Two to Obey

Chapter 8: Symptom of the Universe

All I have to give you is a love that never dies.

The symptom of the universe is written in your eyes.

-Black Sabbath

*******

Fox sent Harry an indulgent look as they sipped coffee on Mrs. Figg's porch. "I'm not a personal trainer."

"Well, you've been training me to fight, haven't you?" he asked.

"Yes, but that's different. That's 'take out your wand and try to kill me.' It's not 'no pain, no gain' and telling you to feel the burn."

"But look at me," he said, exasperated, holding his arms out. "I'm scrawny."

"You're a growing teenage boy. Scrawniness is kind of the norm."

"If I ever have to get into a real, actual physical fight, I'll get my ass kicked."

Fox sighed. "Then bulk up. Lift weights and eat protein supplements to your heart's content. Just don't ask me to help you. I don't know the first thing about it."

"You must know something about it. I mean, you're all muscle-y. And you have a six pack. I almost broke my knuckles trying to punch you in the stomach that one time."

"It's part of the package," she shrugged. "I've never worked out in my life."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "That's so unfair."

"I'm sorry, Harry. I really can't help you."

His mouth closed and he peered at her, the wheels turning in his head. He really had to stop advertising every thought he had. She always knew when he was going to attack, because he suddenly went all shifty-eyed. "You don't need to know anything," he decided. "I'll organize all the workouts. I just need somebody to yell at me and insult me and tell me to keep going, and out of all the people I know, you enjoy that the most."

So he wanted her to be his drill instructor. Well, she could do that. A nasty smile crossed her face. He had no idea what he was getting himself into. "Okay."

Harry eyed her warily. "I know that look. That look means you're about to do something unpleasant to me."

"You already agreed to let me do it," she reminded him. "Do you want to become a big muscleman or not? Because if you do, I'll make sure you don't wimp out."

He stared into his coffee cup. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

"Don't be such a baby," she chided him. "The girls already pant after you. Just imagine what they'll be like when you no longer look like you're starving to death."

"That's not the reason I'm doing it," he said, a blush stealing up his face.

"Then why are you?"

"They're..." he sighed, reaching up absently to rub his scar. "Everyone thinks I'm this big hero, and I have this big heroic thing to do, but I just...who's going to be impressed by the righteous anger of a kid with knobby knees and a concave chest?"

Fox nodded. "You don't look the part."

"No, I don't," he said glumly. "The girls who pant after me wouldn't pant after me if I weren't The Boy Who Lived. They wouldn't even speak to me. And once I turn seventeen, it's only going to get worse, and..." he trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Not wanting girls to pant after him for his heroism and knowing that girls didn't exactly go weak in the knees over force of personality, he wanted something that made him legitimately attractive to the opposite sex. Sometimes she forgot how human he was, how simple and vulnerable. As much as she wanted to give him the tools he needed to defeat Voldemort, she also wanted him to survive Voldemort. He deserved a life.

"Harry," she said, "when I get done with you, even if you were the average Joe walking down the street, girls would pant after you."

He grinned. "Good. Just leave me in decent enough shape that I can walk."

Fox grinned back. "I make no promises."

*******

"Hot...so hot...far too hot..."

Harry looked over at Mrs. Polkiss. "I didn't think it was too bad today, actually."

She looked back at him strangely. "What was that?"

"I said it's not too bad today."

"In what language?"

"What?" Harry asked, confused.

Glancing down at her hand, Mrs. Polkiss yelped and jumped up.

"Eeeek! Human!"

A thin, dark green garden snake was trying to escape between the tomato plants.

"Did you say that?" Harry asked it.

The snake paused, then turned around. "A parselmouth? I've never met one before."

"We're very rare. I'm sorry if she scared you. You scared her, too."

"The human? I didn't mean to scare her. I've heard there's a nice meadow this way."

"Yes, it's behind the school. You'll like it a lot."

"You're talking to it," Mrs. Polkiss said shakily, her eyes wide.

"Of course not," Harry said to her. "People can't talk to snakes. Here. Let me take care of it for you." Leaning down closer to the snake, he lowered his voice. "It's a long way to the meadow, and you have to cross streets to get there. It's pretty dangerous for a snake. I can take you there, if you want."

The snake eyed him for a moment. "You are a true descendent of the master."

"The master?" Harry asked, holding out his hand for the snake to slither into.

"Lord Slytherin. He loved all snakes, great and small. He delivered us to a beautiful emerald land, so that we might live out our lives happily and peacefully. Then an evil man drove us away, and here we are, forced to live in constant fear of the humans."

The story sounded familiar. "You meant Saint Patrick?"

"We don't speak his name," the snake sniffed. "The humans would make him a saint."

Fearing that he was about to be given a lecture on the history of reptilian oppression, Harry stood, slipping the snake into his pocket. Mrs. Polkiss was still watching him, looking like she was trying to find a polite way of suggesting he commit himself to an insane asylum. "You talked to the snake," she repeated.

"People can't talk to snakes," Harry said gently.

Slowly, she shook her head. "You can. You did. It talked back to you. What are you?"

"I'm just Harry," he said, beginning to grow uneasy. She was staring at him with the sort of awe that people usually reserved for gawking at his scar.

"No, you're not." She knelt down next to him, eyes wide. "What are you?"

"I'm nothing," he said a bit desperately, picking up his trowel and getting back to work.

"You're hardly nothing. I know what I heard. And I know when Piers and Dudley were chasing you once, you jumped all the way to the top of the school. Are you telling that was also nothing?"

"I climbed up. They must have looked away," Harry muttered, stabbing at the ground.

"They said it was like magic." His head snapped to her. "Is that what it was?" she asked.

"Erm...ow! Dammit!" Not paying attention to what he was doing, he'd managed to stab his hand with the trowel.

"Harry!" she cried, snatching his hand. "Oh, dear." The area of his glove between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand was playing host to a rip and a growing bloodstain. She carefully peeled his glove off and they both surveyed the damage.

The slice was jagged and deep. He'd really managed to do a number on himself.

"I think you're going to need stitches," she said, wincing in sympathy.

"No, it's okay," he said quickly. He could have Mrs. Weasley fix it up for him.

"Well it needs to be cleaned out, at least." She looked up at him, the familiar half-smile on her face. "Unless you're capable of healing yourself, too."

"No, I'm not." Her eyes were very clear and blue. A gust of wind lifted a few strands of her hair, which brushed against his cheek.

"Too bad. I'd like to see that," she said, helping him to his feet. There was nothing remotely wrong with his legs, but she still led him into the house as if there was, with one arm wrapped around his back. Her breast was pressed against his arm.

Frozen peas...frozen peas...snowy, cold winters...

She led him into the kitchen, to the sink. Turning on the water, she put his hand right in the stream. Harry gritted his teeth. At least it got his mind off of sex.

"Stinging's good," she said soothingly, squeezing his shoulder. "Hold it right there while I get a washcloth."

She went upstairs and came back down a few seconds later. She wet and soaped up the washcloth, then started gently cleaning around the wound. "Tell me if I hurt you."

"It's okay," he said, his voice a little strained. "I'll live."

She glanced at him. "You never answered the question, you know."

"What question?" he asked innocently.

"You're different. You always were, even when you were young. You just had a...strangeness about you, as if you weren't really meant to be here. I never really put that much reflection into it. I just figured you were an odd little boy and let it go at that. But you're a great deal more than that now. There's something very good in you, something wise and powerful and outside of the realm of my understanding."

Harry stared at her. "There is?" That was news.

She nodded, looking up and studying his face. "Right after Christmas, they told my mother that she had six months to live. I think it was harder for me than it was for her. She'd been sick for a long time, and she was...well, I suppose she was ready to go."

"But you weren't ready for her to go," he concluded softly.

"No," she said, giving him a shaky little half-smile, her eyes tearing up. "I didn't want to give up, and the doctors said they couldn't do anything more to help her, so..." she chuckled. "So I dragged the poor woman to see a stigmatic."

Harry blinked at her. "A what?"

"They're ecstatics - holy people - who see visions of the Passion and bear the marks of the crucifixion. Some can perform miracles."

Harry had no idea what expression he had on his face just then, but it made her wince. "It's not as bad as it sounds. They're not faith healers or anything."

"Oh," he said.

"Suffice it to say that I wasn't in a terribly rational state of mind at the time."

"Understandably."

"I mean, I always thought people like that were...well, it's not really important."

Harry nodded. "So what happened?"

"So we met with this woman - this completely normal, middle-aged Irishwoman."

"And she was a nutter?" he guessed.

"No, she wasn't, actually. She prayed with us, and then when we were finished, she took me aside and told me that my mother was ready to die, and that God was ready to have her. Her hands were all bandaged up, and she reached out and touched my shoulder." Mrs. Polkiss looked at him again, with that same awe that made him shift uncomfortably. "That's the only other time I've ever seen what you have in another person."

"I'm not a stigmatic," Harry said. "I don't think I want to be one, either."

She laughed, patting his hand dry. "I'm not saying you are. It's just that both of you had something extra, something the rest of us don't have. Grace, maybe."

She led him over to the table, opening up the first aid kit.

"I don't know about grace," he mumbled.

"It's as good a word as any. If you'd waved your hand and healed this up yourself, I don't think I'd have been shocked, honestly. And you still haven't answered the question," she said, smearing antibacterial cream on his hand.

She really wouldn't give up. "Mrs. Polkiss..."

"Zdenka," she corrected him.

"Zdenka," he sighed. "I don't think you'd believe me if I told you."

"Harry, I believe in virgin birth and transubstantiation. I just saw you have a conversation with a snake. I think you'll find me rather open-minded at the moment."

It was illegal to perform magic in front of a Muggle, but Harry honestly didn't know if it was illegal to disclose the existence of the magical world to a Muggle. It probably was.

"I'm a wizard," he said shortly.

She paused in the process of bandaging up his hand, looking at him blankly. "Okay."

"There's an entire world filled with people like me - magical people - that we keep hidden from Muggles - non-magical people, like you. I don't go to St. Brutus', I go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a school that teaches magic."

"So you wave magic wands and do spells and ride on broomsticks?" she asked.

"Yes, actually."

Mrs. Polkiss nodded, still eyeing him. "That's not at all what I expected you to say."

Harry grinned. "I told you that you wouldn't believe me."

"I'm trying to," she said slowly. "It's just...you can do magic?"

Harry nodded. "I can't show you any, though," he said. "We're not allowed to do magic in front of Muggles. I've already gotten in trouble with the Ministry about it."

"The Ministry? Which one?"

"The Ministry of Magic."

She stared at him for a second, then burst out into laughter. "Ministry of Magic?"

"Scary, but true."

She put a hand to her forehead, shaking her head at him, still laughing. "I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you, just at the idea of it. So there are actually magical bureaucrats who give out broomstick-riding licenses and whatnot?"

"Well, you don't need a license to ride a broomstick, but...yes, basically. There's a Minister of Magic and the Wizengamot - which is the magical court - and then there's the Wizard's Council, which is sort of like Parliament..."

"This is mad," she said as his stomach rumbled. He apologized, but she waved it away, looking contrite. "Poor Harry. You must be starving. I'll make up some sandwiches. Why don't you go into the den? We can eat in there; it's more comfortable."

The den was rather formal, with dark furniture, high-backed sofas and a lovely Persian rug in the center. A large crucifix hung over the fireplace, which sported dozens of pictures of Piers, who was apparently very good at track and field. Who knew? Medals, ribbons and trophies were proudly displayed in a bookcase, while another held shelves of books in a language with far too many consonants.

Mrs. Polkiss padded into the room with a tray of sandwiches and they sat on one of the sofas to eat. "So tell me more about this whole magical world. It can't all be just riding broomsticks and waving magic wands, can it?"

"No. I mean, it's not," he said, surprised that he was actually going to tell her about it. And yet, it didn't seem all that daunting, really. She didn't know any of the people who had died. She wouldn't flinch at the name Voldemort. She didn't carry any emotional attachment to any of it, and that made it seem easier - tempting, even - because he carried far too much emotional attachment to it.

