The Rebirth

Epilogue Part Two

Year four—2001

August:

Ginny sat at the long wooden table in the division's conference room. The piece of furniture was chipped and battered, yet one more example of their lack of funds. Fudge, on instructions from Voldemort, kept cutting the aurors' budget; the less money the division had, the less effective they were. Public sentiment was beginning to turn against the aurors and Ginny knew that someday a total disbanding of the division was not outside the realm of possibility. She watched the other team leaders as they flipped through their papers; Mundungus's death had paved the way for yet another promotion—Ginny was now in charge of a team of fifteen field agents. Well, in theory she was in charge of fifteen. In reality she had nine. No, eight. Agent Leo had died that morning in St. Mungo's.

Ginny opened her folder and scanned the list of names. A few of them were vaguely familiar from her days at Hogwarts. Near the bottom of the page, Ginny spotted someone who caught her attention. Dana Silvermoon, Agent Nimue. Nimue! And she thought the higher-ups had no sense of humor. It was fate. It had to be.

"Now," Catherine Connor, the no-nonsense division head and the only other woman in the room began, "I've divided the new recruits between the team leaders. There are nowhere near enough to go around, but we'll make do."

Ginny ran her finger down the list once more. Dana had been put with Agent Osiris. Ginny, being the most understaffed, had been given five recruits. Osiris had been assigned only one. She caught his eye and said, "I want to make a trade. I'll give you four of my new agents for your one." Ginny hadn't forgotten that Dana had Otherworldly power; she wanted to keep the Slytherin close.

"Four?" Osiris asked incredulously. "That would put me at an even fifteen!"

"Out of the question," Catherine broke in. "Jezebel, your team is the smallest in the department. You need all the recruits you can get."

"Jezebel's as good as any five of us," Osiris protested. "If she only gets one recruit, it'll still be the same as if she has fourteen." He desperately wanted to have a full roster. It would make everything much easier.

"He has a point," Ginny piped up. Her five new agents would come in handy, it was true, but she wanted Dana Silvermoon more.

Catherine sighed. "It doesn't matter where the recruits go, as long as they're here. I leave you two to sort it out."

Osiris grinned and Ginny sent a half-hearted smile back. She would have to keep a very close eye on her newest agent. She wondered if Dana knew yet that the things she could do were marks of the Otherworld.

* * * * *

Dana tore open her envelope. The sheet inside was orange. She was relieved; she'd been worried that they'd put her in planning or worse, the potions department where she'd have no chance to track down Seamus's killer. The evaluation told her she'd be reporting to Agent Osiris. Dana couldn't wait to start; she walked purposefully through the hallways until she found the agent's office and then knocked. "Come in!"

Dana pushed the door open and saw her new boss; he was a short man with thick, dark hair. "Agent Nimue reporting for duty, sir."

He smiled. "So you're agent Nimue. Eager to start, are you?"

Dana glanced around his spotless office. "Is there anything you need me to do, sir?"

"Not until you've gone through your specialization training, no. At any rate, you're not on my team anymore."

She was suddenly nervous. Had the division decided not to take her? "I'm not?"

"No," he said, sitting behind his desk. "You've been transferred to Jezebel."

A wild elation streaked through Dana. "Agent Jezebel? Really? The agent Jezebel?"

Osiris laughed. "The very one. She especially requested you. One bit of advice, though. Don't get starstruck when you're actually talking to her."

"But she's a legend!"

"And for goddess's sake, don't say that! She'll take your head off."

Dana's face creased in concern and Osiris shook his head, amused. "Not literally, Nimue. I'm teasing. All the same, don't mention her notoriety. It's a rather touchy subject with her."

Dana nodded. "Can you point me toward her office?"

"Out the door, to the right."

"Thank you, sir."

Osiris stood and moved across the room to shake her hand. "Welcome to the division."

Dana followed his directions and found the door marked Agent Jezebel with little trouble. Even if the office hadn't been labeled, Dana would've known whose it was. The wards were airtight. Jezebel was obviously someone who zealously guarded her true identity. If the strength of her protective spells was any indication, she was also as paranoid as Professor Moody had been. Dana took a deep breath to steady her nerves and then knocked.

"What?" a loud, very annoyed voice called from inside. "I'm bus—" Crash! "Oh shit!"

Dana pushed the door open and got her first look at her new boss. Agent Jezebel stood on a chair, back to the door, facing a tall bookshelf. She held a book in one hand and several volumes were on the floor. "Well?" she said, not turning around. "Are you going to make yourself useful or not?"

Dana scrambled across the room and hurried to pick up the mess on the floor. "Are you," she said, handing the books up, "are you really Agent Jezebel?"

"Yes," the woman sighed, shelving the volumes as Dana handed them to her. "Unfortunately, the clumsiness accompanies the name. Who are you?" Ginny didn't recognize her visitor's voice, but if she made it through the wards then she'd come for friendly reasons.

"Agent Nimue," Dana said, handing up a particularly thick hardcover.

Jezebel abruptly let go. The book landed on Dana's foot. She sucked in a pained breath.

"Sorry!" the auror exclaimed, jumping down from her chair and turning to face Dana. "Wow, you've gotten tall. How have you been?"

Dana stared. "Ginny?"

Ginny bent down and retrieved the hardcover, laying it sideways on the shelf. "I'm sorry for being so rude; it's been the week from hell."

Dana's mouth opened and closed a few times before she managed to squeeze out, "That's okay."

"I take it you've gotten your new assignment, then?" Ginny walked around behind her desk and began sorting through the mountains of papers. Her office was full of clutter, completely unlike Osiris's.

"Yes ma'am, Agent Jezebel," Dana replied dutifully.

"Ginny will be fine, Dana. It's only in the field that we really have to use the code names."

There was a knock at the door, and Harry stuck his head in. "Hey, Gin? Hi, Dana. What are you doing here?"

"I'm on Ginny's auror team," Dana explained proudly.

Harry smiled. "Welcome aboard. Don't let her work you too hard. She's a regular slave driver, I hear. Gin, Ron wants to know if you can ring Hermione tonight. She's having some kind of wedding-related meltdown."

Ginny never stopped flipping through her papers. "Do I have to?"

"This is what witnesses do," he pointed out. "I'm handling everything from the Ron end, and you're responsible for the Hermione end. Don't look at me like that; if you didn't want the job, you shouldn't have said yes."

Ginny sighed. "What's the problem now?"

"Something about linens. The tablecloths for the reception came this afternoon and they're aqua instead of aquamarine."

"What's the difference?"

He shrugged. "I'm sure Hermione will tell you all about it."

Ginny said to her newest team member, "Dana, never ever agree to be the maid of honor for a compulsive perfectionist."

