More Than Words

Ginny reached over in the dim morning light to switch off the alarm she'd set the previous night. According to the softly glowing face of the clock, she still had a good forty-five minutes in which to sleep, but she'd already lain awake for half an hour. Experience had taught her she wasn't going back to sleep. She could hear someone moving about in the common room between her bedroom and Marion's, attempting to be quiet, but inevitably making more noise than if they'd behaved normally by running into the sharp corner of a piece of furniture. That someone proved to be Marion, a flood of colorful curses floating to Ginny's ears. Ginny giggled to herself and slid from the bed, padding to the bedroom door. She opened it a bit and peered at Marion, half-dressed, hands on her hips, glaring at the low table near the small sofa. Ginny withdrew slightly, wondering if Marion would prove to be the nosy type and want to know all of her darkest secrets. There were things she hadn't even told Harry, and she certainly wasn't going to reveal it to a total stranger. Her hand tightened over the doorknob and it rattled under her hand. Marion's head swiveled toward Ginny. 'How long have you been awake?' she demanded.

Ginny glanced at the clock. 'Since a quarter of six,' she replied.

Marion snatched up the baggy pair of jog pants from where they'd landed when she had dropped them earlier, and slipped them on under the voluminous t-shirt she already wore. 'Seen my trainers?'

Ginny took a few steps into the common room. 'I... I don't think so...'

'Excellent,' Marion groaned. 'I just bought the bloody things.'

'Sorry,' Ginny murmured.

Marion studied Ginny, hands on her hips. 'So we ought to get a few administrative things out of the way if we're going to room with each other for the next month. Are you habitually an early riser?'

'Sadly, yes,' Ginny replied. 'Nobody had a lie-in with my mother around. She could always find something for you to do. And I woke up early at school the last few months to get in some extra training for my trial. I'm usually awake by six-thirty.'

'Wish I'd known that five minutes ago,' Marion sighed. She shuffled to a small table, laden with tea things, the hems of her jog pants dragging on the carpet. 'So am I. An early riser, I mean. But only during the season. During the first few weeks of the off-season, I've been know to sleep until noon.' She held up a mug. 'Tea?'

'Thank you, yes.' Ginny edged into the common room, hovering near the sofa.

'For Merlin's sake, child, don't stand on ceremony with me,' Marion said far more sharply than she'd intended. Ginny's silence was a tad unnerving. 'We're teammates.' She measured tea leaves into the pot and swirled her wand over the top, sending steaming water streaming over the leaves. 'You make the tea tomorrow.' Marion replaced the lid and turned back to Ginny. 'So. Tell me a bit about yourself.'

'Like what?' Ginny asked warily. She dropped to the sofa, tucking her feet under her, wondering why Marion was so interested. She didn't want to offer information that could be used against her.

'Family? Brothers? Sisters?'

'I thought everyone knew that,' Ginny said resignedly. 'I'm a Weasley...'

Marion chuckled softly. 'But I'd still like to hear it from you. Nothing too personal, if that's how you want it.'

'I'm the youngest of seven,' Ginny said. 'The first girl to be born a Weasley in generations,' she intoned in the pompous tones of Percy. 'Dad works for the Ministry and Mum stayed home with the lot of us. She had to be bored out of her mind when I went to school, because she didn't have to cook and clean so much.' She accepted the mug Marion handed her and added sugar and a little milk to it. 'Not much to tell, really.'

'Tell me about your brothers,' Marion prompted. 'What did they do when they finished school?'

Ginny absently twirled a lock of hair around her index finger. 'Bill, the oldest works for Gringotts. He's married to a girl he met while she was here participating in the Triwizard from Beauxbatons. Fleur.' A ghost of a smile wafted over Ginny's face. 'I didn't care for her at first when he announced they were engaged. Even called her Phlegm,' she added with a hint of embarrassment at her adolescent behavior. 'She's part Veela, you see, and I was convinced she'd worked some sort of charm over Bill. I was wrong, though. She really is quite nice. We didn't make it easy for her in the beginning. Charlie works in Holyhead at the dragon reservation. He worked on a reservation in Romania when I was younger. I only saw him a few times here and there when he could get away or when Mum and Dad could scrape together the gold to go see him.' Ginny caught herself and took a scalding sip of tea. She hadn't meant to air her family's financial laundry to a virtual stranger. 'With so many of us in school...' she muttered.

