'd had more than a little champagne as Minerva tended to become expansive under the influence of alcohol. She grimaced only for a moment at Harry before smiling as cheerfully as she could and turning toward her headmistress. She saw to her horror that one of the people to whom Minerva was referring was the former headmistress of Harry's primary school. She strongly doubted that Harry would classify her as an "old friend."

"Hello, Harry," Old Soberley said archly, as though he'd been summoned to her office yet again and she expected him to confess to something. Ginny saw the muscles around his mouth tense.

"Hello, Mrs Soberley," he said evenly, his jaw as stiff as Ginny had ever seen it.

"Minerva here was just telling me that she is the headmistress of the school where you teach. I must say--if I kept a list of former pupils I would never have dreamed would become teachers, your name would be at the top!"

Harry made a feeble attempt to smile. "Well, Minerva's predecessor talked me and my wife into it... We teach together."

Her eyebrows flew up into her perfectly coifed white hair. "Husband and wife team? A bit unorthodox, isn't that? As it is, I was telling Minerva that if two unmarried teachers under my supervision had started consorting, let alone marrying each other, I'd have sacked the pair of them faster than you could blink! I never stood for fraternisation when I was running my school... Of course some things have changed about that, as well..."

Old Soberley looked meaningfully at the couple standing to her right; Ginny could tell that they were both Muggles, probably friends of Tilda's, but Ginny had no idea who they were nor why Harry's old headmistress should be looking at them with such obvious disapproval. The wife clutched her husband's arm, smiling. "I know I probably shouldn't have started going out with the new headmaster after you retired, Eleanor, but we hit it off so well, and after we got married I sacked myself, so technically we're no longer fraternising..."

Harry stared at her with his jaw dropped. "Pip!" he squeaked, making it sound like he'd had rather too much to drink. Ginny stared at him, and so did the woman he was calling Pip. He immediately recovered, saying, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't call you that, probably, but Tilda talked about you and that was what she called you--"

Pip recovered and smiled again, clutching her husband's arm even more tightly; he was very distinguished looking, his brown hair tinged by a bit of grey at the temples and brow, his brown eyes crinkling up when he smiled, even though the smile didn't quite extend to his eyes. He was so close-shaven he appeared to have groomed himself within the previous half-hour at the most and his pin-striped suit was immaculate. Pip seemed very proud of "having" him, as though she'd beat out other competing bidders at a livestock auction for a particularly fine bullock.

"Pip is fine. We're all adults. It would be weird if you called me by my maiden name, anyway, when I'm properly Mrs deWinter now. And may I introduce my husband, Hillary?"

Harry started to laugh and Ginny subtly moved her foot so that she was standing on his. The laugh turned into a cough and while Harry continued to hack into his fist, preventing him from shaking hands with Hillary deWinter, Theo arrived at his elbow with Tilda and Severus and started slapping Harry on the back vigorously. "I say, Harry! Something get stuck in there?"

Harry's face was quite red and Ginny could see by the upturned corners of his mouth that he was still in danger of laughing. She distracted Pip by saying, "I can see that I'll have to introduce myself, since Harry can't. I'm Ginny Potter." She extended her hand to Pip and Hillary, her foot still planted on Harry's; Theo, who also looked in danger of bursting into laughter, was continuing to slap Harry on the back. "And this is our colleague, Theo Nott," Ginny said, waving her hand at him; he nodded at Pip and her husband and then turned back to Harry, frowning deeply, which Ginny was convinced was the only thing keeping him from guffawing; he seemed to be having far too much fun hitting Harry on the back and Ginny thought the situation couldn't have been much more ridiculous if Luna had been there, talking about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and Cornelius Fudge baking goblins into pies.

Old Soberley frowned with disapproval at Harry, who was finally starting to calm down; she was first to acknowledge the arrival of the bride and groom. "Tilda! I was just saying to Minerva... if you'd starting going out with one of the other teachers working under me, you'd have been for the sack! I must say, you're very lucky Minerva is so lenient!"