Harry laughed at that. "I'll tell him you'll ring her, then?"

"Sure." With a triumphant look, she unearthed a yellow sheet. "Found it! I'll just give this to Catherine and then I'll go home and tell Hermione that aqua and aquamarine are equally vile colors so it doesn't matter about the tablecloths."

"Fantastic," Harry said. "I'll see you later, then."

When he was gone Dana asked, "So are Ron and Hermione finally getting married?"

Ginny nodded. "On December twenty fifth. Hermione figured that he'd be less likely to forget their anniversary if it were on Christmas. The whole thing is a logistical nightmare; everything has to be just so and her mum keeps insisting on these terrible colors that Hermione doesn't want. But it'll be sorted out eventually, I hope. And if it's not, at least it'll all be over in four months."

Dana gave Ginny's desk a skeptical look. "Do you want me to file anything for you? I can get all this stuff organized, if you like."

"You're that eager to start? All right then, I leave you to it." Ginny wasn't a fool; if Dana wanted to organize her mess of an office, she wasn't about to say no. "If you'll excuse me, I have to turn this in and then go talk Hermione out of her linen-related panic."

Dana grinned. She'd always liked Ginny, and working with her was going to be an adventure. Especially considering that she was agent Jezebel. The agent Jezebel!

* * * * *

"Hermione?" Ginny called, knocking on the door to Hermione's parents' house. There was no answer. Ginny ran the bell a few times, and then knocked again. Finally the door cracked open and her friend's tear-stained face peaked out.

"Gin?"

Ginny asked in what she hoped was a soothing voice, "Are you going to let me in? I heard about the tablecloths."

Hermione opened the door a bit further and Ginny slid inside. "It's not just the tablecloths. It's everything. This is turning out all wrong. My mum is making all the decisions and I don't want to tell her no because my parents are paying for it, after all. I just don't know what to do. Maybe Ron and I should elope."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Ginny told her helpfully. It had been the wrong thing to say.

"We can't elope!" Hermione cried, again very close to tears. "What would your mum and dad say? And my parents? It would kill them!"

"Okay," Ginny said. "Take a deep breath. We'll work everything out. It's all going to be fine. You'll have a lovely wedding, and it'll be the most beautiful day of your life. I promise."

The bride-to-be looked miserable. "What about my mum?"

"Are you a Gryffindor or not?" Ginny chirped, feigning a cheerfulness she did not feel. "You can talk to your own mum. Tell her that it's not her wedding, it's yours and that means that your decisions are final."

"She won't listen. I'm so tired from exams and graduation, and then I come home to this and—"

"Have you made any decisions that you're happy about?" Ginny asked. Maybe if Hermione focused on things that were going her way she wouldn't be as distracted by things like the shade of the tablecloths.

"Actually, yes. Look at this," Hermione sniffed, leading Ginny into what looked like the Doctors' study. There was a thick hardbound book on the table, opened to a page marked Egeo Memoria.

"Without memory?" Ginny translated.

Hermione nodded, and began to look a little more like herself as she explained, "It's to keep the Muggle guests from remembering any magic that might happen. With the twins around, we'll need it."

"What is it?"

As Hermione began to explain, Ginny peered over her shoulder. "It's a combination of a potion and obliviate." At the mention of memory charms, Ginny frowned slightly. Hermione didn't notice; she was deep into her explanation. "It's used when the memory that needs modification is rather large in size, and will work perfectly in mixed company, since it's only the Muggles who will need the spell."

"How does it work?"

"First we brew a potion made of rice wine and magical Ginkgo leaves. The magic version of the plant deteriorates memory, as opposed to the Muggle species, which improves it. This stuff will have to be ordered from China."

"We'll work it out," Ginny said supportively. "We have nearly four months, after all."

"While the potion is stirring, someone has to perform an obliviate charm over the cauldron." Hermione pointed to a moving illustration; the wizard moved his wand above the bubbling liquid in a series of figure eights. "The wand pattern will render wizards and witches immune to the spell. Then, we mix the potion in with the drinks and serve. Problem solved."

"So it doesn't affect magical people at all?" Ginny asked.

"It is made of rice wine," Hermione pointed out. "It would probably make them tipsy, but their memories would be fine."

"Brilliant," Ginny declared. "I'll start learning that wand motion straight away."

Hermione blinked in surprise. "You?"

"You didn't think I was going to let you do it, did you?" Ginny asked, amused. "You're the bride! You're supposed to delegate." At her friend's dubious look Ginny reassured, "I'm not half bad at potions, really. I'm lots better than Ron anyway, and there are only two ingredients. You won't have to worry about a thing."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "I picked out the bridesmaids' dresses today! Do you want to see?" Ginny nodded, and Hermione fished a bridal magazine out from under a pile of thick spellbooks.

Flipping to the dog-eared page, Ginny looked down at the moving photograph of a dark-haired girl frolicking in a park and wearing the frilliest, poofiest, yellowest dress on the planet. Ginny looked terrible in yellow. "It's beautiful," she said, pasting a grin on her face. With aqua tablecloths? she thought. Hermione had always been more interested in books than in fashion, it was true, but still! Oh well. It was her special day, and if she wanted Ginny to wear bright yellow then that's exactly what Ginny would do.

"I thought they would be cheerful. My mum said I could have free reign on what to choose for the bridal party."

"Will Ron and the groomsmen have yellow waistcoats then?" That would be something to see.

"No," Hermione replied, pulling a face. "Ron has put his foot down and insisted on black. It's classy in a Cary Grant sort of way, so I didn't fight with him on it."

Oh, how wretchedly unfair, that Harry would get to look suave and smooth while she would have to dress as a yellow puffball. This wedding was going to be a miserable affair. "I'm sure it'll be lovely. Now why don't we take a look at those tablecloths? We can ring the company and straighten everything out. And then you can sit your mum down and have a talk. I'll stay for moral support."

Hermione grinned; very glad she'd asked Ginny to be her maid of honor. There was just something about her future sister-in-law; she gave off an aura of capability. Ginny could handle any crisis without getting a hair out of place.

* * * * *

October:

Delia waited outside the dungeon room, tapping her foot nervously on the stone floor and fidgeting with the crescent-shaped charm around her neck. Today was the first test of the loyalty she had sworn to Draco four years ago. He watched her as he leaned against the wall. She had no choice but to go through with it. Just a few more moments, and then it would be over.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She swallowed hard. "I'm fine."

"Is there anything I can get you? Something to drink, to take the edge off?"

"I said I'm fine," Delia snapped, wishing he'd stop talking. She wanted it to be over, wanted for it to be tomorrow, or even an hour from now, so that it would be a memory instead of a dark event looming in the near future, rushing straight towards her.

The door creaked open and Blaise poked his head out. "He's ready to see you, Delia."