Marion sprawled on the edge of an armchair, nodding. 'Of course,' she said smoothly. 'Getting your things for Hogwarts isn't cheap.'

'At one point, there were five of us in school at once,' Ginny explained, her cheeks warm. She coughed and took of sip of tea to cover her discomfiture, and changed course. 'Percy works with Kingsley, erm, I mean... the Minister... Mr. Shacklebolt...'

'How do you come to call the Minister of Magic by his given name?'

'Oh, well, he worked with...' Ginny stopped talking suddenly. She had been about to tell Marion that she knew Shacklebolt from his time with the Order of the Phoenix, but ingrained habit stilled her tongue. Order business was not meant to be discussed with people who hadn't been part of the Order. 'He, erm, worked with my father and knows my family,' Ginny temporized. She rearranged herself on the sofa into a more comfortable position. 'My brothers Fred and George opened a joke shop in Diagon Alley. They ran it as an owl-order service from school for roughly a year before obtaining premises. Fred... He, uh...'

'I know,' Marion said gently.

Ginny's lips pressed together and she swallowed past the tightening of her throat, grateful she didn't have to actually put Fred's death into words. 'George still runs it. With my youngest brother, Ron.'

'And Harry Potter?'

Ginny's mouth opened to refuse to play along, to state that Harry was a restricted topic, but she found herself saying, 'He's Ron's best mate. He spent holidays with us whenever he could. My parents have sort of adopted him.'

Marion's lip curled slightly in distaste. 'And that's not weird with the two of you dating?'

Ginny started slightly, slopping tea over the rim of the mug, swiping her hand over the knee of her pajama bottoms. 'Oh. No. It's not like that.'

'You mean you're not seeing each other?' Marion said in bemusement.

'We are, but I've never seen Harry as just another brother,' Ginny stammered. She wasn't about to tell anyone about her childhood fairy-tale fantasies about Harry.

'Hmm.' Marion contemplated Ginny and drank her own tea for several long moments. 'So why don't you rely on other people?' At Ginny's look of alarm, she flapped a hand to encompass the room. 'It won't leave this room.'

Ginny chewed her lip, thinking. She didn't have to tell Marion all the details of things she'd rather forget. Just the bare bones would do. 'I trusted someone at school who used me to do his dirty work,' she said heavily. 'I love my brothers, but it was my first year, and they sort of left me at a bit of a loose end. This person took me under his wing, and made me believe he was my friend when I thought I didn't have anyone else.' She rubbed her nose to stem the tide of unexpected tears and quipped, 'Besides, with six older brothers, asking for help was as just begging to have heaps of ridicule and scorn brought down upon your head. If I wanted to do something with them, like play Quidditch, I had to learn how to do it on my own and be twice as good as them.' She looked down at the sturdy mug cradled in her hands and shrugged. 'It's second nature now.'

Marion drained her tea and set the mug firmly on the table. 'Well, habits can be broken,' she said briskly. 'Starting today. We're going to the pitch after breakfast, and the pace is going to be at breakneck speed for the next month. You won't have much time to work things out for yourself. Not if you want to keep your position.' She rose to her feet and stretched. 'Get yourself washed and changed. We have a private room for meals here. And Gwenog likes for us to sit at one big table. Build up team camaraderie, you know.' She paused and studied Ginny. 'It's rather like a family dinner. They shout, you shout back.' Marion headed back to her room. 'I do hope you don't take an age in the bath,' she said off-handedly over her shoulder.

'There's only the one bathroom in my parents' house,' Ginny offered. 'The day Bill got married there were twelve people in the Burrow. I can shower in five minutes if need be.'

'Fantastic,' Marion smirked. 'When Helen first joined the team, we shared a room. That bloody woman takes over an hour in the bath. Spent the month feeling rushed. I said never again. That's why I wake up so early now.'

Ginny gaped at Marion. 'I don't believe I've ever spent an hour in the bath...' she breathed in wonder. 'That sounds so decadent.'

Marion fished a hair elastic from a pocket of her jog pants and bound her hair into a tight ponytail. 'Don't start now, hm? I'd like to get to breakfast before all that's left is cold porridge.' With that, Ginny darted into the bathroom with alacrity and hurriedly showered and dressed.

