The Lion and the Unicorn

"Leaves turned to fire float by
Startle the brilliant sky
The love we were granted,
Enchanted;
Yet fated to die
…I poke the fire anew
In flickers of golden blue
There in the embers
Remember
November, and you."

-November, by Alegre Correa and Dardis McNamee

*

"Harry, do you realize where we are?" Ginny asked in the inky black darkness, stifling a giggle. It would not do to be caught out of bounds early in the morning hours of the first of November. Still, it was sort of ironic. Peeves had just floated down the hall, and to avoid being caught, they'd taken refuge behind one of the many wall-hangings that served both to keep the castle warmer and as decoration.

"Yeah," Harry whispered back. Ginny inferred from his tone that the irony of the situation hadn't occurred to him yet. "We're behind the tapestry in the," she pinpointed the moment realization dawned on him, "Charms corridor. Oh…"

She grinned. "Too bad we never did anything to deserve that detention." This was fun. She had almost forgotten all about whatever it was that she was supposed to be pondering… ah, the dreams, the book, the Gaelic and how she could speak it. She'd had a rather in-depth conversation with Seamus in Gaelic the other day without even meaning to.

"Hm," said Harry. "Well, we've done the time…" His nose was centimeters from hers when there was a noise in the hallway. She felt him freeze.

"Is that…?" she whispered, not daring to say more lest they be discovered. There were two discernible sets of footsteps, two low voices, and a lot of giggling and moaning. We are not hearing this, Ginny's ears insisted. We're not. We're just going to forget that we heard anything.

"It sounded like Charlie," Harry said when the moaning had faded out of earshot. They slid out from behind the tapestry.

"It sounded like he wasn't alone," Ginny said dryly, shaking her head. "Although I suppose it's high time he was over Anya."

"Anya and Charlie?" Harry asked, sounding almost incredulous. Ginny wasn't quite sure if she was reading sarcasm or not. "We should be getting back to the Tower," he pointed out, bringing out the Invisibility Cloak and tucking her under it with him. She was still tingling with the discovery that he had one. It had possibilities.

"Yes," Ginny answered, "to both questions. What's so hard to believe about Anya and Charlie?"

She felt him shrug as they began to walk back to their common room. "I don't know. I guess they seemed like such good friends that I never thought there was something romantic going on between them. That, and the fact that I think Anya has a thing for Sirius."

This time, she did giggle. "Well, it was a few years ago, you know. Besides, Ron and Hermione are good friends and you weren't the least bit surprised when Ron asked her to the ball."

Harry snickered. "Yeah, but I heard them fight about it last year. After that there could be no possible doubt." And then, "At least, I didn't have any. It was more difficult convincing Ron."

"I can imagine," she replied dryly. "He's about as easy to reason with as the business end of a Blast-Ended Skrewt." They passed a window, and she noted curiously as they did that there were spots of light wandering around this time. Usually, the Aurors preferred darkness. She supposed it was because of the Halloween Ball; amorous couples more adventurous than they would be able to see where the Aurors were and avoid them, thus avoiding embarrassment and expulsion. They were a congenial lot, the Aurors. She also noted that most of the snow on the ground had melted. "The pitch should be cleared," Ginny commented, waving half-heartedly to the portrait of Sir Cadogan as they walked. "Do you think we'll get to play a match before Christmas?"

"I hope so," Harry answered. "I'd hate to think all that practicing we did this summer was for nothing." The thread of conversation lasted until they got back to Gryffindor Tower. "Rumplestiltskin," Harry said to the Fat Lady, and the two of them stepped inside.

Ron and Hermione were asleep in one of the armchairs by the fire. Ginny smiled to herself, thinking how much better this ball had turned out than the last one for everyone involved. "Should we wake them up?" she asked, never intending to actually do it.

"Nah," Harry said. "Let them have their peace. It took them long enough to find it."

"True," Ginny agreed, sinking down into the armchair opposite them. She fought back a yawn, then closed her eyes. What a day. Huge amounts of excitement had nearly torn her apart. It was her birthday, after all, and not only had she been able to spend most of it with Harry, but alone with Harry, dancing with Harry, and yes, even kissing Harry. And the birthday gifts that had showed up early that morning had been nothing to scoff at either. Charlie had gotten his hands on an old Silver Arrow and had completely restored it for her; Hermione had fittingly found a book of legends for her and Ron had amazed her with a brand-new chess set. Of the most significant people, this left only -

"Gin?"

"Mmm," she answered, wondering if she looked as tired as she felt. She wished her brain would just cease functioning for a few minutes so she could get some sleep, but she knew she would be awake all night.

"I," Harry said, "Um, that is…" She opened her eyes. Harry Potter, once again unable to organize his thoughts because of her. The mere idea of it gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling, like being wrapped in the big quilt that her grandmother had made for her. In the firelight, she could make out Harry's outline, awkwardly proffering something. "Happy birthday," he finished. It sounded almost like a question. A little piece of her melted. Had it been just those few months ago that she'd denied her feelings for him? What had she been thinking?

"Thank you," she answered, tentatively reaching out and grasping the package. Gingerly, she untied the ribbons and pulled off the paper, a task made difficult by the fact that her fingers refused to stop shaking. When she pulled the flat, thin frame from its wrappings and held it in the firelight, all of her breath left her in a rush.

"I asked Dean to draw it for me," Harry explained quickly. "It's, er-"

"Harry," she squeaked, berating her voice for failing to function properly, "it's wonderful!" She jumped up from where she had been sitting and flung her arms around his neck. "It's perfect. Thank you so much!"

"You're welcome," Harry answered, managing to sound at the same time relieved and strangled. Ginny loosened her grip on his neck.

In the armchair, Ron stirred. Suddenly aware that they were in the middle of the Gryffindor common room and that it was one-thirty in the morning, they broke apart awkwardly. "Er," Ginny said. "I'll see you in the morning?"

"Okay. Goodnight." But Harry didn't move from where he was standing, and after looking at him one more time, Ginny turned and ran up the winding stairs to the girls' dormitory, unable to wipe the smile from her face.

*

There were no offensive rays of sunlight to wake them, no insistent owls, and no blushing and embarrassed Prefects sent to do the duty. Under other circumstances this might have been a welcome divergence from the norm, but this time Dumbledore had gone too far in his employment of house-elves.

"Mmph," Charlie protested. He had exactly no intentions whatsoever of leaving bed before ten o'clock that morning, and he knew by his infallible internal clock that it was only barely past four. Chloë seemed to agree; she hardly stirred at all but snuggled closer to him.