She nodded and took a step towards the door. "Do you want me to come in with you?" Draco asked.

She gave him a scathing look. Delia didn't want to be coddled. It would only make this harder than it was already. She turned her back to him and followed Blaise into the dungeon. The air inside the dungeon dripped with sinister shadows and the acrid smell of burnt flesh. The senior Death Eaters faced her in a semi-circle, their harsh, metallic masks rendering them faceless. In the center of the circle stood the Dark Lord, tall and thin. His red, snake-like eyes fixed on her. The voice that came out of his slit of a mouth reminded Delia of fingernails on a blackboard. "Kneel, daughter."

Delia dropped to her knees just inside the circle of bodies. She felt very small and young and afraid, and clenched her hands in fists so that the Dark Lord wouldn't notice their shaking. All eyes were trained on her. Her mouth opened and, of its own volition, recited the words he waited to hear. "I offer myself to you, my Lord Voldemort." Ordinarily this would be a binding agreement, but her insincerity rendered it ineffective. Promises had to be offered freely. There would be no contractual magic because she was unwilling. But the Dark Lord didn't know that.

"I accept your pledge, daughter," he told her. "You are worthy of my mark."

Delia's heart beat very fast and without looking up, she offered him her left arm. Voldemort rolled up the sleeve of her black robe and then pressed his palm to the tender skin of her forearm.

Delia screamed.

* * * * *

Dana was browsing through the curses and hexes section of Flourish and Blotts when a searing pain burned up her left arm, strong enough to make her cry out. She stumbled and grabbed onto a nearby display to keep from falling. Books tumbled to the floor and an employee rushed over to see that she was all right.

"I'm fine," she insisted. "No, I'm sure I don't need to go to St. Mungo's." The young man was a bit overenthusiastic. "It's just hot in here," she said. "I felt faint for a moment. I'll just step outside. Of course I'm all right to apparate home."

Dana extricated herself from the bookseller's insistent concern and stumbled out the door. She had a terrible hunch. Every gut instinct she had told her that her twin had done something very, very stupid.

* * * * *

When it was over, Delia went straight to Dana's flat. Her twin had been waiting for her. She hadn't even gotten in the door before Dana was on her. "Dee, what the hell happened today?"

"How did you know?"

"My arm burned," Dana hissed, walking across the foyer until she was nearly toe-to-toe with her twin. "Twin connection and all that. What did you do?"

Delia slowly rolled up her sleeve. The Dark Mark was imprinted on her forearm. Dana sucked in a breath and then looked at her sister in horror. "Why?"

"Draco is going to find out who our birth parents were," Delia said. It wouldn't be wise to prevaricate with Dana when she was in this mood. "We made a bargain. This is my end of it."

"Why does he want you as a Death Eater?" Dana's tone was carefully, dangerously controlled.

"I can't talk about that part."

"God dammit, Dee! Did you stop to think? There are consequences! You've just pledged yourself to... Do you have any idea what kind of person he is?"

"It's worth it," Delia said, her eyes bright and feverish. "No price is too high for what he was offering."

"There's nothing he can offer that's worth your soul."

Delia laughed at that. "Aren't you being a little overly dramatic?"

Dana looked from her sister's face to the mark and then back. "Cover it up," she snarled. "What are you doing here?"

Delia hesitated a moment, and then her words came out in a rush. "I came to ask if you'd come with me."

Dana's mouth dropped open in shock. "You mean become a Death Eater? You have the gall to stand in my home and ask me to—"

"Please, Day," Delia interrupted. "Our parents are what I want, but there has to be something you want too. Take what he can give. Think of all we can accomplish together."

"There's nothing I want that he can give me. Are you listening, Dee? There's nothing—"

Delia raised her voice above her sister's shouts. "What about Seamus's killer?"

Dana froze at that, and went very pale. "What do you know about Seamus's killer?"

"I don't know anything, but he does. I heard from someone that Draco was furious to learn that Seamus had been killed. He'd let you take whatever revenge you wanted. Please, Day, think about it. I love you. You're my only real family in the world. I don't want to do this without you."

Dana felt light-headed. "Did Malfoy send you to tell me all this?"

"I came on my own," Delia insisted. "This is me talking. Not anyone else."

"You're saying that if I got a Dark Mark burned on my arm and pledged myself to You-Know-Who—"

"No. The contract with the Dark Lord wouldn't be binding. You'll be just as allied against him as if you'd become an auror."

Dana sank into a chair. "So you're telling me that if I go with you and pledge myself to Malfoy then get a Dark Mark burnt on my arm, I can still work against You-Know-Who and get revenge for Seamus?" Delia nodded hopefully, and Dana's expression hardened into a Slytherin mask of scorn. "You're forgetting one salient point, Dee. When it's all over, when You-Know-Who and Seamus's killer are gone, where will I be?"

Delia gave her a blank look.

"I'll tell you where I'll be," Dana said, her voice rising on every word until she was shouting. "In debt to Draco fucking Malfoy with a fucking Dark Mark on my arm! Are you insane?"

Delia sighed. "I rather thought you'd look at it that way."

"You have to go," Dana said, jumping to her feet and moving toward her twin. For a brief moment Delia thought Dana meant to remove her by force, but she didn't lay a hand on her. "You have to go. I'm in the middle of auror training. They do background checks. I...you can't be here."

Delia nodded. That was to be expected. "This doesn't change anything between us, does it?"

Dana sighed and raked a hand through her hair. "You're the only family I have, Dee. This isn't going to change that. I...I can't understand your decision, but it doesn't mean I don't still love you."

Delia threw her arms around her twin and gave her a quick hug. "You know where to find me if you ever change your mind," she said, and then disapparated.

* * * * *

November:

Ginny arrived home from work to find her answerphone full of nearly hysterical messages from Hermione. With an exasperated sigh, she pulled her cloak back on and apparated.

"It's a nightmare," Hermione explained as she ushered Ginny into the house. "You'll never guess what! The fabric on the yellow dresses has been recalled. I'll have to find another style, and it's such short notice! The wedding is next month! How am I going to find something in just a month?"

"Why would they recall the fabric?" Ginny asked, thanking her lucky stars that she wouldn't have to wear the terrible dress after all.

"It had a problem with spontaneous combustion, apparently. Gladrags has recalled all dresses made from that material."

Ginny gave a disbelieving laugh. "Spontaneous combustion?"

"I know!" Hermione exclaimed, rolling her eyes. "As though that matters when it's my wedding day!"

Ginny wondered if maybe her friend had lost her grip on reality. Hermione always got a little odd when she was under stress, though. This really was to be expected. At least on the day itself it would be Harry's job to take care of any glitches.

"And we'll never find a seamstress who can make that many dresses on such short notice..." Hermione was saying.