And slowly, he told her all of it. Not just about his parents and Ron and Hermione and Voldemort and the prophecy and the spell, but about Malfoy and Dumbledore and Fox and Cho and Thera and Sirius and Remus and Ginny and Quidditch and his classes and his O.W.L.s and wanting to be an Auror and the Department of Mysteries and Little Hangleton. It all came out. In fits and starts and tangents and vignettes, the whole tangled story of the past six years of his life came spilling out of him in a torrent.

"Wow," she said when he finally finished, staring off into space, her sandwich untouched on her plate. "That's the most extraordinary story I've ever heard. I don't know what to say, really. All that's happened in the past few years, this epic battle that's meant to take place, and we all just go about our lives, none the wiser."

"That's how it's supposed to be," Harry said. "For Muggles, at least."

"I can see why. I've half a mind to build myself a magic-proof bunker and wait until it all blows over, and I've got the hero of the magical world himself living down the street."

Hero. Harry glanced at her, his stomach tightening. "Maybe I shouldn't have told you."

"Maybe you're right," she said reasonably. "It's a lot to think about, that there's this entire world out there I've never seen, that I'll never see. I mean, it's one thing to imagine people living lives vastly different from yours in some other country, on some other continent, but this is...well, this is quite a bit more than that."

"Yes, it is. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to mess up your worldview or anything."

"I think I can handle it. Well, eventually, at least." She sent him a half-smile. "You really needed to tell that story, didn't you?" Harry shrugged, but he supposed she was right. It all seemed more manageable now, for some reason. It all made more sense. He hadn't really thought about the path he'd followed to get to where he was today, but he probably should have before. Soon, he'd be facing down Voldemort for the last time, and for the first time since he'd heard the prophecy, he felt like he could actually do it. It was inevitable. Every moment of his life had been leading up to that. And he'd come out on top so far, hadn't he? Harry Potter: 5 (6 if you counted Tom Riddle), Voldemort: 0. Nobody else in the world had a record like that, and that had to count for something.

"I should really get going," Harry said. "I have to get to Hogwarts, actually. We spend afternoons trying to undo all of this mess."

Mrs. Polkiss looked up, delighted. "Do you ride your broomstick there? That's not doing magic, right? You could show me."

"Sorry, no," he said, smiling a little. "I travel by floo. Magical powder, through the fireplace. There's a network that takes me straight to Hogwarts. I'm going to have to hurry if I'm going to drop the snake off in the meadow behind the school first, but I suppose I could bring my trunk over and show you my broomstick if you want me to."

"That would be amazing. Yes, you'll be leaving soon, won't you?" He nodded, and she raised an eyebrow. "Hang on, drop what snake off where?"

"The one from the garden. He was in transit. He didn't mean to scare you, by the way."

"Oh," she said. "Well, I didn't mean to scare him, either. He just surprised me, is all."

"I told him I'd take him to his new home."

"Is he waiting for you out back?"

"Erm...no. He's in my pocket, actually."

Her eyes glanced at his pocket and she put a hand over her mouth to hide a smile. "So that's what that is. And I was feeling so flattered."

Harry's mouth dropped open.

"Sorry," she said, wincing through her smile. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"I should...go," he decided.

"Yes, I don't want you to be late. If he promises to behave himself, I'll take your snake for you..." She trailed off, her face going pink. "I'm really on a roll, aren't I? Perhaps you should just..." a snort of laughter broke through before she could stop it. "Ahem...look after the snake yourself."

"Are you sure you don't want me to take him out?" Harry couldn't resist asking.

Her face blushed into pure red and she swatted his arm. "Cheeky thing."

"You don't want to give him a little pat? He'd like that."

"Enough," she giggled, pushing him towards the front door. "You're going to be late."

"You're an amazing woman, Zdenka Polkiss," he said, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek, largely because it allowed him to brush against her breasts just slightly.

"And you're a shameless cad, flirting with a married woman like that," she said, turning him around and marching him to the door, though her tone was joking.

"You started it, you know," he shot back over his shoulder.

"Yes, and as soon as you leave, I'll be on my way to confession. Now go jeopardize some other poor woman's virtue."

"I'll be by Monday morning," he said, smiling at her as he left.

"I'll have coffee ready," she said with a matching smile.

*******

Ginny studied the diagram in Playwitch entitled "A Witch's Guide to the G-Spot." Funny that such a spot existed. Even funnier that it existed and was about as easy to find as a needle in a haystack. Somebody up there had one hell of a sense of humor.

It seemed unfair, really. The boys all whacked off all the time, easy as pie, but for girls...

It couldn't be that difficult. Draco had managed to do it for her, and it could only be easier to do it for herself, since she knew where to go, how fast and hard, and...

She really, really missed Draco.

"Well this is the next best thing, isn't it?" she asked herself. Laying the magazine on her chest, she cracked her knuckles. The she closed her eyes and slid her hand down her t-shirt to the top of her jeans. Then she eased it inside the waistband and...

Okay. The jeans were going to have to go. Quickly, she peeled them off and tossed them aside, so she was left with just her knickers. "Alright, then," she breathed, closing her eyes and sliding her hand down over the waistband and right where Draco usually...

Oh, well that felt very nice. Perhaps if she...

The door opened. Ginny let out a shriek, pulling the covers over herself. "Ron!" she yelled. "Don't you ever knock!?"

He looked at her oddly. "What were you doing?"

"None of your bloody business!" she yelled a notch higher and louder, picking up her pillow and throwing it at his head. "Get out of my room!"

"Fine, fine," he said, dodging the pillow. "Dinner's ready."

"OUT!" she howled. He darted out of the room before she could come after him. Kicking the door shut, Ginny slid the Playwitch under her mattress, which is where all of her brothers kept their stashes. Either her mother didn't know about them, or chose to overlook them, so Ginny figured it was safe.

On the other hand, the standards tended to be different for her. Her Mum might not bat an eyelash at her brothers' collections, but a Playwitch under Ginny's mattress would probably get her shackled to the wall in the basement until she was seventeen.

Especially since it was her Mum's Playwitch in the first place. Well, not really her Mum's, so much. Fred and George had bought her a subscription once for her birthday, which had earned them both a few laps around the house while her mother chased them with a broom. So far as she knew, her mother had never even looked at the magazines.

Well, she chose to believe that her mother had never even looked at the magazines.

Pulling on her jeans, she trotted downstairs, making enough noise so they'd know she was coming and could get organized so when she walked through the door...

"Happy Birthday, Ginny!"

She grinned through the kisses and hugs from everybody. Remus and Professor Wellbourne had come and the two of them bubbled over with wedding plans as they ate picnic style in the backyard in the waning sunlight. "It's pretty difficult to hide a magical ceremony inside a Muggle one so that none of the Muggles notice," Remus said. "They recommend having separate ceremonies, but the magical one only takes a few minutes, so we figure right after the Muggle one, we'll just sneak away and do the magical one."

"Sneak away for a few minutes right after you get married?" Fred asked. "You do realize that everyone's going to think you're..."

"Fred!" her mother said sharply.

Fred sent her a look of pure innocence. "...having a row," he finished.

"Well, we could wait until after the reception to do it," Professor Wellbourne suggested.

"That's what most people do," George said, snickering.

"George!"

"Oh, come on," he said. "It was right there in front of me. I couldn't ignore it."

"So it's at your parents' house?" her mother asked Remus pleasantly.

He nodded. "In the backyard. We've set it for sundown so there'll be enough light to see everything, but it'll still be pretty hot, so..." he trailed off as Fred's silent laughter became loud and nearly out of control.

"Sorry, sorry," Fred said, giggling, trying to catch his breath. "My mind's still on..."

"Fred!"

In other words, it was a fairly typical meal with the Weasley family.

The presents were...well, all the same, actually. Without their usual stuffed animal standby present, everyone seemed to have come to a consensus on Flourish and Blotts gift certificates. Apparently when her mother had asked her what she wanted for her birthday, Ginny should have tried to come up with more than one thing. Bill and Tonks went above and beyond, however, getting her a lovely pendant with a filigreed, stylized 'G.' Ginny gawked at it. It was pure gold.

"It's beautiful," she said, in awe. "Oh, Bill, this must've cost a fortune."

"It was nothing," he said grandly, waving a hand.

"You must've picked this out, Tonks. I know Bill doesn't have this kind of taste."

"I wish I could say I did," she said, looking as impressed with him as Ginny was. "But this is the first I've seen of it. Nice job, honey."

Bill grinned, flushing with pride. "What can I say?"

"Thanks, Bill," Ron said, scowling at him.

"Yeah, nice job," Fred sneered.

"You know what happens to people who rock the boat, Bill?" George asked.

"They get thrown overboard," Fred answered. And between the three of them, they managed to toss Bill in the pond. Molly opened her mouth as if to protest, then closed it and shook her head, apparently having given up for the night.

Tonks seemed shifty beside her as they moved on to the cake. Her belly had grown to amazing proportions, and she still had a month to go. Ginny wasn't sure her unofficial sister-in-law was going to be able to stand upright much longer.

"Are you okay?" Ginny asked her.

"Yeah, she's just kicking a lot." Tonks bent her head down to address her swollen belly. "I'm sorry that Mummy suddenly feels the need to put curry on everything, but Mummy's not liking this phase any more than you are." Straightening up, she gave Ginny a face. "Poor thing's going to come out addicted to Indian takeaway."

"Isn't it weird, to have something in there moving around?"

"I'm used to it now," Tonks shrugged. "Scared the living daylights out of me the first time it happened, though. Shifting again, she smiled at Ginny. "Do you wanna feel it?"

"Okay," Ginny said uncertainly, holding out her hand. Tonks took it and pressed it to the side of her belly. For a second, nothing happened. Then she felt it - it was as if there was something alive in Tonks' belly that was trying to push its way out. "That is so strange," Ginny whispered. "She's certainly anxious to get out, isn't she?"

"She seems to be. Maybe she's rebelling against the curry. Can't say I blame her."

"How are my favorite girls?" Bill asked, coming over to drip on them.

"Good," Tonks answered, looking from her cake to the jar of curry on the table.

"You can do it if you want to," Bill said, grimacing. "Just please don't make me watch. C'mon, Gin, let's go to the treehouse. I have something to show you."

"I heard about your talk with Draco," Ginny said, making sure to keep any anger out of her voice. She probably shouldn't chew out the person who'd just given her her first piece of actual, non-plastic jewelry, though she was beginning to doubt his motives. When her brothers did something nice for her out of the blue, it was usually because they were about to ask her for a favor. They were remarkably predictable in that regard.

"You did? From who?" Bill asked, glancing at her.

Oh, right. That hadn't been a terribly intelligent thing to let slip. "Umm...Professor Wellbourne. He tutors with her and told her about it, and she told me," she said, hoping this lie wouldn't come back to bite her in the ass. She didn't really want anyone to know about her meetings with Draco. Even chaperoned as they were, if nobody knew about them, nobody could put a stop to them.

"Oh," he said, apparently accepting this answer. "Well, yes. We did talk."

"How did it go?"

"He certainly went out of his way to impress me," Bill allowed as he started climbing up the ladder to the treehouse.

Ginny smiled a little. "That's just Draco. That's how he is. Though he wouldn't have tried to impress you if he didn't care about your opinion."

"He cared about my opinion because it dictated whether or not he continued seeing you."

It was probably true, so Ginny followed him up to the treehouse silently.

"Gin, I'll be truthful," Bill said as they settled on the couch. "He seems like an arrogant berk who'd as soon spit on a Weasley as look at one. And the entire time we were talking he had that look in his eye that Mum gets whenever she's imagining herself sneaking up behind me with a pair of scissors and cutting off my ponytail."

"You have to understand," Ginny explained. "Draco's very particular about hair."

"I kind of picked up on that," he said sarcastically, pulling his ponytail around to squeeze some of the water out of it, frowning a little. "Do you think I should cut it?"