Ginny and Marion were one of the first to arrive at breakfast. Plates were stacked on one end of a long table laden with eggs, bacon, toast, bacon, scones, sausages, grilled tomatoes, and fresh fruit, along with the aforementioned porridge. 'Don't be shy,' Marion advised, picking up a plate for herself. 'You're going to need it later.' Ginny needed no further prompting. She hadn't eaten much the past few days and quickly loaded a plate, carrying it to a seat at the end of the table.

The other players began to file into the room in ones and twos. Conversation was blessedly muted, and for the most part, they focused on their breakfasts and the day at hand. Gwenog arrived just before eight, consulting a clipboard. 'Scrimmage with Bulgaria begins at ten. We'll be at the pitch at nine sharp. I want you changed into your kit and with your brooms at nine-fifteen. You bring your best moves today. I'm in no mood to listen to the Bulgarian captain gloat.'

XxXxXxX

The Quidditch pitch for the Swedish national team was located near the Norwegian border and the North Sea. Like the stadium in Holyhead, salt-laden wind toyed with the ends of Ginny's hair, tugging errant strands from her plait and blowing them across her eyes. She stood on the grassy edge of the pitch, staring at the low, grey clouds scuttling across a dull sky. 'You can play tourist on your own time,' Gwenog barked. 'Get changed.'

Ginny dutifully filed into the changing room and found the cubicle with her name scrawled over it in chalk. She opened the door and found three different versions of her kit hanging inside. One was predominantly dark green, with her name, team number, and the team insignia in shimmering gold. The next had dark green trousers with a gold jumper. The last was a lighter shade of green. Ginny gulped and her fingers clenched around the edge of the cubicle door. Mindful of Marion's admonition to ask for help, she peeked around the door and leaned closer to Anna, one of the starting side Chasers. 'Which one do I wear?'

'The light one,' Anna murmured, with a sympathetic grin. She wished more than once that Gwenog would just write a handbook for new players and be done with it, rather than throwing them in the deep end to see if they could swim. It would dispense with so many awkward questions. 'Always the lighter green one for practices. The dark green one is for home games, and the green-and-gold kit is for away games.'

'Thanks,' Ginny whispered. She glanced furtively around the room, and wriggled into the jumper, leaving her t-shirt on, and trying to expose as little skin as possible. She wasn't quite comfortable about disrobing in front of so many other people.

'Just drop 'em, Ginny,' Marion advised, walking behind Ginny, fastening her trousers. 'It's much faster. Nobody's looking.'

Elsie shimmied into a snug sports bra. 'It gets easier,' she said to Ginny from Ginny's other side. 'It's a little disconcerting to be confronted by so much flesh fresh out of school. My first year, I wanted to crawl under a bench and die from embarrassment.' She continued, but her voice was muffled by the jumper she pulled over her head. As her head popped through the neck, Elsie called across the room, 'Oi! Mandy! Who was that Keeper that was here before Caroline? You know the one with the generous breasts?'

Mandy buckled her belt and tugged her jumper into place. 'Ah... Let me think... She had an old-fashioned posh sort of name... Like Tilly...'

Matilda snorted and tucked the laces of her boots into the tops. 'Matilda isn't posh,' she grunted. 'Old-fashioned for sure, though.'

Mandy giggled and plopped to a bench to put on her own socks and boots. 'It was something like Henrietta or Wilhelmina...'

'Edith!' Helen exclaimed. 'That was her name! Good Keeper, despite her figure...'

Elsie glanced at Ginny, who had now managed to change under the cover of the other players' chatter. 'Anyway, Edith would walk around completely starkers and you'd swear her tits needed a kit of their own. After a couple of weeks, you sort of got numb to it.' She lowered her voice. 'It'll pass.'

Ginny nodded and drew her thick socks over her feet, strapping the shin guards over them. 'Thank you,' she mouthed to Elsie. The conversation had been a welcome distraction for her. She felt in her bag for a spare ponytail elastic and shoved it into her pocket, then grabbed her broom and left the changing room to sit on the grass at the edge of the pitch and plait her hair. As she worked her arms behind her head to weave the auburn strands into a French plait, a shadow fell across her face. She glanced up, squinting at the source, annoyed at the accompanying aroma of aftershave. It was decidedly foul and the poor sod had doused himself with it.

'Vell, vell, vell, Ginny... Ve meet again,' drawled a vaguely familiar voice over Ginny's head.

Where do I know that voice from? she thought, peering over her shoulder. A pair of duck-toed feet came into view and a memory tugged at her. 'Viktor Krum?' she asked hesitatingly.