"Who says we need them made just for us?" Ginny cut in. "Have you still got that catalogue?" Hermione fished it out and Ginny flipped through the pages. "They always have the ready to wear clothes in the back. They'll be trying to unload them, so we can get a deal on the price. As for alterations, I'll see if my mum can't handle it. She knits those sweaters for us every year, after all. And she once made me a cloak that wasn't half bad."

Hermione considered that idea and found it acceptable. After putting their heads together over the catalogue for nearly an hour, Ginny finally talked her into a sleek ice-blue ankle-length sheath. It would look terrible with the aquamarine tablecloths (did any color look good with aquamarine?) but at least it would look good on Ginny, which was her biggest priority. Hermione liked it better than any of the other choices, and so the owl form was filled out and flown in. Everything was going to be fine. Yet another crisis in the upcoming Granger-Weasley nuptials had been averted.

* * * * *

December

Ginny sat on the bed in her old room at the Burrow and, with eagle eyes, watched Gwen apply Hermione's makeup. Gwen had been hired to do the hair and cosmetics for all members of the bridal party; she and her spa employees were very much in demand but the Drs. Granger spared no expense for their only daughter's wedding day. Hermione's hair had been smoothed down and pinned up in coiled braids, and Gwen attached the veil to the complicated hairstyle. The veil, however, was the only piece of wedding attire Hermione wore—from the neck up she was a glowing bride, from the neck down she wore a faded tracksuit and fuzzy slippers.

Ginny watched the bride-to-be wring her hands. "Everything is going to be perfect," she said, hoping to calm Hermione's nerves. "This is your special day, and at the end of it we'll be sisters. Just relax and have fun."

Hermione was acutely aware that Ron and Harry were getting ready in the violently orange room just down the hall and up the stairs. She wanted very much to see Ron and hear him say that everything would go according to plan, but she couldn't talk to him before the ceremony. It was bad luck. Hermione thought the notion of bad luck was idiotic, but wizards were a superstitious people and there was no way Ginny would let her out the door. "Are the flowers—"

"Yes."

"And at the hall, have the caterers—"

"Yes."

"With the music, though. Is the band—"

"Yes. Hermione, it's all set. Harry won't let anything go wrong today. He'll take care of everything."

"But what if—"

"Stop talking," Gwen ordered. "I have to do your mouth." She tossed a sly wink at Ginny and then painstakingly applied the lipliner, topped with two coats of lipstick and a bit of gloss, finished off with a charm to keep it all in place. The entire operation took about four times as long as it should have. Ginny mentally thanked her friend.

There was a soft knock at the door. Ginny jumped up and cracked it open just enough to peek out; she wouldn't put it past her brother to try and sneak a glimpse of the bride before the ceremony. It was Hermione's mum, come to help her daughter into her wedding dress. Ginny and Gwen tactfully excused themselves to the twins' old room where Gwen's assistants primped the bridesmaids, three of Hermione's University friends.

"Honestly, Gin," Gwen was complaining. "The business is growing so fast, I'm going to need to hire an accountant."

"I'm surprised you haven't already," Ginny observed. Gwen's spa was a smash hit. Shannon had used her wealthy connections to help raise a good deal of venture capital, and so Gwen had been able to open a tasteful, well-decorated business and employ talented aestheticians. Unfortunately, her friend had a lot of beauty sense but hardly any experience in finances.

Ginny excused herself into the twins' small bathroom, leaving Gwen to supervise her employees. In the cramped space, Ginny managed to wriggle into her dress. It was a lovely color, and made her hair seem quite vibrant in comparison. She wondered if she could have Gwen do the silver freckle charm, but decided against it. This was Hermione's special day, after all. It would be bad form for Ginny to do anything that would draw attention to herself. She made sure that the dragon ring was concealed beneath her dress and then went back into the twins' room, gingerly picking her way to the door, careful not to step on the combs, jewelry, makeup kits, shoes, and other girly paraphernalia that littered the floor.

"Gin," Gwen asked, looking up from her scrutiny of a girl's eyeliner. "Don't you want me to put your hair up?"

"In a bit," Ginny replied. "I'm just going outside. I need some fresh air." The atmosphere in the twins' room was heavy with perfume; Ginny didn't think she could stay in there one more minute. Plus, these girls all knew each other from University. Ginny had only just met them the day before, at the rehearsal dinner. She'd never been very good around strangers.

"I'll come too," one of the bridesmaids volunteered, "to keep you company."

"You don't have to," Ginny said, but the girl insisted.

As they walked down the stairs, the bridesmaid introduced herself. "Rhiannon Rush. We met briefly last night."

"I remember," Ginny confirmed, shaking Rhiannon's hand. This girl was Harry's date for the wedding. Hermione had fixed them up a few months ago; she'd lasted longer than most of the others. It made Ginny feel slightly edgy, but she didn't stop to examine why. She had plenty of other things to think about today.

They wrapped themselves up in winter cloaks and stepped onto the back porch. Their breath came in puffs of condensation. "Whose brilliant idea was it to have a Christmas wedding?" Ginny asked. "It's freezing."

"I know," Rhiannon said, reaching into her cloak pocket and fishing out a packet of cigarettes. She held the carton to Ginny, who accepted one and let the bridesmaid light it up.

"Thanks," Ginny said, exhaling a thin stream of gray smoke. It was nearly the same color as her breath. "I really needed one of these."

They smoked together in companionable silence for a few seconds, and then Ginny dropped her fag to the floor and ground it out. Rhiannon raised a curious eyebrow.

Ginny sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "A few drags are usually enough to calm me down. I've been stressed about today for the past six months; I just have to keep telling myself that it's almost over."

Rhiannon ran her fingers through her dark, overly curly hair. She was taller than Ginny, with an open, friendly face, a dramatically long nose and rather thin lips. If she weren't Harry's...what? girlfriend?...Ginny probably would've taken an instant liking to her. As it was, though, she'd reserve judgement until she saw whether or not this classmate of Hermione's was good enough for her protector. "If you need any help today, just let me know," Rhiannon said.

"Thanks." Ginny gave her a small smile. "Harry's going to be taking care of most of it, because he's the best man. But if something comes up, I'll be sure to ask you."

The bridesmaid stubbed her fag on the railing and flicked the butt into a snowdrift. "I don't feel like going back up. That room is too crowded."

"I know. As soon as I go inside my mum or Hermione's mum or Hermione herself will have some other task for me. I just need a minute out here, away from all the wedding stuff."

Rhiannon nodded sympathetically. "I bet Herm has been running you ragged. There's no way I would've agreed to be her maid of honor, if she'd asked. The way everything has to be just so..."