Ginny goggled at him. Bill's hair was as sacred to him as...well, there probably wasn't anything Bill held more sacred than his hair. In that one strange way, he and Draco were in complete agreement. He had once vowed to their mother that he would sooner cut off his arms and legs than cut his hair. Draco had once said he would do the same thing before walking out in public without performing his full morning routine.

"I don't know," she said, wondering if it was a trick question. "Do you?"

"I guess it's a bit done now, isn't it? I mean, it's given Mum all the grief that I could possibly want, and I guess it's kind of silly to keep it anymore. I'm not a kid and I'm not rebelling against anything that requires a ponytail. Plus, Mum can still hate the earring."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Bill scratched his jaw. "Do you think he might have some free time next weekend?"

"You mean Draco?"

"Yeah, I was wondering if I could get his opinion on some things. He does have good taste, after all, and..."

"You want to take my boyfriend shopping with you?" Ginny asked, aghast.

"He doesn't have to come shopping with me," Bill said quickly. "If he could just suggest some designers for me to look into and maybe a good stylist, that would be fine."

Ginny felt her eyes narrow as her hand came up to her new pendant. "He bought this, didn't he? He bought this, and you passed it off as your own."

"What? No," Bill said as she stood up. "At least...well, he did pay for most of it," he qualified, "but only because he had to."

Ginny paused on her way to the ladder. "What do you mean, he had to?"

"I asked him about what you might want and he said you needed jewelry, so I asked him to help me find something for you. I told him how much I was willing to spend and he had this sort of attack. I thought he was going to go into convulsions. Then he told the clerk what he wanted and offered to cover the difference. He said he couldn't allow me to buy you crap."

She absorbed all of that, finally running a hand down her face, laughing a little. "That's Draco for you. He somehow manages to be thoughtful and arrogant simultaneously."

"Anyway, the necklace isn't his present. This is." Reaching into his pocket, Bill withdrew a small package and placed it on the floor, pulling out his wand to enlarge it. "I promised him I'd give it to you," he explained.

Carefully, she undid the spell-o-tape holding the brown paper together, pulling it open to reveal her namesake's portrait. "Ginevra," she said softly, taking it over to the corner so she could see it in the light. "Merlin, it's just like the real thing." A sudden, horrible thought occurred to her. "It's not the real thing, is it?" She wouldn't put it past him.

"No, it's a copy," Bill assured her.

"It's perfect," she said, studying the brushstrokes in the background, the luminescence of the subject's skin, the detail on her dress. She'd only seen the original painting once, when she was eight. It wasn't one of DaVinci's real masterpieces. It certainly wasn't the Mona Lisa, but that had made it more charming to her, more personal. The rest of the world could have the Mona Lisa. This painting was hers.

"He said he wrote a note on the back," Bill's voice sounded from behind her.

"A private note," Ginny said, sidling away from him. She turned the painting over.

The beauty of DaVinci's Ginevra

pales in comparison to that of mine.

She smiled at it, getting a little teary-eyed. They were few and far between, but Draco's sincere and romantic moments were always worth the wait.

Bill let out a breath. "You really love him, don't you?"

Still a little choked up, she nodded.

"Gin, they're not like us. The Malfoys, they're not...they don't see the world the same way we do. They don't care about the same things we do. They're used to having people do whatever they want, kissing their robes and bending over backwards to please them."

"Bill..."

He held up a hand to cut her off. "I'm not saying he's like that. Okay, he is like that, but that doesn't make him evil. And he doesn't seem inclined to treat you like a servant, so that's a plus. Dumbledore seems to trust him. I know he doesn't want to be a Death Eater, and I know he's working against the Death Eaters, but the fact of the matter is that he's still a Death Eater. Unfortunately, he was probably right when he said that forbidding you to go anywhere near him won't do any good, and I suppose at this point, the damage has already been done. I don't think he was a willing participant in what happened at Little Hangleton, but the fact that he was an unwilling one means he's still a danger to you. They've used him before, and they could very well do it again."

Ginny nodded, looking away. "So what are you saying?"

"There are going to be some rules when you go back to Hogwarts."

"Okay." At least he hadn't said they couldn't see each other anymore.

"First of all, you are going to make sure that either Ron, Harry or Hermione knows where you are at all times. Even if you're going to the loo in the middle of the night, you don't go until tell one of them. Understand?"

Gamely, she nodded.

"I'm going to tell them about this, so be absolutely certain you understand, because if they don't know where you are, they're going to call in the entire Order. Understand?"

"Yes," she said, a bit testily.

"Secondly, anything he gives you comes through me - notes, quills, gifts, anything. Let him know about it. After the Tom Riddle's diary incident, I imagine he'll be agreeable to the arrangement. By the way, I've already checked the painting out and it's clean."

"Thanks," she said blankly.

"You're welcome. Lastly, this," he said, tapping a finger against her new pendant, "is a portkey. It's voice activated, and it'll take you directly to Dumbledore's office. Don't ever take it off unless you want the entire Order to come crashing down on your head. If the necklace is ever broken or if you take it off, it'll act like Harry's Port-a-call."

"So I guess I can give that back to him," she said, reeling a bit at all the information.

"Yes you can," he said. "To activate the portkey, just say 'franks and beans.'"

"Oh, blurgh," she said thickly, her stomach rebelling at the memory.

"Well, I had to pick a phrase you wouldn't use very often, and considering what happened when you were six, 'franks and beans' would be it. Also, I had to pick a phrase you'd remember, and...well, considering what happened when you were six..."

"I get it. Please stop." Too much food and a violent broomstick ride had put her off of the combination permanently.

Bill smiled a little. "I know it seems like a lot, but You-Know-Who didn't get to complete the spell when he wanted to. He's going to come after you something fierce."

Ginny sighed, putting down the painting. My painting, she thought, and it warmed her up a little bit. Spell talk always made her feel cold. "Thanks for going to all of this trouble, and for not telling Mum and Dad. You could've...well, you could've done a lot of things, I guess. So thanks for not doing them."

"I'm your big brother," he said. "It's my job to both keep you safe and help you get away with things." Shrinking the painting, he handed it to her. "It's waterproof, too."

"Why does it have to be waterproof?"

"Just in case the twins are still at it."

"Oh, there you are," Ron said, spotting them as they climbed out of the treehouse. "C'mon. Dad has an announcement. He's all bursting at the seams about it."

"He didn't get a new automobile, did he?" Ginny asked.

"For the sake of his bloody job, I hope not," Bill muttered.

"Bill, Ginny, there you are," her father said, clapping his hands in glee. Remus and Professor Wellbourne had apparently left. "Okay. I hate to interrupt your birthday, sweetheart, but I've just gotten some very exciting news."

"What is it?" Fred asked.

"I've been nominated as a candidate for Minister of Magic," he said, beaming.

This announcement was met with - quite literally - the sound of crickets.

"Isn't that exciting?" Her father was grinning almost maniacally, his face red.

"But...you, Arthur?" her mother asked, looking shocked. "Why you?"

Her father's face fell. "Well, why not me?"

"You haven't the sort of experience to be Minister of Magic!"

"Neither does a flobberworm, and it'd probably still do a better job than Fudge," George pointed out. "Er...not that you're a flobberworm, Dad."

"Thank you, son. I just thought it was some good news," he said tentatively, his confidence failing as he took in his wife's pale, shocked face. "Isn't it?"

"I think we should talk about this inside," her mother said unsteadily, standing up and trudging off to the house. Looking as if he'd just heard Christmas was canceled, her father followed her a few seconds later.

"Well, Mum and Dad are gone. Time for the real fun," Fred said, pulling a bottle of firewhiskey out of nowhere and pouring some out for everybody. "C'mon, Gin, take some. It'll put hair on your chest."

"You drink it first," she said, because it very well might do just that.

Fred took a sip from the bottle with a flourish. "See? Just firewhiskey."

"She's underage," Bill said without much force.

"So? We were drinking this stuff third year," George said, handing her a cup.

Ginny took a sip, coughed, and decided she wasn't a fan of firewhiskey. It burned.

"Lightweight," Fred said, pouring her more. "You'll get used to it."

"Don't you think there's something weird about this?" Ron asked. "Dad gets passed over for promotions for years, and suddenly they want to make him Minister of Magic?"

"Who else was nominated?" Bill asked.

"Dunno," Tonks said. "It'll probably be in the paper tomorrow morning." Ginny tried another sip of firewhiskey. Fred was right. It wasn't so bad once you got used to it.

"You think he's a sacrifice candidate, then?" Fred asked.

"I hate to say it, but he probably is," Bill said heavily. "The Council nominates him so they look Muggle-friendly, but he hasn't a chance of winning, so they don't actually have to be Muggle friendly. Blimey, Dad as Minister? That's their worst nightmare."

"It stinks, though," Ginny said, taking a third sip. "He seemed really excited about it."

"Why shouldn't he be?" George asked bitterly. "After thirty years at the Ministry, this is like water in the desert to him."

"He could've been in line for Minister years ago, if he'd just played along," Bill said.

"Sod off, Percy," Ron grumbled. Rolling her eyes, Ginny took a nice gulp.

"I'm not Percy, I'm just saying that ideals won't buy your kids new schoolbooks. Sometimes you have to just keep your mouth shut and do what you have to do."

"Bloody fuck," Fred said, shaking his head. "Knock up Tonks, and suddenly you're on the other side. You really are Percy."

"No, Fred, I'm an adult, and as shitty as it sounds, sometimes that means..."

Bill was interrupted by a piece of cake hitting Fred in the face. They all turned to stare at Tonks, who was grinning. "I've always wanted brothers. Knocked up who, now?"

"Tonks, I wasn't...bleeech!" Fred picked up a napkin and wiped his mouth out. "Who the hell puts curry on chocolate cake?"

"Me," Tonks said, grinning wider and hitting him with a handful of potato salad.

In retaliation, Fred catapulted a spoonful of relish at her. A glob smacked Ginny in the forehead. Reaching into the cooler next to her feet, she shook up a butterbeer and sprayed him with it at the same time that Tonks counterattacked with creamed spinach.

"Yaaargh!" Fred yelled, tumbling backwards out of his seat. Bill reached down and yanked him up, settling him back down in his chair.

"You were saying?" he asked mildly.

"Nice out tonight, isn't it?" Fred asked, casually wiping a glob of spinach from his eye.

Ginny sighed, resting her heavy-feeling head in her hand. "Can't I just have one birthday that doesn't end in a fistfight, a food fight, or somebody throwing me in the pond?"

She realized as the words came out of her mouth that she'd made a terrible mistake. It ended up being a very good idea for Bill to waterproof the painting.

*******

Severus sank his hands into his hair and went over the list of ingredients one more time. He considered himself a skilled potions-maker. Sure, he'd never worked in research and development for one of the big potions manufacturing companies or had a formal apprenticeship as an apothecary, but his own father had been a bloody apothecary. He'd cut his teeth on measuring and mixing and knowing which ingredients did what.

In his entire life he had never seen - much less tried to make - a potion this complex. Considering that it seemed to be both a restorative potion and a variation on the Draught of Living Death, he couldn't even be certain what it did. Directions aside, he hadn't the faintest idea how he was going to go about procuring the ingredients.

He knew a dealer he could talk to about the virgin's blood, but it was exorbitantly expensive. With a strong obliviation charm, he could obtain it from one of the several hundred virgins he attempted to teach during the school year, but the very idea disgusted him. Rape was a popular Death Eater activity, but it was one Severus avoided at all costs. His soul, his mind, his skills and his position might be up for grabs, but he'd prefer to retain ownership of own his penis, if at all possible.

And in any case, he wouldn't do that to Albus. He did possess that much loyalty.

"I didn't save you, Severus. I know you prefer to look at it that way. I suppose it makes it easier for you. But in all truth, you saved yourself, and that means that you bear all of the joys and all of the responsibilities of that action. Someday, I hope you'll get around to admitting to yourself that you are and always have been your own master."

Severus shook his head. Albus and his quack psychology. He'd never been a leader. He'd never been Lucius Malfoy or Atreus Castelar, or even James Potter. He was a servant, a born follower. All he'd ever done was become a bit choosier about the masters he served, and the last person he'd choose as a master was himself.