Minerva McGonagall looked momentarily affronted by the idea that she was "lenient" and Tilda seemed quite shaken by this tactless statement. "Well," she said, hesitating at first, "I'd have deserved the sack. After all, you don't want a madwoman teaching impressionable young minds, and since the only teacher who was a single male was Edwin Axminster, if I'd started going out with him that would have proved that I'd gone absolutely barking mad!"

"Ha!" Ginny burst out, the dam suddenly breaking from her trying to keep Harry from laughing and from seeing Theo trying not to laugh as well. Once the laughter started it was contagious; even taciturn Old Soberley was roaring at Tilda's comment now, along with the deWinters, Severus Snape and Minerva, who no longer seemed affronted; Harry and Theo finally let themselves laugh, and it wasn't at Mr deWinter's name, so Ginny removed her foot from her husband's and Theo stopped thumping Harry's dinner jacket.

Old Soberley raised the teacup she was holding in a toast to Tilda, actually looking quite handsome with a genuine smile on her face. "Good show, Tilda. And quite right. If you'd gone out with our Edwin I've have known you were either doing drugs or had gone round the bend."

"We were really quite lucky to get Tilda," Minerva affirmed. "She's been such a help with the students who need a bit of assistance with their writing, especially. We didn't have anyone on the staff who was prepared to do such work, and she--"

"Anyone?" Hillary deWinter interrupted, looking appalled. Ginny bit her lip; the look on Minerva's face was not a happy one, even if she was partly drunk. Minerva never countenanced anyone interrupting her. "Surely all of your teachers should be prepared to help the students with their writing, especially those teaching literature courses..."

Ginny breathed a sigh of relief; despite Minerva's uncertain sobriety (or lack thereof) she hadn't let slip the true nature of Hogwarts. "Well, you see," Ginny started to explain, "it's a school for students with special abilities, and many of the subjects require a great deal of writing that the students are expected to handle on their own. Most do, but a handful feel overwhelmed..."

"Ah," deWinter said, nodding and rocking back and forth on his heels and the balls of his feet. "I see, I see... one of those schools. Idiot savants, that sort of thing? A lot of dotty geniuses who sometimes forget to put on their own trousers in the morning?" He chortled but no one else joined in the laughter. "They say Einstein would sometimes leave his house without his trousers, you know... Not an easy thing, to teach that sort of pupil, I daresay... What's it called again?"

"She said it was something like Wartharts," Pip said, frowning distastefully at this name.

"Hogwarts," they all said instinctively, in unison. Ginny felt like biting her tongue as soon as it was out of her mouth, but that wouldn't have done much good, as Minerva, Harry, Theo, Severus and Tilda had all said it as well.

"Hogwarts," deWinter said slowly, clearly also disliking the name. "Never heard of it."

"Wait a minute," Pip said suddenly, looking shrewdly at Harry. "Minerva said you'd gone there, Harry. Are you telling me that you were called up on the carpet so much when you were a kid because you're some sort of genius?"

Harry looked quite alarmed, as though he might suddenly be required to make some tangible display of his "genius," and Ginny didn't think that the names of the top twenty defensive spells would qualify somehow. She turned to Pip, saying, "Harry and I met when we were at school, and Theo was in his year. Severus was also at school when Harry's dad and mum were there."

This attempt to deflect Pip's interest in Harry and his school fell on deaf ears, however; Pip looked like she'd had a revelation. "Wait a minute... that explains a bit..."

Harry looked like laughing was the last thing on his mind now. "That explains what?" he asked nervously, his voice going up a little.

"Well, that last summer that Tilda spent in Little Whinging...that was also when it was all over the news that you'd blown up your house. The police were after you and everything. But when they had the headmaster of that boys' school... wayward boys or something..."

"St Brutus's," Harry said, nodding. "For 'Incurably Criminal Boys,'" he added with a grimace.

"Yeah! That was it! Well, he said on the telly that he'd never heard of you. I thought that was a bit rich. You know, they're supposed to be rehabilitating boys but you firebombed your own house and were on the run..." Pip's husband looked with alarm at Harry, backing up slightly.