Ginny sighed, but didn't reply. She felt intimidated around all these friends of Hermione's. They were university educated, with advanced degrees. Although Ginny considered herself to be uncommonly well read, the fact remained that she'd stopped school at age seventeen. She hoped none of these friends of Hermione's laughed at her behind her back. She'd hate to slip up and say something ignorant. Ginny would've loved to earn a degree as well, but that hadn't been an option.

Raucous laughter floated out of the house from somewhere above the girls' heads. Rhiannon looked up curiously. "What the hell?"

"The groomsmen," Ginny explained. "Mum put them in Percy's old room."

"Oh right," Rhiannon said. "I have to be escorted by...Neville, I think his name was. He's way too short for me; with these shoes I'm nearly a head taller than he is." She lifted up the hem of her skirt to reveal ice-blue heels. Ginny was still in her trainers. "I don't know why I couldn't have gotten the tall one."

"You probably mean Dean. He's the tallest."

"Even the blue-eyed one, Matt was it? He would've been fine."

"Mike," Ginny corrected absently. It should've been Seamus.

"I'm surprised that Ron isn't having your brothers in the wedding party."

Ginny shrugged. "Well, Harry had to be best man, of course. Hermione had three bridesmaids, which means that Ron could have only had three of our brothers. He didn't want to have to choose. Plus," a mischievous look flitted across her features, so quickly Rhiannon just barely caught it, "having the twins as groomsmen would've been a disaster. But it would've been a very good time."

"Virginia Morgan!" came a deafening bellow from deep within the house. For such a small woman, Molly Weasley had a robust set of lungs.

Ginny groaned. "Is it bad that it's eleven o'clock in the morning and I desperately need a drink?"

She and Rhiannon shared a comradely glance. "I've got your back," the bridesmaid said with an understanding smile. "It's all overwhelming, I know. I'll go inside and handle your mum's emergency. You stay out here and take a few minutes for yourself. You'll be no good to anyone if you're stressed to death before the ceremony even begins."

* * * * *

"Is it bad that it's eleven o'clock in the morning and I desperately need a drink?"

Harry grinned. Luckily, he'd prepared for just such an emergency. "Here," he said, fishing a bottle out of his overnight bag. "Not too much; Hermione would kill me."

"What is it?" Ron asked.

"Tequila. Good stuff." Harry opened the bottle and let his friend take a long swallow, then returned the liquor to his bag without having any for himself. It was his job to keep everything running smoothly; it wouldn't do for him to get tipsy before the day had even really started. "Feel better?"

"Yeah," Ron answered, running his fingers through his hair.

"Quit," Harry ordered. "If you keep that up, Gwen will have to come in and do it all over again."

Ron flopped back onto the faded Chudley Cannons bedspread. "This is so weird, Harry. I mean, being here in this room, and today I'm marrying Hermione." He began to laugh, a nervous, slightly hysterical sound. "I'm marrying Hermione! Gods—"

"Ron," Harry said sternly, "today is going to be wonderful. It's the best day of your life. I'm going to take care of everything. Every single thing. Now stand up. You're getting wrinkled."

Ron obediently stood. "Can I have some more tequila?"

"No."

"Ah, well. It was worth a try." He got a fond look on his face. "She's going to be beautiful, isn't she? I've been looking forward to seeing her in her wedding dress for months."

"Everything is going to be perfect," Harry repeated. He flashed Ron a lopsided smile. "I'm happy for you two."

Ron smiled back. "Thanks. This...this'll be fun, right?"

"Of course. Ginny and I auditioned the band ourselves. They're fantastic." Harry walked over to Ron's mirror and redid the knot in his bowtie for the seventh time. He couldn't get it to look right.

"Have Ginny do it," Ron suggested. He had chosen a pre-tied bowtie for that very reason; he hadn't the faintest idea of how to knot one. How many times in his life would he ever have to wear a bowtie, for gods' sake? Harry had been stubborn though and insisted on a "real" tie. He said anything else was cheating.

"Good idea," Harry said, yanking the knot undone. "You'll be okay by yourself?"

"'Course," Ron answered. He looked terrified.

Harry put his hand on Ron's shoulder and looked him in the eyes. "Because I'll only be gone for a minute, you know. You do know that, right? You're not going to...try and run away or anything, are you?"

"Nah." And now Ron looked much calmer. "I'm marrying the woman I love today, right?"

"Absolutely. I'll be right back."

Harry shut the door firmly behind him; it wouldn't do for Hermione to get a glimpse of Ron before the wedding. That was a classic recipe for bad luck, and Harry desperately wanted everything to be perfect today for his two best friends.

"Hey, Gin?" he called, trotting down the stairs. "Gin? My tie won't tie. I need—" He cut off as Rhiannon topped the stairs to the second floor. "You look nice," he said with a smile.

"I'm not the only one," she replied with a flirtatious glance. Then, "Ginny's outside. She needs a minute alone."

"Is she all right?" Harry's concern was not lost on Rhiannon. Very few things were.

"She's fine, just overwhelmed. I like her."

"She's likeable," Harry said noncommittally.

The couple looked at each other for an awkward beat and then she chirped, "So you need help with your tie? You've come to the right place."

Ginny topped the stairs and turned down the second floor hallway. The first thing she saw was Rhiannon knotting Harry's tie. It seemed like such an intimate thing; she wondered if she should go downstairs and wait for them to finish. Harry leaned down and kissed the bridesmaid, just a brief brush of his lips against hers, and then looked up and noticed Ginny. He smiled. "I think your mum was looking for you."

"I heard," she answered, feeling bad-tempered and short and red compared to Rhiannon.

Harry gave her an odd look. "Is everything all right?"

Ginny cleared her throat. She had to get hold of herself; she had responsibilities today. Her brother's wedding was not the time for a bad mood. "It's fine. We should be leaving soon. Can you collect the groomsmen and Ron and take them to the temple? Then send the limo back and we'll take Hermione, so they won't see each other."

"I'll take care of it," he said, giving Rhiannon one last smile. "Gin, you might want to change your shoes before you leave," he tossed over his shoulder as he disappeared up the stairs to Ron's tower room.

Ginny and Rhiannon faced each other for a beat, and then Rhiannon laughed. "What's so funny?" Ginny asked, disgruntled.

"I didn't notice your shoes before," the bridesmaid said amicably. "It's quite a look; ice blue silk and trainers."

"I was going outside," Ginny explained, feeling the start of a blush creep onto her cheeks. "I didn't want to slip on the snow; I'm not used to walking in heels." She felt stupid. Couldn't anything go right today?

"I'll tell you what," Rhiannon offered. "I'll find your shoes while you go have your hair put up. Your friend will have it done in no time."

"Thanks," Ginny said, giving her a grateful look.