Hippogriff urine was a bit of a dilemma. On the one hand, he knew exactly where to find a hippogriff. On the other, said hippogriff detested him and had very sharp claws. He'd have to get Lupin to do it. Perhaps in return, he'd finally let the werewolf know that sugar could be added to wolfsbane potion without any additional side effects. It wouldn't be nearly as entertaining to watch him drink it, but even Lupin had his limits, and one of them was probably being asked to collect urine from a wild hippogriff.

Yawning vastly, he scrubbed his hands against his face and glanced at the clock. He needed to leave soon, or he'd be late, and suspicion would be aroused.

A tiny thrill of fear went through him at the thought of what he was about to do. With the loss of Thera Castelar it was necessary, but that didn't stop the fear. It never did. Albus hadn't ordered him to do it. Albus never ordered him to do anything. Albus asked politely, and no matter what it was, he did it.

Of course he did. Servants didn't question.

He was dreadfully tired, but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep with The Cardinal's potion plaguing his mind, not to mention his new assignment for the Order. Insomnia was a fact of life. If it weren't for the potion and the assignment, he would just find some other problem, some other excuse. Severus had never been one to sleep for more than a few hours uninterrupted, even during the peaceful times.

It was a habit that served him well, especially during the less peaceful times. Rising from his seat, he picked up a vial, drank it, waited for the effects to kick in, then flooed away.

*******

Draco had been presented with more than a few false opportunities to the put the Extendable Ears to work in Malfoy Manor. There had been the low-voiced discussion in the rear stairwell that ended up being an argument between his father and a portrait of his Great-Great-Great Uncle Leopold about the décor of the front parlor. Then, there had been the odd sounds he'd heard coming from the upstairs study that had turned out to be a struggle between his mother and a particularly vexing book of cosmetic charms.

He knew that life in Malfoy Manor didn't meet most peoples' expectations for evil living. They didn't eat raw human liver at breakfast or sit on thrones made from the bones of Muggles they'd killed. Having lived in the place his entire life, Draco knew that the Malfoy tastes ran more towards Eggs Florentine and well-cushioned settees.

But he'd still expected something.

His father was the Number One Death Eater, and until they'd been moved to Shirag Castle, all dark meetings had taken place in their dungeons. And all Draco had learned through his rampant spying was that his father spent more of his time on hair care than he did, sat through a great many meetings with pureblood pride quilting-circle blowhards and managed to make sure anything interesting he did, he did outside of the Manor.

Which made it one shite place to use as a forum for gathering information.

So when he heard his parents arguing after dinner, Draco took up the Extendable Ear with a sense of futility. They'd charmed them to be invisible, so if anybody happened alone, he'd just appear to be studying one of his mother's many vanity portraits while hearing his parents snipe at each other about manners and gardening techniques. Riveting.

"There's no point in it any longer, Lucius," his mother was saying.

"There isn't?" his father asked condescendingly. "Oh, well, then I'll just turn in my resignation. I'm sure the Dark Lord will let me go without any fuss."

"There isn't any getting out of it," his mother said harshly. "You've made sure of that."

"Narcissa, I'm not in the mood to have this argument again..."

"Well, you're going to have it," she said sharply. "Do you want to go back to Azkaban? Is that it? Because that was truly a shining moment in the history of this family."

"I won't go back to Azkaban," his father said tightly. "I'm hardly that stupid."

"If you keep on with this, you will. And then you'll drag the rest of us down with you. Dear Merlin, Lucius. You don't even have a back-up plan, do you?"

"Of course I do."

"And what's that?" she asked, sounding a bit hysterical. "A good trial lawyer? What do Draco and I have to go through in the meantime?"

"Narcissa..."

"No, Lucius. I'm not letting you do this again. 'We should back the Dark Lord. I know what I'm doing.' Remember that? And then before you know it, we're having a son for the Dark Lord and it's too late to back out of anything because you're a bloody fool."

Draco tensed, his eyes moving against their will to the doorway.

"He'd have killed us otherwise. I didn't realize..." Lucius said weakly.

"Of course you didn't!" his mother yelled, making Draco scream silently and rip the invisible cord out of his ear to hold at a distance. "It was all cleverness and power-jockeying until the gloves came off, wasn't it? Then all of a sudden it was 'do what he says or he'll kill us all.' Then it was all about sacrifice: our son, your reputation, this entire family's reputation. I won't stand for it any more, Lucius."

"You make it sound as if I had the opportunity to refuse," Lucius said coldly. "You were in full agreement with me at the beginning, so don't act as if you don't carry any blame for what's happened. I didn't realize - none of us realized - what it would entail. None of us realized what kind of power he had until it was too late."

"Fine, then," his mother said, just as coldly. "But that doesn't mean you have to help him with all of these ridiculous stunts. Demons and ancient spells? If you're still trying to cling to your pride, Lucius, that ship sailed years ago. Confess, turn traitor, do whatever you have to do to save what remains of this family's reputation."

"Every action I've ever taken," Lucius said, his voice rising with each syllable, "in my entire life has been to protect this family!"

His mother let a long pause go by before answering. "Well, you managed to mess it up," she said contemptuously. "And now it's up to you to fix it."

"How?" Lucius asked, sounding almost amused. "Shall I confess my sins to the Ministry? Beg for mercy? Turn spy? What do you expect me to do, exactly?"

"Don't let this happen," his mother said snidely. "It really is that simple."

"Is it? Well, it ought to be simple enough for you to manage, then, cupcake."

Draco ripped the Extendable Ear out and strode away, his footsteps echoing in time with his breaths. His heart pounding in his chest far too forcefully, as if it were building up to something, getting ready to explode.

Throwing open the back door, he kept walking across the lawn, veering away from his mother's garden and his father's towering Man-Eating Scaraptulas. His mind was surprisingly blank, and he clung to that blankness as hard as he could, his brain focused entirely on putting one foot in front of the other.

Reaching the woods at the edge of the property, he plunged through them blindly.

He was comfortable with the idea of hating his father, of working against him, of plotting his demise. His father had screwed him over, and he was simply screwing him back.

It was cut-and-dry Slytherin justice. No more, no less. No hard feelings.

But it wasn't that simple was it? His father may have set the family up - set him up - but the idea that he hadn't meant to, the idea that he hadn't just been doing what he had to do, but that he'd been doing what he thought he should do...Draco couldn't take it.

That, he could understand. That, he could see reflected in his own actions over the past few months. And he'd already turned on his father. He held the knife that could be used to slit his father's throat, and he'd handed that same knife to Thera.

When he'd given it to her - even when he'd taken the knife up himself - he'd meant it.

But did he still?

He didn't know. The woods gave way to a small clearing that Draco recognized immediately. He'd flown here plenty of times on his broom, and it surprised him that he's managed to walk so far so quickly. All around him, the woods were deep and silent, alternately frightening and comforting in their impenetrability.

The stars were bright and brilliant above the treetops and for some reason, he thought of Red. It amazed him sometimes, how rich her world seemed to be, that she could look up at those stars and find some sort of meaning, some sort of purpose. He looked up at the stars and just felt tiny and insignificant, a fly ready to be swatted by the universe.

She'd stare at them and come away with some blah-blah-blah about connection or what was really important or whatever nonsense, but the longer Draco stared at the stars and felt tiny and insignificant, the easier it became to see everybody else as tiny and insignificant. His own father - once the brightest star in Draco's own personal universe - was no more important or independent than he was. Dumbledore, Thera, Harry Potter...all of them were in the same situation, really, each one as powerless as the next.

Stretching out on the ground, Draco clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the stars, trying his best to forget what he'd heard. He didn't want the knowledge. He didn't want the complication. He didn't want it to be difficult.

He wanted it to be easy. It hadn't been, in all honesty. He might be a world-class bastard, but it had still been hard for him to turn on his father. He had wanted it to be easy, because he had always believed - still wanted to believe - that it had been easy for his father to turn on him.

The very idea that it hadn't been tore at him, because that tiny bit of faith in his father's motives had the power to destroy every protection he'd erected. It was a stalwart, agonizing bit of faith, and no matter how much Draco reasoned, he couldn't quite do away with it, because no matter what, some part of him would always want to believe that his father hadn't done this to him on purpose.

It was a ridiculous sentiment. It was a wide-open door for his father to make him do whatever he wanted. Draco knew that. He hated the sentiment. He'd even go so far as to say that he was ashamed of it. He wanted more than anything to be able to destroy it.

But he couldn't. And no matter how much he wished for it, the stars couldn't help him. Maybe Red's philosophy worked for her life. It just didn't work for his.

*******

"Ready to go?" Dumbledore asked, smiling down at her.

"No," Vivian answered honestly, looking up at him. He was Dumbledore, and yet...not, really. He was Mugglefied Dumbledore, beard gone, robes missing, dressed in a stately tuxedo. If it weren't for the characteristic twinkle in his eye, she wouldn't even believe it was him. "How many people are out there again?"

"Fifty or so."

"I hate people staring at me. I especially hate people I don't know staring at me."

"You've presented plenty of papers at academic conferences. You've taught in front of lecture halls with hundreds of students in them. This isn't anything to worry about."

"Well, that was different. I was talking. I had a script. Everyone wasn't just standing around staring at me while I walked really slowly with a pasted smile on my face." Vivian bit her lip, recalled her lipstick, then settled for grinding her teeth together. This whole walking down the aisle to meet the minister thing was too weird for her. She was used to magical ceremonies. Two people, two wands, a couple of spells and everybody partied. "How did I let Remus' mother talk me into this?"

He patted the hand she had wrapped around his arm in a death grip. "She's remarkably persuasive," he admitted. "Everyone in there will be looking at you - that's true. But they'll be marveling at how lovely you are. It's your moment. Relax and enjoy it."

"I'm all giddy," she said as her heart jumped up to hummingbird speed.

"Shouldn't you be?" he asked mildly.

She giggled, nervousness causing her to snort a little. "I don't know. I guess so. This is about to happen, isn't it? This is really about to happen?"

"If you'd like, I could pretend to have a heart attack halfway down the aisle. I think that would be rather effective at drawing the attention away from you."

Oh, dear. That only made the giggling worse. She couldn't seem to stop. She'd been possessed by the soul of a thirteen-year-old girl. For his part, Dumbledore leaned down and gave her a fatherly kiss on the cheek. "You do look lovely, my dear."

And in a hummingbird heartbeat, she went from giddy and giggly to giddy and tearful. "Thank you so much for doing this, Albus," she said, feeling her chin quiver against her will. Dear Merlin, she was a mess. Why hadn't she taking a calming draught before she'd come out here?

Because you're thirty-no-need-to-be-specific years old, and you thought you could actually manage to do this without falling to pieces, her brain reminded her.

"Yes, well apparently I can't," she muttered.

"I believe that's our cue," Dumbledore said, guiding her through the back door, and Vivian could only follow, smiling sickly as every single person stood up, turned around and stared at her. There were a whole host of people on Remus' side, and the Order on hers, along with her Aunt Sophia, her cousin Barry and his wife what's-her-name, who Vivian had felt compelled to invite.

It was hot and sticky outside, but Vivian relaxed a little as she saw people she knew. The Weasley boys, all dressed in Muggle suits, looking sullen. Molly smiling and dabbing her eyes. Poor, pregnant Tonks using the opportunity to pull out her wand and cast a cooling charm on herself. Hermione, Harry and Ron standing together, Hermione squeezing Ron's hand and whispering something in his ear that made him grin at her.

And Remus, standing under the flowered arch at the end of the aisle next to Bill, clad in a tuxedo and looking handsome and dashing. He stepped forward and took her hand as she got closer, shaking Dumbledore's with the other. "You look absolutely beautiful," he whispered in her ear. Vivian beamed at him, and then...bam! Minister.

"We are all gathered together today to celebrate one of life's greatest moments," he said. He was thin and mostly bald, with glasses that kept trying to slip down the sweat on his nose. "Marriage is a joyous occasion, but it is not to be entered into lightly. The true marriage is the marriage that springs from the recognition of identity in the other, and the physical union is simply the sacrament in which that is confirmed."