"Professors sir and miss must wake up!" the elf wailed hysterically. "The Headmaster says it! There has been an attack, sir and miss!"

"What?!" Chloë exclaimed, suddenly wide awake.

Damn, Charlie thought. "Where's everyone meeting?" he asked groggily, frantically trying to determine whereabouts his robes might have landed. He finally found them hanging off of the edge of the wardrobe and, by the time he had them on, had decided that trying to determine how they had got there would probably get him in trouble at that particular time.

"You is to meet in the Great Hall, Professor Wheezy, sir," the elf answered, looking, if possible, even more afraid than it had a few moments ago. Charlie spared milliseconds to pity it, despite the fact that it had disrupted his fun. "Tiny is going now, sir and miss…" and it dashed out even faster than it had appeared.

Chloë was already ready to go, too, cinching her bathrobe tightly around her waist and pulling on comfortable-looking knitted slippers. "Let's go."

*

There was already a good selection of people in the Great Hall, McGonagall reflected, but it wasn't quite enough. Each House's Prefects had been roused and summoned, nearly all of the teachers were there, as well as Mr. Filch and Madam Pomfrey, and one of the Special Operatives was still there, talking with a small group of teachers and Professor Dumbledore.

Dumbledore himself, she knew, probably wouldn't want to stay in the comparative safety of the castle much longer, but the man was an icon, and right now what the Order of the Phoenix needed most was a strong and capable leader.

She would be the one going out there, soon enough.

A loud coughing fit- Severus Snape's- grabbed her attention, and McGonagall turned to face the door. Ah, she thought to herself dryly. Fashionably late for the party, are we? Chloë Sanderson and Charlie Weasley had finally shown up, rather conspicuously as the former was wearing her bathrobe and the latter, his dress robes from the Halloween Ball. She shook her head. Young people. Yet you couldn't blame them, really.

"What's going on?" Charlie asked.

McGonagall detachedly noticed that he happened to have a small bruise forming below his ear, but decided it would probably be less than tactful to mention it. "Talk to him," she said, motioning towards the tall, well-built Special Op. Despite the situation, he was not hysterical like a green recruit should be and seemed to be having a very lively conversation with Professor Snape, who looked as if he were trying desperately to escape but was so horrified that he couldn't move.

"Hey," Charlie said, "I know him. Isn't that-"

The Special Operative, who McGonagall privately thought looked an awful lot like the recruitment poster, sans the blond hair, noticed Charlie and excused himself from his unwilling audience. "Hello, Charlie," he said amiably, proffering his hand. Charlie shook it blankly. "Long time, no see. How's the new job coming along?"

"Fine, thank you, Carrot," Charlie answered. McGonagall fought back a smile that threatened to ruin her stern image. 'Carrot' certainly fit the man. He was roughly carrot-shaped, anyway, and the orange hair definitely helped the simile. "Might I ask what you're doing here?"

"Oh, I'm working for the MLES now," Carrot said good-naturedly. "Special Ops division."

"Er," Charlie said articulately. "Carrot, has the fact that you're a Muggle managed to escape your attention?"

A what? McGonagall thought. What does Moody think he's doing, employing Muggles in this field? Has he completely lost his mind?

"Wait a second," Chloë broke in. "The Special Ops carries all sorts, right? Remus is working there, after all. They needed him for a certain branch of Defense and Subterfuge. So maybe they need to employ Muggles for something?" She was giving him a look that suggested he already knew what for she was talking about.

Realization seemed to dawn on Charlie. "Never mind. You've always been rather good with a crossbow, haven't you?" He sighed. "Two questions: Do you have an extra one, and how many are we up against?"

"Oh, you don't need to go out there now," Carrot answered. "It's all under control."

Charlie looked like he was going to strangle somebody, but said nothing. McGonagall just stared at the space directly behind the Special Op. Who on earth…

*

Carrot's offhand statement made complete sense roughly ten seconds after he had said it. A blonde woman Charlie remembered but whose name he had forgotten had just entered the Great Hall and everything suddenly clicked. She was tall, and muscular, and probably would have been very attractive if it hadn't been for the fact that she looked like she would bite the head off of anything that stood in her way. The image was aided by the fact that she had a very large crossbow slung over one shoulder and a quiver of wooden-shafted arrows over the other. The smile she gave Carrot was almost predatory- a given, as from what Charlie recalled she was born a werewolf.

"That's the last of them," she said to Carrot.

"You didn't hurt them too badly, did you?" Charlie wasn't surprised to hear that this was spoken seriously. Carrot was like that.

"Well, they are the bad guys," she pointed out, but she knew him well enough not to press the issue further. "The last of the vampires flew off, but the other ones just sort of," she shrugged, "disappeared."

Well, that wasn't good news. "But you can't Disapparate on Hogwarts grounds!" McGonagall protested.

Chloë snorted. "Apparently no one told them that." She looked at Charlie. "Drifters, d'you reckon?"

He nodded. "Sounds like it. We'll have to ask the Aurors." Guess I can write off sleeping for this morning, he thought. Among other things. Something completely random occurred to him. And I'm going to have to ask Chloë about the Special Ops. Something about that nagged at his mind and he remembered once again that he didn't know much about her past. It was a niggling little almost-doubt that was going to drive him to insanity if he didn't silence it soon.

"In a minute," McGonagall said, "but first, Chloë, Mr. Weasley," she emphasized this and gave him a mildly reproving look, "I have to tell you that there are going to be rather a lot of sleep-deprived yet very observant youngsters in here very soon. May I suggest that a change of clothing might be appropriate?"

Charlie looked down at his robes and realized that he probably wasn't making a very good impression.

Carrot coughed politely and looked away. Angua was hiding a smile, albeit poorly.

McGonagall's face was absolutely unreadable, which was a shame. Charlie really would've liked to know what she thought about this particular development. Well, it could wait. "Right," he said, "Good idea." He was suddenly convinced that his neck was on fire. He rubbed at it distractedly.

Chloë was laughing. He raised an eyebrow. "What's so funny?"

She directed his gaze to the Potions Professor. "We're not the only ones caught off-guard this morning," she observed. Severus Snape was wearing a pair of very horrible neon pink and green argyle socks.

Angelina Johnson, who somehow had made Prefect even though she had a habit of hanging around with Charlie's brothers (Fred in particular, if Charlie recalled one particular scene from that summer correctly), was standing several paces behind the Potions Professor with a very neutral expression. She waved at him when she saw that he was looking.

