Hero With A Thousand Faces

HARRY POTTER AND THE HERO WITH A THOUSAND FACES

Chapter 7: Everything Is Illuminated

"Love me, because love doesn't exist, and I have tried everything that does."
--Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything Is Illuminated

Author's Note: I sure hope it's worth the wait.

---

Four weeks to go...

---

Ron sat at the kitchen table with a parchpad before him, tapping his quill against the tabletop. Across from him sat Laura, studiously looking away but glancing at him from time to time as if to check that he was still there. They'd been sitting at this table in a stony silence for several minutes.

"You know," he finally said, tired of the stalemate. "If we're going to do this we're going to have to actually talk."

She sighed. "You're right. You're the best man, I'm the maid of honor, we'll have to cooperate."

She fell silent again. No one spoke as the seconds ticked by. At last Ron threw down his quill and leaned forward. "Look. Can we just agree to be civil to each other through all of this?"

"I don't know, can we?"

"I don't even know why we're still fighting. You know I gave up my Plan."

"Because you were forced to."

"No, I wasn't! You were right, it was stupid! I, uh...saw the error of my ways! Don't I get to be forgiven?"

She shifted in her seat a little. "Maybe. One condition."

"What's that?"

"You have to apologize for yelling at me in the dooryard down in Devon."

He blinked. "That is the most childish thing I've ever heard."

She scowled. "Calling me childish isn't earning you any points, you know."

"And I thought my mother was stubborn!"

"I'm not stubborn! I just...know how I feel and I stick to it!"

"Yeah! Like someone who's stubborn!"

"At least I'm not sublimating everything!"

"What does that mean?"

"Surely through all that book-learning you did while you were away you learned about sublimation."

"It's a physical process through which a solid bypasses the liquid phase and evaporates directly into gaseous form, usually at reduced pressure and high temperature."

"Being a smart-ass isn't earning you any points, either."

"What do you think I'm sublimating?"

"All of it. You're going to just have a meltdown one of these days, Ron Weasley. You have to be experiencing some intense emotions about your imprisonment but you haven't expressed them because you're so afraid of upsetting anyone, you're terrified of being an inconvenience."

"Is that so terrible?"

"Yes!" she said with abrupt vehemence. "Damn the inconvenience, you ought to just feel what you feel!"

"Like you, right?"

"Why not?"

"If you're such an emotional all-star then why is it I never hear you talk about this man you're supposedly committed to?"

Laura blinked and sat back. "Because. It's none of your business."

"Oh, but my hypothetical sublimation is your business."

There didn't seem to be a reply to this. Silence fell again, punctuated only by the tapping of Ron's quill. Finally Laura sighed. "Okay. I guess it's safe to say we've both got some...issues. But you're right, this isn't about us. This is about Harry and Hermione, and one thing we do have in common is that we both care about them. Right?"

"Right."

"So you and I are going to have to call a truce if we're going to work together to make sure this wedding goes off all right. So I propose an agreement."

"Hit me."

"Don't tempt me."

"You said we..."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. It was just too good to pass up. All right. Point the First: all arguments between you and me are to be shelved until further notice."

"Check."

"Point the Second: I'm in charge."

"Who says?"

"I say. I've been dealing with this wedding stuff for months, you're new. So I say that means I'm in charge."

"Well...I see your point."

"Point the Third: we should agree that our goal is to give our friends the beautiful wedding they deserve and to make the entire experience as stress-free for them as possible."

Ron arched one eyebrow. "Should we write up a formal mission statement?"

She glared at him. "Repeat after me: 'being a smart-ass is earning me no points.'"

"Repeat after me: 'being stubborn and bossy makes Ron want to be a smart-ass.'"

"Reference Point the First above."

Ron sank a little lower in his chair. "Fine. You're the boss, you're the queen of everything, you rule the world and you're just sitting there all in your shame. Are you happy now?"

"Very. Shall we proceed?"

"Yes, Master."

She ignored this remark, opening her notebook. "All right, then. I've a long checklist of items to go over so I hope you're ready."

"I'm ready."

"What's the status of clothes for the men?"

"Harry's wearing his dress uniform, he's taking care of that himself. Everyone else has been fitted except me."

"Are you and Napoleon cooking up some sort of wild party for Harry?"

Ron peered at her, suspicious. "What makes you ask that?"

"Because I know Napoleon, and I'm starting to know you."

"So what if we are?"

"I'm just curious. I think Hermione might prefer for the groom to be somewhat coherent when he says his vows."

"Don't worry about it."

"Well, whatever you do it can't be the night before the wedding. You know that Hermione's parents are throwing them a dinner party after the rehearsal?"

"Yeah, I know. I spoke to Doug about it the other day, told him I'd help him get everything together."

"Smashing."

"Isn't the rehearsal party usually given by the..." Ron trailed off, realizing what he'd been about to say. "Oh. Right."

"Good one, genius. Since Harry's paying for the wedding himself Doug and Claire wanted to contribute something. This was their idea."

"What about my parents? If I know my Mum she'll be passing herself off as the mother of the groom."

Laura smiled a little. "You might say she's been standing in for Harry's mother, in an unoffical capacity."

Ron fiddled with his quill. "Are the Dursleys coming?"

Laura hesitated. "Hermione wanted to invite them but Harry made her promise she wouldn't."

"Don't tell me she did anyway."

"No, no, she wouldn't do that to him. No, this wedding will be Dursley-free." She looked across the table at him. "What order are you all standing in?"

"Huh?" Ron was completely befuddled.

"You know. There are four of you. What order?"

"How do I make that determination, exactly?"

She sighed, exasperated. "Usually it's by height with the tallest person closest to the middle. Of course you and I have to be first. On our side it'll be me, then Ginny, then Sarah, and Cho last."

Ron thought a moment. "Hmm. Who's tallest...let me think. I guess it'll be me, then Remus, then Napoleon, then George. I'm not sure, though. I couldn't really say if Napoleon's shorter than Remus, I think they're just about the same."

Laura smiled, a touch of mischief quirking her lips. "I think we definitely want Napoleon in the number three spot."

"Why's that?"

"Look who that pairs him with. Hermione's cousin Sarah...do you know her?"

"Yeah, I met her a few times visiting Hermione on summer holiday."

Laura twirled her quill, arching one eyebrow. "Don't you think it'd be very convenient to stick them together?"

Ron smiled back, catching her meaning. "I think I know where you're headed with this."

"They're like two peas in a pod. They'll have to hit it off."

"Have they met?"

"Hmm. I don't think so. But they're both single, they definitely seem to be of a mind. My first thought when I met Sarah was that she'd be perfect for Napoleon. Don't you agree?"

"Well, Napoleon could certainly stand to get some, that's all I have to say."

Laura scowled at him. "You men. Always thinking with your dicks."

"Crude."

"Uh, paging Mr. Kettle, there's a Mr. Pot on line one. Are we agreed on the Napoleon/Sarah question?"

"You women. Always thinking with your limbic systems."

Laura just blinked. "Our what?"

"Limbic systems. It's a primitive part of the brain that produces emotion and impulse...see, my clever turn on your comment about men and our dicks was to insinuate that women always think with too much emotion, leading to the kind of matchmaking tendencies you're displaying right now."

"I see." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Kind of a long way to go for a lame joke, don't you think?"

"I concede that it lacked the spontaneity and verbal zip of your remark, but I think I'm the clear victor in terms of sheer erudition."

"Do you have to go to school to learn to talk like that?"

"Nah. Twelve years in prison surrounded by books, you'd sound just like me."

"I think I'll pass, thanks," she said with the barest hint of a smile, gathering up her papers. Ron allowed himself only a moment of deliberation before speaking again.

"Of course, you've been in a kind of prison just about as long, haven't you?" Laura looked up at him, startled. "Keeping yourself locked safely away like a Lladro figurine in a curio cabinet, waiting for a few days here and there with this man you're..."

She cut him off. "Don't talk to me about my relationship, okay? You don't know anything about it. You don't know Sorry." She started to leave, her jaw set. He spoke again as she drew even with him.

"Do you?"

She hesitated only slightly, sparing him a brief glance, and left the room.

---

Mellicent McDaniels had organized many weddings in her career, but she never thought she'd ever have one like this. She relished the opportunity, of course. This was a tremendous boon to her career. She was in charge of an Event Wedding. It was what everyone in her line of work dreamed of...arranging a wedding that had significance for people other than the ones getting married. Celebrities, royalty, heads of state, political figures...the weddings of these people were the brass ring. She'd somehow managed to score the wedding between two people who were all of those things. The entire wizarding world would be eager for the details of this one, and though not everyone would hear her name, enough would to assure her of a fully booked appointment calendar for years to come.

To her relief, this wedding wasn't to be a grand, elaborate puffed-up affair full of nauseatingly huge floral displays, drippy music and gowns like big meringues. The only part of the Potter/Granger wedding that was huge was the guest list. Everything else was to be rather simple and elegant, which usually meant expensive. Luckily, this commission also came with something usually only whispered about in envious, hushed tones...a client with very deep pockets.

Harry seemed to have inexhaustible funds. She'd known he was wealthy, but she would never have guessed how wealthy by the simple manner in which he lived. She got the impression that he wasn't prone to spending lavishly on much of anything, which probably had put him in an excellent position to spend lavishly on this...and spend he had. She was still waiting for him to show any perturbation at all when she presented him with bills, but all he ever did was calmly get out his checkbook and pay them. Privately, she thought it was sweet. Anything that Hermione wanted, she would have.

In her career she'd also seen some truly awful dissentions between betrotheds over wedding-related issues, but not between these two. Nor was Harry completely absenting himself from the planning as so many grooms did. He had opinions, he had input. Most of the decisions had been jointly made. So far the only sore spot she'd detected involved Hermione's mother, who was apparently making quite a nuisance of herself. Mel had seen it a thousand times. A mother sees her daughter's wedding as the last chance to assert any influence over her life before she becomes half of a married couple and her priorities change...husband first, family second. In a last-ditch attempt to retain some control, too many mothers alienate their daughters, sometimes beyond repair. She didn't sense that it had gone this far with Hermione's mother, but there was some distinct tension on the subject.

With only a month to go now, things were really shifting into high gear. It was time to finalize all the orders, do last fittings for clothes, tally all the RSVP cards, arrange for things like transportation and reception seating. Today, Mel was sitting at her desk with a blueprint of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, figuring out how big a podium the band would need so she could owl her setup crew.

She was calculating surface areas for different shaped podiums when there was a knock at the door. "Come in," she said, distracted. The door opened and Harry entered, smiling. "Hi, Harry. Did we have an appointment?"

"No. Just dropped by." He took a seat in front of her desk. "How's it going?"

"Oh, fine. What's up?"

"I, uh...wanted to ask for your help with something."

"Sure, what is it?"

"I want you to help me arrange a little wedding-day present for Hermione. Sort of a surprise."

Mel looked up, dubious. "I don't advise that, Harry. The last thing a bride wants on that particular day is a surprise."

"I think this one will be all right. Just hear me out."

"What'd you have in mind?"

"Let me ask you first if she has jewelry to wear with her dress."

"Uh-oh. You know I'm under strict orders not to discuss the dress."

He rolled his eyes, chuckling. "A simple yes or no answer will suffice."

Mel smiled. "I think so. I'm not sure, actually."

"Do you know Lex Petrak?"

Mel's eyes widened. "Oh my God," she said. "Uh...well, no, not really. I know of him, of course. Everyone does." Lex Petrak was a very famous jeweler, one of the growing number of merchants who dealt with both wizards and Muggles. His designs were world famous, his lavish pieces were astronomically expensive. He catered to the wealthy, the famous, the royal. "Do you know him?"

Harry just smiled. He pulled out a card and handed it to her. It was one of Petrak's business cards. On the back was written Harry - anything, anytime. "I know him a little. Let's just say he owes me a favor. I'd like you to give him that card and tell him that I want jewelry for Hermione to wear with her wedding dress. Something really spectacular, something to make her feel like a queen. I'll have to leave it to you and Lex to pick out the actual pieces, since I have no idea what the dress looks like or what would be appropriate."

Mel was speechless. "Harry...are you telling me he'd just give you jewelry?"

Harry chuckled. "Unfortunately, no. He doesn't owe me that large a favor. He'd sell me whatever I wanted at his 'special' rate, but I'm afraid that's a bit rich even for my blood. No, this would be a loaner. We'd have to give it back afterwards, but don't you think it'd be worth it?"

"Absolutely! Gosh, who wouldn't love to wear real diamonds like that, even it's only for one night!"

"Good. I was afraid this was a terrible idea."

"I think it's wonderful. But...what'll I do if Hermione picks out something else to wear?"

"I'll trust to your cunning. Maybe you could arrange for a little last-minute substitution. Just don't let her buy anything expensive to wear that she'd be sorry about."

"Leave it to me. I'm sneaky."

"I thought you might be."

She grinned at him. "Can I ask what favor Petrak owes you?"

He shrugged. "I broke up a ring of jewel thieves and recovered three million Galleons' worth of uncut diamonds that belonged to him. He was...grateful."

"I guess so."

He sighed and stood up. "Good, that's settled. I've got to run, but I'll talk to you later."

"Hermione's lucky," Mel said as he left. Harry turned at the door.

"Well, she deserves a really smashing necklace, and I..."

"No, that's not what I meant." Mel looked up at him, smiling. "She's lucky."

Harry flushed. "Oh. I, uh...well, thanks," he stammered, offering her a shy smile as he beat a hasty retreat.

Mel tucked the business card into her wallet. Recently a florist she'd been dealing with had asked her, mostly in jest, if she could have Harry's number if things didn't work out with Hermione. Mel chuckled to herself. Queue forms to the right, honey. Single file, no pushing.

---

Three weeks and five days to go...

---

Allegra lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, distracted. Thoughts of the Master...she couldn't think of him as Julian despite her best efforts...were always with her, even now. She hadn't seen him for three days, which wasn't all that unusual. He was known to disappear for days at a time and return without any explanation, only admonishments that she ought to trust him. He should know better, she thought. He doesn't trust me, why should I trust him?

She glanced down at the Circle wizard who currently had his head between her legs, overcome with intolerable impatience. It was just all so...tiresome. She reached down and shoved him away, rolling onto her side. "What?" he said, an expression of comic rejection on his face.

"Go away," she said. "Uh...what was your name again?"

He sat up, pouting with his cute little curlicue mouth. "Eric."

"Right. Eric. Why aren't you Jameson?"

"He's still out at the base camp, packing up. He asked me to fill in." He sniffed a little. "He thought you'd like me."

"I'm not in the mood."

"Hey, you think it was my goal in life to be servicing you tonight?"

Allegra sat up and grabbed his face, turning him towards her. "Listen, babycakes," she hissed. "Most consider it a privilege."

He sniffed again, but this time it was sarcastic rather than hurt. "Yeah, sure. We're all just dying to come in here and shag your brains out while you shut your eyes and call us Harry."

She drew away, taken aback. "I do not...I mean...that's not true."

"Oh no? Ask Jameson." The man's eyes narrowed a little. "He swears you even called him Julian once. Kinda kinky, even for you, isn't it? To be picturing your own son?"

Allegra shoved him off the bed and threw his clothes at him. "Get the hell out. I hope you enjoy the next year of your life...you're gonna be spending it at our camp in Iceland."

He ran out the door, naked arse jiggling entertainingly, leaving a lonely sock on the floor behind him. Allegra flopped backwards, depressed and unsatisfied. Damn you, Harry, she thought. Can't you even let me get off in peace? Why do you have to be so fucking insidious?

She lay there bemoaning her preoccupations until she drifted off, one arm thrown across her eyes.

An indeterminate time later she was awakened by the bed creaking. She opened her eyes to see the Master sitting on the edge of the mattress, looking down at her nude body with no more interest than he might have shown a piece of roadkill. She blinked, confused. "Why do you fool around with these brainless pretty boys when you have me?" he asked, smirking.

She grabbed a blanket and covered herself, pushing as far away from him as possible, which was still unsettlingly near. "Have you no shame at all?" she growled at him.

"I don't seem to, do I? These human taboos are meaningless to me. If I were so inclined I'd sleep with whomever I chose. One woman is as desirable as any other...of course that includes you, my dear."

"What do you want?"

"Can't I stop by and say hello to you? I've been gone a few days, haven't you missed me?" v "No," she snapped. Of course she had missed him, but she would never have admitted it. The truth was that her dependence on him was beginning to frighten her. She had never been tied to someone as she was to him. She had always been fiercely solitary. Even when she was taking his orders from afar, before she had seen him in person, she had not thought of him as controlling her, nor of herself as being subordinate to him. Now that he was here, in the flesh, she could almost feel her own will ebbing away and flowing towards him. She'd even wondered if he were using some sort of magic on her. She didn't feel like herself when he wasn't around. She didn't know what to do or what came next. She no longer felt powerful, as she always had. She saw the Circle leaning towards him, as a sunflower grows towards the light. Now when she gave orders, she saw the eyes of her underlings flick towards the Master as if checking that it was all right for them to obey her. There had been a time here when her every word, her very glance was law.

That time was past. Now, he just smiled at her with exaggerated magnanimity. "Good," he said. "You shouldn't rely on me too much. You're so strong and powerful, you don't need me." His true meaning, as usual, ran directly opposite to what he said. Rather than being supportive, his words became patronizing. It was a trick of expression he seemed to have elevated to an art form. "Now, then. Get dressed and come down to the chamber. I've some new orders for you." He started to rise, but then sat down again. "Oh, it occurred to me today that there's an event of interest coming up soon."

"What's that?" she said, keeping her eyes firmly averted, though she knew exactly what he was talking about.

"I do believe that the sire of my existence is soon to be married. Am I right?"

"Yes, you're right."

"And how do we feel about that?"

She shrugged. "So he's tying the knot with his one true love, big deal."

"You're not too fond of this woman, are you? My soon-to-be wicked stepmother."

"She's a simpering little mouse. He deserves better."

"You, for instance?"

"I do wish you'd get off that. Why do people always assume I still have a thing for Harry?"

"Hmm. People can be perceptive that way." He abruptly leaned closer. Allegra shrank back but couldn't go far; her bed was in the corner of her room and she was pressed against the wall. "It's a pity you have to live in the past," he whispered near her ear. He slid one hand beneath the blanket she held before her and cupped her bare breast; she shut her eyes and waited for it to be over. "It's our future you should be concentrating on." She felt his breath against her neck as he slowly kneaded her breast, running his thumb over the traitorous nipple which hardened underneath his fingers. It was an odd sensation. The touch may have been intimate but there was nothing of him in it. It was just another weapon in his arsenal against her independence, another way for him to demonstrate that he could make her feel anything he wanted her to, even if she didn't want to feel it.

All at once he pulled back and stood, looking down at her with what he probably thought was a kindly smile. "However. If you want to arrange something to make his special day more, shall we say memorable, then I'm open to suggestions." He went to the door. "Get dressed and come downstairs."

Allegra sagged as the door shut behind him. Her skin still tingled where his hand had lain on her. She shuddered with an uncomfortable mixture of revulsion and involuntary arousal. She got up and began pulling on her clothes, berating herself. The truth was that in spite of her concerted efforts to deny it, she wanted him. It didn't matter who he was. She might have known in her head that he was her son, but when she looked at him the first thing she saw was an attractive older man who did remind her quite a lot of Harry and who had a magnetic charisma that was seducing all of her formerly loyal soldiers to his servitude. She always had to remind herself who he really was to her. Unfortunately one's emotions do not wait for reminders from the rational centers of the mind, they merely leap without taking a single look round.

She put it out of her head as she tied her hair back, thinking instead of Harry's upcoming wedding. More memorable, the Master had said. Hmm. I'll have to give that some serious thought.

---

Three weeks and two days to go...

---

When Harry arrived back at the house in the late afternoon, the first thing he saw was a young boy of about seven streaking towards him wearing a t-shirt, no pants, and a large sombrero with bells around the brim. He jingled through the foyer and jingled away into the east hallway, followed closely by Hermione's cousin Sarah. "Get back here, you little tosser!" she yelled, pounding after him, the floor quaking under the impact of her boots, their buckles rattling in absurd harmony with the bells on the fugitive's sombrero.

Harry stood there for a moment, blinking and looking around in dim confusion. Apparently the circus had come to town while he was at work. The house was filled with people and the resultant noise of all of them talking at once. It looked like all the housemates, their assorted significant others, most of Hermione's family, a few of their closer friends from Hogwarts and every Weasley in a hundred kilometer radius.

He wracked his brain in an attempt to recall whether he'd been told about a gathering this evening but came up blank...not that it looked like a gathering, more like a barnraising. He set down his briefcase. "Harry!" called a familiar voice. He looked up in time to see Hermione and Ron materialize out of the melee. "Hi, sweetie," she said, kissing his cheek.

"Hi, sweetie," Ron echoed, making as if to kiss Harry's other cheek. Harry elbowed him in the chest, grinning.

"Sorry, old chap, I dated one redhead and that was enough." He looked down at Hermione. "What the blazes is all this?"

"We decided to have Ron's big open house welcome-home party this Sunday! Isn't that great?"

"Sunday! That's a bit soon! That only gives us three days to get ready!"

"Well, that's why we called in the troops," she said, gesturing to the crowd of people milling about.

"Who was Senor Underpants I just saw dash through here?"

Hermione laughed. "Oh, that was Nathan. He's Stuart's boy."

"Which Stuart, Sarah's brother?"

"Do we know another Stuart?"

"Your mum's stepbrother, dear."

Hermione made a face. "Oh. Right. Forgot about him."

"So what exactly is the plan here?"

"Well, we'll need to finish the rooms here on the ground floor that we haven't done yet. This is as good an excuse as any, don't you think?"

"Mighty fine."

"The terrace is in a state. It's supposed to be pretty warm this weekend, we'll probably be able to use it. Everything's gone to weeds and creeper, it'll all have to be cleaned out. And I want to finally open up the ballroom."

Harry raised his eyebrows. They'd used the ballroom on a limited basis for their own practicing, but it had never been readied for real use. "You sure? That's no small task. We'll have to scrub every inch of it, and all that glass in the French doors, and the patio is all cracked and heaved up..."

"Again, that's why we called in the troops. Plus we'll need decorations, and..."

"How many people are we inviting to this little clambake?"

"It's an open house, anyone can come. We could have hundreds."

Harry looked over at Ron. "Are you sure you're up for this? You didn't seem too sure about it when we first brought it up."

He sighed. "It'll be a little unnerving, but I think I can manage it. It's time I dealt with the world at large again, don't you think? Besides, this can be sort of a warmup for that other big event we have coming up. I can kick things off, if you will. It'll be fun!"

Harry smiled. "All right, if you say so." He glanced at Hermione, then back at Ron. "Excuse us for a moment, okay?" He took Hermione's elbow and steered her into the empty parlor.

"What?" she said, looking a bit preoccupied, as if she wanted to get back out there and get something done.

Harry spread his hands. "Should I be wondering why you didn't ask me about this?"

"What do you mean? You said we ought to have a party for Ron one of these weekends."

"But why this weekend? What if I'd had to go out of town or something?"

"You don't, do you?" she said, looking horrified.

"No, but what if I had? Why wasn't I consulted? You just went ahead and made all these plans and..." He sighed, exasperated. "I would have appreciated it if you'd talked to me first."

He had her full attention now. "What, to ask permission?"

"Oh, hang it. It's not permission, it's just common courtesy! I live here too, you know!"

"The others all thought it was a great idea!"

"So why was I the only one kept out of the loop? How would you like it if I made all kinds of huge grandiose plans without consulting you?"

"But...Harry...I thought this was what you wanted..."

"There, you see? You always do that! You always assume that what you've planned and what you think is best is what everyone else should do, too."

"I do not, that's a cheap shot!"

"It's true, though. Full steam ahead, that's your motto."

"Why are you being so mean about this?"

He sighed and pulled back a little. "I'm upset that it didn't seem to cross your mind that you ought to ask what I thought of this idea before you got everyone and their brother over here to plan it."

"Aren't we supposed to do things together now?"

"That doesn't mean we have no identities of our own! We may be joining our lives, but as far as I know we're still retaining individual custody of our brains. You've always been very sensitive about being thought of as my appendage...well, I'm not yours, either. I'm not saying I think this party is a bad idea, or that this weekend is a bad time...but what if it was? I had no chance to say so before you set everything in motion!"