Vivian felt her face growing hot and sweat building up in her armpits. Pulling her bouquet up, she tried to fan her elbows out and air things out a little.

A bead of sweat trickled between her bound and pushed-up breasts and Vivian pressed the bouquet against her chest, trying to catch it. Glancing up at Remus, she saw that he wasn't doing much better. His face was pink and he was mopping it with a handkerchief.

"How long does this take?" she asked him out of the side of her mouth.

"Love is not proud," the preacher droned on. "It is not..."

"I don't actually know," Remus said back to her. "I was always sitting down in a nice air-conditioned church before."

The preacher kept talking, but she found it very hard to concentrate on what he was saying as she finally gave up and started surreptitiously using the bouquet to mop up the sweat that was collecting on her chest above her dress. She was about five seconds away from throwing decorum to the wind and just grabbing the handkerchief out of Remus' hand and wiping off everything that was dripping when the minister asked for the rings.

Minerva stepped forward and handed her Remus' ring, and Vivian smiled at her. Though slightly droopy and damp in the heat, Minerva looked astonishingly young with her hair loosened from its standard bun, her light blue Grecian gown enhancing her stately air.

"Please repeat after me," the preacher said. Vivian remembered this part. It was towards the end, and sounded rather nice, actually. Vows and promises made before a holy man - the Muggle version of the spells they'd be doing in a few minutes.

"I, Remus..."

"I, Remus..."

"Take you, Vivian..."

"Take you, Vivian..."

Tuning out the minister, she focused on Remus. He was smiling, his eyes a little glassy, and Vivian squeezed his hand. The minister said something, and Remus nodded. "And with this ring, I thee wed," he said, sliding the wedding band onto her finger.

Vivian stared down at it until she heard the minister say her name. "Repeat after me."

Oh, yes. Her turn. Right. "I, Vivian...take you, Remus..." and the whole rigamarole. She parroted it almost numbly, focusing more than anything on not letting the ring slide out of her sweaty, slippery fingers. "And with this ring, I thee wed," she said. His fingers were sweaty, too, and the ring slid right on.

Vivian let out a great sigh and grinned up at him, because she thought it was finished. It wasn't. "Remus, do you promise to love and honor this woman..." She let out a sigh, really just wanting it to be over at this point, so that they could do the real ceremony.

"I do," Remus answered, looking as impatient as she did.

She made a private little face at him as the minister recited the same bloody thing for her, causing Remus to cough into his handkerchief. "I do," she finally said.

"Then with the power vested in me..."

Vivian had a feeling Remus was supposed to wait until the minister was finished to kiss her, but he didn't. Shoving her bouquet out of the way, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her for all she was worth.

"...man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

He already is, Vivian thought crazily.

And then he wasn't, and there was cheering and a blur of people, and suddenly she was inside the Lupin home. The lovely, cool, air-conditioned Lupin home. Remus pulled her up the stairs to the guest bedroom that she'd used to get ready earlier and shut the door, locking it magically, then slowly turning to her, a wolfish look on his face.

"You are," he said softly, advancing on her as she cast a whole host of cooling charms on herself, "the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Vivian smiled at him slowly, putting her wand down. "So you like the gown?" she asked. It had a tight bodice that banded just underneath her breasts before flowing out rather formlessly. All the better to accentuate the breasts and hide the rest, Madame Malkin had claimed. Remus hadn't seen it yet. His mother had informed her that in the Muggle world, the groom seeing the wedding dress before the ceremony was the most heinous of offenses. Secretly wondering if that was one of those seemingly minor little things that Muggles occasionally arrested each other for, Vivian had gone along with it.

"Oh, I like the gown," Remus assured her, his eyes focused intently on the breasts that were currently supported with so much structural engineering that they were in danger of putting one of her eyes out. "I like the gown a lot."

"We don't have time for this," she said weakly as his hands honed in on the architectural wonder of her breasts and his mouth kissed around the side of her cheek to nibble on her ear. "We still have to do the magical ceremony."

"Let's consummate the Muggle one first."

"Remus..." she half-gasped, half-protested as his mouth started moving down her neck.

"What?" he asked, pulling her dress up, sliding his hand up her thigh.

"Just don't mess up my hair. Your mother will kill me."

"Are you wearing a garter belt?" he asked, intrigued, his hand exploring it.

"One of the Muggle bridal magazines talked about it. Do you like it?"

"Yes," he said fervently, nuzzling his face against her breasts as his thumb traced the lines of it. You'd better give me the best sex of my life, you uncomfortable, unnatural monstrosity, Vivian warned the piece of Muggle lingerie that had become the bane of her existence in the past few hours. "I like it a lot."

He backed her up into the bed, pulling her legs up to wrap around his waist, sifting through the cumbersome fabric of her skirts. "Are you in there somewhere?" he asked. He finally located her brand new silk knickers, only to be stymied by the garter belt.

"I think we have to take that off first," she said, rolling off the bed, ripping if off, tossing it away, kicking off her shoes and relieving herself of the silk knickers and ridiculous stockings all in the course of about a second a half.

"Impressive," he said, pulling her down, sifting through mounds of fabric again and finally surging into her.

Vivian gasped, bracing her hands against the headboard and craning her neck up to try to protect her hair. "Better be quick," she said dazedly. "They're all waiting."

"It'll be quick. Believe me."

She had to touch him. This wasn't working. Reaching down, she ripped open his shirt. They both froze as buttons flew in every direction.

"Well, there goes my deposit," he said, bending his head down to kiss along her collarbone as his other one snaked up under her skirt.

"Oh," she breathed. "There, right there."

He looked up at her, his shirt ripped open, his hair a wreck, his face flushed. "I love you," he said, pulling out of her slowly and sinking back in, his hand working its magic.

"I love you, too. Mmmmm, up a little."

He complied, picking up the rhythm, eventually moving both of his hands under her bottom to hold her tighter against him. Vivian felt the climax coming.

It washed over her, negating all of the cooling spells that she'd put on herself. She leaned forward, biting his shoulder to keep from crying out. Remus buried his face in her neck and grunted out his own climax, and they clung to each other for a few seconds, panting.

"And they say married sex isn't any good," he laughed weakly, rolling to the side and studying his button-less tuxedo shirt, still attached at the top by his bow tie. With a wave of his wand, he reattached the buttons in all the wrong order.

Rolling her eyes, she took the wand from him and rearranged them. "The ones with the button covers have to go at the top," she said, sitting him up and smoothing out his shirt. She tipped his head up so she could fix his tie. "There you go." She surveyed her handiwork, nodded in approval, then returned his wand.

"Ready to do this, then?" he asked.

"More than ready," she mumbled, digging her wand out of her overnight bag. Taking off their rings, they cast a standard bonding spell on them, causing the two bands to glow for a moment. Placing them back on each others' hands, they joined hands and went through the rest of the spells, which were much like the Muggle vows, only they were a binding magical contract. For fidelity, their hands glowed blue. For the joining of their property, green. For love and honor, red. For care, concern and comfort, yellow. Kissing once again, they sealed the bonds. "Much more simple, don't you think?" she asked him.

"And it actually worked," Remus said thoughtfully, glancing at his hand, which was probably tingling like hers.

"Why wouldn't it?"

"Well, one of the arguments of the anti-dark-creature-marriage lobby is that the magic in the marriage spells has no effect on a dark creature."

"There's no basis in reality for that," she told him. "They're just magical contracts."

"I know. I guess I still just half-expected..." he shrugged.

"Look at that, Remus John Lupin," she said lightly, reaching up to smooth down his hair. "You're human like everybody else."

"Most of the time, at least," he said wryly.

There was a soft knock on the door. "Um...son, not to interrupt or anything, but you might want to...erm...speed things along. Everyone's waiting for you to eat."

"Coming, dad," Remus called. He immediately winced, while Vivian pressed both hands to her mouth to muffle her laughter. "I mean, we'll be right there!"

"Back to the party, then," Vivian said. "Do I look okay?"

"Stunning," Remus said, kissing her on the cheek. His father was right. Everybody was waiting for them. They cheered from the bottom of the stairs as the two of them came out of the bedroom. "Oh, Merlin," she breathed, mortified, feeling a hot blush creep up her neck. "I have students down there, and now they think we've both been up here..."

"Doing exactly what we were doing?" Remus asked mischievously, pulling her into another kiss to the renewed cheers of those below.

They finally descended the stairs, all the men slapping Remus on the back, all the women giving her knowing smiles that Vivian returned wanly. "I'm so sorry," Remus' mother said, wringing her hands. "I tried to keep them outside, but it was so hot out there. I didn't realize they were going to ambush you."

"It's all right," Vivian assured her. "We were really just up there doing the magical wedding ceremony."

The corners of Thelma Lupin's mouth twitched. "Right. Well, the magical wedding ceremony messed up your hair something awful."

Reaching a hand up, Vivian confirmed that this was true. "I'm going to kill your son."

Chuckling, Remus' mother led her into the downstairs lavatory to fix her back up again. "Now, now. No need to have a row on your wedding day. You've got the rest of your life to get him back for this."

*******

Hermione was not much of a girly-girl, but it was hard not to be pulled in by the atmosphere. The dreamy, fantastical notion of one's wedding day was simply ingrained into most girls before they developed the ability to defend themselves. No wonder being a teenage girl was so difficult. How on earth were boys supposed to get from Ron - who chose that moment to ask if she was going to finish her chicken with his mouth full of food and then proceeded to eat the chicken right off of her plate without waiting for her to answer - to Remus - who noticed that his wife's wine glass was empty and without being asked, went up to refill it, returning it with a kiss? She didn't care so much about the pomp and circumstance of it all, nor did she spend the sort of time that Lavender and Parvati did planning her ultimate wedding down the most minute detail, but she'd rather not have her husband eating off her plate at her wedding dinner.

Did something happen in the meantime? Was there some sort of rite of passage? Did boys just take much longer to grow up than girls? She was had no intention of marrying anytime soon, nor did she labor under the illusion that her relationship with Ron was leading to marriage anytime soon - if ever - but it would still be nice to know that there was somebody out there with the actual potential to be someone she might want to marry. "Hermione?" Harry asked. He'd said something, and she'd missed it.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"I was going to get some more stuffed mushrooms. Would you like any?"

"No thanks, Harry. I'm finished."

Well, yes. There was Harry. But being thoughtful was just part of his personality. And being thoughtful wasn't everything. Harry was a great guy and all, but he didn't really have the pieces in place for a decent relationship. He wasn't much for talking, especially about his feelings. He could be visibly upset for months and months, but getting him to talk about it was like pulling teeth.

Teeth. Now, her parents had a good relationship. Not terrifically exciting, but they managed to both work together and live together in harmony. They talked to each other and supported each other, and...well, that was really the problem with Harry. He never asked for support, he was terrible at accepting it, and she didn't think he had the first idea how to return it. It certainly wasn't his fault, but it would also drive her nuts.

"It's romantic, isn't it?" Ginny asked from her other side, gazing at Professor Wellbourne and Remus as they gave in to the relentless forks tapping on glasses and kissed.

"Kissing on command? Not particularly."

"Oh, come on. You know what I mean. It's impossible not to sit here and imagine yourself doing that one day."

"Missing Draco, are you?" Hermione asked, shaking her head a little. There were quite a few things she found impossible to understand about Ginny, and number one on the list was Draco Malfoy. According to Ginny, he was perfectly nice to her, but Hermione couldn't help but point out that he was still a jerk to the rest of the world.

Ginny hummed noncommittally. "I don't think I'd marry Draco. Frankly, I don't think he'd marry me, either. It's just too abominable to imagine. I don't know. Maybe marriage is overrated. I mean, Bill and Tonks are fine without it."

Hermione glanced over at them, perched on the Lupin's sofa. Tonks picked up the monstrous plate of food balanced on her belly, wincing and shifting a little. Bill took the plate from her and set it on the coffee table, then set about rubbing Tonks' belly, giving it a talking-to. Tonks giggled and slapped him playfully on the head.