"Those would go rather well with Sirius' kilt, I think," Charlie commented, and was rewarded with McGonagall turning a very interesting shade of purple. This incident, while not well-known outside the confines of Dromore House, had also occurred that summer, when Remus and Harry had seriously outdone themselves thinking of ways to humiliate Sirius. They also had photographs, which, to Anya's mirth and delight, had the habit of surfacing every once in a while in the strangest places, like above the hearth in the sitting room, on the refrigerator, and in the frames in the front passageway, usually when company was expected. It was something of a running gag among the house's occupants.

"You'll have to tell me that story sometime," Chloë said. "But not now. I'm sensing the imminent influx of tired teenagers."

"Right, then," he said, "let's go."

*

Thump. He stumbled out of the fireplace, shaking his head to clear away the initial disorientation (which didn't work terribly well), and straightened up, promptly smacking his head on the mantelpiece and cursing.

"Remus?"

He became aware of two other people in the room as the soot cleared away from his nasal passages: very definitely Sirius and Anya. They seemed, almost unconsciously, to move apart on the sofa as he set eyes upon them. Ah, yes. Even with everything going on, here at Dromore House the situation was going to be a fun experience. "It's me," he confirmed, rubbing his head. He considered asking what they were doing up so late, but decided against it.

"Where've you been?" Sirius demanded. Uh-oh. Was that impatience or accusation in his voice? "It's past four in the morning!"

"Yes, I was just about to point that out, actually," Remus said dryly. No sense in both of us losing our tempers. "I was on-duty. And as it turned out, we had a rather urgent call. What's your excuse?"

"Leon's sick," Anya replied, sounding exhausted, worried, and miserable in equal proportions. "He's been up since midnight with a fever of some sort. Sirius thinks it might be chicken pox. We only just got him to go to sleep."

"Ah." Well, that was typical. These things had a disturbingly suspicious habit of happening at once. "He's… going to be alright?"

Anya nodded, yawning. "Arabella had some Fever Reducing Potion already made up, thank goodness. The only problem was getting him to drink it." She stood up and stretched, then rubbed her eyes. "Slytherin. I have to work in the morning!"

"It is morning," Remus pointed out. "Go to bed."

"I'm going," she mumbled. "Good night, you two."

"Goodnight," Remus said softly. Sirius said nothing. Oh dear. This was going to be bad.

"Where?" Sirius demanded flatly. The expression on his face, combined with the chill in his voice and a pulse beating so strongly that Remus could hear it, set the werewolf's teeth on edge. This Sirius was not to be toyed with. This Sirius meant business.

"Hogwarts," Remus answered, and added quickly, "No students were hurt, and nothing got in the castle, or I would've said so before. The Aurors caught the threat and summoned us before it was too late, so-"

"Who were they?" Sirius asked, apparently having processed the rest of the information and catalogued it accordingly. "How many? Did you see Harry?"

Remus flopped down in a chair by the fireplace. He was suddenly acutely aware that his head was throbbing. "Drifters and vampires," he answered. "Don't ask me how the two go together- most likely they just happened to be the ones Voldemort thought best for the job. After all, vampires can fly and Drifter magic is powerful enough to-"

"They Appararated right onto Hogwarts grounds, didn't they?" Sirius broke in. "Why couldn't they get in the castle?"

"The same reason most of us couldn't," Remus answered tiredly. "There's some new wards up that keep anyone without a certain magical identification out of the castle. Only two Ops got passes to get in at all, so no, I didn't see Harry. And we don't know how many there were- it's difficult to count vampires once they've been slain and most of them just flew off again, anyway."

There was a long silence; Sirius took some time absorbing this new information and deciding what, exactly, it meant. Remus knew the next, and probably last, question wouldn't be long in coming. Sirius always saved the toughest question for last. "How many did we lose?"

"Too many," Remus answered. If Sirius knew the number, whatever hope he had left would be sucked out of him. Sirius would never give up fighting, he wasn't designed for surrender, but sometimes he gave in to despair too easily. "We lost Sean and Elias McKay," he said as gently as he could. That was one thing that Sirius shouldn't have to learn from other people. He had quite a history with those two.

Sean McKay had been Sirius' Alternative Attacks instructor when he'd first joined the MLES as an Auror so many years ago. He had been a nimble old man with a strong Scottish accent and a mean left hook. He'd had an amazing talent for telling the most obscure jokes. Sean and Elias weren't related, but worked so closely together on most things that they had their own legend among Magical Law Enforcement officers. The McKay 'brothers' had the reputation of being the best men on the squad for tracking down criminals. They'd caught the Lestranges, the Adders, and at one point had been assigned to watch Lucius Malfoy. He still hadn't cottoned on. The credit for the apprehension of many a magical miscreant was theirs.

And, ironically, they were the two who had brought Sirius in.

Sirius himself still hadn't reacted. Remus didn't know how he expected Sirius to react, and he doubted Sirius knew what was expected of him, either. Finally, he managed an expression of complete shock. "Oh." He exhaled slowly and Remus could hear it shake. "Things are that bad, aren't they." It wasn't a question. Remus could hear a fly fart in a thunderstorm, and there was no question there.

"Yes," he answered anyway. Through the confused fog that had rolled in over his mind, Remus felt himself yawn. "Look, Sirius, you should go to bed. There's nothing more either of us can do tonight."

He hadn't expected Sirius to agree so easily. He had a habit of brooding about things he had no control over. "You're right," he said at length. "Goodnight, Remus."

Remus replied in kind and listened to his friend's footsteps disappearing down the hallway. He was too tired to take his own advice and fell asleep on the couch two minutes later.

*

"All right," Chloë said finally, flopping down on one of the couches in the teachers' lounge. "How do you know him?"

"Actually, we're sort of related," Charlie answered, pouring two potent drink and handing one to her as he sat down beside her. "Carrot was adopted by my second cousins when he was about two. They're Muggles- Squibs, that is- and unlikely as it may seem, one day he just showed up on their doorstep with a bundle of old stuff that barely hinted at who he was. Last I heard of him, he was training to be a Muggle police officer. I guess he got promoted." He took a long draught from his glass and sighed as the liquid warmed and loosened his muscles. "I guess you know him from the MLES?"

Chloë had been taking a sip of her own drink and had inadvertently inhaled some when she'd heard the question. Through the coughing fits, she managed, "How did you know?"

"It wasn't hard to figure out," Charlie admitted, taking her drink out of her hands and patting her back until she finished coughing. "I should have thought of it sooner, but I guess I never really thought about it. Otherwise how would Moody have known to recommend you? You had to have ties to the Ministry somehow; they don't give the Defense position to just anyone anymore."