Twenty minutes later, Gwen had swept Ginny's hair into a sleek updo and applied a pale coat of cosmetics to her face. As with all of Gwen's work, it was lovely. Rhiannon poked her head into the twins' room. "I found the shoebox under your bed." She presented it to Ginny with a friendly grin.

Gwen gave a strangled gasp, and Ginny gave her a subtle but not-too-gentle elbow in the ribs. "Thanks so much. Rhiannon, did you change your lipstick? It looks different."

In fact, the bridesmaid's entire face looked different. Her eyes were now ringed with heavy black eyeliner, and her lipstick was a very, very dark shade of red. "I just fixed it up a little is all," Rhiannon answered. She gave her reflection a satisfied glance. "Not that it wasn't lovely before, Gwen. It just wasn't what I'm used to."

Gwen opened her mouth to say something and got another elbow for her trouble. "You look great," Ginny said with a big smile.

"I'll collect everyone and meet you downstairs," the bridesmaid told her. "The limo just got back from taking the boys to the temple." And then she was gone.

Gwen sputtered, indignant. "What was that? Did you see the color of her lips, with how pale her skin is? Oh my God. Just...oh my God. And with how light the dresses are? What was she thinking?"

Ginny fought back a laugh. "Who knew that Harry was dating a goth? If it's how she's comfortable, there's nothing we can say. As long as she's happy, what do we care?"

"I care a great deal. Everyone is going to think that I made her up like that."

"Nobody is going to think that." Ginny laughed again, in earnest now. "It's a good thing we're wearing blue. The yellow wouldn't have suited her at all."

* * * * *

The temple to the Otherworld was a beautiful place. The walls were made almost entirely of glass that trapped heat and kept the building warm. Outside was a frozen Christmas wasteland of snow and ice, barely glimpsed through unfogged patches on the windows, places where the lacy condensation had been rubbed free. The inside was a greenhouse, a year-round shrine to the outdoors and the gods who ruled the natural world. Trees, bushes, and flowers filled every bit of empty floor space. Vines climbed up the walls and hung in loose swags from the ceiling. The center aisle was tiled in white, and the seats on either side were comfortably cushioned, but made of a knotty wood that was rooted in the ground, trees that had been coaxed into chair-shapes by the diligent priests.

Harry stood at the front of the temple, right behind Ron. "Is she here yet?" the groom murmured, turning his head slightly to look at his best friend.

"I saw the limo pull up while I was helping to seat people," Harry answered. "About twenty minutes ago. You know Hermione, though. She's probably fussing with every last detail, making sure it's all perfect, driving your sister crazy."

"Yeah," Ron said with a small laugh. "She's great, isn't she?"

"Great," Harry agreed.

Ron cleared his throat. "Listen, Harry," he murmured quietly, looking suddenly serious. "I just wanted you to know that there's nobody I'd rather have stand up with me. I mean—"

"Thanks." Harry cut Ron off with a reassuring look before his friend got sentimental. The groom needed to hold it together just now. The biggest moment of his life was fast approaching.

"Hey, Ron, save the love for Hermione," Mike said, softly enough that the guests wouldn't hear but loud enough for the groomsmen's ears. Dean and Neville snorted with barely repressed laughter.

"Shut up, Fletcher," Harry said without turning around. But he felt instantly guilty. There was no excuse for letting his dislike for Mike get in the way of Ron and Hermione's special day.

Ron, however, was oblivious. He watched the Muggles that filled the seats reserved for the Grangers. They eyed their surroundings skeptically. "I bet they've never even heard of a temple to the Otherworld," he said. "They probably all think I've gotten Hermione into some kind of weird cult. And look at my side." He nodded towards the Weasley family's guests. "Did they all have to wear robes? What's Hermione's family going to think?"

"They'll love you," Harry reassured. "What problems her parents don't smooth over, Ginny's potion will take care of."

Just then the music changed, became the stately, traditional wedding march. Hermione had insisted on that. One by one, the bridesmaids walked slowly up the aisle. Harry looked appreciatively at Rhiannon, who gave him a sly wink. But then his attention was riveted to the redheaded vision in ice-blue silk who walked slowly to the front of the church, clutching her bouquet in a death grip. She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead so that she wouldn't have to see all the guests looking at her, concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other without tripping over her high heels, and beamed with happiness for her brother, all at the same time. She was a vision. An adorable vision. Gods, but he loved her.

When Ginny was almost to the front she managed to glance at her brother and give him an encouraging smile, and then as she turned to face the front her smile shifted briefly to Harry. I made it up here without falling on my face.

So you did, he replied. Well done. The hard part is over.

At the back of the temple Hermione stepped into view, her parents on either side. The guests all stood to get a better look. Ron swelled with pride and Harry beamed. "Perfect," Ron said under his breath. "You were right, Harry. Everything is perfect."

Hermione reached the front of the temple, put her hand in Ron's, and whispered, her eyes shining happily, "You've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

* * * * *

Draco walked down the third floor east wing hall. This area of Malfoy Manor was quiet and still. The heavy carpet muffled his footsteps and the paintings on the walls watched him as he paced by. Just as he reached a thick, ornately carved wooden door, it opened and a man stepped out. This mediwizard was short and balding. He gazed at Draco with a somber expression, pity in his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Draco's face was unreadable. "There's nothing you can do?"

The doctor shook his head. "I've tried everything. For three weeks she's been wasting away; all we can do is make her comfortable until the end."

"And when will that be?" the young man asked, displaying a great amount of self-control. It wouldn't do to reveal his feelings on this situation to a complete stranger.

The wizard sighed and put a comforting hand on Draco's arm. "Any minute now. It's a good thing you made it in time."

Draco nodded, thanked the doctor, and entered the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. The place was crowded with young Death Eaters; Draco had built up quite a following in the past year. He approached nearly every new recruit the Dark Lord made. After coming face-to-face with the demonic visage of Voldemort, most of them were more than willing to give their loyalty to the handsome, charismatic Malfoy heir. Now the members of his faction stood in this room to comfort one of their own, to say their final farewells.

Alicia Avery lay on the bed, pale and thin. She'd been ill for nearly a month—a slow, wasting sickness that sapped more of her strength each passing day. She coughed pathetically, and called for him.

The crowd parted to let him through. He sat on the mattress beside her and gently took her hand in his. He could feel the fine bones in her fingers and wrist; she was more skeleton than human, more dead than alive. "Draco," she rasped.

"I'm right here," he said softly, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand. "I'm here, Alicia."

She gave a weak smile before her body convulsed in a spasm of pain. "Draco," she breathed when it had passed, "there's something I have to tell you."

He brushed her hair back from her face. "Shh. Don't try to talk."

"No," she insisted. "I have to tell you this before I...."