"I never went there," Harry said swiftly. "That was just what my uncle told people. He was, erm, a bit upset that my cousin hadn't been accepted to--to Hogwarts, you see. My name had been down since I was quite small... If your parents were both students they, erm, do a test when you're very young, to determine whether you can get in. My uncle always resented having to take me in, since my parents were geniuses but still ended up being killed. And Dudley didn't qualify, so Uncle Vernon wasn't very pleased about that, either..."

Old Soberley nodded knowingly. "Ah, yes, that explains quite a lot about Vernon and Petunia Dursley. Although it doesn't explain very much about you, Harry. Your marks were never very, shall we say, impressive." She sighed. "I fear we may have failed you. They say that the most brilliant children can sometimes underperform in environments that have an inadequate amount of intellectual stimulation. Of course, you know what we were up against, what with some of those families from Greater Whinging...." She shook her head, gazing at Harry with actual tears in her eyes, as though she had indeed failed him as an educator.

"Oh, erm, that's all right. At Hogwarts I was in my element," he said quickly.

"So," Pip jumped in again, "how did your house blow up? Chemistry experiment or something?"

Seizing on this, Harry said immediately, "Actually, that's just what it was. I told Dudley not to touch anything, too, when I went out that evening, but that was too much to ask, I suppose. Good thing he wasn't killed. He was closest. I was in the next town, watching the telly and talking to some footballers at a pub when suddenly I saw on the news that my house had blown up and I was suspected. Bloody surprised about that, I can tell you," Harry added, smiling feebly.

"But why didn't you turn yourself in, since you were innocent? Surely it would all have been sorted out," Pip persisted. Ginny had a strong urge to kick her in the shins, or to hex her.

"Well, I didn't think I'd do that well in prison, did I?" Harry said reasonably; then laughing, he added, "I felt lucky to survive primary school! I knew my uncle had told them I was to blame. He'd tried to kick me out a year earlier. Other than the house being destroyed he must have been pretty happy with the chance to get rid of me and keep me from going back to Hogwarts."

"That still doesn't explain," Old Soberley said, frowning at Tilda, "how you became involved with this 'Hogwarts,' Tilda."

Tilda hesitated for a moment before saying, "Well, when Teddy turned eleven, Severus here came from the school to tell me that he'd been accepted, and when a teacher, erm, retired and a vacancy suddenly opened up last Easter, Minerva asked me whether I would fill in until she found a permanent replacement. And then she asked me to be the permanent replacement."

"Teddy?" Pip said, confused.

"Yes. I thought... Audrey said that she'd told you about my son," Tilda said, reddening.

"Yeah. It's just that, well, no offense, but don't you think he's a bit stunted for an eleven year old?" Ginny frowned; what on earth was Pip talking about? Teddy had had a growth spurt recently and was several inches taller than Ginny now. She was rather small, it was true, but Teddy was no smaller than most boys his age. Nate was only an inch or so taller than him.

Ginny saw Tilda swallow. "He's thirteen now; on May Day he'll be fourteen."

"Fourteen!" Pip said. "That's even worse. I mean, honestly, it's fabulous that he's a little genius and everything, but don't you think you should have a specialist in growth disorders look him over? A fourteen-year-old should not look like a eight-year-old!"

Tilda and Severus looked helplessly at each other but a moment later Ginny understood what the problem was: Pip had mistaken little Julian for Tilda's son. She saw that Tilda realised this almost at the same moment. "Oh, no, Pip!" she said, laughing. "I see.... You thought I was dancing with Teddy. It was Julian, Severus's son! He's seven, and tall for his age!"

In a moment they were all laughing at Pip's mistake, including Pip, who was slightly red. "Oh, God, Til, I'm sorry! How stupid of me. Yeah, you know, come to think of it, Audrey mentioned that you were going to be a stepmum, too. Well, then, that means I haven't seen your son yet. Where is he?" she asked, craning her neck to look at a group of children on the other side of the dance floor. "Is he the boy with the reddish hair? The tall one next to Harry and Ginny's son?"