She held up her hands in a placating gesture. "All right, I'm sorry!"

He narrowed his eyes. "Are you saying that because you're actually sorry or because you want me to shut up about it?"

"Can't it be both?" she replied, her tone exasperated. "I'm sorry you're feeling out of the loop, Harry, but I've got a lot on my mind right now! This is our last free weekend, if we didn't do this now we'd have to wait until after the wedding and since you won't tell me what our honeymoon plans involve I don't know how long we'll be gone! So yes, I went ahead and made a unilateral decision because it didn't occur to me that you might object to having a party for our best friend who's back with us after twelve years away!"

"You're missing the point. It wouldn't have taken more than a few minutes to Bubble me and ask me what I thought."

"I guess I just didn't think of it." Now she did look contrite. "I am sorry. I was just so excited that Ron wanted to have the party and I was anxious to start the planning...all I could think was that you'd be excited, too."

He took her hands. "I am excited. It'll be a smashing party, I'm sure."

"So you're not mad at me anymore?"

"I wasn't mad, just...irritated. Give me a proper kiss hello and all will be forgotten."

She leaned forward and kissed him, slow and teasing, sucking gently on his lower lip in a way she knew drove him crazy. "Better?" she said into his ear, her tone low and suggestive.

"All kinds of better," he replied, sliding one hand down to her backside for a brief squeeze before releasing her. "Rally the troops. I'll go change clothes and I'll be at your disposal for manual labor."

She left the parlor, tossing a flirtatious glance over her shoulder at him as she did so. Harry went out through the foyer door to hang up his cloak.

His second attempt to make it past the foyer was no more successful than the first. No sooner had he put his cloak away but Claire Granger buttonholed him into the study, a flushed and bustling look on her face which Harry had grown to know and fear. "What is it, Claire?" he asked, managing to keep the weary note from his voice.

"I have a wonderful surprise for Hermione!" Claire said, withdrawing a box from her pocket. "I've been saving it, I wanted to show you so that you and I could give them to her together."

The alarm bells were going off inside Harry's head. "What's this, then?" he said, leaning over her shoulder. She opened the box to reveal two rings, one sized for a man and the other for a woman. They were clearly antique and quite lovely. The woman's had three diamonds set in a row, the man's was plain.

Claire sighed happily. "These were my parents' wedding rings."

Harry felt his stomach sink down to about the level of his kneecaps. "Lillian and Clive's?" he asked.

"Yes. You know how much Hermione loved her Nana. Aren't they beautiful? I inherited them, but..." She hesitated with the air of one bestowing a very great honor. "I'd like you and Hermione to have them for your wedding rings. I've already had them resized for you." She waited, probably bracing herself for Harry's effusive thanks.

He sank into a chair, weariness settling on his shoulders like a wet wool cloak. "That's terribly nice of you, Claire, but...we've already purchased our wedding rings." He was amazed that Claire could possibly be under the impression that they had not attended to such a matter at this late date.

"Oh, well," she stammered. "You can take them back, can't you?"

"As a matter of fact I can't, they're custom-made. Even if I could, I don't think I ought to."

"What? Harry, these are priceless family heirlooms! Surely you'd rather have them than some jewelry-store garbage!"

"I'm sure Hermione would love to have those rings someday, but our wedding rings will be our own rings. She and I have discussed this. Hermione knows you inherited those rings, and at one time we thought about asking you for them, but we decided that we would rather have rings which had only ever belonged to us, that would be special and unique just to us." To his dismay, his future mother-in-law was looking more and more distressed by the moment.

"I had these rings altered to fit you! It wasn't cheap, you know, they're quite fragile!"

"I hate to point this out, but we didn't ask you to do that, Claire. If you'd come to me first I could have told you that we'd chosen our rings already."

"It astonishes me that you think Hermione wouldn't want her grandmother's ring!"

"That's not what I meant. If you want to make her a gift of those rings, be my guest. She'd be honored to have them, I'm sure. But her wedding ring will be one that I give her, not one that you give her."

Now an edge of stubbornness was coming into Claire's face. Clearly, her face told him, he wasn't going to see reason about this so she wouldn't waste her breath trying to convince him. "Well, if that's how you feel, I'll just go see what Hermione thinks and..."

Harry stepped in front of her as she tried to leave the study. "No."

She gaped up at him. "No?"

"No, Claire. I won't let you go to Hermione with this."

"Why...I...what on earth are you talking about?"

He took a deep breath. "Ever since we started planning this, it's been the same thing over and over again. Hermione and I make a decision, you don't like it so you start working on her to try and get her to do it the way you think it ought to be. First it was the wedding site, then it was the reception, then it was getting her second cousin Bridget in the wedding party..."

"Well, Hermione was in Bridget's wedding!"

"When she was fourteen! She hasn't seen Bridget in ten years! Then it was the pictures, and the dress, my God the endless horror that was the dress!"

"I just want her wedding to be perfect!"

"But do you get that every time she fights with you over something or another I'm the one who has to calm her down? I'm the one who dries her tears and reassures her that it'll be okay? I'm not sure you realize you're even doing it! Hermione wants so much to please you and not to fight with you but at the same time she wants our wedding to be the way we want it, and it's pulling her in two! Claire...when she hurts, I hurt. I'm not going to let you do this to her again, not this time. It stops now. All our decisions are made. Everything is set. If you have any opinion about anything, no matter what it is, the only thing I want to hear you say to Hermione from now on is 'That sounds lovely, dear. How can I help?' Okay?"

Harry realized abruptly that his voice had risen a bit more than he'd intended. By the end he was almost yelling at her. Claire looked stunned, hurt and infuriated all at once. "Don't you tell me how to talk to my own daughter, Harry Potter!" she exclaimed. "If I want to tell her what I think about anything then you have no right to stop me!"

"Oh, that's where you're wrong. I have every right to stop Hermione from being hurt and upset, and that's what she'll be if you show her those rings. You said it yourself, you know how much she loved Lillian. I'm shocked that you'd use that love to get her to go along with your wishes."

"You just want her to use the rings you had made!"

"Those aren't my rings, they're ours! That's the entire point! You're trying to undermine decisions that she and I have made together!"

"And why shouldn't I? I'm her mother! I was making her lunches and singing her to sleep long before she ever knew that was such a person as you!"

Harry felt his anger spiking higher still, the restraint he was imposing on himself for Hermione's sake stretching and groaning in protest. "Claire, I hope you can hear me. Hermione is a grown woman. You don't get to make her decisions anymore. What she does is no longer for you to approve or disapprove of. Her first loyalty is to me and to the life that we're trying to build together. She'll always be your daughter, but she is mine first now."

"You can't speak for her!"

"Well, I just did."

"How do you know all these things?"

He was stunned. "How do you think? She told me so!"

"Harry!" came a new voice. They both whipped around to see Hermione standing in the doorway, her face nakedly shocked. "What's going on? Why are you yelling at Mum?"

Harry sighed. "This is between me and your mother, Hermione."

Claire, apparently, didn't agree. "He doesn't want me to talk to you about the wedding!" she cried, moving to Hermione's side.

Harry sagged, waiting for the inevitable. Claire would relate her sob story, Hermione would be guilt-tripped into going along and would later have to connive ways to fix things back the way they wanted them without upsetting her mother.

It was with surprise, then, that he heard exasperation in Hermione's tone as she said "Well, Mother, can you blame him? Every time we talk about that we get into a fight."

"That's not true!"

"Maybe not, but it sure feels true. Harry's just looking out for me, not to mention it's no fun for him to pick up the pieces after you and I have another giant row. What set all this off?"

"Well, I wanted to..." Claire stopped suddenly, glancing over at Harry. He just looked back at her. "Um, I just wanted to tell you I'd heard about a wonderful florist." He saw Claire slip the box with the rings inside into her pocket. He sighed with relief, feeling he may have won a small battle.

Hermione shook her head. "Oh, Mother, don't be ridiculous. All the flowers are ordered, it's far too late to go comparison shopping."

"You're right, it was just a thought."

Hermione glanced from her mother to her fiance, looking a bit puzzled. "Well, all right, then. I'll just...get back to work." She smiled vaguely and left the study.

Claire stood there for a moment, then walked over and sat next to Harry on the divan. For a few moments they sat there in silence. "I'd like to apologize for my behavior," she finally said.

"You don't have to do that," Harry said.

"I'd like to, anyway." She hesitated. "It's difficult for a mother to see her child as a grown woman. It means she doesn't need me anymore."

"She'll always need you."

"I'm afraid I'm just meddlesome by nature."

"There are worse things to be," Harry said, smiling a little.

Claire chuckled. "I suppose so." She looked at him. "You love my daughter very much, don't you?"

Harry straightened a little. He and Claire had never really talked about his relationship to Hermione, it had always been understood without discussion. "Yes, I do," he replied.

"All I ever wanted was for her to be happy. You make her very happy."

"I hope so." He let a few beats pass quietly. "I'm sorry I shouted at you."

"It's all right. It's possible that I deserved it. I just...I really wanted to see the look on her face when I gave her those rings."

"If you'd given them to her now, you wouldn't have gotten the look you wanted."

"I know. Maybe...they would make a good anniversary present." She handed him the little box. "I can trust you to keep these safe, can't I?"

He took them, touched. "Yes, you can. But don't you want to give them to her?"

She shook her head. "No. They're very special. She should receive them from someone just as special." She cleared her throat. "I suppose it's time for me to come to terms with the fact that I'm not the most important gift-giver anymore. She won't be opening mine first from now on." She gave him a shaky smile and then left, walking quickly and swiping at her eyes.

Harry sat for a few moments, regaining his equilibrium. He hated fighting with anyone, and now he'd just gotten into two arguments in the space of ten minutes.

He stood up and went back into the foyer for another try. This time he got all the way into the kitchen, intending to make himself some tea before he changed clothes and joined the home decor extravaganza.

Ginny came in just as he was putting the water on to boil. "Hey, Gin," he said...then he saw her face. Good God, what now? he thought.

"Harry, I just heard what I hope to God is a vicious lie," she said, her face dark and thunderous.

"What's that?"

"Please, tell me that you didn't invite Ronin Savage to the wedding."

He sighed. "Actually, I did...although technically the invitation was from both of us."

Ginny shrugged, her arms spread wide, her face blankly astonished. "I can't believe you! Have you no instinct for self-preservation?"

"Hermione knows, if that's what you're getting at."

"Oh, I'm sure she'd be all understanding and mature about it, that's what she has me for! How could you be so insensitive? Oh wait, I'm sorry, I forgot, insensitive is your middle name. Harry Insensitive Potter."

"I think that's a little harsh!"

"This from the man who went off hooking up with someone else when his best friend was obviously about to break up with her boyfriend!"

"The someone else in question being you, just so we're all in the same rowboat."

"Hardly the point! Hermione deserves a wedding free of her brand-new husband's ex-girlfriends!"

Harry waited. Ginny just stood there fuming. He sighed. "And so the boundaries of what we know as irony are redefined once again. I'm truly privileged to have been a witness to it."

"Don't be flip, Harry."

"I might point out that fully one-half of Hermione's wedding party consists of my ex-girlfriends."

"That's different."

"How?"

"Cho and I are her friends."

"Is there any reason Ronin couldn't be her friend, too, given the chance?"

"But she isn't now, and therefore the only reason for her to be at the wedding is because of you!"

"Well, there's no need to come over all shirty about it."

"If I'm shirty it's because I thought better of you, Harry. It seems so...underhanded. You just slipped her name onto the guest list and hoped Hermione wouldn't notice until it was too late, and that's exactly what happened. How does that look to the casual observer? Not good!"

Harry felt his ire rising once again. "If you're suggesting that I'm somehow planning some kind of rendezvous with Ronin at my wedding then you must..." He trailed off. "You must not think much of me."

"That's just it. I think the world of you. That's why this is such a nasty surprise. I'm shocked to find you acting like a stereotypical oblivious man, especially since you're one of the examples I trot out to prove to people that there's any other kind. You're seriously undermining my ability to defend the male gender to its detractors."

"If Hermione doesn't object to Ronin's presence than I must say you've got a certain amount of cheek making such a fuss over it!"

"Do I? Maybe. But just think for a moment. There you'll be, up at the front of the Great Hall. Sirius has just pronounced you husband and wife. Hermione will be next to you in a dress that's...well. Just wait until you see it, we'll be scraping your lower jaw off the floor. She'll be looking out at her friends and family, thinking about how it's the happiest day of her life, and who does she see? Some woman you used to shag. Kind of spoils the image, doesn't it?"

"Well, you know what?" Harry snapped, tired of the entire conversation. "This wedding isn't an image to me. It isn't some picture postcard diorama to be carefully arranged and preserved like an exhibit in a fucking museum. It's moment between me and Hermione where we say some words and exchange some rings, but what we're really doing is agreeing that while we may be jumping off the same cliff we'll be doing it together. It doesn't matter who else is there or what else is going on or who's wearing what or sitting next to whom. If she's there that's all I care about and I jolly well hope she feels the same way. And you know something else, while we're on the subject? I'm bloody tired of everyone referring to this wedding as if it's just about Hermione! Last time I checked this ceremony did require my presence, but sometimes I think no one would notice if I didn't even show up! So yeah, I invited my ex-girlfriend to the wedding. Hermione was mad about it, now you're mad about it. Everyone's so anxious to lump all sorts of nefarious motives on me for this. Did it ever occur to anyone that I might have invited her so she could see that I'm happy? So she could feel vindicated that she was right about me and Hermione all along? I didn't particularly want to invite her, our relationship didn't end on the best of notes, but I felt somewhat obligated because I lost our bet!"

Ginny just gaped at him. "She...bet you?"

"Yeah, that's right," Harry said, throwing dishes into the sink harder than he probably ought to have done. "She thought I was in love with Hermione...not that she was the first person to voice that little theory, of course...and when I kept insisting that I wasn't she challenged me to a bit of a wager. She bet me that I'd marry Hermione within ten years. If I won, she'd come back from wherever she was when the ten years was up and take me to the Crystal Caverns of Malthus."

Ginny gasped. "She can get into the caverns? How?"

"Her uncle's their house spellwriter, she can occasionally persuade him to let her bring a visitor."

"And...if she won?"

"I'd have to invite her to the wedding, of course. I am a man of my word."

Ginny still looked befuddled. "Why didn't you tell Hermione any of this?"

He shrugged. "She'd tell me I was being stupid."

"Well, I think you're being stupid."

"I don't care if you think I'm stupid, Ginny!"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, Harry. How well does Hermione know you?"

"Better than anyone."

"Exactly. And yet you're still worried about impressing her and afraid of looking foolish."

He shrugged. "Hermione's opinion of me is really quite integral to my self-esteem, always has been." He raised an eyebrow. "Am I forgiven for the hideous sin of inviting Ronin to the wedding?

Ginny made a face. "I suppose."

"And will you be civil to her?"

"There, I make no promises." Ginny heaved another weary sigh at his cluelessness and left the room, shaking her head.

Harry stood there for a moment, wondering what had gotten into everyone all at once. "The blasted water's bloody boiling!" the tea kettle shouted, startling him.

"Oh, don't you start, now!" he yelled at the kettle, which removed itself from the burner in short order. Harry stomped out into the foyer, where Hermione was organizing her army of helpers into task forces. He crossed to her side as the troops dispersed. She, Ron and Napoleon were discussing the ballroom but stopped as he approached.

"What's wrong?" she asked, seeing his dour expression.

"Oh, nothing. I must have missed the memo that today was Get a Piece of Potter Day. Ron, would you like to pick a fight with me? I'm three for three so far."

"No thanks, mate. Maybe later."

"Napoleon, surely I've done something lately to piss you off."

Napoleon thought a moment. "Well, there was our brief but bitter affair."

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'm going to my room." He turned to leave.

"Harry, wait..." Hermione began, coming towards him.

He held up a hand. "No, stay away. I'll probably end up saying something boorish and unseemly. Best maintain a minimum safe distance." He tramped up the stairs, feeling dispirited but knowing it would pass soon enough. His quarrels with Hermione and her mother had both been resolved on a positive note, and while Ginny had still seemed annoyed when she'd left him he knew she'd get over it. It was now only the fact that he'd quarreled with any of them at all that left a bad taste in his mouth.

He changed into clothes more suited to grubbing about in the yard and was just lacing up his shoes when someone knocked on the door. "Come in," he said, sparing a second to wonder who it could be. Couldn't be Hermione, she would not have knocked.

Napoleon entered, shutting the door behind him. Harry could tell by his expression that he'd come on business. "Any news today?" he asked.

Harry shook his head. "Nothing encouraging."

"When will it be ready?"

"They won't give me an estimate. They're having some trouble with the duplication. All the original enchantments are lost, you know. Those old magics, they're...tricky."

"Well, we knew that might be a problem, didn't we?"

"Yes, but we didn't count on it taking this long. It could be tomorrow, it could be two weeks from now, who knows?"

Napoleon blew air through his teeth. "Man, they're pushing it. If it isn't soon you're not going to be around to supervise the testing."

"Then you'll have to do it."

Napoleon smiled. "You'd let me oversee such a big operation?"

"Jones, you have got to get over this notion that I don't trust you. Have I given you any indication that I have less than complete confidence in you?"

"It's just...you've been keeping this so quiet, not even telling Hermione..."

"I don't want to raise a panic. Not until I'm certain." Harry stood up. "I hope to God I'm wrong about this."

"Me too." Napoleon sighed. "I can scarcely bear to think about it."

Harry walked past him. "Yeah," he said, his tone grim.

"But you shouldn't think about it at all," Napoleon said, forcing a smile. "You ought to be thinking about flowers and sunshine and all things happy and matriarchal."

Harry smiled. "I think you mean 'matrimonial.'"

Napoleon frowned. "What'd I say?"

"'Matriarchal.'"

"Oh. Well, that's good, too. Personally, I like being ordered about by women."

Harry chuckled. "If you like bossy women then I guess that explains why you find Hermione so fascinating."

"I'm gonna tell her you said that, ha ha."

"Like fun, you will. I can see the headlines now...'Intelligence Wizard Dies in Freak Head-Up-His-Own-Ass Accident.'"

---

Three weeks to go...

---

The day of Ron's party dawned sunny and unseasonably warm, as per forecasts. The household bustled about all morning on last-minute chores while George cooked, assisted by Ginny and Stephen.

The guest of honor felt a little useless. No one seemed too inclined to let him help with the preparations, all his attempts to pitch in had been waved off, so he wandered around trying to look nonchalant.

He found Harry on the terrace, standing near some large stacks of folding tables and chairs borrowed from a local church. He was consulting a hand-drawn diagram of where things were to be placed. Ron approached him, hoping for a task to keep himself occupied. "Can I help set up, mate?"

"No need. I'm just about finished."

Ron frowned. "You haven't started."

Harry handed him the diagram, smiling. "Half a mo." He turned to the stacks and clasped his hands behind his back, shutting his eyes. As Ron looked on in amazement, the whole lot rose off the ground and burst outward, separating into groupings and individual pieces, which quickly zipped around the lawn and settled themselves. A nearby box opened and a flurry of white table linens flew out across the yard, laying themselves neatly on all the tables. Harry opened his eyes and turned in a half-circle to face the house. Ron flinched a bit as those eyes slid over him; they were glowing as if lit from within, crackling with electricity and sparking like firecrackers. Harry spoke not a word, his face calm and composed, his hands always held behind his back. A dozen-odd crates had been stacked near the steps leading to the verandah; their tops rose open and out floated long strands of Chinese lanterns, flowers and garlands, lights and banners. Harry's gaze moved smoothly over the yard and the decorations zoomed about, hanging and arranging themselves until the entire terrace was bedecked with festive vestments.

"That was brilliant," Ron said, feeling a little awed. Harry took a deep breath and his posture relaxed slightly. He turned around and his eyes looked normal again.

"I come in handy around the house," he said.

"I guess. Doesn't that tire you out?"

"No, not really. It would have a year ago. I've been...well, training, you might say. Learning to use my Mage abilities more effectively."

"What you just did was a Mage thing?"

"In a way. Anyone can levitate a table, but it takes some extra mojo to control many objects all at the same time. I started with ten or so and worked my way up from there." He turned to Ron and clapped one hand to his shoulder. "Ready for the giant Festival du Ron?"

"I assume it's too late to call the whole thing off."

Harry sobered. "All you have to do is say the word and I'll bar the gates."

"I appreciate that, mate, but I was just kidding. I'm as ready as I'll ever be. About time I stopped playing the mysterious recluse, don't you think?"

"That's not for me to say." Harry was looking at him with a speculative expression, as if he were still deciding if Ron was having him on.

"I'm okay, really. I'm quite looking forward to it, actually. It'll be nice to see some people I haven't seen since Hogwarts. Besides, I'm thoroughly sick of the lot of you. Time to see some new faces."

---

At her own insistence, Laura played hostess for the open house, arguing that Harry and Hermione ought to be able to enjoy the party...most of the guests would be their friends and relations. Anyone who wished to greet Ron was welcome, except for the press. Ron had agreed to a chat with Davis Wilpott of the Prophet and one with Ginny's best reporter from Circe, and that was all.

The inner circle of friends and family were there before noon, and more people began trickling in just before one o'clock. By two there were a hundred people. By three there were two hundred. By four o'clock Laura estimated that there were three hundred and fifty people milling about the house and grounds.

Ron held court on the terrace as people arrived, his family sticking close to him, while Harry and Hermione circulated. Laura was kept busy overseeing the small platoon of hired help and greeting people at the door, reminding them to sign the guestbook they'd set up in the foyer.

To her surprise, almost everyone brought gifts for Ron, prompting a small scramble to dig up a table to put in the parlor where they could be piled. Music and talk drifted through the house along with the smell of all the food George had fixed for the occasion.

She lost track of everyone who arrived. A great many school friends, some of whom she'd met, many of whom she hadn't. Some teachers from Hogwarts came, as well as friends of the Weasley family. She was amazed at the distances some of them had traveled, and also at how many people came who did not even know Ron but only wished to bring him greetings. It seemed as if every Ministry on earth had sent a representative. The list of celebrity attendees grew longer and longer, and Laura was many times grateful that press were not being allowed on the grounds. The biggest reaction probably came with the arrival of Storey Severance, the outspoken and wildly colorful American Minister of Magic. She was a rarity among high-ranking officials...a unificationist, someone who believed that the wizarding world and the Muggle world should not remain separated. Storey had gained near-mythic status when as an Auror she had achieved the single largest arrest of Death Eaters in the history of the Corps. She was also well-known as the only witch or wizard ever to maintain an unbeaten record in sanctioned dueling competition.

As the arrivals dwindled to a trickle, Laura began to move around the party more, making small talk and keeping an eye on Ron. She wondered if this was too much for him, if they were pushing him too fast. He had agreed to this, had even seemed eager, but how much of that reaction was his almost obsessive need to go along, to accomodate? Eventually he left his perch on the terrace and ventured to walk about, talking to his well-wishers. His voice sounded easy and casual, his posture was relaxed.

She kept her distance, watching him. Something was different. She stood in the kitchen doorway where she could see him on the terrace. The sun was shining and it was a beautiful day, they could not have asked for a better one...yet she was waiting, unsure what she was waiting for. Ron's eyes slid past her without marking her presence, yet this was not their usual brand of avoidance. In fact, during the preparations for the party they'd managed what could almost be called civility. No, this was simply an unseeing sort of thousand-yard stare. She frowned. What was different about him?

For the next half hour, she kept a close eye on him from a discreet distance. He continued to walk around and talk, but she could see his smiles becoming more and more forced, his posture tighter and then tighter still. A light sheen of perspiration appeared on his forehead. He did not look well. She saw him repeatedly swipe his hand across his lips, across his brow.

She had just about decided to go talk to him when she saw his gaze fix on something. She followed his eyes and saw Harry and Hermione on the verandah talking with Neville Longbottom and his wife Amelia. Neville was holding their young daughter, tuckered out from all the excitement and asleep, her little rosebud face squished against Neville's shoulder. Harry had one arm around Hermione's waist, his hand casually brushing up and down her arm.

Laura looked back to Ron. He was shaking. My God, isn't anyone seeing this? she thought. No one he was talking to appeared to have noticed anything amiss. He set down the drink he was holding and excused himself with an uncertain smile. He walked to the house, not rapidly but with purpose, and went in the kitchen door. Laura looked back towards the verandah...Harry and Hermione had not seen Ron's exit, they were still talking to Neville and Amelia. She toyed briefly with the idea of alerting them, but discarded it. She followed Ron into the house.