"Fair enough," Chloë said, leaning back onto him. "I spent four years there, two apprenticing and two practicing, but…" She sighed. "I never really fit in. I could handle the work, and the hours, and the stress fine. But sometimes a mission went sour and sometimes it was my fault, and I couldn't hack that. The MLES is no place for clumsy people." So that's how it was. Charlie kissed the crown of her head as she continued. "After a while I just needed to get out. Alastor Moody was acting head of my detachment at the time and I talked to him about it. I couldn't quit because I needed the money, but then I got this great job offer by owl post and here I am."

"Do you regret leaving?" Charlie asked after a while. The bit about needing money was a bit puzzling. Hadn't she told him that her parents were rather wealthy? He yawned. The fire was burning low and had cast the lounge into a sort of reddish-orange darkness. It was making him sleepy, which wasn't terribly hard to understand.

"No," she answered. He got the feeling that she was as close to unconsciousness as he was. "How could I?"

"I'm glad," he said softly, ignoring the question. "I don't regret it, either."

*

"It's chicken pox," Arabella confirmed after a lengthy examination. Poor Leon looked absolutely miserable. His fever had gone down slightly from last night, but he'd broken out in tiny little red spots and, by the way that he scratching them, they itched like the dickens. No pun intended, Sirius thought dryly. Arabella Summoned something in a white squeeze tube and handed it to him. "Don't let him scratch too much if you can help it, and put this on him every once in a while. It should calm the itching."

Anya nodded. "Thanks for looking after him." Despite the dark circles under her eyes, she was just about to go off to work. By the way she was swaying on her feet, she wouldn't even last until lunchtime. "I should go. I'm going to be late-"

"Not so fast," Sirius said, catching her arm and turning her around before she could leave the kitchen. "You are obviously too exhausted to go into the office today. Take some time off for once."

"You know I can't do that. The DMLE still hasn't gotten your paperwork processed and they won't bother to have it before Christmas unless someone bugs them about it and there's so much to do-"

He moved his hand from his arm to her forehead. She was definitely too warm. As I suspected, he thought darkly. "Anya, have you ever had chicken pox?"

She looked a bit disoriented by the sudden change of topic. "No. Sidhe have strong immune systems and I never-"

"Leon has chicken pox, Anya," Sirius pointed out.

Anya was getting exasperated. "Yes, but Leon's a baby, chicken pox is a childhood disease, and besides, I feel fine. Now let me go. I have to go to work!" She didn't sound as aggravated as she should. The illness was wearing her down already, then.

"You're not going anywhere," he argued. "You're sick. Go to bed."

Arabella discreetly left the room, taking Leon with her.

"They need me at the office!" Anya insisted. "I can't just skive off! It's not like Potions class, Sirius-"

Completely fed up with reasoning, Sirius made a decision. He stepped closer, catching both of her hands in his, and interrupted her sentence by pressing his lips to hers.

The ensuing silence could have shattered glass. Anya's mouth was still slightly open and she was staring at him with a disbelieving look on her face. "You're sick and you're staying home. Do you want to start a strain of Sidhe-strength chicken pox? And don't think I don't know that the Ministry has rules about coming in for work with highly contagious sicknesses."

Anya had finally managed to get her mouth closed. "You fight dirty," she complained.

Sirius swallowed a smile. "You're right. I'm sorry, I'll never do it again." He noted with some degree of satisfaction that she didn't seem to like this, either.

"I- You- I-" Anya stopped for a moment, revised what she was going to say, and continued, "This is something of a lose-lose situation, isn't it?"

He mock-glowered at her. "Bed," he growled. "Now. Or I'll carry you. And I can't guarantee that I'll leave the room after."

"Why does that not surprise me?" But she was defeated, and she seemed to know it. "All right, I'll stay home. Just let me write an owl to my boss. I promise I'll keep it under two hundred words," she soothed when she saw his irritated expression.

"All right, but don't blame me if you get a cramp," he rejoined, shaking his head and managing to keep a straight face. "And go to sleep. No work stuff."

She made an exasperated noise, but he noticed that she swayed a little bit as she left the kitchen. He waited until she was out of earshot before saying, "So how long have you been standing there?"

Arabella stepped out from behind the other door, looking only slightly abashed. "Long enough. Good tactic, by the way. I haven't seen it executed so well before." She grinned wickedly. "You messed up, though."

Sirius was definitely beginning to regret having started this conversation. It had turned against him and it hadn't even been going on for thirty seconds yet. First of all, he could feel his cheeks getting pink. He was almost thirty-seven years old, although admittedly he'd missed a few years of crucial development. Still, he felt like such a juvenile when Arabella teased him. It probably had something to do with her being older and wiser, and him actually recognizing it this time instead of being disrespectful to his elders. Secondly, he was pretty sure he'd been insulted. "How so?" he managed, trying to school his features into a more neutral expression.

"You meant it."

Sirius blinked and suddenly, as the words sank in, he felt the need to sit down. He knew very well that he'd had the chicken pox when he was seven, but he was definitely getting some of the symptoms. Like hot flashes and the desire to step out of his skin for a moment and assess the situation from an impartial viewpoint. "I… What?" Was the floor spinning? Oh, Merlin, how had he let this happen? He couldn't have- well, obviously he had, but why now? Why had he not realized it before? Hey, buddy, is this thing on? Oh dear. He was going to start answering his own questions, and there were some things that he just wasn't ready to hear. Great, just let me casually mention a few things, here. You do realize you've had me turned off for the past few weeks? Can't a brain get a thought in edgewise? You've been running on adrenaline for almost a month, which isn't necessarily the wisest thing in your condition. The fact is, Padfoot, that you didn't realize fully until now because you didn't want to. You thought she was just your friend, maybe? Then what was all the flirting about? You just used me to think up bizarre come-on lines and didn't even listen to the warnings I was giving you. And- hey, are you listening…

"…to me?" Arabella was giving him one of her looks. He wasn't sure which one this one was, because his brain seemed to have mutinied on him, but it looked like a cross between pity, annoyance and compassion. What a bizarre combination.

"I'm sorry?"

"You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?" she asked sympathetically, waving her wand hand. The chair beside the one Sirius was leaning on slid back and he flopped down into it.

"I meant it," he whispered, staring at his hands on the tabletop. Jingo.

"Indeed?" Arabella asked, sounding as if she were biting back a smile. Sirius looked up and discovered that she was. "I never would have guessed." It was uncanny, the way she resembled Albus Dumbledore at that moment. She patted his arm comfortingly. "Maybe Anya's not the only one who needs a little sleep."