"Alicia—"

"Please," she rasped, coughing weakly. "I have to say it. I...I thought about telling the Dark Lord your plan. I was so happy when I thought I might be the Pendragon, and when it turned out to be Ginny Weasley I just...I was so jealous at the thought of you joining your mind to hers." Alicia was crying now; quiet tears welled in her eyes and trailed down her sunken cheeks. "I love you so much, Draco. I just couldn't bear the thought of you being so close to anyone else. I haven't told the Dark Lord anything, I swear. But I considered it."

Draco gently brushed the tears from her face. "Alicia," he said gently, "I already knew."

He bent down and kissed her cheek, a tender gesture meant to soothe her. Then he pulled back, looked in her eyes and said, "That's why I poisoned you."

Alicia's eyes grew wide with horror. Another spasm shook her body, and then she lay still, her eyes glazed and unseeing. She was dead.

Draco dropped her hand and stood, turning to face his faction. They all stared at him in shock. "What?" he asked. "She considered going to the Dark Lord. She wouldn't just have been turning me in, but all of us."

He saw the horror dawn on their faces as they realized exactly what would've happened to them had Alicia done what she planned. "I take care of my own," Draco told them. "That means that each and every one of you has my loyalty for as long as I have yours. I killed her to protect everyone in this room."

Shannon looked from Alicia's body to Draco's cold, determined face. He had killed for them. They all owed him a life debt. Shannon tried to get upset at the idea, but the feelings just weren't forthcoming. Rather, she felt grateful to Draco for doing what he had. He looked at the crowd and ordered, "Someone have her body sent to her parents. Blaise, Delia, Shannon, come with me."

The four of them stepped into the hallway and he said quietly, "The Dark Lord is planning another sacrifice. I think the Pendragon has become necessary, although this is sooner than I'd hoped to need her. If Voldemort gains much more power, he'll be unstoppable."

"What do you want to do?" Delia asked.

Blaise suggested, "I could put together a team. She wouldn't stand a chance."

Draco nodded. "That's a good idea. Tell them about their task, and we'll take her next month. Shannon, we're going to need you especially. It'll do her good to have a friend nearby when she's brought here. It should help her get used to the situation, if you're the one to explain."

Shannon nodded. "Ginny is loyal to wizardkind. I'm sure we'll be able to convince her."

"Good then," Draco said. "Blaise, pick the five best fighters we have. We move in four weeks."

* * * * *

Ginny ate quickly. She had duties to perform, after all. Harry's toast was coming up, and he hated public speaking. He'd stepped outside, leaving Ginny to circulate and make sure the guests' drinks were filled, and that everyone was happy with the food and their seating arrangements. Technically this was the best man's job, but she had offered. Harry had been nearly sick with anxiety, and so she had sent him off to be alone for a few minutes.

He was a nervous wreck; she could feel it through the link. Still, when he reentered the banquet hall he looked calm, unruffled, perfectly composed, and rather like James Bond in his dinner jacket, if James Bond had a problem with chronically messy hair. Harry spotted Ginny going from table to table and came up behind her, gently resting his hand on her lower back as he leaned down and murmured in her ear, "If I don't do it now, I'm going to lose my nerve."

His palm felt hot through the thin material of her dress. Ginny ruthlessly ignored the sensation. "Right," she whispered back. "The guests are all set. Nobody is going to interrupt you to get another drink or ask for more food."

"Then let's get this over with."

They walked back up to the front of the room and seated themselves behind the long table that's only purpose seemed to be to put the wedding party on display. Ginny couldn't wait until the dancing started. She felt prickly and uncomfortable at the guests' eyes on her.

Harry stood and raised his glass. The conversation died down to a few flurried whispers, and then silenced all together. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. You can do it, Ginny told him. You'll be fantastic. He glanced over and gave her an inscrutable look, and then began.

"Would anybody mind if I took this time to wish Hermione and Ron a happy two hour anniversary?" The guests chuckled, which put Harry somewhat at ease. "I would like to say thank you to the Drs. Granger for all that you've done to make this the special day that it is. And, of course, my gratitude to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley for all of your support and all that you've done to make this, by all accounts, the perfect day. And finally, thank you, Ron, for making such a good choice for the best man." Another laugh swept the room, and Harry visibly loosened up.

"In our lifetimes, we are gifted a small number of truly 'landmark moments.' They start small enough, say, making your house sport team or getting your first perfect score on a homework assignment. They grow in power and significance; earning a University degree, getting a big promotion at work," he glanced down at Ron and Hermione, beamed at them with fondness and pride, "falling in love and knowing that it's forever." Ginny listened with rapt attention. His words were doing something strange to her insides. "It is a perfect moment when you look into the eyes of the most wonderful, caring, giving individual that you've ever known and realize you've found true love."

And now he wasn't looking at the bride and groom anymore. He had shifted his gaze to Ginny. "A moment like this and the commitment which follows should be celebrated to its fullest." He turned to the guests and told them, "It is our duty to ensure that this moment in the lives of Hermione and Ron does not pass unrecognized." His emerald gaze flicked back to Ginny. She couldn't look away. "In celebrating their happiness we might just make this one of the landmark moments of our own lives."

Back to the bride and groom. "It is with great pleasure that I say congratulations to my two best friends. May you share many warm days and many warm nights. Everyone raise your glass. Here's to Hermione and Ron."

"To Hermione and Ron," everyone saluted. Ginny clinked her champagne glass with Rhiannon's and then downed a rather large swallow. The bubbles exploded on her tongue and the cool liquid slid down her throat. It was delicious.

"That was perfect," Rhiannon praised. "He was so nervous. He practiced in front of the mirror for nearly three hours last night."

"Did he?" Ginny asked mildly. "It certainly paid off."

Not long after, the band began to play. Ron and Hermione got the first dance, of course. They revolved slowly in each other's arms, talking quietly and occasionally breaking into laughter. Ginny couldn't have been happier for them. A marriage that began with laughter was one that was sure to last. Andrew, Ginny's date for the wedding, observed, "They look so happy."

"They really love each other," she replied, leaning against the wall beside him and watching her brother and his wife. Ron was married. What a strange thought. He didn't look any different, but his whole life had changed in just one day. Still, Ginny had always thought it would be nice to have a sister, and she was glad it was Hermione.

The song wound down, and it was the bridal party's turn in the spotlight. Harry caught her eye from across the room and Ginny excused herself from Andrew to join him on the floor. As the best man and maid of honor, they had to partner each other. "Your toast was excellent," she said.

"I'm just relieved it's over." They were silent for a moment; this was the first time they'd danced together since the Halloween Ball during Ginny's sixth year. "So," Harry said in an attempt to make conversation, "how serious is it with Andrew?"