They all turned to see Teddy, Nate and Teddy's cousin Jimmy drinking punch and talking; on the dance floor, Ruby and Rory were hopping up and down enthusiastically to something with a disco beat and Julian was gently leading little Charlotte in funny sort of hopping dance as well. The adults sharing the floor smiled indulgently at the children as they danced.

Ginny froze as she realised that Pip had thought she was Teddy's mother. It made sense; she was married to Harry, after all and Teddy was the spitting image of his father. When she and Tilda had each been dancing with their stepsons Pip must have thought they were dancing with their sons. Ginny felt a pang as she remembered yet again the longing to have a son that she'd experienced on Teddy's first day of lessons at Hogwarts....

"Erm," Tilda stammered, hesitating.

"And what's your son's name, Harry? Goodness, I thought Tilda's was stunted, but yours is positively a giant! I mean, you would have finished school, when? Ninety-six? Ninety-seven? You didn't wait long to start a family, did you two?" she said, including Ginny in this.

Ginny bit her lip and looked desperately at Harry. Here we go again, she thought. "I wasn't dancing with my son," she said as bravely as she could. "I'm Teddy's stepmother. He's a very sweet boy. Tilda did a wonderful job," she added with a smile that pained her.

Pip was the one frozen now, but a second later, she slapped her brow. "Of course! Fourteen on May Day!" Ginny could see her doing the calculations in her head. "That's what you were up to that summer!" she said to Tilda. "You wouldn't take my calls, you were avoiding me like I had the plague... You must have been hiding Harry from the police! And you left in August--" The incomplete sentence hung in the silence; it was as though they could all hear it despite Pip's having stopped: ...because you were pregnant with a sixteen-year-old's child.

Old Soberley looked as affronted as though she were the queen and someone had spat on the flag just before setting it afire. Harry looked defiantly at her, his jaw clenched. "Something wrong, Mrs Soberley?" he asked her very pointedly. She recoiled from him.

"I think--I think it's getting a bit late for me," she said shakily. "I just need to find my coat..."

"I'll get my son to fetch it for you, Eleanor," Tilda said stiffly, glaring at Pip, who looked highly amused, while her husband looked as scandalised as Old Soberley. "Do you need your coat as well, Pip? Hillary?" Tilda added pointedly.

Ginny wanted to sink into the floor and disappear; her face was very hot and she imagined what Old Soberley, Pip and Pip's husband were thinking, every sordid bit of it. (Even though Pip seemed to find it more amusing than offensive.) Ginny still heard whispers between the students at Hogwarts, and even while shopping in Diagon Alley, as much as she tried to block it all out. She knew that ever since Teddy's existence had become public knowledge there were those in the wizarding community who thought she was extremely stupid for having married Harry, because, of course, he must be cheating on her with every witch and Muggle he could get his hands on.

Ron had asked her more than once what Harry was doing on certain dates because "alert readers" had written to The Quibbler with "tips" that Harry Potter had been seen with other women--and, occasionally, men. Ginny always knew exactly where Harry had been at these times (usually with her or the children), as Ron thought she would. (He didn't actually suspect Harry but simply wanted to have the facts at his disposal to put the rumour-mongers in their places.)

Despite a lack of facts, Rita Skeeter had written a speculative article in Witch Weekly about whether it was "safe" for Harry to teach at Hogwarts, not because he might prey on the older students but because he might prey on their mothers. Ron gave Rita a piece of his mind for that and wrote a retaliatory article about Rita's private life, full of hearsay and innuendo, but Ginny finally convinced him not to print it, as she didn't want to start a mudslinging war with Rita Skeeter. She remembered what had happened to poor Hermione and didn't want Ron--or Harry--to start getting letters full of bubotuber pus. It was bad enough that Ginny occasionally received letters of "condolences" from witches whose husbands had cheated on them. She always ripped these up in fury, as Harry had not technically cheated on her, but reading them was still like sprinkling salt in an open wound. She didn't know why anyone thought it would be comforting to her to read such things. She didn't tell Harry about the letters.

After his old headmistress had left, Harry wanted to dance with Ginny again, looking much more cheerful. "Old walrus," he said as he took her hand and led her to the dance floor again.