She heard his footsteps up the back staircase, then down the east wing hallway above her head. She hesitated again, then followed.

She found him in the conservatory looking out onto the empty balcony, arms crossed. She slipped inside and shut the door quietly behind her. "Please leave me alone, Laura," he said without turning. She didn't waste any time wondering how he knew it was her.

"What's wrong?"

"Wrong? Nothing."

"Why did...you left so suddenly. Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes. I feel fine."

"Is it all the people? Too many people? The open space, is it bothering you?"

"No."

She sighed. "Are you finally finished?"

Now he did turn. "Finished with what?"

"Sublimating. You remember. That process by which a solid evaporates into a gas."

He said nothing for a long moment, and when he spoke again his voice was calm and measured. "It's a funny thing, sublimation. Like almost everything in nature, the process also works in reverse. All that gas that's been sublimated can go back to the solid phase, given the proper conditions. You know what they call that?"

"No, what?"

"Fusion."

She watched the back of his head for a moment. "Ron. You're scaring me a little."

"They have lives, you see," he said quietly. "They all have lives. They have jobs and bills and children. They cook dinners, they have dentist appointments."

"Yes, I suppose they do. Ordinary lives."

He turned suddenly. "But that's just it. They should be ordinary, but they're not. It's all so amazing, and I don't understand any of it. I don't know what it's like to pay bills or need babysitters or complain about the boss. I find it all unbelieveably extraordinary."

"Well, of course you do, you..."

"Of course I do! Yes, why wouldn't I? Don't you get it? I am stuck, Laura! Stuck fast! I look around and all I see is ordinary lives that seem to me astonishing and it's only because I am stuck and they're not!" His chest was heaving, color rising in uneven blotches to his pale skin.

"All it means is that you've been away a long time, Ron. It's not your fault."

"But why me?" he said. "I'm twenty-eight years old! It shouldn't blow my mind that schoolmates of mine have children! I shouldn't fall speechless at the sight of Dean Thomas' gray hairs! Dammit, I could have children, I could have gray hairs!" He began to pace in short jags. Laura felt helpless. All she could do was watch him and let him talk. "Why'd it have to be me?"

"I don't know the answer to that."

"Yes, you do, you just don't want to say it. No one does. No one wants to come right out and say that I was taken away because I was...am...his best friend. No one wants to lay any blame at his door, do they?"

"Do you?"

"I wish I did. I wish I could blame him, or hate him, even. I can't. I knew the risk I was taking, we both did. I can kid myself that I always believed everything would be okay, but I knew in my heart that someday one of us would pay a terrible price for being his friend, for loving him. I guess I lost the toss."

"She's paid in her own way."

"I know. Sometimes I don't know which of us has had it worse." He ran his hands back through his hair. "I don't know why this is hitting me now."

"You're seeing a lot of people you used to know. It must be very...potent."

"To see all the ways they've lived the last twelve years while I've done exactly nothing? Yeah, potent is the word, all right." He stopped pacing and stood still, head bowed. "How long do you think she's loved him?"

"Don't do this to yourself."

"How long?"

"She says she doesn't know, but I think...always. Since the first day."

"Was I always extraneous?"

"You were never extraneous." She stepped closer. "You have no idea how they mourned you. You didn't see how it haunted them, how it followed them around, waking and sleeping. It kept them apart for a long time, you know." She put a hand on his arm. "But this isn't about them. Don't make believe that it is. It's about you. Give yourself permission for it to be about you. It's okay to stop worrying about everyone else." He looked at her, his eyes wide and full of confusion. "Forget them. What do you feel?"

"I...I'm not sure I can..." He trailed off.

Laura suddenly felt out of place. "Maybe you'd rather talk to someone else. Harry, perhaps...I'll go get him..."

"No!" he said, taking her arm to keep her there. "No, I don't want to talk to him, or her either. Please stay. You're...safe."

"I'm safe?"

He nodded. "You and Napoleon, you're the only ones who are safe."

Laura sagged with sudden understanding. "Because you didn't know us before. You don't remember us any other way than how we are now."

"I don't know, maybe." He stepped back. "I don't know how I feel."

"You're just afraid to."

He shook his head emphatically. "I'm afraid of so much I don't know where to start."

"You don't seem afraid."

"Good. My act worked."

"Tell me what you fear."

He stood with his back to her and his head down for a long time. "I fear them," he said. "All of them, all their lives, everything they've experienced. I can't look at them without thinking about it. People I love, people I hate, people I don't even know. They lived while I did nothing." His voice was rising, shaky and full of bitterness. "I could have a life, you know. I could have a career. I could have people in my life, someone of my own. I could have someone to be instead of this...this...nothing! I had an identity and it...it..." His fists were clenching. "What was it really made of? I don't know who I am, but mostly I don't know who I ever was if it was taken away so completely. Who was I? A friend? A brother? A wizard? Who am I now?" He was shouting now, twitching as if he wanted to grab something and throttle the life from it. His throat worked as if under assault by a thousand unspoken words, he clutched at the air for the thoughts that would not accept limitation into mere speech. His face flushed, his teeth clenched in frustration.

Laura saw what he was going to do a split second before he did it; too late to stop him but not too late to make sure he wasn't exposed to the entire gathering. She held out her hand and shut her eyes. "Fenestrum immobilius!" she said just as he thrust one fist through the tall pane of glass in the French door leading out to the balcony. Ron staggered back holding his hand; the broken shards of the window hung in midair, suspended by Laura's spell.

Ron fell to his knees, his hand dripping blood. "Oh God," Laura muttered, kneeling beside him. "Let me see." He was shaking and wheezing as if he'd run a long distance. He gingerly held out his hand; it was sliced in several places. Laura whipped off her scarf and wrapped it around his hand, then took out her wand. "Manos reparo," she murmured; the healing spell settled around his hand. "That'll take a few minutes, you really did a number on it." Ron was shaking his head. "But you did kill the naughty window. Feel better?"

He raised his head and looked at her; the bare exposure of his eyes made her regret her flippancy. "No," he whispered. She saw his chin begin to tremble. He tried to turn away but she grasped his shoulders.

"It's okay," she murmured. "You go ahead."

Ron tilted forward and Laura put her arms around him, cradling him gently on her lap as his tears finally came in silent, shaking sobs that rippled over his entire form like seizures. She felt heartily ashamed of herself. She'd spent considerable time arguing with this man, berating him for burying his emotions when all he really needed was a relatively neutral friendly ear to which to vent them, someone he didn't feel he had to be strong for, someone he wasn't concerned about impressing with his fortitude in the face of adversity. Someone for whom there was no "before." I could have helped him weeks ago, she thought. But how was she to know what was required?

As it was all she could do now was try and soothe him and let him have this moment of release. His breaking of the window had been so abrupt, so unseemingly dramatic...and yet she understood it. He just wanted to see himself bleed, she thought. To make sure he still could.

---

Ron thought that after an emotional catharsis, one was supposed to feel cleansed or drained or some other term normally associated with household chemicals. He didn't feel either, just slightly headachey and congested, not to mention embarrassed.

He was, however, grateful that none of his family or friends had witnessed his sudden attack of melodrama. Only Laura had been there, and that was somehow okay. He half expected her to throw it back in his face, but she was very considerate of the entire episode. Once the storm had passed she'd tidied the conservatory and his extreme mussiness with a few spells. She left him there without any hollow reassurances or sugary platitudes, to his relief, only urging him to return to the party before someone came looking for him, someone that he might not want to see.

So he did. He descended the stairs somewhat cautiously, half-expecting to be confronted and interrogated about his whereabouts for the past half hour, but the party was still bumping smoothly along.

He went into the kitchen, where he found Napoleon snitching bites off a tall croquenbouche that George had spent half the morning assembling. "Having fun, mate?" he asked.

"Where've you been?" Napoleon said. "Did you hook up with someone already, you randy sod?"

"Alas, no. I didn't know that was part of the agenda."

"At a party? Always. If you need a hand I've spotted several attractive young ladies casting lecherous glances in your direction."

"Thanks, but I'm not quite up for anything lecherous just now...uh, if you'll pardon the pun. Speaking of which, aren't I going to get to meet your ex today? You said she'd be here."

"I'm afraid she and Tax couldn't make it. You'll meet them at the wedding."

"Who's Tax? Second husband?"

"Hardly. Twin brother. Big slab of beef jerky who walks like a man."

"Evocative as always."

At that moment Harry came in through the back door. "Ah, here you are. Napoleon, what did I tell you about corrupting our guest of honor?"

"I wasn't doing anything...uh, corrupty!"

"Yes, well your mere presence is quite sufficient. Ron, Storey Severance wants to meet you."

Napoleon straightened up, a huffy expression coming to his face. "Hey, how does he rate? I'm the one who was shot heroically in the line of duty!"

Harry ignored him. "Come on out to the terrace, Ron. Your public awaits!"

Ron smiled and let Harry drag him out the back door. He found relief in allowing himself to be steered around and passed about like a newborn baby at a family gathering. He dutifully met Storey Severance, though he didn't feel the awe everyone else seemed to afford her; he'd never even heard of her before this day.

He half expected to feel oppressed or disconcerted by all this attention or, as Laura had first suspected, by the sheer volume of people, but as the afternoon progressed he felt more and more at ease. He pushed the distress which had led him to the conservatory far into the back of his mind and concentrated on being himself, in as much as such an animal even existed anymore.

As the evening sky grew rosier and rosier, the party grew more and more animated. A five-man jazz combo appeared at about five o'clock, and Harry conjured a wide expanse of parquet flooring in the middle of the grass so people could dance if they wished. The long buffet table was swept clean of hors d'ouevres and loaded with sandwiches, salads and snacks. The gathering was getting that comfortable feeling of a large party that's been going on for awhile. Small groups were splintering off to various activities: a poker game in the rear living room, billiards in the game room, a pick-up croquet match behind the gazebo. Families and cadres of friends laid claim to specific tables or patches of grass, set up camp and then set off on roving social expeditions. The children took over one corner of the yard and set about establishing their own microcosm of society. Hair was let down, ties removed, jackets and shoes discarded.

The lanterns in the trees were lit and the whole yard glowed. Music filled the air, and Ron was pleasantly surprised by how smothered he didn't feel. He was not exactly the center of all attention, yet he was never really alone.

At one point Harry stood on a chair and called for attention, beckoning Ron to his side, whereupon George and Justin had emerged from the kitchen carrying an enormous cake emblazoned with the words "Welcome Home Ron." Justin made everyone sing "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow," and Ron stood blushing scarlet as he was cheered and toasted by the entire assembly. He looked around at everyone clapping, from his weeping mother to his boisterous brothers, from Hermione's loud cheering to Harry's understanding smile. He glanced across at Laura, wondering if he'd see the usual sarcastic antagonism or any vestige of the understanding she'd shown him earlier...but she cut her eyes away quickly before he could see anything at all.

---

Gradually, people began leaving as darkness fell over the terrace. All bid him good-bye before taking their leave, wishing him good luck and expressing again their happiness at his safe return. Ron had heard such sentiments hundreds of times throughout the course of the day and yet he didn't seem to be tiring of hearing them expressed, nor did he doubt the sincerity of anyone who offered them. He was touched that his rescue had affected so many people, even some whom he did not know.

That evening also marked a bit of an unexpected milestone for him. As the band were packing their instruments Ron found himself helping break down the croquet set. He was carrying mallets to the shed on the far side of the yard when he heard an odd noise. Thinking someone had one ale too many and had collapsed into partial insensibility, Ron deposited the mallets in the shed and went to investigate. He rounded the far corner of the small building, froze, and quickly ducked out of sight...but not quickly enough to keep from seeing Harry and Hermione locked in an embarrassingly explicit embrace. He wondered how they had the nerve to find themselves thus in public when anyone at all...himself, for example...could walk up and discover them kissing with their hands in impolite places. This wasn't quite like his Plan-related observation of them in the conservatory, either. For one thing, he'd intended to see them, for another, they'd thought they were the only people around, and for yet another, all their clothing had been in its proper place, which was more than he could say just now. The image remained seared upon his eyeballs as he darted back towards the terrace, chuckling under his breath at the irony that he should accidentally see such a sight now that his Plan was defunct. So long had he doubted the housemates' insistence that his two best friends were well-known for being caught out all over the house, but now he began to see what they meant.

Laughing, he ran into the kitchen where most of the housemates were helping George with cleanup. "What's with you?" Cho asked. "You're red as a leather daddy's arse-cheeks!"

Ron spluttered again at Cho's typically crude yet apt imagery. "I just..." He sagged with another fit of giggles, then controlled himself. "I just saw Harry and Hermione snogging behind the games shed!"

The others looked at each other for a moment, then to Ron's surprise, burst into cheers. George clapped him on the back. "Congratulations, little brother! Welcome to the house!"

"Wasn't I in the house before?"

"Oh, not quite," Justin said gleefully. "No one is officially a member of our happy little Bailicroft family until they've walked in on those two in a compromising position. Of course, you know what this means, George."

"We have to teach him the system." George looked at Ron. "Were they kissing?"

"Yes."

"Tongue?"

"Uh, yes." Ron didn't know where this was headed but he went along.

"Standing, sitting or lying?"

"Standing."

"Hands?"

"George, what the hell..."

"Just answer the question."

"Fine! His were...uh, here...and hers were...well, here. And here."

"Any naughty bits showing?"

"Several."

A few glances passed between the other housemates. "Sounds like a Level 4," Laura said.

"Possibly a 5, though I don't usually go that far up unless someone's half-nude."

Ron grinned. "You guys have a code system for this?"

"Sure. It's very useful for warning each other off. If Justin tells me 'Library, level two,' I know I better not go in there for another half hour. If he says it's level six, it'll be safe in ten minutes."

Justin pointed to Cho. "She saw a level nine once."

Cho held up a hand. "Let us never speak of it."

Ron was fascinated. "Clearly I need to be briefed!"

"Oh, you'll get the hang of it."

"Is there a level ten?"

"Not yet. We're saving that one in case they decide to get kinky someday."

---

Hermione padded along the hallway in her stockinged feet, looking for Harry. Everyone was finally gone and the house set more or less to rights by a few cleaning spells. Harry had excused himself about an hour earlier, claiming a few work-related items that would not wait, but he wasn't in the study.

She had spent the previous half hour with Ron in his room, talking. She had worried that he would be overwhelmed or somehow upset by all the attention, but that didn't seem to be the case. As she left he'd hugged her tightly and thanked her for the party. It had been more of a success than she'd dared to hope.

She finally found Harry in the second-floor reading room, where he kept some files from work. She lingered in the darkness of the doorway, watching him in silence without alerting him to her presence. He was sitting at the desk in the corner, facing away from the door. There were papers and owl posts on the desktop before him but she could tell by his posture that he wasn't reading them, just thinking. His shoulders were hunched, both elbows planted on the desk, his forehead resting in one hand while the fingers of the other rubbed slowly at his temple. Hermione leaned against the doorjamb, feeling a million miles away from him. She wondered if anyone, herself included, could appreciate what it was like for him, day after day, just to be himself. She wished she could reach out and pluck that burden off his shoulders; his back was strong but she feared that someday the weight would make it slump and twist so he could not stand as straight as he always had. It had taken time and it had not been easy, but she had come to accept that she could do nothing for him in this regard; she could only love him as best she could, and that she would do.

"Is the world a little heavier than usual tonight?" she finally said.

He gave a tiny start and turned. "Oh, I didn't see you there. What time is it?"

"It's almost one. Aren't you coming to bed?"

"I didn't realize it had gotten to be so late." He cleared his throat. "My, uh...mind must have wandered."

She walked forward, pretending not to notice how he surreptitiously pushed his papers aside so she could not see them. She crouched near his chair and looked up into his face. "I wish I could make it stop for you," she said quietly. He did not reply. He didn't have to ask what it was she referred to. "I wish I could give you an ordinary life, one where it was some other boy who had lived." She sighed. "You go ahead of us, breaking our path. You carry a torch to light the way and a sword to fight off the things that lie in wait for us. I wish I could lay your arms down, and let you rest at last. I wish I could take them up myself, but they were not made for my hands." She ran one hand down his cheek. "I wish I could give you peace," she whispered.

He held her hands in both of his. "You do," he whispered back. "You don't know what it is that you do. You can't carry the torch or the sword, so instead you carry me."

"Can you tell me what's on your mind tonight?"

"No, I can't. Not yet. I'm sorry."

She nodded. "Okay. Then just tell me how I can help you."

He met her eyes and she caught just a glimpse of whatever it was he couldn't tell her yet, lurking there behind his eyes and filling them with fear and anxiety...then it was gone, and he'd put his normal face back on, the one that said everything's okay, don't worry. "Take me to bed," he answered.

She stood up and pulled him to his feet, leading him out of the room without another word.

---

Two weeks and 5 days to go...

---

Ron surveyed his army, seated before him on the couches of the rear living room. His lieutenants: Napoleon, George, and Remus. His civilian advisors: Justin, Stephen, Fred, Draco. And of course the general himself, Sirius.

"Well, gentlemen," he began. "It's getting down to the wire, and we still have much to do."

"Please, no more bloody fittings!" Napoleon wailed to the ceiling, as if beseeching the deities to save his immortal soul. "If that perverted tailor handles my beans and rice one more time..."

"No more fittings, unless you suddenly gain twenty pounds," Ron said. "So lay off the bacon." He picked up his notes. "I have specific jobs here for all of you, so I hope you're paying attention. Justin, next week you confirm everything with the musicians. If there's to be a rehearsal, you set it up."

"Righty-o."

"George, you've got Muggle detail. You and Fred will be in charge of picking up various relatives from the airport and getting them where they need to be. I've got a list for you of everyone's arrival times, where they're staying, and if they know."

"Know what?"

"About wizards, numbnuts."

"Oh. Right."

"Napoleon...okay, we don't like to think about security being an issue, but we have to. It makes perfect sense to me to have you attend to all the precautions. I haven't heard Harry mention it, but it's definitely something I'm worrying about."

"Yeah, me too," Napoleon said. "High profile wedding, two insanely famous people, the Deputy Chancellor officiating, and so many dignitaries attending you couldn't even swing a dead gerbil without hitting one. It's like double coupon day at the Assassination Mart. Might just as well hang up a sign saying 'Attack Today! All Circle Wizards Drink Free!'"

"Precisely. Can I leave it to you?"

"Consider it done. But I do have one tiny request."

"What's that?"

"Can we just skip that line about speaking now or forever holding the peace? No need to give anyone a cue to bust in and start tearing the place apart." This drew a hearty laugh. Even Ron, who had more anxiety about this issue than he was admitting, had to smile.

"I'll see about that." He set his notes down. "The rest of you will have tasks too, but right now I've got something else I need to bring up." He cleared his throat. "This may come as a surprise...especially to George and Justin."

The two exchanged a glance. "Why us?"

"Because...well, here's the thing. Hermione's gotten it into her head that she and Harry shouldn't live in the same house...and you understand that by that I mean sleep together...before the wedding. So she's making him move out."

Everyone exchanged surprised glances. "When?" George said.

"A week from Saturday. That's not all, though. She and the other girls got talking about this and somehow it was decided that all the women would camp out here for that last week, wedding party, family, friends, all sorts. Now they're envisioning this great week of female bonding and preparation for the grand marital ritual and facials and late-night hair-braiding and God knows what else, so...well, there's just no easy way to say this. We're all kicked out, too."

Justin jumped up. "What? We have to move out of the house?"

"Only for a week! And look, would you really want to stay here with the place completely taken over by our less hairy counterparts?"

"Look who you're asking," Napoleon grumbled.

"So us four chaps are kicked to the curb, as they say in the colonies."

Justin was still spluttering indignantly. "Wh...but...where are we going to go? Hotels? For an entire week? No, thank you!"

"Well, that's the question before the court," Ron said. "Ginny said we could have her flat, but it's rather small for the lot of us. We can't stay at the Burrow, it'll be packed to the gills as it is. We don't want to go anywhere too far away, it'd make things ruddy inconvenient."

"You could all stay at Glyn Cynwyd," said another voice. For one surprised moment Ron didn't recognize it...then he realized that Draco had spoken. Everyone stopped talking and stared in surprise. Draco spoke so rarely in company that the sound of his voice was a little shocking.

"Glyn Cynwyd?" Ron repeated stupidly. It took him a moment to process what Draco was talking about. Some months ago Draco had inherited Glyn Cynwyd, a large mansion on a sizable piece of property, from a great-aunt of his who hailed from a different branch of the Malfoy family. She had been a decent woman, and greatly disturbed by the unsavory aspects of her family tree. She'd died leaving no heirs, and had provided that her estate should proceed to the next relative of hers who could be shown to possess some moral integrity. Her executor had finally decided that Draco fit that description, so after years of living in a flat, estranged from his family's holdings and fortunes, Draco had once again found himself living high on the hog. He'd only moved in two months ago.

"Sure. It is just me there, after all. Plenty of space. Conveniently located."

"Damn straight!" Napoleon exclaimed. "Now there's a smashing idea!"

"What do you care, you're not getting booted out of your house!" Justin snipped at him.

"Oh, there's no way I'm missing out on this little excursion," Napoleon said. "If the women are going to spend a week enjoying the lack of Y chromosomes and discussing our shortcomings then I say we have our own bonding week. We can hire some strippers, get some ale and sit around all day scratching ourselves."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "As appealing as that doesn't sound, Glyn Cynwyd would be the ideal solution. Are you sure, Draco? We'd be most indebted."

"I'm sure. I only ask for one thing in return."

"What's that?"

"I want to plan the bachelor party."

For one moment Ron was honestly sure he hadn't heard Draco correctly, but the stunned expressions on the faces of the other men reassured him. Still, the sentence almost refused to compute. He could not have been more surprised if Draco had calmly announced that he was giving up wizardry and embarking upon a career as a male model. "I'm sorry, I thought you..."

"Yes, you heard right. I'd like to plan Harry's bachelor party. If it's all right with you."

Ron blinked. "Can I ask why?"

Draco sighed. "I've always wanted to give a bachelor party. Who knows when I'll have the chance again?"

---

One week to go...

---

"I found it," Hermione said, coming back into the bedroom.

Harry looked up, relieved. "Oh, good. I was really starting to get nervous."

She handed him the long, narrow scabbard. It really was quite beautiful, tooled leather with gold inlays. The saber itself was acid-etched stainless steel. "It was in the lid compartment of your spare trunk. It's no wonder you couldn't find it. How long has it been since you actually wore it?"

"Uh...last time I wore my dress uniform was...gosh, I can't even remember. Some state dinner or another years ago. Hope it still fits."

He carefully hung the saber inside the garment bag that protected his uniform. Spread out on the bed were several suitcases in various stages of organization. He closed one and latched it. "I still can't believe you're making me do this," he said, casting a sidelong glance at Hermione.

"You agreed to it."

"And how miserable would you have made me if I hadn't?" he replied, his eyes twinkling.

"I know it's a little extreme, but think of it as our last chance at immaturity before we settle into a life of married drudgery. A chance to stay up late with our mates, drink too much, make off-color jokes and possibly ogle scantily clad members of the opposite sex."

"Don't rub it in. You're looking at a man whose bachelor party is being planned by Draco Malfoy. Somehow I doubt that strippers will be on the menu."

"With Laura and Ginny planning mine, I'll count myself lucky if there are only strippers."

Harry laughed. "That would serve us right, wouldn't it? The night before our wedding you'll probably end up getting a lap-dance from a musclebound hunk while I'm stuck in some stuffy parlor pretending to enjoy ridiculously expensive brandy."

"Draco may surprise you."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

She sat down on the bed and reclined amongst Harry's piles of clothing. "It wouldn't bother you if I got a lap-dance from a musclebound hunk?"

Harry chuckled. "Napoleon gave me a mantra to chant." He straightened and raised his right hand as if swearing an oath. "'I am secure in my masculinity. I am secure in my masculinity. I am secure in my masculinity.' Repeat until rigor mortis sets in." He continued packing. "You're saying it wouldn't bother you if Draco did arrange for some naked ladies to make friends with me?"

She smiled. "Ah, I can afford to be magnanimous, for I have something you don't."

"What's that?"

"A man on the inside. Remember, Ron is very protective of my honor. And he'll be sitting right next to you."