"I mean it," Sirius repeated. There was a disturbing ring of fuzz around his field of vision. Suddenly sleep didn't sound like such a bad idea.

"Yes, you do. Now, I suggest you run off and play your piano before you have some sort of overload, hmm? Or sleep. I'll take care of Leon." She paused for a moment. "You can take care of Anya, but later, I think." She made shooing motions with her hands, ushering him out of the kitchen. "Be gone with you! Go ponder the meaning of your life, and don't come back until you know there is no right answer!"

*

November, having begun with a bang reminiscent of a bad-tempered helium balloon being chased by a swarm of angry wasps, did not show any immediate signs of slowing down. By the third, all the snow had melted and Quidditch practices were allowed again. A match was set for the thirteenth, Ravenclaw versus Slytherin, and even though they weren't going to be playing right away, the Gryffindor team was psyched. Because Madam Hooch insisted on being fair, each team had the field for practice twice a week, which was not quite as good as having a monopoly on the pitch, but a whole lot better than it had been a few weeks ago.

There were also, Harry reflected miserably, O.W.L.s to study for this year. It was hard to squeeze in with homework, Ginny, Quidditch, and trying to figure out what the heck was going on with the whole Gaelic business, but it was necessary. Chances were good that he would have even less time to study for them as the year progressed- it had been so with every single year he'd been at Hogwarts. His scar hadn't been giving him too much trouble since the summer, but he didn't trust that one bit. He knew very well that Voldemort was back in almost full power, as evidenced by the goings-on after the Halloween Ball, among other things. It was merely a matter of figuring out when he was planning on striking next, and how on Earth Harry was going to stop it from happening.

Then there was the disturbing matter of not knowing what 'it' was, and how it related to (or failed to relate to) the bizarre dreams, the Gaelic legends, and, above all, the life-spans of his friends and the closer friends that he considered his family. It was fairly obvious that, whatever it was, it had something to do with violence and blood, and probably some Drifters thrown in for good measure. That meant chaos, and powerful Old Magic, not to mention serious difficulties for whoever was going to stop him. Harry had the sneaking suspicion that that someone was going to have to be him again.

He must have been concentrating pretty fiercely on not reading, because the next thing he knew, Hermione was lifting the book from under his nose. "Honestly, Harry, don't pretend to be studying for my sake," she chided, smiling slightly as she eased it shut. "As Ron is so fond of pointing out, even I can't go on like that forever without getting distracted. What's eating you? You haven't turned a page in half an hour!"

I haven't even looked at the page in half an hour! Harry attempted a smile, getting the sinking sensation that he was failing miserably. "It's probably nothing," he said, trying to look reassuring if he couldn't quite accomplish cheerful. "Just stress from having so much homework."

"Uh huh," Hermione said skeptically, pulling out the chair next to his and sitting down, looking him right in the eye. "Why do I find that so hard to swallow? Harry, I'm your friend and I want to help you, so you might as well just reveal all because I'm going to find out one way or another, anyway."

"That's not exactly encouraging, Hermione," he said tiredly. Months of keeping up a façade were starting to wear on him. "I'd really prefer that I keep everyone out of it that I can."

"Interesting," said Hermione, "you don't seem to be keeping Ginny in the dark at all. Unless you count the tapestry in the Charms corridor as 'in the dark.'"

"That's different," Harry objected.

"You're right, it is," she replied softly, her voice taking on an almost dangerous tone. "Because Ginny's a part of this, isn't she? A part of you."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "You-"

"You," Hermione said, poking him in the chest with an accusatory finger and talking over him but still making sure to keep quiet enough to keep Madam Pince satisfied, "Are incredibly hopeless. I suggested the extra studying. I gave you the book on Protection Charms, under the pretense that your Charmwork is almost disgraceful. Harry, I couldn't have been more obvious if I'd hung a big neon sign around my neck!"

Harry was suddenly very lost. "What? What are you talking about?"

"The scar!" Hermione whispered loudly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Didn't you wonder where it came from? Didn't you stop to think that maybe the charms that protect you could be protecting someone else, too?"

"I-"

Hermione made a 'tuh'-ing sound and heaved the book open again. She flipped the pages almost recklessly, for Hermione anyway, stopping on page two hundred and thirty-seven, sliding the book across the table. "Obviously not, so I'm going to help you out a bit." She stood up and collected her books. "I'll be in the common room when you want to talk."

Harry watched her go with a completely stunned expression. What had just happened? Had Hermione just given up on waiting for him to ask the question and given him the answer to what he didn't know he was asking? (The logic, or lack thereof, behind Harry's thought process was, at the moment, somewhat circular.) Was this the missing piece of the puzzle? Harry looked down at the page.

Nasc Shaol Gailge

Oh, good, he thought dryly, something I can understand. Ironically, the Irish side of the page was easier to read than the English equivalent, which contained words like 'verily,' 'oulde,' 'Magick,' and 'Thee.' Whoever had written the translation, Harry reflected, was playing fast and loose with grammar and spelling at the time. The Gaelic version was easily comprehensible so, making sure nobody was looking, he took off his glasses and began to read. There was startlingly little actual information to be gleaned.

Irish Bond of Life

Used to bind someone in mortal peril to the life force of another, the Irish Bond of Life starts in the middle of a magical channel between the two subjects and works away from there, protecting both of them. This magical channel can only be forged at the stroke of twelve on the thirty-first of October, and is dangerous because one cannot choose whom the first subject will Bind with. The second subject is always a baby whose exact birth-time is seven minutes before twelve on All Hallow's Eve. For obvious reasons, the last recorded attempt at this charm was in 1325.

See also: Binding, page 159.

Doing his best not to analyze what he had learned, Harry quickly flipped back to the general section on Binding Charms. There was even less there than he had anticipated.

The art of Binding, a very old and imprecise brand of magic, often irrevocably entangling the lives of those subject to it. The Charms themselves are complicated and often require very precise conditions. They are divided into two categories, short-term (Communication and Conjunction) and long-term (Life) Bonds. Communication Bonds, for example the Maglius Link Charm, popular among Magical Law Enforcement officers, can link two or more people for short periods of time to better co-ordinate their efforts. It is often confusing, however, and requires mental discipline, as one's thoughts, even those not relating to a situation or conversation, are often transferred to the others through the link. Conjunction Bonds are always spontaneous and occur when two wizards cast spells to the same end. Their influence lasts only moments, and sometimes dissipates after the desired effect has been achieved.