"Who knows?" Hermione mused. "This might spur them into action."

"They might not have a choice. I swear, Mum's plotting something."

Mrs. Weasley did have a rather dodgy look about her. "So are you ready to be an aunt?"

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "I'm too young to be an aunt. Still, it'll be nice to have a baby around. Merlin knows it's about time they had somebody new to fuss over."

That was really the strange thing about Ginny. In most ways, Hermione would say that she was more mature than her friend. But Ginny had blazed the trail into sex, and in that sense, Hermione felt like...well, she felt like what she was: an inexperienced virgin.

Hermione glanced over and Ron and Harry, making sure that they were occupied in conversation. Then she leaned close. "Can I ask you something?"

Ginny turned her head, her eyebrows furrowing at Hermione's tone. "Sure. What?"

She honestly didn't know how to put it into words. Her ears were well seasoned from her roommates' discussions, but her roommates were also - to be honest - a bit tarty. Ginny might be experienced, but only with one boy, and Hermione was far more interested in hearing about that than the mechanics of managing intercourse in a broom cupboard. She just wanted to know what it was like, really. Was the first time as bad as everyone said it was? Did it get better afterwards? "I was just wondering...I mean, you've...you know."

Ginny's face stretched into a disbelieving smile. "Why, pure-as-the-driven-snow Hermione Granger, are you asking me about sex?"

Blushing furiously, Hermione glanced back at Ron and Harry, who thankfully hadn't heard that. "Umm...let's...oh, never mind," she said, sagging.

Ginny grabbed Hermione's hand. "We're going to the loo," she told the boys, who didn't even acknowledge her statement. Once safely ensconced behind a locked door, Ginny hoisted herself up on the sink. "So what do you want to know?"

Hermione sat on the toilet. "I don't even know. I guess I'm just...curious in general."

"Please don't go into detail about what you and Ron have done," Ginny said, grimacing.

"I won't. We haven't done that much, anyway."

"Has he..." Ginny squeezed her eyes shut. "Has an unidentified male ever felt you up?"

"Er...well, a little," Hermione said, biting her lip and physically suppressing her embarrassment. "Not...directly or anything."

Ginny shot her a look. "You do know how it works, don't you? I mean, if your Mum didn't tell you, I'm sure you've at least read a book on it or something, right?"

"Yes. Both, actually." Hadn't that just been a lovely conversation last Christmas.

"Well, now that you have a boyfriend, I'd like to talk..." had been as far as her mother had gotten before Hermione had stood up.

"I've already read plenty about it, Mum. I know how it works," she'd said quickly.

Her mother had cleared her throat. "It's not just about the physical act, you know. There are other things to take into account. You have to make sure you're ready to take your relationship to the next level. You shouldn't feel pressured to do it just to do it."

"Ron would never push me and I'm perfectly comfortable with my own feelings on the matter and I'm hardly one to do something like that just to say I've done it, so don't worry," Hermione had said, rapid-fire. "Now please don't talk about sex with me, because it makes me imagine you and Daddy and that's just really gross."

"Okay, then," her mother had said, staring at her owl-eyed.

"So," Ginny said in the present, "when you and this anonymous individual were snogging and whatever, didn't you ever want to do anything more?"

"No, not really."

"You never just got an urge to have him do things to you, or to do things to him?"

"No," Hermione said, rapidly growing worried. "Should I have?"

"Well, yeah. Haven't you ever just been really horny for him?"

"Yes," she said slowly. "In sort of an abstract fashion, at least. But it's hard to think of what we've done as leading to what I've wanted. Does that make any sense?"

"Of course," Ginny said, to her great relief. "There's a whole bunch of stuff between snogging and orgasm, and the connection between the two isn't really clear until after you've gone all the way."

Hermione studied her. "I guess that makes sense."

Ginny smiled widely, swinging her feet a little. "It's fantastic, you know. I mean, the first time isn't so much. It's too weird and invasive. But after that, it's unbelievable."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. She knew vague details of Muggle gynecological exams, and it made her very thankful not to be a Muggle. It was strange enough to imagine somebody she knew and trusted playing around down there, but somebody she'd just laid eyes on holding odd metal gadgetry? She shuddered. It was like a horror movie.

"I don't know," she said. "It's weird to think about a boy down there doing things. I mean, it's actually attached to me, and I've only ever been down there out of necessity."

"Yeah, me too," Ginny sighed. "Though it's hard. It's been a really long time since Draco and I have done anything, and it's not like the boys don't do it all the time."

"Well, yeah, but..."

Ginny winced. "I know."

"So I'm not just frigid or anything?"

"No. Playwitch says that some girls never do it at all, and you certainly don't have to, but it can give you kind of an idea of what you like."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You read Playwitch?"

Ginny blushed. "My Mum had a few hidden away in her room, so..."

"Really?" Mrs. Weasley? That was a bit strange.

"Yeah. One of them has this whole entire diagram for finding your g-spot and a list of spells you can use to help the guy out when he's looking for it. It's very informative."

"In between all of the pictures of monstrous penises, you mean?"

Ginny giggled. "The one I was reading this morning had one that..."

"Oi! What are you two doing in there?" Ron's voice sounded through the door.

The two girls shared a guilty look and covered their mouths to keep from laughing. They'd been caught. "We're just fixing ourselves up, Ron," Hermione said loudly, her voice a little higher than usual. "We'll be out in a minute."

"You two have been in there forever. Honestly. There's a line, you know."

"I guess we'd better go," Ginny said, sliding off the counter.

"Hang on," Hermione said, dropping her voice. "What about the one this morning?"

"Oh," Ginny breathed, eyes wide. "It was huge, and it went like this." Using one finger, she drew a sort of 'J' in the air.

Hermione felt her jaw drop. "They do that?"

Ginny nodded. "That's why Fred and George call Bill 'Lefty' sometimes, because..."

"I get it," she interrupted dryly.

"Er...Ron's doesn't, if you're worried about it."

Hermione couldn't help but feel a little relieved. "Hang on. How do you know?"

Ginny's face twisted into an expression of extreme revulsion. "He always forgets to lock the door when he's in the loo."

*******

Luckily, by the time everyone had finished eating, the chairs had been cleared from the backyard, the band was set up and the sun had set enough that the temperature was no longer unbearable. Remus looked over at Vivian as she danced with his father, laughing as he goofed around with a rose in his mouth, leading her in a made-up sort of tango.

"Eyes on your dance partner," his mother said. Remus looked down at his Mum, who was smiling gently. "I know she's lovely, but this may be the only time I get to spend with you for the rest of the evening."

"I was looking at Dad, actually."

"Only your father would try to tango to Unforgettable," his mother said, shaking her head at him fondly. Then her eyes narrowed. "Are the Weasley twins dancing together?"

Remus followed her gaze. "They seem to be. I wonder who's leading."

"You look so handsome. I don't think I've gotten a chance to tell you yet."

"Nice to know, since I'm dancing with the prettiest woman here. I wouldn't want everyone wondering what on earth she's doing with a troll like me."

"Oh, you," his mother said, slapping him on the arm and beaming. "I really am happy for you, dear. And thank you for putting up with me over the past few weeks."

"What do you mean? You were an absolute saint."

"I was a termagant," his mother sighed. "I just wanted everything to be perfect for you."

"It is," he said firmly, kissing her on the cheek. "Thank you."

"Don't do that, now," she said, tearing up. "I've already cried enough today. My little boy, all grown up and happily married. I couldn't be more proud of you."

"That's all it takes? I should've gotten illegally married years ago."

"You know what I mean," she said, patting him on the shoulder. "I haven't seen you happy since James and Lily died, not even when you were teaching at Hogwarts. I just couldn't bear the idea of leaving this earth and knowing you were going to spend the rest of your life alone, all locked up with your books."

Remus stared at her. "Are you dying or something?"

"No, but I'm not getting any younger, either. It's nice to see you settled. It's nice to know that you have someone to share your life with." Oh dear, here came the tears again. "I hope you two are as happy as your father and I have been all these years."

"Well, that's certainly something to aspire to," he said a bit hoarsely. Thankfully the song ended before the two of them could dissolve into weeping. Pulling his mother into a tight hug, he kissed her again before turning her over to his father.

"John, get that rose out of your mouth. Honestly. People will think you're drunk."

Remus snickered. The dance floor was crowded, with only a few people sitting in the chairs along the edge. He spotted Harry and weaved his way over.

"This is what happens when you don't bring a date," he said, sitting down next to him.

Harry smiled a bit sheepishly. "I'm not much of a dancer."

"Did Yolanda get in touch with you yet?"

"Yeah. She sent over a whole calendar. I need to talk to Hermione and find out when our Healing and Apparation classes are going to be." Harry sighed. "Did you know that Witch Weekly is doing a whole spread on me? I'm the most eligible bachelor in Britain, apparently. And here I can't even find a date for a wedding," he said with a wry smile.

"Did you ask anybody?"

"No."

"Perhaps that's why you can't find one."

Harry shrugged. "I didn't really want to. I haven't had much luck with girls."

"Oh, right. The restraining order."

"That was a misunderstanding," Harry said, wincing.

Remus couldn't hold back a smile. "I have no doubt that it was."

George ran up to him, panting. "Hey, Remus. How old is your cousin Sally?"

"Fifteen," Remus said with a note of warning in his voice.

"Huh," George said, looking out at the dance floor, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. "So her dad was telling the truth, then. Thanks."

George trotted off. "Speaking of restraining orders..." Remus muttered under his breath. "Are you ready to be a teen idol, then?" he asked Harry.

"No," Harry said, looking a bit ill at the prospect.

"You don't have to do it if you don't want to," Remus said.

"I don't, but Yolanda said if I refuse everything, the press will just hound me more. If I give them something like this, it'll be easier to keep them off my back. I'll be in control instead of them. I don't know. It sounded more convincing when she said it."

"It's better to be Britain's Most Eligible Bachelor than the whipping boy of The Daily Prophet, I suppose." Harry made a noncommittal sound and Remus glanced over at him. "Have you decided what to do with Number Twelve yet?"

"You and Professor Wellbourne can stay, if you want. I suppose someone should be there. The Order can have it," Harry said simply. "On one condition."

"What's that?"

"No more keeping things from me."

Remus nodded. "That seems reasonable to me, but it's really Dumbledore's call. Do you want to talk to him, or would you like me to do it?"

"I'll talk to him. You're busy, and I need to have a talk with him anyway."

"About what?" Remus asked curiously.

"A lot of things. I've kind of tapped out my knowledge with the D.A. We spent the second half of last year just staging battles against one another. Hermione's been wanting to expand it, and I think we can. Most of the members are at least as qualified as I am right now to train other people in defense. Plus, it'll be easier to train smaller groups. Easier to find a time that works for everybody, too. What do you think?"

"I think it's a wonderful idea," Remus said. Harry smiled proudly. "You've put a lot of thought into this, haven't you?"

Harry shrugged. "Mrs. Polkiss - the neighbor woman that I've been gardening with - she gave me this whole big speech about prayer. Well, it wasn't really a speech, just sort of an explanation of the rationale behind it. So I started...I mean," he said, staring down at his hands, "I don't actually pray or anything, but before I go to bed, I try to think through everybody I know and the problems they're facing and maybe what can be done to help them. And then I just kind of...think about things. It's easier to think after I've done that. It kind of puts things in perspective. Does that make any sense?"

Remus couldn't hold back a smile. "It makes a great deal of sense. It's a very wise and mature way to deal with the world."

Harry ducked his head a little, the way he always did when somebody complimented him. "Yeah, well...we kept Slytherins out of the D.A. last year, and a bunch of other people with the age limit. Hermione didn't want to, and I'm beginning to see that she was right. The Death Eaters aren't going to spare younger kids just because they're younger, and maybe if we include some of the Slytherins who aren't already in line to become Death Eaters, we'll be able to keep them from doing it." He chuckled. "Look at me - fostering inter-house cooperation."

"It's not a bad idea, though it's difficult to implement. I think there are quite a few Death Eaters who might not have gone that route if there'd been an alternative for them."