Harry nodded. "Good point." He glanced at his watch. "Ron and I are supposed to go pick up Napoleon in an hour."

"What about George and Justin?"

"They're going to the Burrow to collect Fred. Now, how many are you expecting later?"

"Let me see. Besides the three of us already here, there's Ginny and Sarah and Mum, though she's not sleeping over until the night before. Cordelia's joining us on Tuesday once the kids go up to Kate's."

"A whole week of girl stuff. Will you survive, do you think?"

"Hey, just because I don't often indulge in 'girl stuff,' as you call it, doesn't mean I don't enjoy it now and again. If there's ever a time for girl stuff then it's a wedding. It's the girliest girl thing in the world." She looked up at him, serious all at once. "I'm going to miss you awfully."

"I'm going to Glyn Cynwyd, not to darkest Africa. You'll see me every day."

"I know, but..." She sighed. "This bed is awfully big and cold with just me in it."

He hesitated a moment, then sat on the bed and stretched out next to her. He drew her into his arms and hugged her. "As much as I've said otherwise, I...I actually sort of like that we're doing this. Spending some time living apart, even if it is only a week. It'll make it that much more special when I see you walk up that aisle if I didn't wake up next to you that morning."

"A lot of couples do this, you know. Mel says it's a trend. She called it 're-virginization.'"

Harry pondered this. "Hmm. Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but I wasn't a virgin before you."

She laughed. "Nor was I...before you, that is. But aren't you relieved that we're hip with the current vogue?"

"Yeah. Sure. That was my major concern. Whatever else might be going on, at least we're trendy."

---

Three days to go...

---

"Harry? Harry! God, are you still asleep?" Ron crossed to the large four-poster, which was situated artfully before a bay window in the bedroom Harry had been given at Glyn Cynwyd. All he could see of him was an unruly swatch of hair. He shook the bedspread in what he judged to be the vicinity of Harry's shoulder. "Get up! Our tee time's in an hour!"

"Mmmmph," came a reply. "Tea time? I slept until tea time?"

"Not tea time, tee time! Two foursomes, eighteen holes! Come on, up and at 'em!"

Harry sat up, groggy. "More golf? Don't get me wrong, I like golf, but...we've played a round every day since we got here. Is there such a thing as too much golf?"

"For me? Absolutely not. There is never enough golf." Harry winced as Ron threw open the drapes, letting the bright November sunshine stream into the room.

"I wouldn't have thought you'd like it. All those open spaces."

"I seem to be getting over that. Maybe it's the concentration of the game, I don't have a chance to feel agoraphobic."

Harry flopped back down among the covers. "Let me sleep."

"C'mon, Harry. I need golf fortification. I have to go to a wedding powwow with The Shrew later."

"It's nice you and Laura have such cute pet names for each other. She calls you The Beast, you know."

"Do I know? I suggested it!"

The door to Harry's room opened and the house underbutler entered, carrying a tray. "Breakfast for you, Mr. Potter." He set it discreetly near the foot of the bed and retreated.

Harry sat up, blinking. "Thanks. Uh...how did you know to bring it?"

"Mr. Malfoy said you were awake, sir."

"And how did he know?"

The man hesitated just slightly. "He knows everything, sir," he said, his tone implying that his acceptance of this fact was a condition of his employment. The underbutler bowed stiffly and left the room. Harry drew his tray onto his lap and dug in, the sight and smell of the food suddenly reminding him that he was famished.

"I'm still amazed you're so enthusiastic about golf," Harry said to Ron, who was lurking by the window. "You've only been playing a month. You used to be this excited about Quidditch and not much else."

Ron glanced at him. "Well, I can't play Quidditch, Harry," he said quietly. Harry kicked himself.

"You could re-learn how to ride a broom. In fact, isn't it about time you picked up a wand again?"

Ron sighed. "I suppose it is."

"You don't sound too keen."

"It's just...I've lived a long time without magic. I've had to figure out who I was without it. Now...I'm not sure who I'd be with it."

"Well, there's no rush, to be sure. Take your time." He buttered his toast. "Although I'm not sure I can golf today. I may need to go in to work for a little while."

"You're supposed to have the week off!"

"Evil waits for no man. No man's wedding, either."

"Maybe, but the pre-wedding male bonding period ought to be sacrosanct."

---

Hermione lay in her mudbath, cucumber slices over her eyes, one of her hands being massaged and exfoliated while the other soaked. She sighed. "I don't think I've ever been this relaxed," she said.

"That's the idea," said Ginny from the mudbath to her right.

"I don't know," Laura said from the mudbath on Hermione's left. "I think I'm getting mud in some places."

"No worries. Next stop, hydrotherapy."

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Mum?"

"Did you remember to call the..." Claire was cut off by a chorus of indignant yelps from mudbaths all over the room.

"Claire, shush!" Sarah exclaimed. "No wedding talk today! That was the deal!"

"I know, but...I don't think I can stop! Help! I need professional help!" she cried, giggling.

"Quick, find us a Wedding Plans Deprogrammer!" Laura laughed.

"God, I wish I'd had one of those before my wedding," Cordelia said.

One of the spa employees came into the room holding a cell phone. "Miss Granger?" she said.

"Here," Hermione said, raising a damp, muddy hand.

"Phone for you," she said, handing Hermione the phone.

"If that's Mel, you'd better hang up on her," Ginny said. "And if she says one more word about the goddamned seating chart I swear on all that is holy I'll rip that Dior scarf off her neck and strangle her with it."

"Hello? Oh, hi sweetie," Hermione said. Her fellow mudbathers made sarcastic cooing noises in her direction.

"Oh, it's Himself," said Sarah. "Mr. Perfect."

"I'm neck deep in a tub of mud, darling. Can this wait?" She listened for a moment. "Oh. Well, that'll be fine. We'll be back at the house before too long, we can meet up then. Yes. I love you, too." She hung up.

"What was that?" Laura said.

"He just wanted to ask if we'd have time to go over a few things before the Thursday night debaucheries." They had opted to hold the bachelor parties two nights before the wedding instead of one. It would clear the night before for the Grangers' rehearsal dinner and cut down on the incidence of hungover wedding participants.

Ginny raised her head a little. "I hope you've been thinking about what you're going to say for your Vial of Bile. I know I for one am hoping for good dirt."

Hermione blinked. "My what? Vial of...what? That sounds...unpleasant."

"You don't know about the Bile?"

"Hey, I don't know about the Bile!" Laura said. "I thought we were planning this thing together! What's this surprise vial of bile?"

"I have to drink a vial of bile?" Hermione said, pulling a horrified face. "Note to self: read the fine print."

"No, no..." Ginny shook her head, exasperated. "I forget, you both were raised Muggle. Cho, back me up here. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

"Sure. My sister's went on for half an hour. We were starting to get concerned there by the end."

"Let me guess," Hermione began, rolling her eyes. "It's an old wizarding tradition."

"Not that old. Strictly a bachelorette party thing. The Vial of Bile is where you have to get up in front of your girlfriends and tell us all the things that really annoy you about the man you're about to marry."

Hermione burst out laughing. "Are you sure you didn't make that up?"

"Gryffindor's honor. My Mum did it."

"Okay, I get the bile part, but why a vial? Besides the all-important rhyme factor?"

"Because," Cho said, grinning. "When it's all over, we have to rate Harry as potential husband material based on your bile, on a scale of one to ten. The number we decide is the number of shots you have to do."

"Is this a girls-only sort of tradition?"

"Oh, no. I'm sure they'll make Harry do it, too. Especially if I know my brothers."

"Hmm," Hermione said. "All the things that annoy me, eh?"

"Oh, girls, we're in for a boring night," said Sarah in a sarcastic sing-song voice. "I'll bet she won't be able to come up with a single thing that's wrong with His Fabulousness."

"Oh, that isn't the problem," Hermione said.

"What, then?"

"Deciding where to begin."

---

Two days to go...

---

"Rings?"

"Ron has them. He won't let them out of his sight. I think he'd staple them to his arm if I'd let him."

"License?"

"Sirius has it. He said we should sign it after the ceremony."

"Did you call for the..."

"Yes. They said we could come to the courthouse in Chelsea on Monday before we leave, and we didn't need an appointment."

"Who's going to go with us? We need two witnesses, right?"

"I thought Sirius and Cordelia would do well enough. Since they're taking us to...well, wherever it is we're leaving from." Harry said this last with a smirk on his face.

Hermione shook her head. "You won't even tell me where we're leaving from?"

"Sorry. Classified."

She took a deep breath. "Okay. Now the hard part. Friday. Give me your rundown."

Harry opened a small notebook he produced from his hip pocket. "Napoleon is driving down to South London to collect the Cavendishes and your cousin Bridget. There's three pickups at Heathrow: George is going at nine, I'm going at noon and Fred's going at five since he doesn't need to be at the rehearsal."

"Good. Mum and Dad are going to pick up Grandma Granger, she's staying at their house. I'm going to park myself at the hotel and attempt to determine who's there and who isn't."

Harry looked around. "It seems so quiet around here. Where are all your ladies-in-waiting?"

"Laura went with Mel up to Hogwarts with all the dresses and such, and they had to pick up my graduation necklace from the jeweler, I had them cleaned. Ginny, Cho and Sarah are out plotting God knows what for my bachelorette party." She smiled. "Any idea what Draco's planning for you?"

"None. Everyone else knows, it's just me and Ron he's kept in the dark. You should see Justin, he's practically splitting seams down his chest because he wants to tell so badly. They're all walking around grinning like they just taped a 'Kick Me' sign on my back. I'm actually half-dreading it."

"Did they tell you about this Bile thing?"

He fetched a long-suffering sigh. "Yes, they did. I'm afraid they're in for a disappointment. I'll be standing there making up phony complaints about how you chew too often or keep your fingernails just a tad too short."

She grinned. "That's so sweet, and such a giant pile of rubbish."

"Well, what do you expect? I'm only supposed to confess my petty grievances to my fellow drunken partygoers." He grinned back. "It's after the wedding that I'll start unloading them on you."

"Oh, you're so very funny, I might just die laughing." She looked up at him. "What? What's wrong? You have an odd look on your face."

He reached across the table and took her hand. "I just...I can scarcely believe it. All this time, all the planning and now it's really happening."

She squeezed his fingers. "Yes. It's easy to lose sight of that in all this minutiae."

He cocked his head. "But?"

She sighed. "I'm sorry. Please don't think I'm feeling uncertain, because I'm not. I'm deliriously happy. But I'm still...waiting."

"For what?"

She met his eyes. "You know. For...it."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "You mean the giant catastrophe that's going to derail the whole thing?"

"Well? Can you blame me? Don't tell me you aren't looking over your shoulder every other minute, because I won't believe you."

"I am. I'm almost to the point of lying awake in bed staring at the ceiling and waiting for it to fall down on me."

"It's not just happenstance. It's her. Harry, she knows we're doing this. She knows all of it, she has to. You can't tell me she'll resist the opportunity to make a grand spectacle of herself and destroy what we've waited for..." Hermione choked a little and stopped.

"I've thought of that," he said quietly. "But we can't let ourselves be paralyzed by the fear of what she might do. You know, it might just turn out all right. Honestly, she may be ruthless and filled with hatred, but she isn't stupid. Half the I.D. will be there. If she tried something she'd be squished to a grease spot so fast that Justin wouldn't even have time for a good shriek."

Hermione nodded, wanting to be reassured. "I guess so. Still, it makes me nervous."

"Look, if it makes you feel any better, we're not the only ones who have thought of this. Napoleon's got a special protection detail coming in to provide some discreet security. He's paranoid enough for both of us, okay? We've got better things to do this weekend than waste one single second of thought on Allegra."

She smiled, a real one this time. "Damn straight." She put away her notebook. "Well, I've had enough wedding strategizing. At this point, it'll either work out or it won't." She thought for a moment. "I guess I won't see you until tomorrow evening, is that right? We've both got our obligatory last-night-of-debaucheries tonight, then the equally obligatory day-before-the-wedding running of the ragged, then...just the rehearsal."

"Yes, I suppose you're right." Harry glanced at his watch. "Oh, geez, I better get back to Glyn Cynwyd. Ron and I are under strict orders to be elsewhere for dinner...mostly, I think, to get us out of the house while Draco does whatever it is he's going to do."

"The party's at Glyn Cynwyd? Ginny and Laura are taking us to London."

He stood up. "Well, if nothing else, we're both in for interesting evenings." Hermione walked him to the door. Since he and the other male Bailicrofters had moved out, they'd been behaving almost as a prim and proper couple in courtship. Holding hands, chaste pecks on the cheek, friendly embraces before parting. As they walked into the foyer Harry was suddenly and acutely horny. He knew her body language well enough to judge a similar mood upon her, too. He wanted nothing more than to sweep her into his arms and feel her skin against his again.

They reached the door. Harry turned and leaned over to kiss Hermione on the lips, softly. Her hand gripped his shirt as he did so, not letting him pull away very far. He could tell she was fighting the urge to draw him close again. He could feel her breath on his cheek. They stood there frozen for a moment. "Time to let go now," he whispered.

She looked up and met his eyes. "I don't want to."

"I know." He kissed her again, hard, one hand tangled in her hair. She clutched him and kissed back. They stood there in the foyer for some moments, kissing like it was going out of style. It was with great reluctance that Harry finally stepped back. "We're not supposed to, remember? Your idea, unless I'm very much mistaken."

Hermione nodded, sighing. "Me and my stupid ideas. What was I thinking?"

He grinned and reached out to caress her cheek. "Yes, you and your stupid ideas. But we agreed to it and we're sticking to it." He opened the front door. "You be good tonight, now."

"You, too." He started to step outside. "Harry?"

"Yes?"

"934."

He smiled. "I love you, too."

---

Harry and Ron arrived back at Glyn Cynwyd at eight o'clock, as per their strict instructions. They walked in the front door (or rather were allowed to do so by Jansen, the butler). Harry had been half-expecting a rowdy party, half-expecting an elegant party, but he had definitely not been expecting what they found...nothing. The house seemed deserted and quiet. He and Ron looked blankly at each other.

"Sirs, Mr. Malfoy bids you retire to your bedchambers. You will be sent for."

"I guess Mr. Malfoy has plans for us," Ron said. "We'd better do as we're told. It'll be good practice for you in your new role as a good, obedient husband."

"Ha ha," Harry said, making a face at him as they climbed the stairs, parting company at the top.

Harry opened the door to his room, one of the biggest and most elegant in the house, he'd been told. He found it somewhat austere and forbidding, personally, but knew that his occupation of it was intended to be an honor so he took it as such.

He stopped short. Spread out on the bed was a black tuxedo, with a note. He picked it up. "Put this on, and meet Ron in the west gallery at eight thirty," it said, in Draco's thin, slanted handwriting.

Harry sighed and glanced down at the tuxedo. "Looks like that evening of boredom and fine brandy wasn't too far off," he muttered. He fingered the suit, knowing it would be of the finest materials and the very best tailoring. "Hope it fits," he said. He glanced back down at the note he'd been left. The previous message was gone, and it now read "It fits."

"Cute, Draco." With an inward shrug he began to unbutton his shirt.

At eight thirty on the nose Harry walked into the west gallery. Ron was already there, also dressed in a tuxedo. "Well," Ron said, smiling. "Don't you look every inch the secret agent."

Harry felt a little ridiculous, although wearing a tuxedo didn't seem odd in these surroundings. The note hadn't lied, the suit fit as if it had been cut for him, which for all he knew it had been. Ron's tuxedo looked very elegant on his tall and slender frame. "Look who's talking," he said.

"Now what?"

"Jensen said we'd be sent for."

At that moment one of the underbutlers appeared. "Gentlemen, if you'll follow me," he said, motioning to the door. They did.

"Was he just waiting outside for a good cue?" Ron whispered as they followed along.

"One can't help but wonder."

They walked through the house until they came to the study. A large painting of the great-aunt benefactor hung on one of the walls. It was to this painting that the underbutler led them now. He pulled out a short utility wand and said a brief spell. The painting split down the center and swung open like double doors, and the wall behind it rearranged itself into an arched doorway revealing a flight of stairs leading downwards. The servant stepped aside. "You will be met at the bottom," he said.

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance and walked through the doorway, Harry in the lead. On the wall above the stairs was a torch...a real one, not the sort that ran on batteries. A note next to it read "Light this." Harry took it down and it obediently burst into flames, illuminating the passage just as the archway behind them shut. "Well, here we go," Harry said, and started down the staircase, which soon began to curve in on itself in slow downward spirals.

"Where does this lead?" Ron asked.

"I'm not sure. I've heard rumors of dungeons deep beneath this place. Then again, there's also rumors of a secret passageway to a dock on the river."

"Is it too late to cast my vote against 'dungeons?'"

"I think it's too late."

"Oh. Okay."

"Somehow I doubt Draco got us all dressed up like this to hang around in some moldy old dungeons."

"Then what do you think?"

"I'm thinking we're going to come out at the bottom at the docks, and maybe there'll be a boat to take us someplace elegant. Or something like that."

"Yeah, that must be it. I mean, who in their right mind hears 'bachelor party' and thinks 'dungeons?'"

At that moment, they reached the bottom of the stairs. A large pair of wooden double doors was staring them in the face. Another note was pinned to it. It said: "Knock three times."

"On the ceiling if you want me?" Ron muttered.

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Go ahead, knock." Harry reached out and rapped his knuckles on the door three times. The doors swung open into a small stone anteroom facing another door, this one square and steel and fused with bolts the size of a man's fist. Etched on its surface was "Abandon hope all ye who enter here."

Standing before the door was Jensen, Draco's butler. He was not wearing his usual dark suit, but instead a kind of uniform with shiny black boots. For one moment Harry had the wild thought that Draco had arranged some sort of S&M party with leather daddies, but soon the real truth came clanging down.

"Welcome, Mr. Potter," said Jensen, "but not to the first night of the rest of your life. Welcome instead to the last night of the best of your life." He pointed his wand at him. "Revestimentio!"

Harry's tuxedo vanished, replaced by a two-piece jumpsuit of garish horizontal black-and-white stripes. "What the..." Ron began, then stopped. "Harry, look."

Harry looked up and abruptly realized what Draco was up to. Engraved above the large steel door were the words "Granger Memorial Prison." He began to laugh.

"What?" Ron said. "I don't get it."

"Oh, for pity's sake," Harry said, still chuckling. "Leave it to Draco. Only he would throw me a jail-themed bachelor party."

---

"Don't look. Are you looking? No peeking!"

"Sarah, I have a black bag over my head. I can't see anything, already!" Hermione was surrounded by her gaggle of ladies in waiting, as Harry had called them, who were steering her blindly forward and barking orders at her to mind that step, watch your head. "Although I can hear plenty!" Clearly, they were in London, and downtown by the sound of things. She could hear traffic and voices and smell the scents of the city. Petrol fumes, chilly fog, ale, and concrete. She heard different beats of music coming from different directions, and every so often a waft of curry would float past her obscured nose. "Are we almost there?"

"Almost," said Ginny, who had her left elbow in a firm grip.

Hermione wondered how ridiculous she looked with this dark hood over her head. I probably look like I'm being kidnapped by a renegade sewing circle, she thought.

"Step up here," said Laura, on her other side. "There's a curb." Hermione stepped up and then Ginny and Laura stopped her. "Okay, we're here. Are you ready?"

"I'm ready, already!" She felt Ginny undo the hood that covered her face, pause, and then whip it off with a dramatic flourish.

A tremendous roar went up and the flash of cameras went off in Hermione's stunned face. She gawked, her mouth hanging indelicately open. "Oh, my God," she croaked.

They were standing at the foot of a long red carpet leading away from the curb. On either side of this runway were gathered dozens of women...all friends or family, she realized with a jolt. There was Minerva...and Amelia...and my God, was that Dr. Rousseau? All of them were cheering and grinning and most of them were holding wrapped gifts. Hermione looked up and gasped again. The long red carpet led right up to the doors of Juno, an extremely posh nightspot that was so trendy it was rumored that they'd once made Prince William wait in line and that they'd ejected Donatella Versace for wearing plaid with stripes.

"Great Merlin's ghost," Hermione said. "How did you get us in here?"

"It's better than that," Laura said. "It's ours. We rented the place for the night."

"The owner's a friend of mine," Ginny said. "Owes me a couple of favors."

They walked Hermione down the red carpet like a queen, slowly so she could greet all the friends and family members who'd come out for the occasion. Camera flashes went off, sparklers from wands lit up the sky over the club. At long last they reached the doors, which were opened for them by two impressively-built men. Hermione gawped around at the club's interior, swirling with lights and banners and lanterns. The stage was cleared in preparation, evidently, for some sort of entertainment that Hermione didn't want to think too much about. Surrounding it were a number of small round tables and one large one. All the tables were laden with party favors and decorations.

Hermione was borne into the club on a tidal wave of enthusiastic women as they all poured inside after her. Everyone was clapping and cheering her as they found their places around the club's interior. Hermione was all but carried to the larger central table and plunked down in the seat of honor. Laura and Ginny stood near the stage watching everyone find a spot. Hermione craned her neck around, trying to see everyone who was here. She saw many friends from Hogwarts, some from work, quite a few female relatives and even some former teachers.

Finally Laura motioned for quiet and spoke, her voice magically amplified. "Well, ladies, welcome! We're all so glad you could be here tonight as we mourn the passing of our friend Hermione Granger!" Her statement was spoken not in the somber tones of a mourner but in a sort of half-coherent shout of jubiliaton. It was greeted with wild applause and catcalls. Laura continued. "Those of us who are still among the free and unfettered..." Here she and Ginny exchanged a brief handshake. "...will try to give her one final night of fun before those of you who are sadly burdened with husbands of your own welcome her into the fold...another sucker ties the knot!" Wild cheering and whistles.

Ginny spoke now. "So Laura and I, when planning this evening, tried to think of a suitable entertainment for our Hermione, whom we love so dearly. Of course, quite soon we'll all be free to gorge ourselves on unhealthy food, consume obscene quantities of alcohol and dance until the wee hours, but first...we thought a floor show would be in order." More cheering and applause. Hermione felt blood rising to her face at the ostentatious demonstration of woman-power on display here, but damned if it wasn't infectious. "So we asked ourselves, what are the two things every woman is entitled to before she hangs up her leopard-print thong and hits the showers?" Ginny motioned for ideas from the floor. Voices shouted answers from all over the room.

"Diamonds!"

"Chocolate!"

"A full-body massage!"

"Sex with Jude Law!"

Laughter and calls of "hear, hear!" greeted these suggestions. "All excellent answers, ladies," Ginny went on, "but that's not what we decided on. We decided that the two things we wanted for Hermione were one, scantily clad men dancing for her pleasure, and two, the ritual humiliation of every man who wasn't good enough for her. But then, well, we couldn't decide which one we wanted. We were in a real dilemma."

Laura jumped in. "So we decided to combine the two!"

They hopped down off the stage, their cue dutifully given, and music began from somewhere behind the red curtain on the stage. The lights dimmed and the women in attendance began to crowd forward. Hermione stood up with everyone else, fighting the impulse to cut and run. My God, what have they done? she wondered. She didn't have to wonder long.

On a music cue the curtains parted to reveal a well-muscled black man in tight satin trousers and a little white bow tie. He boogied onto the stage and began to dance in a suitably suggestive fashion. Hermione's eyes bugged out. Her entire wedding party was watching her reaction. Her mouth dropped open. "Horace?!?" she cried, wondering if her eyes deceived her...but they didn't. The man on the stage undulating his pelvis and grinning was her ex-boyfriend Horace Robbins. "It's Horace!" she shrieked at Ginny over the din. "It's...my God...how did you...why is he...how much did you pay him?"

"Wow, Hermione," said Sarah, "you told me he had a terrific body and boy, you weren't kidding."

This surprise was quite enough for Hermione, but as it happened it wasn't over yet. After a few minutes of Horace doing the old bump-and-grind the curtains opened again and another dancer joined him on stage. Hermione thought for moment that she might actually faint. "Oh my God...it's Rufus!" For it was. Another of her ex-boyfriends, here on this stage, scantily clad and dancing for her pleasure, just as Laura and Ginny had promised. She grabbed both the co-conspirators by the shoulders. "How did you do this? How did you get them to..." She stopped abruptly as the obvious answer popped into her mind. She relaxed, her mortification vanishing. "Oh. They're Polyjuiced, aren't they? That's not really Horace or Rufus."