"Pardon me?" Ginny said, her eyebrows flying up.

"I meant Old Soberley, of course, not you. Never you..." he added, his hand pressing against the small of her back as he put her head on his shoulder with his other hand. He seemed to understand how she was feeling and she put her head down gratefully.

"But--why a walrus? she asked quietly, locking her arms around him.

Harry laughed softly. "Something Teddy told me about his summer holiday... tell you later..."

"Thank you, Harry," she said softly into his chest, although neither one of them said what she was thanking him for.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Bloody hell," Draco Malfoy said, stumbling into the dining room and flinging himself into a chair. "My last day of freedom."

"Hm...?" Blaise said absently, skimming through a thick, dusty tome that had been mouldering in corner of the chamber under the Malfoy drawing room long enough that dust rose from the pages each time he turned one. Crabbe and Goyle sat on the opposite side of the table, also going through large old spellbooks, while Draco's mother slept late (again).

Draco was very, very tired of the charade of being Percy Weasley. Because Molly Weasley kept telling him about job openings at the Ministry and actually working was the last thing he wanted to do, he'd told her that he'd taken a position as a personal secretary to a wealthy wizard in Bath who imported material for robes and exported brooms and cauldrons. He had to explain where he disappeared to every day in some manner; he wanted to spend as little time as possible as Percy Weasley, and this way he could just be himself every day, at his real house, before reappearing at The Burrow. Then, after locking his bedroom door at night, he would Apparate back to Wiltshire again and sleep in his own bed in his own body (sometimes with the added fringe benefit of Pansy being in his bed), and be awakened bright and early the next morning by the real Percy Weasley so that he could briefly change into the third Weasley son, Apparate back to The Burrow to have breakfast with Molly and Arthur Weasley, then go to "work."

Blaise had been sceptical about this plan at first, but as it limited the amount of time that Draco had to be transformed using the costly Polyjuice Potion, which was also very time-consuming to make, he agreed to give Draco some spending money so that it would appear that he was indeed working. However, Blaise seemed to be growing progressively disgruntled about that. Draco was somewhat disgruntled himself. "I said," he whinged loudly, as no one seemed to have taken notice of him, "my last day of freedom."

Blaise looked up now, frowning. "Freedom from what?"

"From pretending to be that brat's father, that's what," Draco responded just as Percy entered the room, carrying a fresh pot of coffee and a plate of eggs.

"Ah, Weatherby! The egg-man! Just the thing to start the day," Blaise said as Percy set the plate before him. He didn't notice Percy hesitate as he poured coffee into Draco's waiting cup.

"The Hogwarts summer term ends tomorrow. Penelope wants me to take the brat first this year. God, last summer crawled, and that kid is so nosy and boring," he said, as though Nate's father were not in the room, waiting on them. "Although he's not as bad as the other kids," Draco conceded, now with one eye on Percy, before looking at Blaise again, who was shovelling eggs into his mouth. "I should have known that the Weasel and that Loon would have a passel of--" Draco sputtered, casting about for the right words; "--miniature loony weasels. And I'm tired of hearing, for the last six months, about how Snape didn't invite Weasel's parents to his wedding. I still can't believe anyone agreed to marry that old blood-traitor, but it figures it's a Muggle. I'm sick and tired of it all. I can't believe how long you lot have been looking for that spell, and you've got nothing!"

"Well, if you'd help look when you come here during the day..." Blaise said pointedly, glaring at Draco before suddenly sneezing three times.

"Bless you, sir," Percy said immediately, pouring coffee for Blaise, who nodded at him.

"Thank you, Weatherby," Blaise said pleasantly; he didn't see any point to treating Percy poorly, but then he didn't have to pretend to be him, day in and day out. Percy had worked out very well as a servant and seemed utterly oblivious to what they were doing; he just followed orders and evidently found nothing odd about going from being a clerk in Gibraltar to a butler in Wiltshire, about not being able to leave the house, and about the Malfoy home having none of the modern conveniences he'd come to know while living and working as a Muggle. He didn't even seem to mind that he received no wages. It certainly helped, of course, that Blaise had placed a spell on him that was similar to the spells that had formerly been used on house elves to keep them from leaving their masters. "You could at least help to make the Polyjuice Potion," Blaise groused, blowing on his coffee. "It's for your benefit, after all."