'This is a pleasant surprise to be seeing you here,' he said, joining Ginny on the grass. 'Are you vith the Harpies?'

'I, erm, yes,' Ginny replied, struggling to finish plaiting her hair. Gwenog would have kittens if she let her hair fly about during the scrimmage.

Viktor smiled smugly. 'You look very vell,' he commented. 'Vot happened to the boy you vere dating ven your brother married Fleur?'

'The boy I was dating...?' Ginny murmured, confused. 'What boy...?'

Viktor waved aside the question like an annoying gnat. 'Never mind him. I am correct in thinking he is out of the picture, yes?' At Ginny's continued blank expression, he nodded in satisfaction. 'Good. He vas not vorth your time.'

'I don't -' Ginny began, only to be cut off once more by Viktor's monologue.

'You need a real man,' he said, leaning closer to Ginny. 'One who can handle your... spirit,' he added, blatantly admiring Ginny's body.

Behind them, stood Helen and Marion. Helen gestured silently at the pair, making an inquiring face and Marion shook her head no. 'Not yet,' she breathed. 'If she can't fight off that inept wooing, then there's no hope for her,' Marion whispered nearly soundlessly.

Ginny messily her plait, binding it carelessly with the ponytail elastic, then attempted to stand up. 'It was nice to see you again,' she said politely, 'but I really must--' Her voice squawked indignantly has Viktor's hand closed around her wrist yanking her back to the grass.

'Come haff a drink vith me after the scrimmage,' he said in a commanding invitation.

'No, thank you,' Ginny sighed, experimentally pulling on her wrist still encapsulated in Viktor's meaty hand. It didn't budge.

Viktor blinked, then began to chuckle. She was obviously angling for more than just a drink. Girls, in his opinion, simply shouldn't just refuse him. Persistence, then, was the order of the day. 'Vell played. Dinner, then.'

'I really can't,' Ginny tried to explain. 'Gwenog likes for us to have our meals as a team.'

Viktor's eyes widened incredulously. If his team captain had tried to exert that much control over his players, they would revolt. 'She vill let you out for me,' Viktor told her confidently. 'I am an international Quidditch star.' Most captains would gladly allow their players to forgo a team dinner for a chance to go out with Viktor Krum. Several had in the past year, in fact.

'How nice for you,' Ginny said coldly.

'I know your hotel. I vill call for you at seven.'

Ginny felt her shoulders stiffen. Does the brainless git not understand the word no? 'I'm afraid I really must decline,' she said in icy tones that wouldn't have sounded out of place coming from McGonagall's mouth.

Viktor was through with talking. He thought Ginny might need a little persuasion, so he closed the gap between them and pressed his mouth against hers. In mere seconds, he felt a stinging sensation inside his nose and sinuses and at least a dozen sticky, greyish-yellow bogeys shot from his nostrils, expanded, and began to flap about his head and face, slapping his skin, and leaving viscous trails over his face like the tracks of garden snails. Ginny sprang to her feet, her wand balanced easily in her right hand, her left rubbing firmly across her lips. 'I said "no",' she spat, Summoning her broom and stalking across the pitch.

XxXxXxX

Hermione stood in the back garden of her parents' house in Oxford, clutching a scrap of paper on which she'd written the coordinates from Remus' letter. The letter itself was tucked away in a bureau drawer, prosaically enough under a pile of old knickers. She knew she ought to move it somewhere safer - a Gringotts vault perhaps - but she'd found herself standing on the steps leading into the bank, unable to take it in. It -had been more than a year after their somewhat successful break-in, after all; however, goblins weren't known for being particularly forgiving creatures. Despite Bill's assurances the goblins wouldn't make the process more difficult than necessary, the idea of walking through those doors filled her with more than a little dread. She couldn't help but wonder what other creatures were miserably abused in the depths of the earth.

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Destination, determination, deliberation. She willed herself to place of calm, picturing the intersection of the coordinates in a remote corner of Shropshire. The notion that Remus had entrusted her with the task of looking after those men gave her actions purpose, unhurried and meditative. As she exhaled, she began to turn, every motion nothing short of textbook perfection. The next thing she saw was a square stone building, half hidden in a small copse of trees. It looked like every child's drawing of a house: a near perfect rectangle, chimneys on either end, windows on either side of the front door, and spaced evenly over the upper floors. The edges of the farmhouse blurred slightly and for a moment, and façade shimmered and changed to something much more dilapidated. 'Clever,' she murmured. In all likelihood, it had been set with Muggle-Repelling charms. It might have also been Unplottable, among other protections. Hermione strode to the front door, carefully slipping the coordinates securely into her pocket. When no one answered her admittedly timid knock, she crept around the house, seeking another entrance. Gingerly circling the house, Hermione found a door propped open at the rear of the house leading to its kitchen. A small group of men sat clustered around the sturdy, rectangular table, seated in an array of mismatched chairs. It was all very cozy.