Ginny shrugged. "We toyed with getting the real things, but I doubt they could have danced like that," she said, nodding to the stage where Horacedancer and Rufusdancer were lunging and thrusting in unison.

"No, you're not wrong," Hermione said. "I just can't believe it!"

"I must say, they were jolly good sports about it when we went to get the hairs. They thought it was dreadfully funny. I think Horace half-wanted to come along to see himself dance like a stripper."

"Is this okay?" Laura said, looking a little worried.

"Laura, the only thing wrong with this is that they're clearly wearing TOO MANY CLOTHES!" she said, the last few words shrieked. She shoved her way to the front of the crowd near the stage. "Come on, boys! Show us your naughty bits!" The dancers, having obviously been advised who the guest of honor was here tonight, shimmied on over. Someone shoved a big wad of ten-Knut notes into her hand and Hermione reached up to slip a few into Horacedancer's skintight little pants.

The music changed and a loud cheer went up as a new dancer joined the little group onstage. As Hermione could have guessed, this one was Juiced to resemble Abel Kilroy, who looked surprisingly at home in his satin pants and bow tie. The other two gave him center stage for a moment, then joined him in some synchronized butt-waggling to the hoots and whistles of the audience. Abeldancer was rewarded with some bills from Hermione's hand and various others.

Hermione didn't expect anything more...she knew that neither Laura nor Ginny would be so insensitive as to include Gerald Van Haven in their Parade of Boyfriends Past here, but to her surprise the music changed again. The three dancers already on stage motioned back towards the curtain which parted to reveal another dancer, who struck a pose before leading the little posse into another round of hip displasia. Ginny let out a shriek of horror and turned her back, swatting Laura on the arm. "You said you weren't going to get a Ron! I don't need to see my brother strip, thank you very much!"

"Come on, I couldn't resist," Laura said. "Put it down to therapy for the maid of honor."

Hermione was barely aware of this, she was too busy egging on her entertainment. Whoever these dancers really were, they were pretty good, although they were being forced to perform under less than ideal circumstances...of her exes, only Horace really had what could be called a male-stripper sort of body.

The Troupe of Shame continued their show for a few minutes, the audience shouting encouragement and beckoning them to the edge of the stage so they could stuff more money into their waistbands. Hermione glanced around at her friends and family...some of them normally so reserved, so polite, and here they were, yelling at the top of their lungs and exhorting male dancers to take it off. She saw Quinn cop quite a feel of Horacedancer's rear end, and on the other side of the stage Molly Weasley was enjoying Abeldancer's gyrations up close and personal.

After a time the music changed again. Must be time for the stripping part, Hermione thought...but her mischievous wedding party had one more trick up their sleeves. The four faux ex-boyfriends lined up on either side of the curtain, which parted to reveal one last dancer.

Hermione jumped up and down, shrieking in sheer mob-mentality delirium as she watched a frighteningly accurate facsimile of the man she was about to marry do pelvic thrusts up the center of the stage. The assembled women jostled for position near the stage, cheering. "Holy cow," Laura yelled. "Is that what he looks like underneath his clothes? Hermione, I am impressed! Way to score the hunky husband!"

The Harrydancer was the best of the lot, Hermione doubted the real Harry could have done much better...although he would have been blushing at such a flagrant celebration of his groin area. He headed straight for her, smirking and displaying his wares for her inspection. He slid to his knees before her. The others were all chanting and egging her on as she started to stuff the obligatory money into his pants...then at the last second, on impulse, she grabbed his little bow tie and dragged his head down, then planted a huge, wet kiss on him. He was startled at first, then went with it. She heard screaming and applause in the background as she let him go. He rose gracefully, doing a cute little spin as if her kiss had made him dizzy.

"Hermione, you bad girl! I didn't know you had it in you!" Sarah cried, grinning. "And was that a little tongue action I saw?"

Hermione shrugged, batting her eyelashes innocently. "Force of habit."

---

Harry was led into the next room, which was bleak and gray and stony and had a white line painted across its length. Standing in a loose group on the other side of the line were George, Justin, Sirius, Napoleon and Remus, all dressed in dashing tuxedoes, as he had been until just recently. Justin stepped forward. "Okay, step up to the line, gents."

"I protest," Harry said. "Isn't it against the law for a prisoner to be held without trial? Where's my solicitor?"

"Oh, this is just the pre-trial confinement, mate. It's all perfectly legal."

"What about me?" Ron said. Harry doubted he'd be subjected to the same humiliation; after all, he was still in his tuxedo.

Justin waved a hand at him. "You're an unindicted co-conspirator."

"Jolly good, then. Proceed."

Justin puffed himself up. "So, Mr. Potter. It seems you've been a very naughty boy."

"I have?"

"Yes. You've concocted a clever plot to deprive the females of the world...and some of the males, of course...of your fabulous self and restrict the enjoyment of your subtle yet virile masculinity to only one woman!" The others affected theatrical gasps and brought their hands to their mouths. Napoleon fainted on cue; Sirius and Remus caught him and stood him back up again. "The evidence will show that not only did you ask this lucky woman to marry you, but that you actually intend to go through with it. How do you plead?"

Harry sighed. "Not guilty, by reason of insanity."

"That much is abundantly clear, my good man. Not only are you betraying your bachelor brethren the world over by taking up the yoke, but you are making the rest of us look bad."

"Except me!"

"Except Sirius. He's already married." Justin turned to his cadre. "What do you say, gents? Guilty?"

"Oh, yes, guilty."

"One hundred percent guilty."

"If he were any guiltier, he'd be...well, guiltier."

Justin turned back. "It's unanimous, then. Unbelieveably guilty." He held out his hand and Napoleon handed him a large box. They all came forward and surrounded him. "And here's your punishment."

Justin opened the box and Harry peered inside. "Oh, this is too, too priceless," he said, shaking his head and grinning.

Inside the box was an old-fashioned ball and chain. Engraved on the ball were the words "Property of Hermione Granger."

Harry looked up at his friends, who were all smiling at him. "Since you'll be putting this on for real in a few days, we thought you could do with some practice wearing it," Justin said. He lifted the ball and chain out of the box and started to kneel down, but Harry stopped him. Justin looked up quizzically. Harry took the ball and chain from him, knelt down, and shackled it around his own ankle. He stood up again, pleased with himself. It wasn't often one got such a blatant chance to make a statement without saying anything. He looked around at their faces and saw that they all understood.

Sirius smiled. "Well, then. All that's left is the sentencing. Harry, could you take off your shirt?" Harry did, pausing for just a second to wonder what the heck they had in mind. "Who would care to begin?"

Remus stepped forward, withdrawing his wand. "I sentence you to a life of honor, and the satisfaction that comes from a hardship shared with a worthy partner." He pointed his wand to Harry's left bicep and a brief flash of light struck the skin. Harry looked down and saw the word 'HONOR' tattooed there in spiky, elaborate letters over a background image of a full moon draped with clouds. "Don't worry, they'll fade by tomorrow," Remus whispered quickly before stepping back.

Justin was next. "Harry, I sentence you to have some fun every day and not take anything too seriously." His tattoo went on Harry's other bicep, a caricature of Justin's own face with a wide grin, except in place of teeth was the word 'FUN' in stylized block letters.

"I sentence you to the company of a loving family," George said. "Whether it be one that you make for yourself, or the one that you already have." His tattoo went on Harry's left forearm, the word 'FAMILY' in broad cursive brushstrokes, the capital F sporting a shock of bright red Weasley hair.

Harry was almost afraid to hear what Napoleon had to say. "Harry old chap, someone has to do it and it might as well be me. I sentence you to as much amazing sex as you can possibly stand." His tattoo went on Harry's right forearm, gothic barbed-wire lettering of the word 'SEX', the S and the X sporting many piercings and loops.

Sirius stood before Harry, smiling. "Son, my sentence for you is the joy that can only come from a strong marriage based on love, trust and respect. It's the sentence I'm currently serving, and I only wish the same for you." His tattoo went on the left side of Harry's chest, the word 'JOY' in capital Roman letters, a bright six-pointed star above it.

Harry looked around at them, touched. "Thanks, guys," he said, his voice sounding a little choky. "I mean it."

Justin grinned. "There, Harry. Now you're all in. What's a prisoner without a nice collection of prison tattoos?" He looked over at Ron. "I know you didn't know about this, Ron, but...do you have any sentencing recommendations you'd like to make at this time?"

Ron shrugged. "Gosh, I..." He seemed to think of something then, and turned to face Harry. "I'll sentence you to live happily ever after. And no opportunity for parole."

Cheers of agreement went up from the others. Behind them, a door opened and Draco stepped into the room. "Are you done?"

Sirius chuckled. "Yes, we're done."

"Good. Now that the heartfelt, weepy portion of the evening is concluded..." He motioned to Harry, just rebuttoning his shirt, who slung his ball-and-chain over his arm (it weighed no more than a few ounces) and walked forward to meet Draco at the doorway. "In a few days your sentence will be carried out. My advice to you, therefore, is to enjoy your bail while it lasts." He opened another door a few feet further along and stood back with a self-satisfied air.

As soon as the doors opened a huge cheer went up and Harry was blinded by a sudden barrage of flashing lights. His mouth dropped open and he stood there, shocked into numbness.

Before them was a long, low chamber at least the size of a Quidditch pitch. It had been outfitted like a dance club. Multicolored lights and sparklers lined the walls and ceiling. A wide bar stretched the entire length of the room, laden with food and drinks and staffed with waiters and bartenders dressed like prison guards. The perimeter of the room was lined with jail cells...Harry saw that the cells were occupied by scantily clad women, dancing and displaying their physiques. The cheer had been raised by the hundred or so men gathered there. Harry scanned the faces and saw friends from school, work, friends of friends, and family members both of his and Hermione's. It looked like just about every man he'd ever met. He saw cocktail waitresses dressed in very skimpy prison guard uniforms circulating with trays; at the far end a larger arched cell was occupied by a band that was pumping out lively music.

"Oh my God," Harry croaked. "Draco...you did all this for me?"

Draco smirked. "Let it never be said that the Malfoys do not give smashing parties."

---

Hermione was enjoying herself immensely. After the very memorable floor show, the party had settled into a rowdy atmosphere of loud music, plentiful drinks and off-color jokes. She was feeling pleasantly buzzed as she sat in her place of honor, holding court as her glass was kept filled by the buff half-naked waiters.

Eventually Ginny got up on the stage and gestured for quiet. The music stopped. "Well, ladies...it's time."

"What time is it?" came a synchronized response. Must be part of the tradition, Hermione mused.

"It's time for BILE!" Ginny yelled. A loud cheer went up. Hermione was bodily hoisted from her chair and lifted onto the stage, where she...

---

...could look down on the throng of men from his precarious perch atop the bar. "And how much bile is there?" Napoleon called, laying a hand beside his ear.

"A VIAL of BILE!" came the shouted response.

Napoleon gestured for quiet again. "When you vent your bile..."

"...there's a MILE of BILE!" came the response.

"And if the bile's not strong..."

"Then the DRINKS are LONG!"

---

"And if the bile's not true..." Ginny yelled.

"Then the DRINKS are on YOU!" shouted the throng of women. A huge cheer went up. Hermione stood there, feeling foolish and not caring, a huge grin on her face.

"Now," Ginny said. "Our esteemed judges, the honorable Laura, the honorable Sarah, and the honorable Molly, will decide how drunk you're going to be by the end of this. Remember, the better the husband, the more shots you have to drink!"

---

"So don't be too forgiving," Napoleon went on. "Or else Remus, Ron and Justin will see that you'll have to be carried out of here!" More cheers and applause. "Now, then Harry...are you ready to vent your bile?"

Harry flipped a cocky thumbs-up. "Ready!"

"Then let's get going!" Another cheer went up, but quieted quickly as they waited for Harry's first statement of bile.

He cleared his throat, thinking quickly. He'd been prepared for this, but he still wasn't quite sure what to say. "All right, then. The first thing that bugs me about Hermione is...she's just so darn beautiful that she makes me feel ugly!"

A chorus of boos and hisses greeted this statement. "Bollocks!" someone shouted. Harry grinned. "He's cheating!"

---

Hermione paused for dramatic effect. "Okay! Let's see...the first thing I hate about Harry is...he's just such an animal in bed that he wears me out!"

Laughter and booing rose in the club. "Faker! No fair!" Sarah yelled. "Can I make her drink for that?"

"No!" Ginny said, laughing. "Only at the end." She turned to Hermione. "But you are going to have to do better than that."

"Well, all right, then!" Hermione shouted. "How about this? Harry never rinses out the sink after he shaves and I hate finding it covered in those little tiny hairs!"

The response to this bile was more approving, and she heard a number of woman shouting "I hate that, too!"

---

"Come on, Harry...let's hear some real bile!" Napoleon said.

Harry looked out over the partygoers. "All right, if you must know...Hermione grinds her teeth when she's reading and it drives me crazy but she keeps insisting that she doesn't!"

This proclamation was bestowed with begrudging applause, but Harry knew he'd have to come up with better bile if he didn't want to die of alcohol poisoning.

---

"He gnaws on his quills and I can't stand it! Once he bit right through and didn't even notice, just went around with a dirty great ink stain all over his lips!"

---

"She chews her hair. It's disgusting. She'll sit there at her desk with a lock in her mouth just chewing, chewing away...it's a nasty surprise to be feeling romantic, put your face in someone's hair and smell what they had for lunch."

---

"He puts on the alarm talisman when he doesn't have to get up in the morning! Can you believe that? He says he loves the feeling of shutting it off and going back to sleep! I keep saying that I sleep there too and I don't want to be woken up but he keeps bloody doing it! I may have to hide the talisman!"

---

"She leaves her wet towels just any old place! Doesn't hang them up or put them in the laundry...she says they'll dry no matter where they are. Now, I ask you. What kind of sense does that make?"

---

"Have I mentioned the nail biting?"

---

"You won't believe the toenail clipping..."

---

"Oh, this is a good one. He'd die if he knew I was telling you this. Harry has a fixation on shoes. Not clothes, just shoes. He has more pairs than I do. He loves bloody shoes. He hates spending money on clothes, but shoes? He'd spend it all on shoes if I let him. It's ridiculous. He has three suits and eighteen pairs of shoes to go with them."

---

"Are you ready for this? Hermione is obsessed with her teeth. It's like some sort of sacred ritual, with the brushing and the flossing and the rinsing and the soaking and the whitening. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for oral hygiene, but it goes on so long that it starts to sap my will to live! Once I suggested she could maybe get by with a little less vigorous tooth routine and you'd have thought I'd suggested taking up smoking!"

---

"I hate the Stone Roses. I never liked the Stone Roses, but now I really hate them. Know why? Because Harry has all their albums and insists on playing them over and over and over and over..."

---

"Do you know who guest starred in episode 8 of 'The X-Files' series four? Well, I do! And not by choice! She's got the entire bloody series on DVD! I don't know how she can watch the episodes more than once but she does, all right. Sometimes I hear that creepy synthesizer music in my nightmares."

---

"...and I know it sounds petty but I can't stand it when he..."

---

"...believe me, I've tried, but she can't stop..."

---

"...drives me absolutely round the bend..."

---

"...so frustrating that someday I might just..."

---

"...infuriating and..."

---

"...annoying but..."

---

"...it is the absolute limit!" Hermione shouted victoriously, feeling exorcised. Wild cheers from her audience. They grew quiet then, waiting. She thought for a moment. "I...I guess that's about it."

---

Napoleon turned to the judges. "Well, do we have a decision? What's the verdict on Hermione's fitness as a potential mate?" Harry watched as Remus, Ron and Justin conferred, their heads together. He hoped he'd painted a vile enough picture of the woman he loved that he'd still be upright by the end of this party.

The judges separated and faced Harry. "We have determined that despite all you've said, we still think Hermione is a lovely, charming person," Justin said. A sarcastic, horror-stricken "oooooh" ran through the partygoers.

"And we can see why you're marrying her," Ron continued.

"But as for us personally," Remus said, "well...none of us would touch her with a ten-foot pole." Cheers and catcalls.

"That toenail thing alone would make me bolt," Justin said.

"And I loathe David Duchovny," Ron added.

"Therefore we, your esteemed peers, on a scale of one to ten of wifely fitness, rate Hermione as a..." Remus paused for dramatic effect. "...a THREE!"

The place exploded in their appreciation for the success of Harry's bile. With great panache, Napoleon jumped behind the bar and poured Harry three brimming shots of the Admiral. He hoisted them aloft on a platter and held them before the guest of honor.

"Well," Harry shouted, "I guess this is my penance for taking on such a challenging wife. I hope your prayers are with me." He picked up the first shot glass and downed it to delirious applause. Without pausing, he quickly knocked back the second shot, then the third. The cheers drowned out the flourish contributed by the band. Harry shook his head quickly. Napoleon helped him down off the bar. "Well! That was bracing! Well...is this a party or isn't it?" he yelled.

---

Hermione woozily held the glass of Sardoff's, her slumping shoulders propped between Laura and Cho. "I can't b'lieve you made me drink seven shots," she slurred.

Ginny got in the back of the limo and knocked on the partition. "Home, Jeeves!" She turned to Hermione. "Honestly, Hermione. You couldn't expect less, not after the judges got a good look at Harry's Polyjuiced butt. No amount of bile in the world could counteract that."

"Wonder how much he had to drink," she said as Laura added a few drops of plum brandy to the Sardoff's. "What time's it?"

"It's almost three. Better get some sleep, busy day tomorrow. Come on, drink your Sardoff's, there's a good girl."

Hermione drank the potion and fell immediately asleep. The others waited patiently for her to wake up sober, not saying much...they were tired, too.

She stirred and blinked. "Oh, that's more like it," she said. "There I am."

"May the mages bless Samuel Sardoff."

"I'm sure Gringotts has blessed him quite enough for one lifetime."

The limo transapparated back to Bailicroft once it left the city limits, cutting several hours off their journey. The tired bridesmaids got out, parting ways inside the house. Hermione kissed her mother goodnight, then Molly and Cordelia, and climbed the stairs up to the living gallery and then up to the Cloister. The room still felt enormous with just her living in it. She fingered Harry's camelhair jacket where it hung on the coatrack, smiling a little. She put away her handbag in the closet, pausing to look over at Harry's side. A few drawers of shirts and jumpers, trousers and jackets hanging, four sets of robes, a few suits...and several dozen shoeboxes. She chuckled and went into the bathroom.

---

Hermione was just settling into bed, her hairbrush in her hand, when there was a knock at her door. "Come in," she called, frowning a little. Who could that be?

The door opened and in came her four bridesmaids, dressed in their pajamas and fuzzy slippers, their faces scrubbed clean of makeup, their hair tied back. Laura was carrying a tray of tea. "Sorry to disturb you, honey," she said.

"Can we budge up here?" Ginny asked, sitting on the bed.

"Sure," Hermione said, drawing up her legs. "What's going on?"

They all settled around her, producing chocolate and biscuits and a small flask of something that smelled sweetly alcoholic to add to the tea Laura brought. "Well, you weren't through with traditions after your party," Cho said.

"I wasn't?"

Ginny smiled, but it wasn't the mischievous smile of the person who'd organized her bachelorette party. "This is the real vial of bile, Hermione," she said. "The part where you get to talk about the things that are really worrying you about marriage, not the bullshit things you said at the party. It's just us here. You have no secrets from your girlfriends. It's best to get all these things out in the open now, as opposed to five minutes before you're supposed to walk down the aisle."

Hermione nodded. In some part of her mind, she'd been waiting for this. "Okay."

"Do you want to talk? Because you don't have to."

She looked around at their faces and saw only support there. "I want to."

---

Harry sipped the sweet coffee Remus had made and leaned his elbows on the butcherblock kitchen island, which was of truly heroic proportions. The five of them were seated around it without even having to bump elbows.

They waited for him without speaking, giving him time to organize his thoughts. "I wonder if I'm not too possessive," Harry finally began. "Is it natural? I mean...Hermione still has love letters she got from Abel Kilroy. It...it really bothers me."

"Have you mentioned this to her?" Ron asked.

"No. I don't want her to think I'm any more insecure than she already knows I am. And it's so silly. She hasn't seen him in years, I tell myself. She doesn't care about him anymore, I say. But if that's true, then why keep his letters?" He shook his head. "I suppose it's not about the stupid letters." He sighed. "And she's...reckless."

"In what sense?" Napoleon asked, frowning.

"In the sense that she's not careful. In her job. I mean, she's careful, but she's more eager to prove herself. I think because she came to it late, later than me, that is, that she...thinks she has something to make up for. That she has to show me she can be just as good at it as if she'd been doing it all along. I swear it's taking years off my life, knowing she's not being as cautious as she should be and that I can't do a damn thing about it."

They didn't reply. The point of this tradition wasn't for the groom-to-be to receive wise counsel from the men who'd stand up with him, it was for him to talk freely. He went on. "I'm concerned that money could become an issue."

"Harry, you're..."

"Rich, I know. That isn't the point. The reason I'm rich is that I'm frugal. I've been careful with what my parents left me. Hermione's parents are well off, she grew up very comfortably."

"So did you."

"No, I didn't. The Dursleys were comfortable, I wasn't. I was raised in poverty. I had nothing, and I learned to respect what little I had that did belong to me. I don't think she ever learned that. I'm not suggesting she's bad with money, she's not. She isn't prone to overspending, but she's a little...how do I say it. Cavalier, for my taste. As if it's not something that even merits a discussion." He pushed aside his coffee and crossed his arms on the butcherblock. "Hermione and I are far more alike than we are different. There are things about her that bug me, as I'm sure there are about me that bug her. But...there is one thing that I always knew but never gave much thought to, not until we became engaged."

"What's that?"

"She still identifies herself as Anglican. She's not especially religious and she doesn't actually go to church, but she's not ready to throw it over. I'm an atheist, always have been. It worries me, mostly because I don't understand it and it's not something we can share. And what if we have children? I'm not sure how I'd feel about feeding a load of C of E mumbo-jumbo into their heads. The wizarding world is so secular, we forget that most Muggles have pretty strong connections to their churches. I can't tell you what a battle it was with her mother when it came out we were being married by an official and not by a member of the clergy."

The other men were exchanging glances. "What does Hermione say about all this?" George asked.

Harry looked down. "We've never talked about it." He held up a hand. "I know, I know, we ought to have done. Still, it's never really come up. The fight over the wedding ended up being about wanting it at Hogwarts as opposed to a church, our feelings about religion weren't really the issue." A long silence fell. Harry appeared lost in thought. At length, he spoke again. "But all this is just smoke. My biggest worry about my marriage has nothing to do with her. It's this," he said, raising one hand to finger his scar. "It's me. Being me has certain risks, risks I've made my peace with, but risks she didn't ask for and doesn't deserve. It's possible that I'm being very selfish in marrying her. Sometimes I think that if I really loved her, I'd cut her loose. Tell her I'm calling it off, tell her I don't care, tell her whatever I have to tell her to get her far away from me, where she'd be safe, where the giant target painted on my chest wouldn't extend to her." He looked around at their solemn faces. "Of course I could never do any such thing. Without her, I wouldn't last very long."

---

Hermione hugged her knees as she spoke. "He worries about me too much. He thinks I can't handle myself, I know it. He'll say he has confidence in my abilities but he's lying. He tries to pass it off as my fault, that I'm too reckless or something, but in fact, I'm not reckless at all. I follow all agency safety and cautionary guidelines to the letter, of course. If I'm reckless, than I am no more so than every single other agent in the division, including him. I'm not reckless, he's overprotective, and not just of my physical safety. He tries to protect me from everything, even things I need to be a part of. He doesn't tell me things, important things sometimes, because he's afraid of upsetting me or troubling me or Merlin knows what else. He can't get it through his head that...well, that's my job now. Hearing about upsetting things that happen to him, helping share his burdens. Unfortunately, he doesn't see it that way."

She brushed her hair as she spoke, not looking at her quiet audience, her words soft but forceful. "He doesn't like to talk about the future. Oh, he'll talk about generalities, but specifics make him uneasy. I used to think it might be because he wasn't sure we'd have a future together, but now I know why. He's afraid to make concrete plans because he doesn't want to jinx himself. He doesn't want to talk about when we might buy a house because he's secretly convinced that if we buy one it'll be struck by lightning and burned to the ground, probably with us inside." She shook her head. "But that one I can forgive. Half the time I feel the same way myself."