Ginny went immediately on the defensive. "Andrew and I are friends."

"Like you and Mike were friends?"

She arched a brow. "Like you and Rhiannon are friends?"

He laughed quietly. "Touché." A pause, and then he asked, "What do you think of her?"

"Who? Rhiannon?"

He nodded.

"She's wearing too much makeup."

Harry smiled at that. "I hadn't noticed."

"You wouldn't."

"Now what's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that men are unobservant when it comes to details."

"You wound me, Gin," he said quietly, a sparkle of mirth in his eyes. "You with your dress that's slightly too long, the shoes you're not used to walking in, and the one small tendril that's escaped from your hairstyle and is curling across the back of your neck. Don't tell me I don't see. Not when it's important."

"Are you saying Rhiannon isn't important?" Ginny was finding it very hard to breathe, being held so close to him. She wished she could step away, get outside for some fresh air. Still, she fought to keep her tone light.

"I never said that. I like Rhiannon. She's a very nice person."

"You're going to break her heart," Ginny predicted.

Harry laughed out loud. "I doubt that very much."

"You will," she insisted. "Just like you did to all the others."

"Which others?" He was impossibly amused. Mike Fletcher was a heartbreaker, not he.

Ginny rattled off a whole list of names. "Donna, Bertie, Lynn, Anne, Hoshiko, Emma, Amanda...are any of these sounding familiar?"

He stared at her in disbelief. "Do you realize you just named them in order?"

Ginny blushed furiously. This was not going her way. Not at all.

He continued, his eyes unreadable, "Ginny, are you jealous by any chance?"

"No," she answered furiously. "Of course not."

"Of course not," he echoed. "All the same, if you were you could tell me." Then he frowned and looked at something over her head. "Who's that girl sitting with Gwen?" He spun them around so that Ginny could get a look.

"Her name is Esme Contarosa," Ginny explained. "She's one of Hermione's uni friends, with a business degree. Gwen has been looking to hire someone to take over the spa's finances, so I thought I'd help a bit by putting them together."

"They don't look like they're talking business," Harry observed.

Ginny's eyes sparkled mischievously. "They're probably not."

Surprise invested every feature. "You've got to be kidding. Gwen isn't...I mean, she isn't, is she?" Ginny nodded, and Harry laughed. "The boys of Gryffindor will be devastated to learn. When did she tell you?"

"She hasn't ever," Ginny answered, "but I caught her checking Ria out a few times. I think she and Esme will get along very well."

He swung her into a particularly complicated turn, and for a moment they were unable to speak. When it was over, Ginny cleared her throat. "Are you going to go home with her tonight?"

"Who? Gwen?"

"No, Rhiannon."

"It's only the polite thing to do. We wouldn't want her apparating by herself, would we? What if she got splinched?" The likelihood of Rhiannon splinching herself was nil, and they both knew it. "Unless," he said, his eyes intent on hers, "you didn't want me to, for some reason. Then I think I could let her go home alone. Is there some reason you don't want me to leave with her tonight, Ginny?"

Those damn green eyes...they saw too much for their own good. She didn't want him leaving with Rhiannon tonight, but if she told him so he'd expect certain promises in return, promises Ginny was incapable of giving. "No," she managed to say. "You two have a wonderful time."

He sighed, suddenly weary. "We will. Don't worry on that score. Are you going home with Andrew?"

Ginny shook her head. "I'm staying at the Burrow tonight. My parents will be glad for the company. The others all have to get right back to their lives, but I have tomorrow off work, so..."

Harry had tomorrow off too, but he didn't volunteer the information. He needed this dance over as soon as possible, to put as much physical space between them as he could. She still wasn't ready to give him what he wanted. At the same time, though, he relished the feeling of holding her close, of being so near. It was right, although it was still the wrong time.

* * * * *

Ginny lay on the sofa, watching the flames dance in the fireplace through half-closed eyes. The Christmas tree lights twinkled and sparkled as they reflected off the handmade ornaments—souvenirs of seven Weasley childhoods. A popcorn garland looped around the tree, white against its green needles. She and Ron had made it just last week. Ginny missed Ron already. She knew the honeymoon would be over in two weeks and then he'd be back at work, but it wouldn't be the same. Hermione was his family now. Just as Ginny was starting to get well and truly depressed, there was a loud knock at the front door.

She lay still and hoped the visitor would go away. Who could possibly have come over in this weather? The snow fell thick and fast, threatening to turn into a blizzard by morning. The knock sounded again, and Ginny wearily pulled herself to her feet. Maybe one of the bridesmaids had forgotten something.

She blinked in surprise when she opened the door and saw Harry standing there, huddled in his long black overcoat, teeth chattering. Ginny hurriedly stepped aside to let him in and shut the door against the cold outside.

Harry shrugged out of his winter coat and dinner jacket and pulled his knit hat off of his head, leaving his hair standing up in riotous spikes. He'd removed his waistcoat already. Ginny wondered where he'd left it, but didn't ask. He eyed her clothing. "You look comfortable."

She wore black drawstring pajama pants and an old sweater of Ron's that was way too big. "You don't."

He was still in his dress trousers, high-polished shoes, and white shirt. The top button on his collar was open, though, and his tie hung unknotted around his neck. "Where are your parents?" he asked, still shivering slightly, pink-cheeked from the cold.

"They went to bed a few hours ago," Ginny replied. "Why don't you go into the living room and have a seat in front of the fire? I'll be right in."

She joined him shortly, bringing two glasses with her. "What's that?" he asked.

Ginny handed one to him. "Eggnog and butterscotch liqueur. It'll warm you up." They sat together in silence for a while, looking into the flames, remembering the day, sipping their drinks.

Finally, Harry spoke. "I hope I didn't wake you up."

"No," she answered. "I was just laying down here feeling sorry for myself. It's a good thing you showed up to snap me out of it. I thought you were staying at Rhiannon's tonight."

He shrugged. "I changed my mind."

"And?"

"And I came here instead."

"I'm glad," she said softly. "I was lonely."

They were silent again for a while, then Ginny spoke up. "You were wonderful today. Everything went off without a hitch."

There was no response. She turned her head to look at Harry; he was sound asleep, his head drooping forward. He'd run himself ragged today. Ginny took the glass from his limp hands before it could drop to the floor and then gently, but with no little difficulty and quite a bit of silver magic, maneuvered him into a semi-horizontal position on the sofa. It was a tight fit; he was just barely too tall. She covered him with an afghan and then gingerly removed his glasses and set them on the end table. He'd come back to see her. The thought gave her a warm, comfortable feeling. Her earlier sadness was gone.

Ginny reached down and, with a soft, tender motion, brushed his damp hair out of his face. Then she left the family room and climbed the stairs to go to bed, no less tired than he.