One of the men shoved his chair back and stood when he spied Hermione peeping through the doorway. 'Who are you?' he said rudely, a wand appearing from thin air in his hand, trained at her forehead.

Startled, Hermione snapped irritably in reply, 'Hermione Granger. Who are you?'

Matthew's wand didn't waver from its position. 'Tell me how you found this place,' he demanded. He glanced at Maurice. 'It's supposed to be a secret!' he hissed.

Hermione, still incensed at Matthew's interrogation, edged into the kitchen. 'Remus Lupin told me.'

Maurice raised an eyebrow, and Summoned another mug to the table. He reached for the large teapot in the middle and poured tea into the mug. 'Sit yourself down,' he told her, offering the mug. 'Now then. How is it you came to know our location? Considering Remus has been dead for quite some time.'

'And why did it take you so bloody long?' Matthew muttered.

Hermione perched on the edge of a vacant chair and grasped the handle of the mug in one hand, pulling it toward her. The milk jug and sugar bowl slid across the table, coming to a stop in front of her. 'I only recently learned of your location,' she said, adding milk and sugar to her tea. 'Kingsley - the Minister - was left in possession of letter from Remus that was to be sent to me in the event of joining the Ministry or finishing school, whichever came first. Needless to say,' she added with a wry twist of her mouth, 'I elected to finish school.' She gave Matthew a pointed look and said mulishly thinking of all those days with inadequate food while they hunted Horcruxes, 'You don't appear to have been starving in the interim.' Matthew's head reared back slightly at the counter attack. Hermione turned to Phillip and Maurice. 'How have you been getting food?' she inquired curiously.

'House elves,' Phillip volunteered.

'I beg your pardon?' Hermione said icily.

'The Hogwarts elves,' Phillip explained. 'Remus set something up with Dumbledore before he died and they've been delivering baskets with food ever since.' He glanced at the most recent basket that had arrived that morning, still sitting on the counter. 'Although, I rather fancy they started doing it of their own accord since Snape's unfortunate tenure. Or at least Evie did.' He peered at Hermione's white face. 'Are you feeling unwell?'

'You've been fed by slave labor for years, and it doesn't bother you?' Hermione whispered.

'S.P.E.W.' Maurice chuckled, realization dawning on him. 'You must be the student Remus mentioned a few times.'

'R-remus talked about me?' Hermione asked with faint pleasure. 'And S.P.E.W?'

'Not by name, of course,' Maurice said. 'For your protection. But a week or so before that last battle, he dropped by for a few minutes to make certain we were sorted and assure us if he didn't make it that we weren't to worry. And to be on the lookout for a girl with a healthy respect for the rights of others, especially house elves.'

'What did you think of Remus?' Maurice inquired.

Hermione's eyes stung and she looked down into her tea. 'Remus was one of the finest men I knew.'

Matthew could no longer contain himself. 'Oh, for Merlin's sake,' he grumbled. 'The fool nearly cocked up his marriage and his own life. Running out on his wife like that.'

Hermione's mug slammed to the table with such force, tea slopped over the edge. She had often read of rage that would make the blood pound in one's ears, but she'd rarely experienced it - most often during school and Ron had been behaving like an idiot. Her scalp prickled and she glared at Matthew, unaware she had risen to her feet. 'Remus Lupin was human,' she said quietly. 'He had faults, just like everyone else. He was wise enough, however to learn from his mistakes and rectify them, if he could. You might try to emulate him.'

Matthew's eyes rounded at the sight of the petite witch glowering at him, her curly hair standing on end. He supposed he could only be grateful she didn't have her wand. She might have hexed him in an instant. 'Enough, Matthew,' Phillip murmured. 'She's not the one you want to bait, eh?' Phillip mopped up the spilled tea and refreshed Hermione's mug. 'So, Miss Granger, is there anything else you'd like to know?'

Hermione drew in a deep breath and looked around the somewhat bare kitchen. 'Is there anything you need?'