The others were nodding in understanding. Hermione went on. "He doesn't understand my relationship with my parents at all. To him, parents are an abstract concept. Idealized mythical people who sired you and then vanished and can never truly affect you again except as objects to pine for and wish you had. It breaks my heart sometimes to see him watch me with my parents with that forlorn look in his eyes...and yet he doesn't get it. He doesn't understand just how messy and complicated your relationship with your parents can really be. He's learned to just calmly set aside his feelings about his parents and go on with his life as if it didn't matter and he seems to think it's just as easy for me to do the same."

Hermione rested her chin on her knees, thinking. "But you know what? All this is important, but it isn't the worst thing. It isn't my biggest worry."

"What's that?"

"Just that...well, it's him. He's Harry Potter. It's complicated, he's complicated. And the thing that keeps me up at night the most is the fear that I'll lose him young."

---

The day before...

---

[quiet, dignified music]

ES: Good afternoon. You are listening to the Wizarding Wireless Network. Welcome to Transfigurations, the news and discussion programme for the discerning magical practitioner. I'm your host, Elizabeth Selkirk. My co-host Donlan Leavy is researching on location.

Today we bring you a Transfigurations exclusive report, with a very special guest. Tomorrow the entire wizarding community will be united in celebration of the marriage of one of our greatest heroes. This afternoon I am broadcasting to you live from Hogwarts Castle, where in less than twenty-four hours the legendary Harry Potter will be wed to his lifelong friend Hermione Granger. Dr. Granger, a heroine in her own right, has graciously granted Transfigurations an exclusive and rare interview. She is here with me now in the common room of Gryffindor Tower, where she first became acquainted with a young boy with a scar. Dr. Granger, our deepest thanks. Welcome to the show.

HG: Thank you, Elizabeth. I'm glad to be here. Please call me Hermione.

ES: Hermione, of course. Allow me to compliment you on your composure. The day before my wedding I doubt I could have mustered the presence of mind to play a game of tic-tac-toe, let alone spend time being interviewed.

HG: I am blessed with energetic bridesmaids. Frankly, I'm grateful for the opportunity to escape for an hour into relative peace.

ES: You and Mr. Potter are notoriously press-shy. What made you agree to our request to talk with you?

HG: Well, since we aren't allowing any coverage of our wedding, we had always planned to grant a small number of interviews beforehand. The reason we're press-shy, as you say, is that so many publications and programmes will spread any rumor or tidbit they can find about him. Harry and I have been impressed with your programme's discretion in the past, so when your request came in, we decided to say yes.

ES: Again, our thanks.

HG: You're welcome.

ES: Hermione, by this time tomorrow you will be Mrs. Harry Potter.

HG: [slight chuckle] Yes. Although I prefer Granger.

ES: You're keeping your name, then?

HG: Professionally.

ES: I see. I hate to break this to you, but I'm afraid you are doomed to be addressed the rest of your life as Mrs. Potter.

HG: [laughs] That's all right. I can live with it.

ES: Tell me about the events that have led you here. Did you ever in your wildest dreams think you'd someday be marrying the most famous man in the world?

HG: You see, right there, right away we come up against the public perception. That's not how I see Harry. It's still a source of amazement to me whenever I realize the level of general interest in this wedding. It astonishes me, continually. Harry is...well, this may sound odd, but he is the most ordinary person in the world to me. I'm more accustomed to him than to anyone else. We've been best friends since we were eleven years old. We were at school together for seven years, then roommates for the next eight. It's hard to think of someone as a mythic figure when you've been sharing a bathroom for as long as we have.

ES: I suppose that's true enough. And yet his persona has followed you around, even rubbed off. For much of your own life you've been almost as famous as he is, simply by virtue of being his friend.

HG: Yes.

ES: I apologize for this tiresome question, but I must ask: what is he really like?

HG: Well, he's...that's not so easy to answer. He's complicated. It's almost impossible for me to say, because the Harry that most people know, even his friends, is not my Harry. He is different with me, because with me he knows he is safe and can be completely unguarded.

ES: I have met him twice, briefly, at Ministry functions, and let me say that there was a definite aura of power about him. Others have remarked on this, too.

HG: I've heard it said, yes.

ES: As you know there are many rumors that he is not like other wizards, that he has special powers. Some say this is how he was able to defeat You Know Who when he was a child, and then again as a young man. Can you comment on these rumors?

HG: I've heard the rumors.

ES: Perhaps I should rephrase: can you comment on their veracity?

HG: I'm afraid I can't do that. What I can say is that Harry's many instances of victory over darkness are not coincidence. There is a reason for it. I won't deny that he is special. I cannot say how.

ES: You have had a significant part to play in those victories, having been by his side for nearly all of them. What about you? Are you special?

HG: Not in the same way that he is. If I have had success, it is by virtue of good training and hard work. If I've been by his side during conflict, well...it was because I couldn't bear to be anywhere else.

ES: As students, you weren't the only one by Harry's side.

HG: No. There were three of us: Harry, myself, and Ron Weasley.

ES: Mr. Weasley was believed killed by the Dark Lord during your sixth year at school. Can you tell us about that time in your lives?

HG: We were devastated, pure and simple. It tore us apart. It was very nearly the darkest period of my life.

ES: And now Ron has come back, rescued by you and Harry some months ago. What has that been like?

HG: There, I'm afraid I don't have adequate words. Having Ron back is like having a wonderful dream and then waking up to find it's true. I feel whole again, we are whole again. Harry and I are overjoyed more than we can possibly express that he can be here for our wedding.

ES: Will he be taking part in the ceremony?

HG: Of course. He's standing up as Harry's best man. He'll also be walking me down the aisle, along with my father.

ES: Hermione, you must be accustomed to being asked about Harry, but now I'd like to ask you about yourself. You're a famous woman, and yet relatively little is known about your earlier life. You are Muggle-born.

HG: Yes.

ES: Tell our listeners a little about your childhood.

HG: Well, I was born and raised in London. My parents are both dentists, and I'd say I had a most happy childhood. I can't recall any great trauma, except the ever-present knowledge that I was somehow different from the other children.

ES: Because of your magical ability.

HG: Yes. I remember turning my teacher's hair blue just after I'd been wondering what it would look like that way. At home I was continually losing things, and not in the way ordinary people do. I'd literally lose something from right out of my grasp only to have it turn up on the other side of the house days later. My parents didn't discuss these sorts of occurrences but I know they were worried. It was nearly a relief to get my Hogwarts letter, along with the information that comes to the parents of Muggle-borns. It explained a great deal.

ES: How did you feel to learn you were a witch?

HG: I was thrilled. It seemed the answer to a question I'd been asking all my life without realizing it. I made my parents take me to Diagon Alley as soon as I could and I got all the books and materials I could get my hands on. I've always been very studious and I'd just found an entire world of brand-new topics to explore. I couldn't wait to get to school, I couldn't wait to meet others like me and learn about their world. I was so anxious to prove myself. Perhaps a little too much so. I came on a little strong at school, I know. Sometimes I look back on how I was that first year especially and I'm embarrassed for myself in retrospect. I was very lucky to find friends in Harry and Ron.

ES: Were you worried that you'd be different, being Muggle-born?

HG: Not at the time. There were little hints in the things I read, but I didn't really appreciate that there were wizards with such strong opinions about that. It wasn't until I got to school and met pureblood wizards that I began to get the idea. I knew that much of Voldemort's campaign had been about purging all non-purebloods, but I had the silly idea that all that was in the past. I ought to have known that such things never really go away.

ES: Have you encountered much prejudice of that kind in your life?

HG: Thankfully, not for a long time. Since Voldemort's defeat the struggle we wage against darkness has been less about racial prejudice and more about simple power. It was difficult for a great many wizards to hold on to their prejudices against non-purebloods after Harry saved the world. A lot.

ES: Harry is not Muggle-born.

HG: No, but his mother was.

ES: Hogwarts must have been a very special time for you.

HG: It was. Wonderful but also difficult. I admit that I had moments when I wished I'd never become Harry's friend. How much more peaceful my school years might have been! I spent so much time worrying about him and dealing with the problems that seemed to follow him around, I'm amazed I had any time to study.

ES: Do you ever regret your relationship with him? It's brought you so much pain.

HG: [pause] Yes, I suppose it has. But it has also brought me joy. People so often think of Harry so much as just a catalyst, an object, a figure that sends ripple effects through those around him, who attracts tragedy and victory, who effects change. People forget he's a regular person. When I remember our school years I don't tend to think about the grand events we were mixed up in. I think about sitting with him and Ron in the common room, I think about us laughing together, I think about going to watch him play Quidditch. It's not because he's the Boy who Lived that I was his friend. It was his laugh, his sense of humor, his quietness, his kindness. It's because when he cares about you, Harry will always be there for you...and he'll always need you.

ES: A few minutes ago you said that Ron's death was nearly the darkest period of your life. I think I may be able to guess what was the darkest. Last summer you and Harry were apart for some time.

HG: [sighing] Yes.

ES: This right after a time when Harry is said to have been gravely ill, which came right upon the heels of his mysterious two-month disappearance, the details of which have never been made public. It's been a hard year for you, filled with difficulty as well as joy.

HG: That, Elizabeth, may be the understatement of the century.

ES: Tell me what it was like for you while he was gone last winter.

HG: I try not to think too much about that time. In retrospect, it feels like a horrible nightmare.

ES: You and Harry had only recently fallen in love after many years of close friendship.

HG: That's correct. He proposed to me in August, and in November he disappeared. Before you ask, no, I can't really discuss the details of those events, nor of his illness, except to say that it was severe and it was magical in nature.

ES: Some reports say that you procured the means to his cure, possibly through some personal sacrifice of your own.

HG: [hesitates] Harry was under medical care, excellent care. He recovered fully. Whatever part I played in bringing about his recovery, I would have done all that I did and a thousand times more to save his life. I would have done whatever I had to do.

ES: Hermione, my compliments. You are more adept and answering my questions without really answering them than almost anyone I've ever interviewed.

HG: I'm afraid it's a skill that comes from necessity.

ES: So Harry was cured, and yet it drove you apart.

HG: For a time, yes. Believe me, Elizabeth, no explanation I could offer would make any sense to anyone who wasn't inside the situation. It was extraordinarily painful for us to be apart. It wasn't just that we weren't together romantically, it was that we did not speak for two full months. That's a state I have not been in with him since I've known him. I was estranged not only from the man I loved, but from my best friend as well. I've never felt so adrift in my life.

ES: Thankfully, it didn't last.

HG: Yes, thankfully. Although looking back, we could never have kept it up. Harry and I are too interconnected, too interdependent to be able to function effectively apart for very long. And in the long run I think it helped us. We'd been living in something of a fantasy, a mythical sort of "what would be it like to be in love" daydream. Those events brought us crashing down to earth. [pause] A lot of people who ask me about my relationship with Harry treat it as if it were our old friendship with some extra bits. That's not what it's like with us. Making the transition from best friends to now husband and wife has been rocky. It's not as if we simply took our friendship and slapped love on top of it. When Harry and I fell in love, the relationship we'd had in the past was shattered into a million pieces. We had to rebuild it from the ground up, using some of the old pieces and discarding others.

ES: That's very eloquent.

HG: Thanks. I've had a lot of time to think about this.

ES: And now...here we are! It's the day before your wedding! Are you excited?

HG: Just ask me how hard it is to sit still right now.

ES: So take me briefly through what's going to happen tonight and tomorrow.

HG: Well, in an hour or so we're having a rehearsal here, and then we're heading to London. My parents are giving us a big dinner party.

ES: Any stag parties in the works?

HG: [laughs] We took care of those last night.

ES: And then tomorrow?

HG: The wedding and reception are both here at school. Sirius Black will be officiating, and we're expecting lots of people.

ES: Are you leaving right away for a honeymoon trip?

HG: I, uh...I don't know. Harry's planned our honeymoon himself and he refuses to tell me anything about it.

ES: Good heavens! How will you know what to pack?

HG: He keeps saying he's got everything taken care of! I'm dying of suspense, but I trust him.

ES: For a long time Harry's been discussed as the most eligible bachelor in the wizarding world.

HG: Bachelor, I can't argue with, though I'd say he hasn't been eligible in some time.

ES: [chuckles] Point taken. Yet you also can't argue that he's breaking quite a few hearts all over the globe by taking himself off the market, so to speak.

HG: I won't argue, although he probably would. He's never been able to see himself as the object of female admiration. It baffles him to no end.

ES: I can't imagine why. He is very handsome.

HG: Well, I think so.

ES: There have been stories that you've received death threats from distraught women.

HG: Good Lord, who told you that? That's rather melodramatic, isn't it?

ES: That doesn't mean it isn't true.

HG: I've never received any threats, though I'll admit I've gotten a few dirty looks when I've been out with him. It's just passing fancy. Soon someone else will come along for the world to swoon over, I'm sure.

ES: But you don't need anyone new to swoon over, do you?

HG: No, I surely don't.

ES: Hermione, I'd like to thank you again for taking time out of what must be a very busy day for you to talk with us today. It's been an honor to meet such a distinguished witch as yourself.

HG: It was my pleasure.

ES: I can see by talking with you that you love Harry very much. My warmest congratulations, and to you and Harry all of our best wishes for future happiness.

HG: Thank you. From both of us.

ES: This is Elizabeth Selkirk from Hogwarts, signing off. Stay tuned for the news at five.

---

The Day

---

Hermione opened her eyes slowly, the sunshine streaming in through the ceiling and the windows. Her mother was leaning over her, gently shaking her shoulder. "Mum?"

"Good morning, darling. It's eight o'clock. I've brought you some breakfast."

She rolled over and sat up, rubbing her eyes. Her mother had set up a small table next to the bed and was sitting there laying out some toast and eggs and oatmeal, juice and coffee. Hermione smiled. "This is nice."

Claire smiled back. "I thought I'd spend a little time alone with you this morning. It might be our last chance." Her voice trembled a little on the last word. Hermione reached out and took her mother's hand. "I'm sorry, my dear. But it's your wedding day." A warm feeling washed over Hermione as she remembered that yes, it was. Here at last. "After today you're really and truly gone."

"Mum, I'm getting married, I'm not dying or anything."

"Oh, I know, but...after this you really belong to him and not to us."

Hermione cleared her throat, seizing her mother's other hand. "Mum, tell me the truth. You do...approve of us, don't you? You think I've made a smart choice? Are you happy? I want to know."

Claire blinked rapidly. "Oh, Hermione. Harry is a wonderful man. Your father and I adore him. He loves you so much, and he makes you happy. We're thrilled for you."

Hermione smiled and reached for some toast. "Good."

"But I wish you'd never met him."

The toast stopped halfway to Hermione's mouth. "What?"

Claire seemed to suddenly realize that she'd actually said that aloud. Her face flushed and she stammered. "Oh, I don't mean...I didn't...never mind. I shouldn't be, not today. It's just...do you want some coffee, dear?"

Hermione reached out and stopped her mother's hands on the coffeepot. "Mother. What do you mean? You can't just say something like that and leave it hanging out there!"

Claire said nothing for a long time, her eyes averted, then seemed to abruptly decide to go ahead. She turned to Hermione and met her gaze. "It's just...he has so many enemies. Powerful ones. Enemies who might try to hurt him by hurting you. They've already tried. How often have you been in mortal danger because of him? How many times will you be? And leaving that aside...he's survived so many attacks on his own life. How many more can he survive? I live in fear, it's all I can think about. Someday, if I never get that call saying you've been hurt or killed, will I get the call saying that he has? I'm so fearful, so afraid he'll leave you in terrible grief."

Hermione was nearly speechless. Nearly. "Mother, I...I don't know what to say. I cannot believe you are saying these things to me today, of all days!"

"I'm sorry!" Claire nearly sobbed. "I didn't mean to say them at all! I don't know what came over me! Your father and I have talked about this so often, and we agreed we wouldn't speak of it, no good could come of it. I know you're used to the danger, but I'm not sure it'll be so easy for us! Sometimes I just wish you'd find a nice wizard no one's ever heard of and settle down to a life of complete anonymity!"

Hermione sagged against the pillows. "Oh, Mum. Don't you know? Sometimes I wish the same thing."

Mother and daughter regarded each other in the morning sunlight for a long moment. An expression of sudden understanding came over Claire's face. "You know, I never thought of it that way," Claire said. "It never occurred to me what you must go through. I've always just thought you didn't see the danger, or didn't care, that you were just ignoring it. But you see it, don't you? You know. You've fought this same battle with yourself." Her eyes suddenly went wide. "That's why you went away last spring, isn't it? After he was sick! You went away to decide!"

She nodded slowly. "Yes. That's why. And I do see it. The thing is...it can't be helped. I worry too, Mum. About him, about myself, and a great deal about our children, should we have any. I've had times when I wanted to turn away, to forget him, to run as far and as fast as I could. He's even told me to go, he's tried to get away, too. But we can't. I can't. He's in my soul, Mum. It's not just that I love him, which I do, and it's not just that we have so much history, which we do. It's that Harry is part of who I am. We've formed ourselves around each other. And if it means that one or both of us dies early, well, that can't be helped. I'd rather have what time I can get with him than live to be a hundred somewhere else. It's just that simple. I'm sorry if it hurts you and Dad. I know you worry. All I can say is that Harry and I have prepared ourselves to face whatever threats come up, and we've prepared well. I can almost promise you that sometime in the future, someone will come after us. But they won't get us without a hell of a fight."

Claire took all this in, then nodded. "Then you fight for what you have, sweetheart. You hang on to it just as tight as you can."

Hermione smiled. "I will, Mum."

"I've heard other witches and wizards call you a hero, sweetheart. It's hard to see my little girl like that, but you know what? You're my hero. And I'm so very proud of you."

They ate their breakfast quietly, finished talking for the time being.

---

When Sirius came into the Glyn Cynwyd kitchen, he found Harry pacing in circles around the island. He said nothing, just went to the coffeepot on the stove.

"What if I'm a terrible husband?" Harry finally said, his steps never slowing.

"You won't be."

"What if I die young?"

"Try not to."

"What if someone evil tries to kidnap her?"

"Never underestimate the therapeutic value of a good ass-kicking."

"What if I go broke?"

"You'll make a charming panhandler."

"What if we fight all the time?"

"Invest in earplugs."

"What if our kids turn out to be horrible monsters?"

"Two words: boarding school."

"What if she falls in love with someone else?"

"You're a wizard. Turn him into a treefrog."

"What if she gets sick of me?"

"Start working double shifts."

"What if I never amount to anything?"

"Too late."

"What if I..."

Sirius cut him off. "Harry. Try and relax."

"But, Sirius..." Harry stopped his pacing and blinked at his godfather. Sirius waited. "What if I come down with erectile dysfunction!"

Sirius just shrugged. "Kill yourself." He took his coffee and went back out to the solarium, where the other men were having breakfast, leaving Harry to ponder this advice in the deserted kitchen.

---

Allegra stood before her mirror, adjusting her neckline. She was wearing a tasteful midnight-blue velvet dress that hugged her curves in all the proper places, her black hair pinned up in elegant whorls atop her head. "You look lovely," came the Master's voice from behind her.

"Thank you," she said without turning.

"Won't you tell me what you're planning? I'm aflutter with curiosity."

"You can come with me, if you wish."

"Alas, I must decline. The idea of watching my father and his princess exchanging drippy vows in a drippy Great Hall surrounded by drippy friends and loved ones makes my pancreas twitch."

"Interesting image."

"But I trust you take my meaning."

"Quite."

He sighed. "Will I hear about your exploits in the paper tomorrow?"

"I doubt it."

"From you I'll expect nothing less than sheer depravity." He glided forward to stand behind her, placing his hands on her hips. "It's one of your most attractive qualities." He bent to kiss her neck. Allegra twisted away.

"Behave yourself, Julian."

He linked his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder, meeting her eyes in the mirror. Allegra stood stiffly, tolerating this latest in his ever-intensifying entreaties upon her person. "If I didn't know better I'd think you were going to this wedding as another of those drippy well-wishers. You certainly don't look prepped for mayhem."

"Mayhem can be overrated."

"But always stylish."

"What I do is my own business. You've made it clear that trashing this wedding isn't part of your Grand Scheme. I'll do as I wish." She pulled away from him and took up a long velvet cloak, swirling it over her shoulders.

"As always." She went to the door. "Do wish my father all the happiness he deserves, won't you?"

She hesitated. "When I return, Julian, you and I are going to have a little chat."

"Again...aflutter with curiosity."

---

The Great Hall always felt like home to Harry. He could recall walking in as a first year, terrified beyond all hope of reason, Ron by his side and every eye in the place fixed on his forehead.

It looked a little different today. The tables had been removed and replaced with chairs arranged in rows on either side of a central aisle. The teacher's table was gone; in its place was a raised platform reached by four carpeted steps. To the right rear was another platform for musicians. A crew of half dozen were arranging flowers, laying carpets.

"Cor, it's brilliant," Ron said, looking around. The floating candles were gone, replaced by clear glass globes with a single spark of flame floating inside. "Helluva place to get married. Wonder why no one ever uses it?"

Harry just looked at him. "They do, all the time. There's about a wedding a month held here."

"I don't remember any weddings while we were in school."

"Ron...didn't you ever wonder about all those Saturdays we had dinner in the common room? When there's an event they put a Distraction Charm around the Hall. The students don't come down here, if they try they just get distracted and end up in the library or something."

"Huh. I guess I never thought about it."

"Don't feel bad, I didn't either until I became Head Boy and they told me about it."

Professor McGonagall approached, a gangly boy in Hogwarts school robes by her side. "I think everything's in order, Harry," she said, glancing around. "Professor Flitwick's just put up the Distraction Charm, we'll not be disturbed." The boy was twitching a little, staring at Harry in frank fascination. "This is Julius McShane, our Head Boy."

Harry shook the boy's hand. "Good to meet you, Julius." McShane shook Harry's hand with that familiar I-can't-believe-I'm-meeting-you expression on his face.

"Oh it's such an honor to meet you Mr. Potter it's so exciting you're having your wedding here and we're all so pleased and I assure you all the arrangements are in place and all the prefects have been alerted and none of the students know anything about it and I'm so pleased to be of any help and..."

Julius went on shaking Harry's hand during this spillage. "Julius," Harry finally said. The boy shut his mouth with a snap. "Take it easy."

He dropped Harry's hand. "Of course, I'm...sorry, sir." His eyes widened as he finally noticed Ron standing nearby. "Oh...are you Ron Weasley?"

"Uh, yes, I'm..." was as far as Ron got before Julius had seized his hand and was pumping it up and down enthusiastically, unleashing another torrent. Minerva rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Psst," Harry heard someone say. He turned to see Napoleon beckoning to him from the doorway. He excused himself and joined him.

"What's up?"

Napoleon drew him into a corner, his face all business. Harry assumed his air of Major Potter without even being aware he was doing it. "Well, it's final. Nothing will be ready until at least next week."

Harry nodded. "I expected that. Well, we already knew this, but you'll have to take charge of the operation."

"I'm ready, Harry. Everything's in place."

Harry's jaw worked. "I don't need to tell you who I want checked first, do I?"

Napolon shook his head. "No, you don't."

"When you find out...you owl me right away. Use an express owl. I may be very far away by then, but I have to know at once what you find. Then you can go ahead and proceed and just update me when we return."

"Who should I have on my team?"

"Diz, of course. You might get Remus to help, too. But not Sabian. Don't disturb him."

"Why not? He'd be..."

"He's busy just now."

Harry saw sudden understanding click into Napoleon's eyes. "Oh. I get it. My, we are clever, aren't we?"

"I hope we're as clever as we think we are." Harry shook his head. "I hate that I'm going to be gone so long. I mean, I'm glad to be going, but...I'm going to hate being away, especially now."

"I know what you mean."

"Listen. If you feel it's necessary...you can tell Ron about the project. I know he's not Division, but this does concern him. It's because of him that we've got the first clue, that's not nothing. And he's very smart, he might be able to help. But under no circumstances is he to be placed in any danger. I'll hold you personally responsible for his safety."

"Understood."

Harry smiled and clapped Napoleon on the shoulder. "Good. Are we done?"

"Yep. No more business today." He looked closer at Harry's face. "How do you feel?"

Harry's smile never wavered. "I'm totally bloody petrified."

"I've been there, man. Just keep this thought in mind: 'Tonight I get to have sex.'"