The rarest and most difficult Bonds, and those requiring the most precise conditions, are Life Bonds. Most have been made illegal for obvious reasons- some require human sacrifices, others are deadly if performed improperly. There is only one Life Bond that is still practiced, albeit rarely, and it can only exist if there is already a bond of true love between the practitioners, and that one will kill both of them if there isn't one.

See also: Maglius, page 201; Conjunctions, page 223; Life Bonds, page 237

Harry stared down at the pages, bewildered. Random thoughts and ideas swirled in his head, never quite managing to manifest themselves into one solid, coherent idea. Finally he gave up on thinking completely and gathered his books. There was someone he had to see.

*

Harry climbed almost blindly through the portrait hole, hardly hearing the Fat Lady's comment about how pale he was. Hermione was sitting at a table far away from the commotion around the fire and looked up when he entered, probably expecting him, but he shook his head imperceptibly and walked past her.

He didn't see a head of flaming red hair among the noisy group of students clustered around the hearth, and decided that he was going to do something irrational and probably a little bit stupid: he went up to the fourth year girls' dormitory.

The door was slightly ajar, but even so, when he pushed it open fully, the two girls lying at the foot of Ginny's bed, listening to her tell them some tale or other, which may or may not have been about Charlie, squealed and locked themselves in the bathroom. Harry, not fully in control of his actions, knocked on it politely. Four eyes peered out at him from around the door. "Yes?" one said timidly.

"Out," Harry said, pointing in the general direction of the stairwell. Then, remembering himself, he added, "Please." At their slothfulness in replying, "Or Ginny and I will treat you to a full-on snogfest that could possibly last until after-hours." Evidently the expression on his face or his uncharacteristic boldness was frightening, because they both scampered out of the dormitory as quickly as they could.

Ginny, to his sudden relief, did not look angry, but rather slightly amused, somewhat concerned, and very, very curious. She sat up straighter and smoothed the comforter over her legs, her eyes searching him for answers he didn't know how to give. "What did you find?" she asked urgently.

He sighed, not really knowing how he was going to explain. "Hermione gave me this a few days ago," he finally said. "I think she got tired of waiting for me to find my answers on my own. Or rather, she got tired of waiting for me to start asking the right questions." Harry flipped the book open to the marked page and handed it to Ginny. "She thinks…" his sentence was left unfinished.

Ginny, with the heavy text on her lap, was already scanning through the Gaelic side of the information with much gusto. When she had finished with the more general text on Binding, she closed the book gently and set it beside Legende Gaeilge on her nightstand. "That's us, isn't it?"

"Bugger," Harry said softly. "I was almost hoping you'd been born at noon." She almost smiled. That was almost good enough. "At least it explains some things."

"You know what this means, right?" Ginny said suddenly. "It means that unless… unless Voldemort gets both of us, he can't…"

Harry nodded slowly. And that meant that Ginny was in more danger than even Harry had feared. "Voldemort can't find out," he said finally. "We have to find some way to keep you safe-"

"Keep me safe?" Ginny retorted, and suddenly she wasn't the tired, confused young woman she'd been a minute ago but instead a rather angry one. "Listen to me, Harry Potter, I'm not the one who's almost gotten himself killed four years straight! I'm not the one who goes off looking for trouble! I'm not the one who everyone worries about constantly because I'm not the one who does stupid things on my own without any regard whatsoever for how other people might worry! I'm not a hero. I'm not the Boy Who Lived, and I don't want that." Her expression softened slightly as she said it. "I don't want that. But it will kill me if you go off alone again, and if you don't come back then I'm going to come after you, because I'd just as soon die as see you tortured every night in my dreams. Even if it means taking you with me. But it's not fair for me to have to make that choice, Harry, and I won't let you force me to make it! We are in this together or not at all." With a guilty start, Harry realized that there was a hitch in her voice and unshed tears in her eyes. But Ginny held his gaze. "So it's your choice. All or nothing. No ifs, ands, or buts, no conditions, no prerequisites, and no backing down." Defiance burned in her chocolate eyes.

And suddenly Harry had a whole new perspective, a new surge of hope and the Dark Lord looked a lot less intimidating. Without a word, he reached out and took Ginny's small hand in his, pulling her close to him. Ginny's resolve broke and she let out a shuddering breath, and then she was crying softly into his shoulder and it was agony to see her in pain but there was nothing he could do to remedy the situation but vow to never, ever let himself or anyone else hurt her again.

*

"How're you feeling?"

Anya glared up at him. Short of tying her to the bed, Sirius had done everything in his power to keep her immobile and crazy for almost a week. "Fine," she growled. "I felt fine yesterday. No more spots. No more fever. No sneezing, no itching, and thank God no more soup. Can I please get up now?"

"That depends," Sirius replied, smiling slightly. "Are you going to pretend to be a human being and not bite my head off every time I show a little concern?"

Anya snorted. "Ha! You forget, I'm not a human being. Hence my quick recovery from the chicken pox. I am going to Bill's wedding tomorrow whether you like it or not. Please don't make me go in a wheelchair and pajamas."

"Would I do that?" he asked innocently. "Besides, it'd be no fun without you. I'm not the most sociable man in the universe."

"So you're using me, is that it?"

She hadn't expected a sincere reply to that particular jab, but something half-hidden and very dangerous flashed in Sirius' eyes when she said it. "Never," he said quietly, not once breaking her gaze. And, strangely enough, she believed him.

What's gotten into him? Anya wondered, watching the sudden change of expression fade away. The last few days had been… educational. Instead of the incessant teasing that she normally got from him, Sirius had been almost… well, serious. The teasing was still there, but in smaller quantities, and sometimes she would catch him just staring at nothing. When she tried to ask him about it he evaded the questions and retreated to the piano, which would gush concertos and symphonies and music from the seventies for hours afterwards. She knew it helped him think, but what she really wanted was a look inside his head at what he was thinking.

Evidently, though, he'd had enough time to think over whatever it was that was troubling him. He was back to normal, except the occasional outburst of unmasked character, and that was something of a relief. It meant that she didn't have to think about it, either.

"Are you planning on getting out of bed anytime today, sleepyhead?" he asked teasingly. "The rest of us had breakfast an hour ago."

She mock-glowered at him, but a reluctant grin broke through. "Does this mean I'm free from my prison?" she asked hopefully, throwing off the blankets and reaching for her slippers.

"No more quarantine," Sirius agreed. "Unfortunately, you're going to have to keep your distance from Leon for a few days yet until your immune system has a chance to build up all the antibodies it needs. He's still contagious and you're still susceptible for a second bout."