'The house is in decent shape,' Maurice sighed. 'The three of us have managed to gain a little skill in refurbishment. It's not going to collapse around our ears any time soon.'

'Clothes,' Matthew said suddenly.

'Clothes?' Hermione repeated blankly.

'Clothes,' Matthew affirmed. 'I don't know about those two, but I can't mend my pants anymore. The patches have patches. Just a few changes, you see...'

'Hm. He's got that right,' Maurice grunted. 'A few jumpers, shirts, and trousers apiece, wouldn't come amiss.'

'How...?' Hermione began weakly. 'I supposed I could inquire about funding...'

Maurice waved aside her concerns impatiently. 'We have gold. At Gringotts. But we're hesitant to go into Diagon Alley. But I can give you permission to go into my vault, get what gold you need and you can bring the clothing back here. I'll get you a list before you go.'

'Books,' Phillip piped up. 'Remus left a few here and they're worn to tatters,' he said shyly.

'I think I know where to go for that,' Hermione said slowly. She knew Remus had an extensive collection of books, but didn't know where they'd been stored. 'It'll take a few weeks to track them down. I can't promise anything just now.' Phillip nodded and idly stirred his tea. 'What do you want?' Hermione asked. 'I mean, for yourselves in wizarding society?'

The question seemed to catch the men off-guard. 'We don't belong in wizarding society,' Matthew said bitterly after several long moments. 'We're not considered wizards anymore, are we?'

'You certainly are wizards!' Hermione said sharply. 'You're just...' She searched her memory for the appropriate phrase. 'Wizards with a furry little problem!'

Maurice stared at her, then began to roar with laughter. 'A furry little problem... That's one way to look at it...' He drew a threadbare handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his eyes. 'Oh, that's the funnies thing I've heard in ages... Furry little problem...'

'It's how one of Remus' friends described it,' Hermione huffed, a little more defensively than necessary.

'Don't be so missish,' Maurice retorted. 'It is amusing.' He sat back in his chair. 'So then, Miss Hermione Granger. How are you going to restore me to my previous life of being a Healer? Or any of us to a fraction of what we did before?'

Hermione met Maurice's gaze squarely. 'I don't know,' she admitted. 'It will be horribly difficult and might not happen for years. Decades, perhaps. But I will promise you this: I won't stop until it's illegal to hunt you and we make accommodations for your condition so you can fully participate in the wizarding world. It's not as if you asked for this.' Her shoulders slumped slightly. 'Fenrir Greyback did you no favors with his own behavior...'

'At least you're going to try,' Phillip said consolingly. 'That's the most anyone's done since that

bastard bit me.'

XxXxXxX

Percy poured bran flakes into a bowl, and then added precisely just enough milk to peep through the flakes. Too little milk, it was like chewing cardboard; too much milk it turned to mush. Penelope wrinkled her nose and sipped her tea, buttering her toast. He thoughtfully stirred the milk through his cereal staring at the calendar pinned to the wall next to their small dining table. 'What are you doing tomorrow?' he asked idly.

Penelope grinned. 'As if you don't know. The same thing you are. Working.'

Percy chewed a few bites of cereal. 'How much sick leave do you have?'

Penny's eyes crossed as she mentally calculated the dates. 'Oh, around a week.'

Percy nodded in satisfaction. 'Perfect. That ought to be enough time.'

'Enough time for...?' Penny made a motion for Percy to elaborate.

'What do you say we get married tomorrow?'

Penny spewed tea all over Percy's face. 'Wh-what did you say?'

Percy removed his glasses and painstakingly cleaned them with his serviette. 'Why don't we get married tomorrow? Just the two of us.'

Penny scrutinized Percy closely. 'You don't want your family there?'

Percy's spoon clattered against the side of his bowl. He carefully set it aside and adjusted his glasses. 'I do. But...'

'But...?'

Percy glanced down at the table. He did want to be surrounded by his family, but he had heard stories about Bill's wedding and all the fuss that had come with it. As much as he enjoyed prestige, Percy did not enjoy being the center of everyone's attention. Besides, traditional weddings offended his sense of efficiency. There were all the guests one felt compelled to invite, lest someone become offended at their lack of an invitation. The food that no one would eat, the drinks that no one would consume. The unnecessary extravagance. The mess. 'I want my family. Just not everyone else they would insist must be invited.' Percy's brows drew together in a frown. 'Why we must behave like everyone else?'