Harry burst out laughing. "Thanks, I'll do that, although I'll be lucky if I have the energy."

"Trust me, you will."

---

The women had taken over an empty classroom down the corridor from the Hall. Mel, always prepared, had come in the day before and set up mirrors, chairs and vanity tables, and stocked the room with everything that might be needed at the last minute. Today the house elves had laid out a table of food for them to nibble on while they got ready. The dresses hung from hooks on the wall, the flowers waited in chilled coolers, everything was in place.

Hermione sat in front of her mirror, staring at herself while the bridesmaids bustled about, chattering like a flock of pigeons. It was now twelve thirty. The ceremony was to begin at two. In three hours I'll be married, she told her reflection. It still didn't feel quite real.

She and Harry had parted with difficulty after the dinner the night before, knowing that now they really and truly would not see each other until they met at the altar. Sarah was very attentive to her favorite spectre of bad luck. Hermione knew that Harry was somewhere in this castle right now, but she knew she wouldn't bump into him. The Head Boy and Girl had been recruited to stick to the two wedding parties like glue and keep each other apprised of where everyone was to prevent just such an accidental meeting. The Head Girl, a plump and sweetly intelligent young woman named Dorothy, had taken her duties very much to heart...though Hermione wondered if she and the unseen Head Boy weren't using their specially borrowed Bubbles to exchange flirts instead of updates.

She wondered how the men had spent their morning. Ron had told her that they'd planned to sleep in, have a quiet brunch, maybe go for a run to calm their nerves. After her emotional breakfast with her mother, the women had gone on a road trip to Madame Desdemona's, a very posh spa outside Sheffield, where they had spent a heavenly morning being massaged, steamed, rubbed, scrubbed and generally pampered into insensibility. Now here they were at the castle in their bathrobes, extensive systems of lingerie in place, ready for the small army of stylists Mel had engaged to transform them into creatures of otherwordly beauty. Hermione felt more than a little silly.

Sarah was going through the flowers. "Should we take the chaps their boutonnieres?"

Hermione and Ginny exchanged a glance. "Yes," Ginny said. "Can you do that? Give them to Napoleon."

"Uh, sure. Why him?"

"Oh, no reason...he's got Flower Detail."

Sarah laughed, putting the small flowers in another box. "That's appropriate. Back in a sec." She left the room.

Ginny laughed. "Oh no, we're not obvious at all."

"Do you think it's working?" Cho asked, brushing her hair with quick, manic strokes.

"I don't know. They seemed to be getting pretty chummy at the dinner last night."

"They'd have to be, you sat them so they were practically in each other's laps."

"Such are the machinations of love, Chang. This is an exact science."

Mel came in, the stylists trailing her like an entourage. She clapped her hands smartly. "Okay, ladies. Ready for battle?"

"Battle stations!" Ginny cried, giggling. Everyone sat down at their assigned mirror. Mel directed the stylists to their assigned bridemaid. She led a very elegant woman over to Hermione.

"Hermione, this is Geneva." Geneva stood behind Hermione, appraising her with one sculpted eyebrow arched.

"You are ze bride, yesss?" she said in an unplaceable Continent accent.

"Yes," Hermione said, resisting the urge to cower.

"Vell. Ve shall haff you looking like a queen!" She opened a case of impressive and frightening tools and set to work. Hermione decided early on that she shouldn't watch, so focused on the surface of the table before her.

Suddenly her brow creased. "Mel?"

"Yes?" Mel said, hurrying over.

"Where is my necklace? And my earrings? They were...I swear they were just here!"

Mel fidgeted. "Uh...they're not there now?"

Hermione pawed through the bottles and brushes, panic rising in her throat. "Do you see them?"

Mel sighed. "All right, I was hoping to put this off until you had the dress on, but..." She reached into her bag and pulled out a blue velvet case that could only contain jewelry. The other bridemaids immediately got up and surrounded them. Mel smiled at Hermione in the mirror. "I was supposed to give this to you today, dear. It's from Harry."

Hermione blinked, her panic forgotten, replaced by confusion. She took the case. "Open the card," Ginny said, pointing.

Hermione slid the card out and opened it. "See you soon. I love you." She steeled herself and opened the velvet case.

She heard the gasps from the other women and the stylists, but she couldn't look away. For a moment she wasn't sure she could breathe. Sparkling against the velvet inside the case was an exquisite diamond choker necklace, several rows of large stones with teardrop-shaped diamond pendants at one-inch intervals. A pair of discreet earrings to match were pinned inside the circle. The case was embossed with the familiar logo of Lex Petrak, jeweler to the rich and famous.

"Oh my God," Ginny breathed. "Hermione...it's perfect with your dress!"

"Are those bloody real?" Laura managed.

"Yes, they certainly are," Mel said, smiling. "Twenty-five carats total."

Hermione found her voice. "I can't believe this," she said. "He...he bought this for me?"

"Actually, it's rented," Mel said. "But it isn't everyone who could get a necklace like this from Lex Petrak on loan."

Hermione was only conscious for a moment of being relieved that Harry hadn't blown his entire fortune on this piece of jewelry. Her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, damn him," she finally choked. "This is just like him."

"What is, honey?" Ginny said, handing her a tissue.

"All I got him is a lousy pair of cufflinks!"

---

Napoleon closed the door after Sarah, a box of boutonnieres in his hand. "That is one very cool Muggle," he commented, coming back into the vacant professor's quarters the men were borrowing for the day.

"Glad you think so," Ron said, "seeing as everyone's determined to hook you up with her."

"Noticed that, did you? Thought it was just me."

"I recognize my sister's handiwork when I see it."

At that moment Harry stepped out from the adjoining bathroom and everyone stopped to stare at him. "Blimey, Harry," Napoleon said. "Can I marry you?"

Harry flushed and looked down at himself. "Bit over-the-top, isn't it?"

"No, I'd say it just reaches the top," Ron said with a smile. Harry's dress uniform was really no more than a souped-up version of his regular one. The trousers were identical to those worn with the regular uniform, but the jacket was slightly different. It had the same upright collar and hidden front closure, but it was a deep royal violet color instead of black and it was cut at the waist to allow the addition of a narrow belt, the purpose of which was to allow attachment of the ornamental saber at Harry's left hip and the tooled leather wand holster at his right. A wide gold sash swooped across his chest from left to right; the collar, wrists and lower hem of his jacket were trimmed in understated gold braidwork. His medals were pinned to the left side of his chest, his rank insignia fixed to his collar. The sash was secured in the center of his chest with the ornate silver badge of the Order of Merlin.

Harry sat down to put on his shoes, buffed to a high shine. The other men were in various stages of dress, bits of everyone's tuxedoes lying about the room. Thankfully, the ever-organized Mel had marked every individual piece of every man's clothing with his initials so that no one got their vests mixed up. "What time is it?" Harry asked.

"It's quarter to one."

"Oh, gosh. Time's running short!"

"All we have to do is get dressed, mate. That doesn't take hours."

"Well, I'd like to be ready by one-thirty. That's when they'll start seating the guests in the Hall. I ought to be...you know, visible."

"So everyone knows you didn't run for the hills?"

"Something like that."

"Anyone seen Justin?"

"He's sorting out the musicians."

"And how was he?"

"On the Justin scale of general hysteria, I'd give it about an eight. Stephen's with him, no worries."

Harry looked up at Sirius, very regal in his Deputy Chancellor's official robes. "How did you make it through this without vomiting?"

"Who says I did? Vomiting is a time-honored stress reliever, don't knock it till you try it."

"Thanks, I'll pass." He stood up. "I'm really glad you're here," he said to Sirius, smiling. "You're like a rock for me to grab on to."

"I'm glad, too. And don't worry, you'll be fine. You're not getting cold feet, are you?"

"Uh...I don't think so. I'm just nervous. I want everything to go all right. Preferably without attack by evil forces."

"They'd be pretty thick to try anything here."

"Well, we all know how many brains it takes to be evil."

"It'll be fine, Harry. We've taken every precaution and then some extra ones."

"Do those precautions include smelling salts for the groom?"

Sirius smiled. "In my pocket."

---

"No, no, you sit there, you sit there. What in God's name are you wearing? What possessed you to wear aqua to a November wedding? And you, what...what's your name again?"

"Raymond," said the dismayed piano player.

"Raymond, right. Do you think you could rustle your sheet music a little louder, because I don't think they heard you up in the Astronomy Tower!"

"Justin," said Stephen from the edge of the platform.

He whirled around. "Oh, sorry. Didn't see you there."

"Everything all right?"

"Oh, sure. Fine, no problem. I just wish I had a little more time to rehearse."

"You rehearsed all morning."

Justin hopped down off the platform. "How do I look?"

Stephen reached out and straightened Justin's tie. "You look very dashing."

"Oh, how you do go on."

"Relax, it'll be great."

"I hope so. It's my first wedding gig, you know. Nothing like starting out with a nice low-profile ceremony like this one."

Stephen smiled. "I think it's sweet you want everything to be perfect."

"Well, you know...it's them. They're special, and they trusted me to arrange this for them. I just don't want to disappoint them." Justin looked up to where the musicians were retuning their instruments, talking to one another in low tones. He bit his lip.

"I love you," Stephen said quietly. Justin looked at him, incredulous.

"Wh...what?"

"I think you heard me."

"Yes, I just..." He looked at the floor, his lower lip trembling a little. "No one's ever said that to me before."

"Then I better say it again." Stephen grasped Justin's hands. "I love you."

Justin smiled, then embraced him tightly. "Oh, Stephen...I love you, too."

Unfortunately their tender moment was interrupted by a smattering of applause and "awwww's" from the musicians watching them. They pulled apart abruptly. Justin threw a half-furious, half-gleeful look up at them. "Mind your own business, there!" he snapped. No one paid him any mind. "Well okay, then, I'll give you something to gawk at." He reached out, drew Stephen close and kissed him, prompting more cheers from the raised platform.

"You may now kiss the bride," said Napoleon, coming up behind them. Justin jumped back, startled.

"Oh, sorry, we were just...uh..."

Napoleon grinned at their matching blushes. "Yeah, I can see what you were just. It's quarter after, everything ready?"

"Sure."

"Then you'll start the 'everyone sit down and shut up' music at one-thirty, yes?"

"Soon as they open the doors."

"Swell." He glanced at Stephen. "As you were, then."

---

Hermione sat perched carefully on a wing chair, looking out the window at one of Hogwarts' many courtyards. Students were walking here and there in small groups, their house scarves bright and colorful. If she squinted, she could surely see...yes, there they were. A red-haired boy, a girl with a bookbag, and a dark-haired boy walking as one, heads tilted together, discussing a matter of great import to the future of the world. Or perhaps just discussing today's Quidditch match. It didn't matter what they were talking about. Two of them were falling in love. Which two, that would be the real puzzler.

She was dressed. She was coiffed. Her face was perfect. Her throat sparkled with a fortune's worth of diamonds. She was ready. Now, she was waiting. For the moment, she was also alone. Her bridesmaids, dressed in their matching royal purple gowns, had gone off to "check on things," and her mother had gone to find her father. She suspected this was by design, to give her a moment's peaceful contemplation, undoubtedly her last for the rest of the day.

A soft knock came to the door. "Come in," she said, rising to her feet.

The door opened and Ron slipped in, shutting it behind him. He looked up and saw her, and stopped. Time stopped, it seemed. Hermione felt her heart skip a beat at his face, my God his face. Their past grew up between them like a tangled forest of half-remembered feelings until it was all she could see through the prisms of the tears in her eyes. Their younger selves stared at each other through the intervening years and she saw them on the train, in the common room, crossing a line together in the Hogwarts winter garden room. His dead body lay between them as well, the body she had never seen and later the one she had seen with enough clarity to save him. The future they might have had was shouting in her ears. What if, what if. Would I have worn this dress for him? Would it all be long over? If only, if only.

He came forward and stopped a few feet from her, handsome in his tuxedo, hands in his pockets and tears in his eyes. "Hi," he said.

"Hi," she replied.

He sighed. "You're the most beautiful thing I ever saw."

She looked down at herself. "Thanks. It took a team of highly trained specialists." Her dress was white, of course, a figure-flattering A-line flowing smooth and seamless over her waist and hips to the floor, held full by crinolines, the long bell sleeves falling almost to her knees. The neckline was cut straight across her chest around her upper arms, leaving her shoulders bare, and lined with a double row of glittering silver crystals as were the hems of her sleeves. Silvery swirls made up of single lines of crystals floated down over her bodice and up to knee-level from the floor, where a wider band of crystals and silver embroidery edged her skirt. "Imported from Finland," Mel had boasted when the bridesmaids had first seen the dress and admired the cunning little crystals, iridescent and silvered for shimmer. Her hair was pinned up in a cluster of smooth twists, interlaced with silver threads and leaves, a small crystal headpiece nestled at the crown of her head.

"No veil?" Ron asked, smiling.

Hermione shook her head. "I'll go into marriage with my vision unobscured, thanks." She reached out and smoothed his lapel. "You look very handsome."

"Thanks. You picked out the tux."

"It suits you." She raised her head and met his eyes for the first time. Without knowing how it happened, all at once she was hugging him, grateful for the spells the stylist had used on her hair and makeup so it wouldn't smudge or muss. Ron hugged her back. "Ron, I'm so glad you're here," she choked out.

"It's because of you that I am," he said. "I owe you everything, Hermione. My freedom, my life...everything."

"You owe me nothing. I feel I've cheated you out of something that ought to have been yours."

"No," he said, drawing back and holding her by the arms so he could look into her face. "Don't ever think that, ever. We both know what's right, and this is right."

"But if you hadn't...if we hadn't..."

"If I hadn't," Ron said, "if I had, it wouldn't matter. This is where we are. Hermione, you always loved him. You gave me what you could of yourself, but you gave yourself to him first." Hermione looked up into his face, hearing the echoes of a hundred other people in his words. "And I didn't mind, because it was the same for me." He smiled. "I love you, Hermione. I always will. But our time is long over, if it was every really ours to begin with."

She dabbed at her face. "Before we found you I was so afraid of what you'd be like, if you'd be jealous or angry or bitter or a thousand other things. I'm just...constantly amazed by you."

"I'm constantly amazed by everything. Every day I think that nothing will ever amaze me again and then something else happens and I discover a whole new level of amazement."

She took a deep breath and they sat down on the small settee, holding hands and catching their breath. "Well," she said, "I'm just glad this day is finally here. Is everything okay? Is Harry surviving?"

"He's fine. A little nervous. My, but that uniform is dashing, isn't it?"

"I've never seen him wear it, but just seeing it on the hanger I'd have to agree."

"Has he seen this dress on the hanger?"

"Oh, no. Sarah would have thrown a fit."

"It's a good thing he'll have Remus there, then. To hold him upright."

---

Ron could hear the music of Justin's eight-piece ensemble coming from inside the Hall, as well as the faint rustling of the large crowd who'd come here to witness what some had called the Wedding of the Century. He and Doug lingered well back of the door, Hermione standing between them. It was just a minute shy of two o'clock. Everyone was in place. Time to go.

He glanced down at Hermione. She didn't look nervous, just anxious to get on with it. "Ready?" he whispered.

She grinned up at him. "Ready."

Suddenly the music changed, and Mel nodded to someone he couldn't see. The large double doors were opened and he heard the giant RUSTLE! as four hundred people turned in their seats to watch. On cue, Cho began walking down the long central aisle, carpeted in deep red for the occasion. A few beats later, Sarah followed, trying to look comfortable in her gown and shoes. Ginny hurriedly kissed his cheek, then Hermione's, and started her own trek. Laura gripped Hermione's hand tightly as she waited for her cue, then set off. They waited for the music to change again, signaling that all four women had reached the front.

Hermione looked up at her father. "Well, Dad, this is it. Ready to hand me off?"

He gave her a slightly shaky smile in return. "No, I'm not...but I will." He kissed her cheek. She slipped her right hand on Ron's elbow, her left on her father's.

The music changed again. "Last chance to back out," Ron whispered.

Mel motioned to them and they stepped to the head of the aisle. "Too late," Hermione whispered back, and they started down, the entire assembly rising to their feet with another giant RUSTLE!

Their walk down the aisle was mostly a blur. Faces passed by, many of them familiar. Hermione's hand was firm upon his elbow. He could almost feel her pulse racing through her fingers. It was a long aisle and there were a lot of people; they couldn't actually see Harry until they got about halfway down. He could tell the exact moment Hermione saw him, because her hand abruptly tightened on his arm.

Harry stood there waiting much as Ron had last seen him except that he had added the final piece of his formal uniform: the cape. It was an impressive cape, knee-length and high-collared to mimic his jacket, made of fine black wool with a dark violet lining. It was cut on the sides to allow his arms to slip through, and one side was flipped back over his shoulder as was the convention so that his saber was visible. He was looking up the aisle, watching their approach, an expression of awe on his face that would have been comic had it not been so obviously sincere. Ron heard an odd chuffling noise and realized it was Hermione heroically keeping herself from crying.

At length, they reached the front just as the music wound to a close, perfectly timed. Sirius stood before them, a book held at his side. "Who blesses this union?" he asked.

Doug, prepped for the traditions of magical weddings, was ready. "On behalf of her family, I do," he said. He shook Harry's hand, kissed Hermione and stepped back to join Claire, already weeping quietly in her place of honor.

Ron took a deep breath. My turn, he thought. "And on behalf of their friends, I do," he said. He looked from Harry to Hermione, both sets of eyes on his face. He put one hand on Harry's arm and the other on Hermione's. For what felt like an eternity but what was in fact probably no more than a second, they stood there united, an egalitarian trio for the last time. Ron kissed Hermione cheek, then Harry's. He stepped back, drawing them together. Their eyes left his face and went to each other's.

"Hi," Harry whispered to her, so softly Ron knew only he could hear it.

"Hi," she whispered back, then took his arm. Ron fell back to his place at Harry's other side as Laura handed over Hermione's flowers, and the four of them climbed the short flight of stairs to stand before Sirius.

Of the ceremony, Ron could hardly say what happened. He was in something of a daze. There were some words, there was a little music. There was some to-do with wands that he was vaguely aware was not being seen by anyone in the Hall unaware of the existence of magic. Sirius said some official-sounding things. The preliminaries were hardly important. He did have a very bad moment when he was abruptly certain he'd left the rings in the dressing room, but forced himself to remain calm and confirm that yes, they were in his pocket, right where they were supposed to be.

He heard both of his best friends saying the things they'd chosen to memorize ahead of time rather than repeating them after Sirius. Their vows were not original, he knew. Both of them were united in their abhorrence of couples who wrote their own vows. They'd chosen to use the same vows used by Harry's parents, one of many versions of the traditional wizarding marital vows. Ron had read them, they were very nice. He barely heard them. He found himself focusing on their faces. Hermione was, in a word, radiant. She never took her eyes off Harry's face except when Sirius required her attention. As for Harry, he looked as though he might go supernova at any moment.

He didn't listen. It didn't matter. Whatever they said, whatever was said over them, it was all window dressing. Suddenly it all seemed slightly ridiculous. The clothes, the parties, the vows, the rings. What did it all mean? They'd be just as married if they stood in the backyard in their pajamas. Did a pronouncement of someone official really mean much? Wasn't marriage a strictly personal agreement? By that logic they could have been married for months already, or longer. He supposed it was the rule of an ordered society to recognize unions for official purposes. What then of those unions that were not recognized? Justin and Stephen could be married if they wished, but they couldn't if they were Muggles. What did that say?

Suddenly he was jolted out of these philosophical thoughts by the realization that he was shirking his duties. "May I have the rings, please?" Sirius was saying to him.

Ron produced them, holding them on his outstretched palm as he'd been bidden. Sirius levitated them off his hand and suspended them between their recipients, who plucked them from the air. For the first time he heard a slight tremble in Hermione's voice as she slid the ring onto Harry's finger. "Take this ring and remember its meaning," she said from memory. "While you wear it, I am with you. As I have given it, I give you my love and companionship." Harry repeated her words as he did her actions. Ron saw one tear, the only one she was to shed, roll down her cheek as he did so.

At one point they moved to one side to perform the spell that would seal their marriage magically by joining their naming talismans. The instant a magical child was born anywhere in the world, a talisman representing them was generated in the Hall of Names, a deceptively small chamber at the Chancellor's compound. The talisman was kept for them by the Federation for the duration of their lives, and most major events in a wizard's life entailed a charm performed upon their talisman to record the event. For a wedding between two magical people, their talismans were summoned from the Hall. As Ron watched, Harry and Hermione said a brief spell over the small crystalline spheres; they immediately melted, merged, and reformed into a slightly larger sphere which split into two equal halves. From now on, they would not have individual talismans, but each would be represented by one half of a whole.

And then, they were at the end. Sirius, grinning madly, drew himself up for the final pronouncement. "Well, then. On behalf of the International Federation of Wizards, being a fully empowered representative thereof, I recognize that you, Harry, and you, Hermione, are husband and wife." He paused for effect. Everyone waited expectantly. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said. "Did you want to kiss her?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, please." A chuckle ran over the gathering.

"Then go to it."

Ron watched as his best friends kissed each other, grinning around each other's lips, murmuring to each other words he couldn't understand. The Hall erupted in applause and cheers as Justin's orchestra swung into a fanfare. Ron beamed, expecting that they'd now turn and walk back down the aisle, but to his surprise, they turned instead to him. He blinked, seeing that they'd planned this between themselves. The applause rose again as they both stepped forward and embraced him. Ron felt his heart swell in his chest as he hugged them back, one arm around each of them, touched that they had chosen to spend their first few moments of marriage with him.

---

How they got down the stairs and into the aisle Harry couldn't say. They released Ron, who looked about to weep, and he felt Hermione grab his arm and then they were walking and then there was music and then were was more walking. He was grinning and grinning and he probably looked like a damned fool but it couldn't be helped. The feeling of the ring on his finger seemed to blot out almost everything else.

He looked down at Hermione, who was beaming up at him. They paused to embrace the Grangers, and the Weasleys (Molly was incoherent with sobs), and Cordelia, and then they were on their way up the aisle. Oh jeez, he thought. I'm married. Holy shit. I'm someone's husband. Holy, as usual, shit.

"Are you all right?" he heard Hermione say from behind smiling lips.

"I'm euphoric," he said.

"You look a little shell shocked."

"Is that the word?" He leaned over and kissed her again. "It'll pass."

The faces all blended together as the doors drew closer. Harry scanned the crowd, seeing friends, classmates, co-workers, total strangers, and...

Abruptly everything slowed to a crawl. No, he thought. No, I'm seeing things. They took a few more steps and he suddenly knew he wasn't seeing things. In the back row, all the way to the wall, sat a lone woman in a dark cloak, the hood pulled up. He didn't need to see her whole face to identify her, just her lips and jaw were enough. "Oh God," he murmured. He glanced down at Hermione, who hadn't heard him in the general melee.

His gaze never left the strange woman as they walked. He saw her rise to her feet and his whole body went tense, ready to throw himself in front of Hermione, or perhaps at the woman, or perhaps just throw himself. The woman pushed back the hood of her cloak and looked directly into his eyes as if she'd just been waiting for him to notice her. He saw her lips curl into a small smile, and then...all at once she was gone. Disapparated. He didn't bother to be surprised that she could do so from inside Hogwarts. But why was she here? Had she...done something? The protection charms here were too strong and sensitive to allow her to leave any kind of booby trap or other unpleasant surprise. It appeared she had come to...watch. To witness the marriage, like everyone else. But that couldn't be right. Could it?

In the next few days he'd spend considerable time trying to convince himself that he had not seen Allegra at his wedding. He told no one, and it was easy enough to think it had been a figment of his hyperactive mind in that emotional moment when he was most dreading a hostile incursion. And yet the whole time he knew that he had seen her. It would be a long time before he saw her again, but when he did, he knew that he'd been waiting for it.

But on this day, by the time they reached the double doors of the Hall he'd all but forgotten it. As soon as they were clear he turned and swept Hermione up in his arms, twirling her around, both of them laughing like maniacs. He set her down and kissed her again. She hugged him tightly. "Oh, Harry," she said, her voice muffled against his cape. "It's done. It's really done. We made it through and it's done."

"Thank God," he said, holding her close. "My nerves are shot." He looked down at her. "My god, Hermione...you're so beautiful. Look at you. I saw you coming down that aisle and I thought I'd die of pride."