Draco snorted. "You need to feed him a bit more, that's what would benefit me. That bloody cow thinks I'm wasting away because he's so thin, so she stuffs me every morning with enough breakfast to choke a horse. Meanwhile, I'm getting fat," he complained, leaning back and patting his stomach, which was noticeably straining his belt.

"So get some exercise, run up and down the stairs, swing from the chandeliers, I don't care; we're stretched to the limit," Blaise said, pointing at his empty plate with his fork. "Your mother won't lift a finger; we haven't got food to spare. If you've so much at your house--"

"It is not 'my' house," Draco snapped. "This is my house."

"--then nick some food from them and bring it here, force-feed him yourself. Or get your girlfriend to bring more food. All she's good for now is possibly spilling everything to the Ministry. I'd say she's only good for when you're randy, but she doesn't even seem--"

"Draco!" Crabbe said suddenly, staring at the page before him.

"Pansy wouldn't tell the Ministry anything," Draco retorted. "She's one of us! You force-feed him, you love him so much. I don't want more to do with him than absolutely necessary!"

Percy poured coffee for Crabbe and Goyle before moving to the doorway. "Fine," Blaise said. "And perhaps Pansy would like to know how much you love taking every opportunity you can to shag the Mudblood mother of his kid...."

"Hark how you talk about shagging people's mothers," Draco growled at him, cursing loudly when he lifted his coffee to drink it and found it even hotter than when it was first poured.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Percy hoped that Draco couldn't tell that he'd subtly increased the temperature of his coffee. It was a spell he'd been working on for a little while, but in that he had to do it without speaking and without a wand it was extremely difficult, even though it yielded only a small result.

"Blaise!" Crabbe tried this time, just as Percy went through the swinging door to the kitchen. He leaned his head on the door when he was on the other side of it, closing his eyes, trying not to see Penelope in his mind's eye, Penelope with him, although when he pictured them together Draco Malfoy was in his own body, calling her a filthy Mudblood as he assaulted her...

"What is it, Crabbe?" Percy heard Blaise ask him finally.

"I think--I think I've found what we've been looking for," Crabbe said softly; Percy had to strain to hear through the door. He opened it a crack, so that he could see the four sitting at the table.

Blaise raced around to Crabbe's side of the table, running his finger down the page and nodding, a smile pulling at his mouth. "Bloody hell! Pigs might fly... I could kiss you, Crabbe!" he said, grinning. Crabbe backed up when he heard that and Percy could no longer see him.

Percy let the door close again; staggered to the kitchen table and sat down, feeling winded. They've got it, he thought, his mind reeling. They can do it, they can do what they want...

And no one knew what they were up to but him. He'd actually had many opportunities to leave, unbeknownst to Blaise, Draco and Narcissa, but each time that he was on the verge of walking out the door he'd stayed. He told himself it was for two reasons: to read the rejected spellbooks that did not have the information Blaise Zabini sought, so that he could rebuild his magical knowledge, and so that, with this knowledge, he could stop them. It had taken much longer than he'd thought to learn to do magic again, and his magic was very feeble, since he needed to perform most spells nonverbally (to avoid Blaise, Draco or Narcissa detecting what he was doing) and he lacked a wand. Until he acquired a wand he had only one really effective weapon at his disposal: sabotage.

He'd been waiting months and months, after having finally thought of the perfect way to throw a spanner into the works. Thinking of it had been the hard part; acquiring the means to do it had been relatively easy. He removed his secret weapon from his shirt pocket now, holding it up and admiring the way the morning light made it shine.

It was a single silver hair from the head of Narcissa Malfoy.



Author notes: Thanks to June, Rena, Lea and Dan for the Britpicking and beta-reading.
More information on my HP fanfiction and essays can also be found HERE. Please be a considerate reader and review.