'Percy...' Penny interjected gently. 'There's nothing that says we have to have a big, traditional wedding. I'd rather avoid all the fuss myself. It doesn't seem very practical, and I don't care about the wedding so much as I care about the marriage. I merely want to make sure that you will have no regrets if your mum and dad weren't there.' She grinned slyly. 'It would rather make a delicious prank, wouldn't it? To just stroll into lunch with your family next Sunday as if nothing's changed.'

Percy's expression brightened considerably. 'Then it's settled,' he pronounced. 'I'll take care of the paperwork today.'

Efficient as always, Percy procured the appropriate licenses, signatures, and retrieved the gold band he'd bought with Penny's engagement ring from his vault in Gringotts in record time.

The next day found Percy standing next to Penny in a drab Ministry office, beaming with pride. Penny wore a simple white dress, and he wore a slightly less formal set of dress robes. They walked into the office hand-in-hand, fingers wound tightly together. Neither seemed willing to release the other's hand. Percy repeated his vows, squeezing Penny's fingers for emphasis. At one point, his voice cracked and Percy averted his eyes, blinking furiously, lest he begin to cry. Penny's vows were recited in a clear, firm, albeit soft voice that caught a few times, and a couple of tears slipped from the corner of her eyes, and tracked down her cheeks. They caught the light streaming through the window, and Percy reached up with his free hand to brush them away. He slid the ring over her finger, marveling at how tiny her hand was in his, nestling the band next to the engagement ring. Penny cradled his hand in hers, and eased Percy's wedding ring over his finger settling it into place. The Ministry witch smiled indulgently as she said, 'I now pronounce you husband and wife.'

Percy impulsively drew Penny toward him and soundly kissed her, hands cupping her face. They broke into shy smiles and Percy crowed softly, 'We're married.'

'Mr. Weasley?' the witch coughed softly, holding out a quill. 'If you could just sign here...' She pushed a registry book across the desk. Percy took the quill and signed his name with a flourish, then handed the quill to Penny, who added her signature underneath his.

Percy reached into a pocket and withdrew a small moneybag that he pressed into the witch's hand. 'Thank you,' he told her in a heartfelt voice.

'It was my pleasure,' the witch replied.

Penny tucked her hand into the crook of Percy's elbow. 'Shall we, Mr. Weasely?' she murmured, with a tilt of her head to the door.

'I do believe we shall, Mrs. Weasley,' Percy said solemnly, making Penny giggle. As they made their way to Atrium, he turned to her and asked, 'How should we tell my family?'

Penny held out her left hand, admiring the sparkle of her rings. 'I say we let them figure it out. It shouldn't be too difficult if they're paying any sort of attention.'

XxXxXxX

The following Sunday was bright and clear. Percy and Penny were deliberately late to lunch, walking unhurriedly into the kitchen and taking their places at the table without comment. True to their word, they said nothing about the wedding, and didn't point out the new additions to their ring fingers, calmly passing platters of ham and chicken and bowls of vegetables and potatoes. It was only when Molly began to dish up pudding did someone notice Percy's left hand. 'Percy,' George began, ' what's that on your hand. It looks like you've got a blot of ink on it.'

Ron squinted down the table and scoffed, 'What sort of git uses gold ink, George? Even Percy's not that big of a naff to use gold ink.'

'Thank you, Ron,' Percy said sarcastically.

'That's not ink,' Charlie supplied helpfully, around a bite of sticky toffee pudding.

'Can't be ink,' Arthur stated. 'Percy's not been at work most of last week.'

Molly's head swiveled around. 'Have you been ill? And you didn't send an owl?' she scolded.

Percy sighed and deliberately picked up his water glass with his left hand and slowly drained it. 'No, Mum,' he said patiently. 'I've been quite all right. Just took a few personal days.'

Bill choked on his pudding. 'You took personal days?' he coughed.

Percy held up the four fingers of his left hand. 'Just four.'

Molly's hand darted across the table and grasped Percy's hand. She studied it for a long moment before glancing at Penny and holding out her hand, releasing Percy. 'May I see your hand please? The left one.' Molly held up Penny's hand, noting the two rings. 'Is there something either of you would like to tell us?'

Percy and Penny's eyes met, and blinding smiles spread over their faces. 'We're married,' Percy said, not looking at anyone else but Penny.

It was the last coherent thing anyone said at lunch that day.