"How is he?" she asked as they made their way into the kitchen. Her stomach growled for solid food and her nose notified her that there was still an omelet in the skillet. Excellent.

"I've seen worse," Sirius answered, grabbing a couple of glasses and a jug of orange juice from the fridge. She must have let the big question mark her mind was giving her show on her face, because he continued, "I used to volunteer at a sort of Muggle orphanage in the summertime. If there was one kid down with the pox, there were five. It can get a lot worse than what Leon has. It's usually fairly bad when it strikes so young, but he's lucky."

Anya didn't bother asking about the orphanage. For one thing, her mouth was full of delicious, solid food that required chewing. For another, and more importantly, Sirius had reasons that other people would never know. This was One Of Those Subjects, and with him, you'd have to drag the extra information out. Having just gotten over the chicken pox, Anya wasn't quite ready to try her luck on that. She knew that if she were patient, he would end up telling her anyway.

She felt Sirius' eyes on her and looked up curiously. "What?"

He had a very smug look on his face, yet at the same time it looked as if he were about to start laughing. "I kept you in bed for a week."

Anya's mouth dropped open. I don't believe him! She reached over for newspaper Mundungus had left on the table and chased him around the table with it. "You are incorrigible!" she laughed as he skidded around the corner into the sitting room. "Unbelievable!" Sirius was laughing too hard to reply. He shielded himself with his hands when she backed him into a corner and swatted him repeatedly.

"Mercy!" Sirius yelled through his chuckles, "I give up, you win."

"And don't you forget it," Anya said, barely containing her grin and shaking her newspaper at him. She turned around and made a show of stalking back to the kitchen.

She never got there. Before she got to the door, Sirius had sneaked up behind her, snatched the newspaper away, and thrown her over one shoulder. His other hand was busy tickling- Sidhe were hopeless in tickle fights- her stomach, her knees, her ribcage- there was a short falling sensation and a thump and she discovered she'd been dropped onto the couch. Then Sirius was tickling her again and she couldn't breathe; she had no chance to defend herself except to curl up into the fetal position and hope that it didn't expose more of her ticklish spots than normal.

That didn't work so well. Her muscles, oxygen-deprived and not having been exercised much in the past week, and still weak from being sick, hardly resisted when he pulled her knees down from her chest and trapped them under one arm. Anya tensed, knowing that this onslaught would be her undoing…

Cautiously, she relaxed her facial muscles and opened her eyes, wondering why she was not screaming for mercy. It took only seconds to become fully aware that she was still wearing only her pajamas (old flannelette ones with blue teddy bears), that Sirius was staring into her eyes with an embarrassing sort of intensity, and oh hell, add to that the fact that he seemed to be lying on top of her and it was no wonder that her whole body was on fire, was it? She tried to breathe in deeply to get rid of the falling sensation, but found herself quite unable to perform even so basic a task.

Sirius' hand rose, seemingly of its own accord, and brushed gently against her cheek. No, she thought to herself. Not here. Not now, not like this. Please not now. She couldn't just sit still. She had to go- had to move- get out of the way, but she couldn't escape his eyes, not when he was looking at her like that, and there was absolutely nothing at all she could do to prevent the inevitable. Oh dear God please don't let him kiss me. She closed her eyes.

The spell was broken. Two sudden exhalations and one mental thank-you later, Sirius stood up with a somewhat sullen apology and helped her to her feet. "Maybe we should play something that's neither a spectator nor a full body contact sport?" he suggested mildly, throwing a dark look in the general direction of the hallway Arabella had just fled down.

It took Anya a bit longer to reorient herself. Her feet didn't seem to want to support her. She had the sudden desire to run, but there was nowhere to go and nothing to be accomplished by it. Instead, she said in a quiet but urgent, "I should leave," and managed to get out of the living room without running. She collapsed against the door to her bedroom, her head in her hands. "Why now?" she asked the air, but there was no reply other than silence.

*

"Harry! We're going to be late!"

Harry and Ron exchanged glances before checking the time. It was still a half an hour before they had to be at the Headmaster's office to catch the Portkey. "Do you reckon they enjoy seeing us squirm in our fancy clothes?" Ron asked, grimacing as he tried to fasten the tie Hermione had insisted he wear.

"Probably as much as we enjoy seeing them in fancy clothes," muttered Harry under his breath. Apparently it wasn't quietly enough, because he soon had to dodge Ron's arm. He laughed at the expression on his friend's face. It looked like he didn't know whether he should be laughing or subjecting Harry to unspeakable tortures for making comments that could be interpreted as anything that had to do with Ginny. He still wasn't really used to the fact that his little sister and his best friend were an item.

"You're just lucky I have my dress robes on so I can't come after you," Ron said, giving up on the tie. "Do you know how to work these things? Why do I have to wear this with my dress robes? It will look ridiculous."

Harry shrugged. "Ask Hermione; it wasn't my idea. And I couldn't tie a tie to save my life, so you might as well ask Hermione how to do that, too."

"Right," said Ron. "Guess we shouldn't keep them waiting. Strange turn of events that we're the last ones ready."

They descended the stairs to the common room. Ginny and Hermione were standing at the bottom of the stairs. Harry wasn't quite sure if he had imagined once hearing Sirius say something about women and being ready hours early for weddings and fashionably late for everything else, but he also wasn't about to say anything about it aloud.

Ron was unsuccessfully trying to hide his tie in his pocket. "Ron," Hermione said, sounding just a little bit patronizing, "you'd better let me do that. Here." She snatched it from his hands and, after a few seconds of slightly fidgety work, had it fastened properly around his neck. Harry caught Ginny's eye and they both bit their cheeks to keep from laughing.

"Okay," Harry said finally, thinking that it was time Hermione took a big step away from Ron or just kissed him already, "shall we go?"

Neither of them moved.

"Excuse me?" Ginny said, moving so that she could see both of their profiles. She waved a hand between their faces. "Can we go now? Or do we have to wait for you two to snog before we can leave?"

Both Hermione and Ron turned a very intense shade of red and immediately stepped apart. Harry shook his head. They had no business taking so long to get together. It was driving him batty. "Right," Hermione said briskly. "I think- I think we should get to the Great Hall now…" And so, finally, they did.

*

"Are you nervous yet?" Charlie asked, reclining with his feet up on a chair. The ceremony was due to start in less than ten minutes, and Bill hadn't come out of the bathroom since he'd gotten there fifteen minutes ago. It was destined to be enough material to razz him about for years.

"No," Bill answered from the other side of the door. "Are you surprised?"