"What, like Professor Snape?" Harry asked distastefully.

"Possibly," Remus murmured. "He hasn't had an easy life. Much like you, he also understands what it's like to be hated and feared for something that isn't your fault."

"What, for being a former Death Eater? I'd certainly say that's his fault."

"I don't mean that. He was believed to be one long before he actually joined up. It wasn't true. It was later proven categorically not to be true, but he was an unpleasant enough individual that nobody really gave the truth much weight. It's inevitable, almost. The more other people believe something about you, the more you believe it about yourself, until you eventually become what they think you are, for better or worse."

Harry raised his eyebrows, smirking a little. "So I'm destined to become a big bad hero because everybody expects me to be one?"

Remus laughed. "No, you're already a big bad hero. Some of us have just managed to recognize it, that's all." Harry glowered at him as he spotted his wife approaching. "Vivian," he called out to her. "Would you say Harry's a big bad hero?"

"Remussss," Harry hissed, burying his face in his hands.

"Better get used to it, Harry. Witch Weekly's going to do a lot worse."

"What did you say?" Vivian asked, breathing hard and fanning herself.

"I asked if you thought Harry was a big bad hero."

"The biggest and baddest," she said loyally as Harry groaned and the band started into the beginning of Shout. "Oh, dear. I don't know if I have the energy for this song right now." Grabbing one of Harry's hands, she started dragging him towards the crowd. "Come on, big bad hero. Help your poor old Professor out onto the dance floor."

"I don't dance!" Harry said, trying to dig in his heels and be polite at the same time.

"Then just stand there, and I'll dance around you!" Vivian yelled back at him.

"'Lo, Remus. Congratulations," Arthur Weasley said, plopping down next to him.

"Thanks, Arthur. Congratulations to you, too."

"Yes, well." The man said, flushing proudly and yet trying to shrug it off. "It's just a nomination. Who knows why they did it, anyway?"

Remus glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"Molly thinks old Ezekiel's just trying to set himself up with a puppet Minister, or else he put the rest of us on the list to get Amos Diggory elected, since he's one of Crouch's buddies and the only one with the sort of experience to be Minister." He sighed. "We had a bit of a row about it, but maybe she's right. None of the rest of us on the list are Minister of Magic material." His mouth twisted into a sad smile. "It just felt good to be recognized, you know? It's not as if I've shot up through the ranks at the Ministry."

"Merlin knows the Ministry's never been fond of dissenting opinions. At least everyone on the list is staunchly not in the Death Eater camp."

"Yes, and yet all purebloods, as my daughter pointed out this morning at breakfast. She frightens me sometimes. She's far too aware of everything. There comes a day when you give them the 'Everything'll be okay' lie and you can just see that not only don't they believe you, but they're now wondering what else you lied to them about."

"She's got a good head on her shoulders," Remus said, his eyes finding her bright red hair on the dance floor. She, Hermione and Vivian were all dancing in a circle around Harry, who was laughing and seemed to have loosened up, though he apparently drew the line at actually moving his feet or arms in any way that might qualify as dancing.

"Not quite yet. She's like Molly at that age. Tell her not to do something and she'll nod and smile sweetly while creating an elaborate plan for doing just that."

"Smart women will be the death of us," Remus said, grinning at his wife.

"That they will," Arthur agreed, taking two wine glasses from a passing waiter. "A toast," he said, handing one to Remus. "To smart women and the men who love them." They clinked and drank and Arthur raised his glass once more. "And for the sake of Bill's sanity, may my future granddaughter be dull as a turnip and just as ugly."

"Do you really mean that?"

"Merlin, no," Arthur said, laughing hard. "After all, I don't have to raise her."

*******

Flushing the toilet, Thera peeled herself off of it, trudging over to the sink to rinse out her mouth. Sixteen. Sixteen more dead: five prominent Muggleborns who worked in the Ministry and their families - kids and all. The Dark Lord didn't discriminate.

In all fairness, she'd only personally killed three of them, under the influence of the Dark Lord: a fortyish couple and their teenage son. The Dark Lord himself had taken care of the rest. It wasn't even as bad as the other deaths. There had been no blood, no body parts strewn around. Just killing curses, clean and precise. Compared to all of the other ways a person could die on this fucking planet, it was a remarkably merciful way to go.

So why was she up here puking her guts out again? She'd known she would end up here. She always did, death or no death, blood or no blood. She'd given up trying to figure it out. As much as she hated the whole vomiting thing, it had become part of the routine.

And some part of her kind of feared the day when she didn't do it anymore.

Someone knocked on the door. Draco, probably. Wiping off her face, she opened it to reveal Patrick O'Riordan, holding his stupid top hat in his hand.

Without a word, she slammed it shut, walking over to her bedside table to pour herself some firewhiskey. Patrick knocked on the door again. "Thera, Thera," he sang.

She ignored him.

"The Dark Lord sent me," he said. "Should I tell him you turned me away?"

"If the Dark Lord wants to talk to me, he knows how to find me."

"We're expecting some guests. He wanted me to go over the plans with you."

Guests? Plans? What the fuck? Gulping down the rest of her drink, Thera shoved her wand into the back of her skirt and got up to open the door.

"Come in, then. Do you want something to drink?" she asked him.

"That would be lovely."

"Tough shit. I only have one glass. So what's all this about?"

"The Dark Lord has some compatriots from abroad coming in next week. They'll be staying here; he doesn't want them at Slytherin Castle. For obvious reasons, this means that the Death Eaters residing here will have to be moved elsewhere."

She nodded. "Is something going on that I should know about?"

"No," he said, wide-eyed. "Just a meeting of like minds." He wouldn't tell her anything. On the upside, it would be a fantastic opportunity to spy.

"How many compatriots?" she asked, her mind working.

"Sixty-eight, at last count. It could be as many as eighty."

"How many guest rooms do we have in this place?"

"I haven't any idea. That's why he asked me to talk to you."

Like she knew. "House elf!" One appeared in front of her, possibly female. "How many guest rooms do we have, if we kick out the Death Eaters?"

"Twenty, Mistress," the elf squeaked.

"We need sixty-eight, maybe more. Get cracking."

"But Mistress..."

"What?" Thera asked tiredly.

"We house elves can't, Mistress. Only Master or Mistress can change the castle."

Which meant she was about to learn everything there was to know about magical home additions. "Brilliant," she said sarcastically.

The house elf bowed and disappeared. "Is that all?" she asked him.

"No," he said breezily, sauntering over to her closet and frowning at the clothes inside. "He'd also like for you to act as his hostess. Greet the guests, see to their comfort." His eyes flickered over to her. "Entertain them."

Oh, that was just too much. Now the Dark Lord was her pimp? "I don't fuck old guys," Thera said firmly. "Or fat ones. Or ones with too much body hair."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "I didn't say you had to fuck them. There's only one of you, after all. Although," he said with an appraising smirk, "if anyone could do it, it would be you. No, the Dark Lord just wants you to fix yourself up a bit."

She relaxed a little bit. "Oh. Alright, then."

"And he wants you to mind your manners," he said, eyes flashing.

"I'll be a good girl," she said, smiling angelically. "Just because I don't bother to use them doesn't mean that I don't actually possess any social charms. Is that all?"

"More or less."

"Get the fuck out of my room, then."

He didn't, instead peering at her. "You don't like me very much, do you?"

"What's to like?" Thera asked, pouring herself another drink.

"Oh, I think if you got to know me a bit, you'd find there's plenty," he said casually.

"I doubt that," she said, glancing obviously at his trousers.

"We've got quite a bit in common, you and I."

"I sincerely hope not." Standing, she drew her wand out of the back of her skirt and pointed it at him. "Didn't I tell you to get the fuck out?"

He fixed her with a glare. "Miss Castelar, put your wand away."

Thera gawked at him. She knew that voice, and it didn't belong to Patrick O'Riordan.

"Snape?" she asked faintly.

"None other," he said, holding his hands out.

"Why would you want to polyjuice yourself into Top Hat O'Riordan?"

"Because Severus Snape doesn't have access to information the way he does, especially about the guests coming to visit the Dark Lord in a few days."

"Where's O'Riordan then?" She brightened. "Is he dead?"

"No, he's not dead," Snape said, not sounding any happier about it than she was. "I need his hair for the polyjuice. I'm keeping him imprisoned in his flat."

"Huh," she said, surveying him. "You have the look down, and the silly leprechaun accent and general skeeviness, but you still speak a bit more formally than he does."

"I'll have to work on that," he said dryly.

"Hang on," she said, realizing something. "You've been in his flat?"

"I'm impersonating him. It's rather required."

"What are the skeletons in his closet?"

Snape sighed. "Why on earth do you care?"

"Academic curiosity," she shrugged. "He's got a madonna-whore complex. I can smell one a mile away. I'm guessing Muggle prostitutes. He kills them - Muggle-style, probably, with a lot of sadistic sexual torture thrown in - and then shags their dead bodies. Am I right?"

He looked at her a bit oddly. "He was in the process of killing one when I broke into his flat, but I didn't get to see what he did with her afterwards."

"He shags them. I'd bet my life on it. Distant yet overly demanding mother - he has pictures of her all over the place, but not in the bedroom, right?"

Snape blinked. "Yes, actually."

"And a collection of pornography, too? I mean really sick shit."

He cleared his throat. "Miss Castelar, I did come here for a reason."

"I know. Just tell me if I'm right."

"Yes, you're right," he sighed.

"I knew it. I should be a profiler," she said proudly, downing her drink.

"I shudder to think about how you came to know so much about sadistic serial killers."

"Who do you think I'm surrounded by at the moment?"

"Good point."

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked him, curious. "I thought I was out of the loop."

"Because you already know I'm a spy, so that's hardly news. My impersonation of Patrick O'Riordan is a short-term assignment, so it's doubtful you'll be putting it in danger. Plus, the Dark Lord expects us to work together to please his guests."

"Who are these guests, exactly?"

"Certain foreign leaders who are sympathetic to the Dark Lord's cause. Though if all goes to plan," Snape said, smirking, "none of them will show up."

"Why not?"

He sent her an 'I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you' look. "They're mainly from countries with internal problems, specifically with a group of people causing internal problems that the leaders would like to see eliminated."

Thera had to give the Dark Lord a bit of credit. "He takes care of their problem, they act outraged, use it as an excuse to repress their population even more and everybody wins."

"Yes, only the Dark Lord doesn't plan to stop there."

"Does he ever?" Thera asked wearily.

"No. He's gearing up to immanentize the eschaton. He'll have evidence on all of them; he's planning to gather it while they're visiting. When he starts expanding his objective and killing off their populations without reservation, they'll either have to sit back and let him do it or admit their role in the plot and be held accountable for it. And the people who are sympathetic to the Dark Lord's cause tend to be allergic to accountability."

"Simple, yet brilliant," Thera said, giving the Dark Lord a lot more credit. "So what do you need me for?"

"Assuming any of our foreign friends show up, counterintelligence. If the Dark Lord is gathering information to blackmail them, we have to gather it, too."

"And then make sure it comes out before the Dark Lord attacks," Thera finished.

"Precisely. And considering Mr. Malfoy recently made a rather large purchase of Extendable Ears from Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, I thought..."

"Way ahead of you, Professor," she said, standing up. "We put invisibility charms on them in place so we can keep them permanently in place without them being spotted. I've got them set up for the library, the dining room, the breakfast nook, all of the parlors, the front hall, all three entrances to the ballroom, the rear terrace and Bellatrix and Rodolphus' room. They're all secured to the left bottom corner of the closest portrait to the right of the room's entrance. The one covering the rear terrace is on the bottom left corner of the potions cabinet in the kitchen."

"A simple imperturbable charm will render them useless, you realize," he pointed out.

"Nobody said they were infallible."

"These are transmitters," he said, digging a handful of coin-like devices out of his pocket. "I can attach these to the Extendable Ears in the common areas."

"And I can attach them to the ones in the non-common areas," she concluded, seeing where he was going. "It's awfully ballsy of the good side to ask for my help now."