She seized the front of his cape and drew him close again. "You're so sexy in this uniform I'm lucky I had two elbows to hang onto because I was swooning."

The rest of the wedding party started coming out of the Hall at this point and the mad hugging frenzy began, then the parents showed up and it got worse. Harry began to worry vaguely that he might stab someone in the leg with his saber. Mel suddenly materialized out of nowhere. "Yes, congratulations, well done, smashing, now let's get in line here, you've got guests to greet."

"Oh, do we have to do this bloody reception line thing?" Harry moaned, the idea suddenly abhorrent to him.

"Yes, we bloody do," she said. "It's traditional. Besides, we've got to get everyone out so they can reset the Hall for the dinner. Don't you want to greet everyone who was nice enough to come to your special day?"

There was no argument there, so they were organized into a line and then it started. Harry soon revised his opinion of receiving lines from "fine" to "torture of the damned." At first he was delighted to see all the friends and family and everyone and their brother who'd come, but as they kept trooping by with no end in sight he began to wonder how many times one could be hugged before sustaining serious organ damage. Their line had been shortened only to themselves, Hermione's parents, and Molly and Arthur. It was only logical not to make the guests greet the entire wedding party, most of whom would be strangers to them, so the bridesmaids and groomsmen were put to far better use shepherding everyone and keeping the line moving along.

The one surprise of the entire experience came about midway through. Harry looked to the next guest to see standing before him Ronin Savage. Small and willowy as ever, she looked much the same as she always had, wearing Gothic black with her long platinum hair braided. "Well, I'm glad you kept up your end of the bargain," she said, her tone teasing. Harry couldn't help but smile.

"Thanks for coming, Ro," he said, hugging her.

"Congratulations, Hermione," Ronin said with what sounded like actual warmth. "And I appreciate your letting Harry invite me. It's not every woman who'd let her fiancee's ex-girlfriends attend her wedding."

Hermione had the good grace to laugh. "Well, two of my bridesmaids are his ex-girlfriends. I don't discriminate." The two women shook hands.

"Did you meet my date?" Ronin said, tugging at the sleeve of a man facing away from them, in conversation with another guest. He turned around and Harry's jaw dropped indelicately. He felt Hermione stiffen up next to him.

"Abel?" Hermione croaked, one hand flying to her chest.

For it was he, the mythic Abel Kilroy. Tall, suave, distinguished, impeccably dressed as always, and looking very pleased with himself. "Hermione, darling, how wonderful to see you," he said, seizing her by the shoulders and kissing her with enough lack of propriety that Harry felt his blood pressure jack up a few notches. Hermione was too shocked to react. "How lovely you look. My warmest congratulations." He turned to Harry and his smug smile turned icy. "And to you too, Potter. How delightful to see you here after all those insistent protestations that you two were just friends."

Harry shook his hand, gripping it rather tighter than he had to and speaking through a frozen grin. "Ah yes, how very amusing, so ironic I'm sure, touch my wife again and I'll beat you to death with a shovel."

Kilroy scowled at him and they moved on down the line. Harry glanced at Hermione, still a bit stunned. "I'm so sorry," he muttered. She just shrugged, making a face, and the line went on.

---

The wedding dinner was served at four o'clock in the Great Hall, which had been completely re-laid since the ceremony. The faculty table was back, set up for the wedding party, and the rest of the guests would be seated at fifty or so ten-person round tables, labeled with their names. After a long period of kibutzing in the chambers and corridors outside, everyone was very glad to sit down.

Hermione felt like she was floating on a cloud. With the possible exception of Abel Kilroy materializing out of the ether, everything had gone absolutely perfectly so far. She sat at the table next to Harry and enjoyed being waited on. Her glass was refilled with exquisite champagne enough times that she began to feel a bit mellow, and the dinner was delicious. And of course there were toasts. Ron got up and spoke with such eloquence about his long years away and the time since his return that he had everyone in the room sniffling. Her father stood up and gave a brief toast that had her crying again. Laura delivered a short speech that had everyone howling with laughter, and Sirius was dignified and heartfelt, as always.

All the same, she was glad when the dinner was over. This was part of the plan. Dinner from four until five, then a break, and then the reception party would begin at seven. This gave the guests a chance to leave if they wished, mingle amongst themselves, walk the grounds, visit the school, or even go into Hogsmeade if they wanted. Its main purpose, however, was a breather for the newlyweds. They both planned to change clothes, their wedding finery being ill-suited to an evening of dancing and mingling.

The guests began to disperse, and she realized that the break had another purpose, one which Mel probably had in mind when she'd suggested it. She'd been married to Harry for about two hours now and hadn't yet managed a single private moment with him. Even during dinner they'd barely spoken, being occupied with other people. She wanted to take a moment and a deep breath and talk to him. She also wanted to kiss him until he begged for mercy.

As they left together it was the kissing rather than the talking which seemed more urgent. They practically raced each other to the empty classroom where the women had gotten ready and now where their reception clothes were waiting for them. Harry barely got the door shut and locked behind him and they were all over each other. After a few moments Hermione gasped for him to stop a minute. "Let's get out of these clothes first," she said. "I feel so...cumbersome."

"Good idea," he said, which led to their being sprawled on the settee together, half out of their clothes. Hermione's dress was hanging on a hanger but she was still in her crinolines. Harry's cape and jacket were tossed to the floor. She knew they were rapidly approaching the point of no return. "Maybe we shouldn't do this," he said, pulling back a little. "It seems so...I don't know. Inappropriate?"

She gaped at him. "Inappropriate? Harry James Potter, I've been sleeping alone for a week. We just got married. The sight of you in that uniform was almost enough to give me a spontaneous orgasm and now we have two hours alone together in a locked room and if you don't make love to me and I mean right now I'm going to divorce you."

"Great Merlin's Ghost," he breathed. "I have the best wife in the universe."

"Don't you forget it." She drew him down again, but paused after a moment. "Although..."

"What?" he groaned.

"Maybe we should reconsider. If we consummate, we can't get an annullment if we want to."

He pretended to consider this carefully, then shrugged. "I'll risk it."

---

"Did you like my little gift?" he said a good deal later as she was putting the jewelry back in its velvet case.

"Oh, it was wonderful." She kissed him. "I felt like I was marrying a wealthy despot or something. So opulent. But it was so like you to think of such a perfect wedding day gift. Thank you, darling."

"Good. I feel bad for the necklace, though. Must be tough to be that beautiful and get shown up by the woman wearing you."

Hermione laughed out loud. "Listen to you, Mr. Smooth with the Compliments."

"It's a gift."

"And how long have you been waiting to use that line?"

"Oh, I've been saving it awhile. Doesn't make it less true, though." He watched Hermione brush out her hair and secure it with in white netted snood. He had changed into a suit and tie and was sitting on the settee with his feet kicked up. She had changed into a white dress, still somewhat bridal, but casual with a flippy knee-length skirt. She padded over in her stockinged feet and sat down, tucking herself against his side. He put both arms around her and kissed the side of her head.

"Has it sunk in yet?" she said. She held out her left hand where her new ring sparkled. "I don't think I quite believe it."

"I know what you mean." They sat in companionable silence for a moment. "I couldn't help but notice that the Chancellor didn't make use of the place we saved for him."

Hermione shrugged. "Well, what did we expect? As if the Chancellor could come and witness our wedding. It's quite impossible. Think of the exposure."

"You're right, of course. Still...I think I've decided to be offended."

She laughed. "Poor darling. Did the bad Chancellor hurt your feelings?"

He thrust out his lower lip. "Yes. I may have to have a bit of a cry."

"There, there. I'll make it all better." She kissed him again, slipping her hands under his jacket to slide over his chest.

He pulled back and smiled down at her face. My wife's face, he thought. Imagine that. He took a breath. "Well, I guess it's that time."

"What time's that, honey?"

"Time to tell you."

"Tell me wh..." She abruptly sat up and turned to face him. "About the honeymoon? Yes! Yes! Tell me!" She was almost bouncing with anticipation, clapping her hands in excitement like a child on Christmas morning. Harry was nearly rendered speechless by how cute she was.

"Okay. Tonight we're going to London, where we have a suite at the Ritz until Monday morning. No plans...I thought we could find a way to fill the hours. Then Monday Sirius and Cordelia will take us to the justice in Chelsea." Hermione was nodding. This part she already knew. Given Hermione's nature, they had decided to obtain a legal Muggle marriage as well, so on Monday they'd have a simple civil ceremony before a judge. "From there, they'll take us to Southampton. There we'll board the HMS Borealis."

"Ooh! We're going somewhere on a ship?"

He smiled. "Not exactly. I couldn't decide where I wanted to take you for our trip. Nowhere I could think of seemed like enough. So...well, I decided to take you everywhere." She frowned, confused. He took her hands, hoping she went for this. If she didn't it was rather late to change plans. "The Borealis is where we're going, darling. We're going around the world on it."

She gaped at him, her eyes wide. "We're going...around the world?"

"Yes."

"All the way around?"

"I think that's the traditional way."

"Harry, how...my...how long will we be gone?"

"Two months."

"Two months?" She was grinning excitedly. "Oh, Harry! That's...it's...I'm speechless! I don't know what to say!"

"Are you...is that okay?"

"Okay?" she nearly shrieked. "Okay, he says! It's more than okay, it's incredible, it's amazing! I thought, oh, maybe a week in Paris. Two weeks in the Caribbean, possibly. But no, my husband is taking me on a two-month cruise around the world!"

"Two months in their poshest cabin being waited on hand and foot and seeing some of the world's most amazing places."

She was shaking her head at him. "You astonish me, you really do. How long have you been planning this?"

"Since we set the date. I made the reservations right away."

She frowned suddenly. "Oh, but...we have to pack! A lot!"

"That's why I kept tomorrow open, so we could pack."

"How did you manage to get us two months off work?"

"I can be very persuasive when necessary."

"And...oh, we'll be gone over Christmas!"

"I have a plan for that, too. Don't worry, everything is taken care of."

She hugged him, hard, then drew back and began planting kisses all over his face. "I can't wait to go," she said between kisses. "Can we go right now? Let's go right now."

"I think our guests might miss us."

"Who cares about them, let's go!"

"Well, we could, but the boat doesn't leave until Monday night. We'd just be sitting there in dock."

She put on a phony pout. "Well, all right. I guess we'll wait." She kissed him again, a long and lingering kiss. "Thank you, my love. What a wonderful gift."

"It's purely selfish. Just think of it as my way to get to be alone with you for two months without interruption."

She laughed and snuggled into his arms again. "I'm so happy I could...I don't know. I can't think of anything happy enough that I could do."

Harry chuckled and held her close to his chest, knowing exactly what she meant.

---

For the reception party, the Great Hall had been transformed yet again. The faculty table had been replaced with a platform for the band, and half the round tables were gone to leave room for dancing, the others pushed aside. A bar had been set up in one corner, and a long table of snacks was along one wall. Near the front of the room on its own table stood a magnificent wedding cake, sculpted and perfect.

The entrance of the newlyweds was announced by the boisterous bandleader and greeted with a huge cheer. There was a surge of people and they were immediately borne away in separate directions. "See you!" Hermione called to Harry as he disappeared in the throng.

Before too long, Hermione realized that she was having a really good time. Away from the time pressure of the reception line and the formality of the dinner, she could relax and chat with the people who'd come to share her special day. A good many guests had left after the dinner, leaving a more comfortable two hundred and fifty or so to enjoy the music and dancing. It was relaxed and unstructured, with people coming and going and dancing and talking and eating. Laura, still taking her responsibilities as maid of honor seriously, paid close attention to Hermione and made sure she got to sit down occasionally, kept her glass filled and brought her food when she felt hungry. Sorry hovered nearby, unsure what to do, not knowing many people and looking uncomfortable.

Hermione was at the snacks table, suddenly ravenous and chowing down on a dish of black olives, when someone approached her from behind. "I'm so sorry," said Ronin. Hermione turned.

"Sorry?"

"I didn't realize that bringing Abel would be such a bad idea." Hermione peered at her former rival's face. She looked sincere enough. "I rather got the idea from him that you were still friendly."

"I'm not sure that's how I'd characterize it."

"So I noticed. I apologize."

Hermione flapped a hand. "Oh, don't worry yourself. But I must ask...are you dating him?"

"Yes. For about six months now."

"How on earth did you meet?"

"In New York City. He was doing a booksigning. I knew who he was, of course, but I also knew we had a little something in common in that he'd dated you and I'd dated Harry. I got there at the very end of the signing as he was packing up. We got to talking...about you two, mostly...and we just hit it off. When I got my invitation he was so keen on coming along, I guess it didn't occur to me that it might not be such a good idea. I'm an idiot."

"Don't blame yourself. Abel can be very...misleading." Before Ronin could ask for elaboration on that statement, Ron came up to Hermione's side, bending to kiss her upturned cheek before settling one arm around her shoulders. "Oh, Ron. This is Ronin Savage, Harry's ex-girlfriend. Ronin, this our friend Ron Weasley." They shook hands.

"Oh, nice to meet you," Ron said. "She doesn't look like a scary Goth witch," he said to Hermione, who flushed while Ronin laughed.

"Remind me to smack you later," Hermione said, mortified.

"I used to a lot more Goth than I am now," Ronin said, still laughing. "And as for scary? Well, if your boyfriend spent every waking moment talking about another woman, you might act a little scary towards her, too." Hermione joined in the laughter, the whole situation suddenly seeming absurd. Ron made his excuses and walked off towards the bar.

"Admiral and ale, please," he said. While he was waiting for his drink, he felt a tap on the arm and turned to see Laura behind him. She looked especially lovely in her bridesmaid's dress, he thought. It was a good color for her. But she wasn't alone.

"Ron, I'd like you to meet Sorry," she said, motioning to the man with her. He was tall, blond and very handsome. He smiled at Ron with a mouthful of white teeth. Ron hated him instantly.

"Ron, good to meet you. I've heard so much about you from Laura," he said.

"Likewise," Ron said, shaking his hand brusquely. "So. Glad you could drag yourself away from whatever it is you do for a few days."

Laura frowned. "Ron, that's rather rude."

"It's all right, Chant, he's right," Sorry said. "I really ought to pay more attention to what's going on here with you." Except he wasn't looking at her when he said it, he was eyeballing Ron.

"Doesn't seem like it should be a chore," Ron replied. "A woman like Laura, one would think you'd want to get to visit every chance you got."

"I know how extraordinary she is, I've known her more than ten years," Sorry said, his gaze chilling by the second. "How long have you been back now? Two months, is it?"

Laura's eyes were now hopping from one to the other, an alarmed expression creeping into them. "Sorry, could you get me a plate with some cheese and carrots? I'm famished," she said.

"Coming right up," Sorry said mildly, moving away. As soon as he was out of earshot Laura rounded on Ron.

"What the hell was all that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"The hell you don't. What gives you the right to attack my boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend, sure. A boyfriend is someone who spends time with you and knows about your life and cares what you're doing and is around occasionally! Why are you still with him, Laura? What is it? Inertia?"

Laura held up a hand. "I'm done talking to you. The wedding's gone off without a hitch, we don't have to pretend to be nice anymore. Truce over."

"Fine by me."

"Good." She turned on her heel and stalked off, fuming. Goddamned nosy red-haired smartypants busybody know-it-all...

Her thoughts were cut off as she bumped into Harry, backing away from some people she'd never seen before who were practically pursuing him across the room. He turned. "Oh, Laura, thank God," he hissed, steering her away. "This is worse than work. Everyone here wants to have a ten-minute intimate chat with me!"

"Well, they did all come here to see you, after all."

"There's just so much of me to go around." He looked down at her. "Are you all right? You look a little put out."

"Oh, sure. Just...have you seen Sorry?"

"I think he's by the buffet."

"I see him. Thanks, Harry." She headed off to the buffet, leaving Harry alone, though he knew he wouldn't be so for long.

"Champagne?" said a perky female voice. He turned to see a very blond, distractingly buxom member of the serving staff standing there bearing a tray of champagne.

"Thanks," he said, picking up a glass and draining it in one gulp. The waitress was eyeing him with a predatory look on her face.

"Oh, you're Harry Potter, aren't you? Gosh, you're so much cuter in real life...and taller." She set her tray down and stepped up close to him. Harry began backing away, blinking in alarm. "Would you like to see the cherry-stem trick I can do with my tongue?"

"Uh...gosh...you...are you aware you're here working at my wedding reception?"

"I'm sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?"

"Extremely."

Abruptly, the waitress' voice dropped about three octaves. "Convincing, isn't it?" she said in a low, gravelly tone that Harry knew only too well. He stopped backing away and stared in disbelief.

"Sabian?"

The waitress, whose nametag said 'Cynthia,' winked at him. "Like my disguise?" she said, back to her woman's voice.

"Is that you in there?"

"Come now, Harry. You didn't think I'd miss your wedding, did you? The ceremony was beautiful, by the way."

Harry was grinning now. "I'm so glad you came! I didn't expect it, you're so shy of crowds!"

"There are ways around that, as you can see. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get back to work. Can't let a waitress be seen to be monopolizing the groom's valuable face time." Cynthia picked up her tray again and continued on her way, leaving Harry trying not to stare and thus give away her little secret.

She made her way across the floor but was stopped by Napoleon, who relieved her of her last two glasses of champagne. "Thanks," he said, and passed on by. Smiling to himself, Sabian melted into the crowd and was gone.

Napoleon continued to where Sarah waited for her drink at one of the tables near the dance floor. "What's with Chant?" he asked. "I just saw her at the buffet and she looked mightily hacked off."

Sarah glanced over. "No idea. But have you seen her boyfriend? He's gorgeous!"

"I guess, if you go for that sort of thing."

"What, gorgeous hunky guys? No, not for me, no thanks."

"Good." They clinked glasses. "To Harry and Hermione."

"Hear, hear." Sarah downed her gin and tonic in two swallows, he noted with appreciation. "But I understand you might not have been so thrilled about it originally."

"I have certain feelings about Hermione. I'm dealing with it."

"Good thing, seeing as she just got hitched."

"Yep." He played with his glass for a moment. "So who's watching us right now?"

"Ginny. Over by the doors."

"God, it's like some sort of coordinated attack force. Operation Wombat, Part Two."

"I think it's kind of cute. It's just so obvious."

"I can't say I blame them. We are sort of...alike, if you'll beg my pardon."

"No, you're right. We are." She looked him in the face. "Here's the thing. I like you, really, I do. But I'm not looking for a new relationship right now. I'm happy being single."

"So am I. I like you, too, but...I'm enjoying being on my own. I don't want a relationship right now, either."

"Well...I'm glad we settled that, then." They said nothing for a moment. Sarah was watching the people dancing while Napoleon stared at his drink. "Fancy a quick shag?" she said suddenly.

Napoleon looked up at her. It wasn't a hard decision. "Yeah, all right."

"Blokes' dressing room?"

"Ten minutes."

"Meet you there."

She got up and left, winking as she went. Napoleon smiled to himself, got up and headed for the doors, but was hailed before he reached them. "Jones!"

"Oh, hey, Remus." Lupin elbowed his way out of the crowd to meet him, Diz at his side. "You look awful pretty there, Diz." She did, too. Her happy smile at being here with Lupin was a big part of it.

"Thanks, Jones."

"What's up?"

"Listen, I hate to bring this up now at a party, but Harry said you've got to meet with me as soon as possible about...well, something."

Napoleon sobered. "Yeah, I do. But it can wait until Monday."

"What is it? Can you tell me anything?"

"Naw, not right now. You'll be in on this too, Diz. Let me just say that it's big. Really serious."

"Is this about the mole?" Lupin said, mouthing the last word.

"No. No, it's not."

"Oh. Okay. Well, I'll catch you up later."

"Yeah, see ya."

Remus and Diz watched him leave the Hall. "I bet he's off to hook up with someone," she said.

"Randy sod," Remus muttered, squeezing her hand. He turned and smiled at her. "Would you like to dance?"

"I'd love to." They moved to the dance floor, where the band was playing a gentle waltz. Remus was relieved. A waltz, he could manage. "You do look lovely tonight," he said.

She smiled. "Thanks." They danced for a few moments. "It was a beautiful wedding."

"Yes, it was. Very touching."

"I'm so happy for them."

"We all are. It's been so long in coming. Years and years. It's like finishing a book you've really enjoyed and finding that the ending is the most satisfying thing you could have ever hoped for."

"Except the book isn't finished yet, is it?"

"Hardly."

She looked up at him. "What about us?" she said quietly. "How's our book coming along?"

He sighed. "I'm just glad to find out that I can still read." They kissed softly.

"Hey," said a nearby voice. "No snogs on the dancefloor." Remus looked up to see Sirius and Cordelia dancing nearby.

"Who says, Padfoot?"

"Me. I'm the Deputy Chancellor, you better do what I say."

"Oh, yeah? Well, Mr. Bigshot, I'll kiss my girlfriend anywhere I please," he said, demonstrating his rebellion by doing it again. Sirius could see Diz blushing with pleasure at being referred to by Remus as his girlfriend. It made him smile.

"Geez, get a room," he teased them, inwardly delighted.

"Well, maybe we will!"

"Well, maybe you should!"

"All right then!"

"Just make sure they don't put you by the ice machine!" The four of them laughed together, Remus and Diz dancing away, smiling up at each other in that secret way new couples had.

Cordelia sighed. "You remember those days?"

"Vaguely. I think you were there. Oh, and I was there, too."

"You did very well today, darling."

"Thanks. I was jolly nervous. First time and all."

"And it being Harry, well..."

"I wanted it to be perfect."

"It was." She slid her arms up around his neck. "Almost as perfect as our wedding."

"Hmm. Once again, I vaguely recall. I think you were there..."

She slapped playfully at his arm. "Well, at any rate, I'm glad it's finally over."

An odd expression came over Sirius's face then, part happy and part grim. "Something tells me that absolutely nothing that happened today is anything resembling over."

Applause was rising nearby, and the crowd parted to let Harry and Hermione pass through on their way to the dance floor. Harry hailed the bandleader. "Can you play us our tune, mate?"

"You got it," the man replied, tipping his jaunty hat in their direction. The dancefloor cleared as the music started. Sirius had expected a swing tune for them, but instead it was a slower song he recognized as "At Last."

The assembled wedding guests gathered around as the newlyweds danced together, graceful and skilled as always, gliding around the dance floor. They gazed at each other in unabashed adoration, holding each other close, their body language telling everyone that as far as they were concerned, they were alone here in this Great Hall of their youth. Their friends and families watched them, holding on to their own spouses, partners, boyfriends and girlfriends, the love they'd come here today to celebrate touching their own hearts.

Whatever was waiting, whatever he'd have to face upon his return, Harry was not afraid of it, not at this moment, maybe never again. He was dancing with his wife, and she would look after him, as he'd look after her. That was the idea, wasn't it? And that meant that nothing could ever harm them again.

Didn't it?

---

The reception went on for hours. Harry and Hermione had come prepared and very cognizant of the expectations of their guests; they danced song after song, never seeming to tire. A great deal of swing, to be sure, but also salsa, tango, foxtrot, rhumba. The bandleader got into the spirit of things and began throwing out more and more challenging tempos for them. They danced with other guests, they danced with their families, they got everyone up and taught them a ruthlessly complicated line dance that ended in a rather sizable pileup on one side of the dance floor.

It was after two a.m. when Mr. and Mrs. Potter finally climbed into their carriage bound for Hogsmeade Station and then for London. The heartiest survivors of the reception party saw them off with many hugs, kisses and well-wishes.

"It's not like we won't see them tomorrow," Justin grumbled. "They have to come to the house and get their stuff anyway."

"It's the spirit of the moment, J," George said. "Get some spirit, fer Chrissakes."

"I'm about to drop dead of exhaustion, I have no spirit. I am spirit-free."

"Well here, try this."

"What is it?"

"Spirit gum." A chorus of groans.

"Oh my gawd, Weasley. That is the worst bad joke in the long, sad history of bad jokes."

The carriage had rounded the corner and was gone. Laura was hugging herself, chilly in the November night despite Sorry's cloak around her shoulders. "Well," she said. "Now what?"

"Now we load up all our crap and go home," Ron said.

"And then what?"

"Then...well, I guess we go on with our lives." Everyone looked around at each other.

"You mean...we have lives that don't involve those two?" Ginny said.

"I think so," said Napoleon. "We ought to, at any rate."

"Two whole months," said Ron. "I guess we'll find out."