"No," Charlie said back, grinning to himself. Bill would be composed until the minute Anne walked into the room and then everything would go to the dogs. He was glad he had a front row seat. "How much time are you going to take in there, anyway?"

"Done!" Bill stuck his head out from around the door. "Now get over here and help me with this, would you?"

But Charlie's attention had been distracted from what should have been its primary objectives. "You cut your hair!" he exclaimed, very nearly losing his balance, as the chair was only on two legs. "How did Mum get you to do it?"

Charlie wasn't sure if Bill looked sheepish or smug. "Well… do you remember the first time Mum and I fought about my hair?" Bill asked, trying in vain to get his almost-but-not-quite-short

He nodded. "She was so upset that you wouldn't let her cut it that she almost started a fire in the kitchen and then you said-" Charlie stopped in mid-sentence and started laughing. "You said that the day you cut your hair was the day you got married! And as I recall, you weren't terribly thrilled about that eventuality either. Mum really had her hands full with you that summer."

Bill sighed mournfully. "I'm not respectable, am I, Charlie? Anne said she'd die before marrying a respectable man."

"I don't think you've got anything to worry about," Charlie answered, shaking his head. Such wonderful material, and he didn't even have the heart to use it. "Now come on, I have the feeling someone's expecting you."

*

Bill was vaguely aware that there were other people in the room besides him, but they were unimportant. It wasn't really self-centered, it was just the opposite: his mind didn't want to accept the fact that he was the center of attention. In some peripheral part of his consciousness he knew that Charlie was standing somewhere near him, and so was Jim, but suddenly that didn't matter because the door had opened and there was Hallie…

Behind her came Ginny, and then Anne's sister Claire. He was reasonably sure that they were all wearing the same color. If you'd asked him, though, he probably wouldn't have been able to identify it, because at that moment a final figure dressed in what was definitely white appeared in the doorway. Bill felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. She was perfect.

The rest of the ceremony passed in something of a blur. On some level he knew that Anne was grasping his hand rather tightly, and he had his wits about him enough to hope he wasn't crushing her fingers. They recited their vows, and he wasn't entirely sure of what he was saying, but if there were power behind words then these were some pretty potent ones because he was almost certain that Anne was crying.

Wait a second, the priest was saying something. Bill tried to pay attention, but couldn't seem to tear himself away from the woman beside him. She was looking at him, too, somewhat expectantly, so he figured he was supposed to put the ring on her finger. She smiled and the nervous part of him disappeared. Unfortunately, this didn't leave much room for thought; although the what-ifs were gone, there was nothing in particular to replace them. Well, at least he'd stopped shaking.

There was another short exchange and then another ring, and the hard part was over. It was at this point that Bill got to be really glad that Anne had decided against a veil. Just extra bother, really. He kissed her and some emotion finally returned to him. Or, more accurately, all emotion returned to him but only one or two of them actually mattered at that point. He thought he heard his mother crying and tried really hard not to laugh. It had begun.

*

"They look happy," someone commented dryly.

Anya jabbed her elbow into his ribs. Sirius gave a yelp. "They are happy. Look at them. If Bill smiles any wider the top half of his head is going to fall off. You can't fake that kind of emotion."

That was probably the wrong thing to say; she sensed Sirius pause, look closer, and turn back again. When he spoke again, he was quieter and more reflective. "I expect you're right."

"Right about what?" Charlie asked, procuring two glasses of champagne and handing one to Chloë. They were soon joined by a handful more Weasleys and their counterparts. Fred and George, with their dates, seemed to be conspiring over the punchbowl at the next table over. Anya made a mental note not to drink anything pink.

"That," Sirius said vaguely, gesturing to the happy couple.

"Ah." Chloë smiled. "You could drop a bomb on this place and I don't think either of them would notice until the other started bleeding."

Charlie grimaced. "That was graphic."

"Yet true," Chloë pointed out. Then, "Good grief. Did Fred and Angelina dance like that at the Halloween Ball? That's got to be a health hazard."

Anya sought out the young couple and laughed when she found them. They were certainly being given a wide berth by the rest of the people at the reception. Luckily, Mrs. Weasley was busy talking to Bill- presumably about his hair, since she seemed to be gesturing wildly to it and half-laughing and still half-crying. She found herself grinning. "You were rather too preoccupied to notice how they were dancing at the ball, I take it."

Charlie just grinned.

The musical sound of spoons on glasses filled the room suddenly, and Jim stood up on the makeshift stage. "Everyone! Can I have your attention, please!" Gradually, the tinkling and murmuring faded away into whispers. "I realize that this may be thought of as an old Muggle tradition," several people groaned, "but the groom's father insisted." There were snickers among the Weasley children. Arthur Weasley's obsession for all things Muggle was legendary. "So would all the eligible ladies please come up closer to the stage."

There was a general sensation of pushing and shoving towards the dais where the bride, groom, and best man were standing. Anya tensed- she could feel it coming…

"Aren't you going to-"

She raised a cynical eyebrow over her drink. "I am the furthest thing from eligible that you could possibly imagine, and if you even suggest that I could be classified a 'lady' I will laugh in your face."

Sirius shrugged, looking a little bewildered and a little of something that she couldn't define. "Suit yourself."

A horde of giggly women of all ages congregated below the stage. There was no way in all the hells that Anya was going to submit herself to that. "Right," said Jim, "So the tradition is, whoever catches the bouquet is the next one to be married, am I right?" There was a general murmur of assent from those more familiar with Muggles. "Okay, then." He turned the stage over to Bill and Anne, who, with a wide smile, turned her back on her audience.

"Ready?"

Anya turned away from the scene. This part was always embarrassing.

And so it sort of surprised her when the bouquet landed in her champagne flute, sloshing the bubbling beverage over her fingers. She turned to Sirius, who was obviously trying really hard not to incur her wrath by laughing out loud with just about everyone else. "I really don't think this is funny," Anya warned him, removing the flowers from the glass and looking mournfully at the ruined alcohol.

Charlie was one of the few who was wise enough not to laugh. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to know what he could get away with. "Congratulations," he said, eyes twinkling. "Anyone I know?"

"Maybe," she replied. "I don't even know if he's anyone I know." She grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing waiter and deposited her own on the table. All of a sudden she needed to find someplace to think. Now, what to do with the damn flowers…

She mentally reprimanded herself on her choice. He was the only one who didn't seem to be paying anything any attention at all anymore. He certainly wasn't laughing. So she did the only thing she could think of. "Hold these for me?" she asked Sirius, and wandered away, wondering what on earth she was going to do now.