"We don't have a great deal of choice," he said sourly.

"No choice?" Thera sneered. "Well, welcome to the fucking club."

"Miss Castelar..."

"No," she spat, sitting back down on the bed. "I'm an independent contractor now. If you want my help, you have to pay me for it. And my price just shot way the hell up."

She could have sworn that Snape almost smiled. "What do you want, then?"

"You can't give me what I want," she said flatly. If it was bargaining time, she planned to take them for all they were worth.

"Surely that can't be the only thing you want."

"Look at you, Snape," she said in her most castigating tone, "trying to drive down the price on a poor, innocent teenage girl. You should be ashamed of yourself."

He tightened his jaw. "What do you want?" he asked through gritted teeth.

She looked up at him suddenly. "What else is there?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You men may all think you're as different and individual as each little snowflake and whatever the fuck, but believe me, you all get that same look in your eye when you want something. So stop jerking me around. What is it?"

Glowering at her, he reached into his other pocket, pulling out another handful of coin-like devices. "Receivers," he said simply. "They record, but don't transmit. If they just put up anti-surveillance wards, the Extendable Ears will still work. If they just put up an imperturbable charm, these will still work. Hopefully they won't put up both."

"So you need these set up, also."

"And collected, once the guests have left."

It would be easy enough to do, if she was going to be the one setting up the guest rooms in the first place. What did she really want? Obviously the good side couldn't promise her anything worth her while, but assuming they came out on top, there were still certain things they could do for her. "I want direct access to Draco and Harry at Hogwarts."

"Impossible."

"Guess you're shit out of luck then, aren't you?" she asked cheerfully, pouring herself another drink. "At this point, either you agree or I tell the Dark Lord about your plans."

"What's stopping me," he asked casually, "from Obliviating you, then?"

"Nothing, aside from the fact that you need my help to make this work."

Even in another person's body, watching Snape seethe was high entertainment. She could see the thought forming, and cut it off. "And if I'm enough of an Occlumens to keep you out of my head, I'm enough of an Occlumens to resist your imperius."

"Anything else..." he began.

"I don't want anything else," she said simply. "So if you're worried about the Dark Lord taking over my mind and leading you all into a trap, I suggest you either find a way to undo the spell or figure out how to protect my contact with the good side," Thera advised.

Snape shook his head. "There's no such thing."

"As far as Draco and Harry go, if the Dark Lord ever learns what I know about them, they're fairly screwed anyway."

He made a face, looking away. "Why those two?"

"Because Draco and I need a way to communicate while he's at Hogwarts. And let's be honest here. If something comes up, I'm your most likely source of information. If I have contact with Harry, I can give it directly to the source."

"Why not Malfoy and Dumbledore?" Snape asked. "Why Potter?"

"Because aside from the fact that Dumbledore can kiss my ass, if the good side wins - as you pointed out - he can't do much for me. Harry Potter can." Considering she'd had nothing to work with less than a week ago and now had both the Ministry and the key elements of the good side in her pocket, Thera was almost frightened of her own good fortune. Somehow, she felt, she was going to end up paying for it.

Snape heaved a martyr's sigh. "I'll see what I can do. Not that I have much choice."

Thera set down her drink, suddenly tired. "Once more: welcome to the fucking club."

*******

"Alright, here's the plan," Ron said as he yanked Harry out of his chair. "If the garter comes at you, hit it right at Bill."

"I can't catch the garter," Harry begged. "I'm tired." Suddenly, he remembered his hand. "I'm wounded!" Actually, Mrs. Weasley had fixed his hand right up the moment he'd arrived, which had ended up being a blessing. She seemed to enjoy fussing over him, and he rather preferred it when she had something specific to fuss over, so she didn't have to keep playing with his hair and trying to clean his glasses for him.

"I know Mum healed it," Ron said. "Stop trying to sneak out of this."

Raunchy music played as Remus finally stuck his entire head under Professor Wellbourne's skirt in search of her garter. Squealing girlishly, she swatted at his head.

Finally finding it, Remus backed up and stood, waving it in the air, bowing at the applauding crowd. "Why on earth are we here anyway?" Harry asked as Ron dragged him onto the backyard area serving as the dance floor. "We're too young to get married."

"It's all about strategy, Harry," Ron said, getting them into position.

The newly-beardless, tuxedo-wearing Professor Dumbledore came up to stand next to them, his blue eyes twinkling with anticipation. "Watch yourselves, boys. I've caught more than a fair share of these in my time. I've found that they make very good tea cozies, and I'd like very much to have a round set of eight."

In the end, their presence was unnecessary. After surveying the collection of bachelors behind him with a studied eye, Remus turned around and threw it directly at Bill, who had no choice but to catch it, since it would have otherwise hit him in the face.

Remus and Mrs. Weasley both seemed very pleased with this result. Bill laughed good-naturedly and made a bit of a show putting the garter on his right leg to hold up his sock. Thankful to be able to sit down again, Harry watched as the unmarried women lined up. Hermione and Ginny escorted Tonks up, standing on either side of her like bodyguards. Professor McGonagall joined them, giggling a little bit, looking much younger and a good deal less stern than she usually did.

Like Remus, Professor Wellbourne also sized up the group of women before tossing the bouquet. She had good aim - it seemed to be heading right for Tonks.

"Watch out," Harry said to Ron. "Hermione might get it."

"Merlin, I hope not," Ron muttered.

In the end nobody got it. As a group, all four women simultaneously took a step away from the bouquet, none of them making the slightest attempt to catch it. Uninhibited, it landed on the ground. There were a few seconds of nudging and whispering, and finally, Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes grandly, bent over, and picked it up.

Then she shoved it at Tonks and beat a hasty retreat.

"You have to admire Mum's ability to put the marriage pressure on. I didn't realize she'd infiltrated the entire Order," Ron said, eyebrows raised.

"They don't stand a chance now," Harry agreed as they watched Bill finish off putting the garter on Tonks by kissing her gigantic belly.

"There's my girl," Ron said as Hermione sat down next to him. He threw an arm around her. "Way to dodge responsibility up there. Good show."

"It wasn't until Professor Wellbourne threw it that I realized I shouldn't have stood right next to Tonks," she said with a smile. "Margin of error and all that."

"You think that's bad," Ginny said, plopping down next to him. "I was between Tonks and McGonagall, and they both tried to shove me forward so I'd have to catch it."

The band started up again and Ginny grabbed his hand. "C'mon, Harry. One of these songs, we're going to get you to actually move your feet."

"I can't," he said, pulling away from her. "I have to talk to Dumbledore."

"You and your excuses," she said breezily, dragging Ron out instead.

Harry found Dumbledore with McGonagall, sitting in a far corner of the porch, having what looked to be a lively discussion.

"So two twisted ankles, a cracked rib, a black eye and three scratched faces later, my sister finally came out with it," McGonagall said, laughing. "Times have changed."

"They certainly have," Dumbledore agreed. "Hello there, Harry."

"Potter," Professor McGonagall greeted him, still chuckling a little bit.

"Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore," he answered. "I was hoping I could talk to you, actually."

"Of course, of course," Professor McGonagall said. "Pull up a chair."

She seemed like a completely different person. It was a bit unnerving, actually. "Er...so..." Harry said, joining them, "I was thinking about the D.A."

"You've done extremely well with them, Potter," McGonagall chimed in.

"Oh," he said, taken aback. "Thank you."

"You were saying, Harry?" Dumbledore prompted him.

"Well, I've taught them pretty much everything I know, and Hermione, Ron, Dean, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Parvati, Lavender, Padma, Justin, Terry, Ernie, Hannah, Colin and Michael are all more than capable of training a group like the original D.A. on their own. I thought it might be time to expand the number of groups and teach more students, maybe even lower the age limit. Umm...so what do you think?"

He had practiced that speech many times in front of the mirror. He'd gotten all of the names in without forgetting anyone - or at least, he thought he had - and for some reason, he still felt the need to finish up his pitch as if he were still twelve years old.

Damn combined presence of Dumbledore and McGonagall.

Nearly an adult, he reminded himself. 5-0 against Voldemort. Just tell them what you want to do, for Merlin's sake, and stop pussyfooting around.

"Or in any case, that's what I'm planning to do, and I'd like your support."

"I think it's a wonderful idea," McGonagall said, winking at him.

Harry started. He couldn't help it.

"It seems like a very sound plan to me," Professor Dumbledore said.

Well, that had been easy. "I also wanted to talk to you about Headquarters," Harry said.

"I'll leave you gentlemen then, shall I?" Professor McGonagall said, rising. "I believe Molly's trying to flag me down."

"Have you decided what you'd like to do with it?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes. I'd like the Order to continue using it."

The Headmaster nodded. "That's a very kind contribution, Harry. We thank you."

"But it's still mine, and I'll be an adult, sir. I'd like the Order to continue using it, provided I'm made a full member."

"Yes, I imagined you would ask for something like that," Dumbledore said.

"You don't want me in the Order yet," Harry concluded bitterly.

"On the contrary, I do," the old man said, smiling at him fondly. "You've certainly earned the right, after all you've done. And to see you follow in your parents' footsteps by joining the Order, Harry...it makes me prouder of you than I can possibly say."

Harry couldn't help but smile back. Whether you were eleven or nearly seventeen or probably even thirty, Dumbledore's approval was a powerful thing.

"You aren't alone," Dumbledore said seriously, laying a hand on his shoulder. "The D.A. and the entire Order of the Phoenix stand with you. Just remember that."

Harry nodded, though he didn't quite believe it. In the end, he supposed, he would be alone. His destiny, his prophecy...and nobody else's. "Thank you, Professor."

"Now let's go see Remus and Vivian off, shall we?"

They followed the trail of people through the front door into the little driveway, where a limousine was waiting. Harry found this a bit funny - a witch and a wizard taking a limousine. It must be one of the Muggle protection measures or something.

Professor Wellbourne shook his hand. "Now's the time to start studying for your N.E.W.T.s, you know," she reminded him, following it up with a kiss on the cheek.

He wasn't sure, but she might have been a bit tipsy.

"Harry!" Remus shouted, coming over to pull him into a hug.

"Congratulations. Have fun. Where are you two going anyway?" Harry asked.

Remus pulled back with a grin. "The Highlands. They're beautiful this time of year."

"Are you going to be seeing them at all?" Professor Dumbledore asked.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Remus laughed, shaking the Headmaster's hand.

It was a whirlwind of well-wishing and noise and activity and Harry took a step back, just taking it all in. Somehow, in the middle of war and death, under the direst circumstances they'd ever faced, something like this was still possible - joy, hope and happiness persevered. Maybe it was just human nature. Maybe dark times just made them all seek out what was good and positive in the world that much more.

He spent a lot of time worrying about the battle, worrying about defeating Voldemort, worrying about how he was supposed to win. Sometimes he got so wrapped up in worrying that he forgot all about the purpose behind it - not just the people he cared about but this. Life moving forward. Joy, hope and happiness. Love.

Funny how easy it was to forget exactly what he was supposed to be fighting for.

A light touch on his shoulder disrupted his thoughts, and he looked over to find Hermione shaking her head at him. "Stop brooding, Harry." Her hand slid down to his, clasping it firmly. "Forget about it all for a few minutes and just enjoy this."

"Sorry," he said, squeezing her hand back, watching Remus trying to fit all of Professor Wellbourne's gown into the limousine before shutting the door. "They deserve this."

"We all deserve this," Hermione said, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Including you."

He leaned his head down to rest on top of hers. "Thanks, Hermione."

"You don't have to thank me, Harry. It's true."

And that was Hermione, really. The years had changed them all a lot, and yet in the end, some things remained unchanged, and one of those things was that Hermione Granger would always, always tell him the truth, no matter what. Impulsively, Harry pulled her into a hug. She hesitated a moment, probably surprised. He didn't really start many hugs. But then her arms wrapped around him. "I guess it is true," he murmured into her hair, "but thank you for saying it anyway."

"I always will," she said softly as they both squeezed each other with one arm, using the other to wave at the limousine until it drove around a curve and disappeared out of sight.