Dark Obsession

Chapter 4

"And I know exactly who it is," Harry said blankly, scanning the note one last time.

CRASH

Both Harry and Hermione jumped at the sound of china breaking behind them. They spun around towards Faren, who was standing at the sink with a look of horror on her face. She was clutching a now howling Jamie tightly in her arms.

"I'm so sorry," she gasped, looking at her employers and trying to calm the growing wails of the baby. "Jamie was squirming, trying to get at the sausages. The plate slipped from my hand."

Hermione rose and stepped over the mountain of eggs, sausages and broken china to take the baby. Jamie was beginning to recover, her wails now shortening into a vague, occasional whimper. "It's okay, Faren," Hermione said kindly to the girl, trying to put her at ease. "Better to drop the plate than the baby."

Her humor was lost on Faren, however. The nanny's jaw dropped in horror before she ran from the room, hand over her mouth. Harry went after her, his eyes pausing to reassure Hermione that he thought it was funny. He found Faren by the front door, struggling with her cloak. Her hands were shaking so badly that she couldn't fit the fastenings together. Harry took her hands and stilled her fingers.

"What's all this?" Harry said softly, removing the cloak from her shoulders and hanging it back up on its peg. Faren kept her eyes to the ground, but Harry was having none of that. He took her chin in his hand and raised her head so their eyes met.

"I'm so sorry, Harry. I should never have tried to take that plate full of food while holding Jamie. But she's usually so calm...she never reaches for things like that...what you must think of me...."

Harry let her run on until she had completely finished lambasting herself. He knew enough of witches to know not to interrupt one while she was on a roll. Once she had calmed a bit, he put his hand on her shoulder, and was quite surprised when she wrapped both of her arms around him in a fierce hug. Harry patted her awkwardly on the back. He'd never grown adept at handling female emotional outbursts. Except Hermione's, he thought with a chuckle.

Faren seemed to suddenly realize just exactly who she was holding so tightly, and blushing furiously, pulled her arms away from him. Hermione walked up behind them, looking like she'd been berating herself almost as much as Faren had. "Faren, I'm so sorry. That was a horrid thing to say, sometimes I just don't think before I speak. Too much of Ron's influence, I expect."

Faren raised her tear-filled eyes to Hermione, but didn't move to embrace her as she had Harry. This rather surprised him, but he supposed that she was mortified enough at having lost control in front of him and didn't want to show the same weakness to Hermione. One thing he knew about his nanny, she was a very proud young lady. And after the way she'd cared for him while Hermione was gone, Harry thought she probably felt more at ease around him than she did around his wife.

"I know you'd never do anything to endanger Jamie, Faren," Hermione said, laying her hand on Faren's arm. The younger girl gripped Hermione's hand in return, and they shared a teary smile. Harry could almost smell the impending emotional flood approaching. He was a bit surprised, as Hermione wasn't usually so quick to tears, but he put it down to the very few hours of sleep she'd been getting lately.

His daughter, completely over the shock of the shattering dish, was looking from her mother to her nanny. Almost as if she could smell it too, she began to screw up her face with her own imminent flood. Witch solidarity gone too far, he thought. Not being able to stand the sound of his daughter's distress, Harry took her from Hermione.

"How about we see what kind of damage that new tooth can do to a bit of toast, eh, love?" he said loudly, trying to overpower the sounds of their sniffles. "And later, we'll ask Faren to take you to see your cousin Morgan. You have some gloating to do, young lady. He may have been born a few hours before you, but you beat him to the first tooth."

Hermione and Faren seemed to return to their normal selves at Harry's words and so, with a few more watery words of apology, the Potters and their nanny headed back to the kitchen for their breakfast.

The atmosphere was still subdued as Hermione magicked the mess off the floor, and Faren threw together another breakfast. The tension finally broke as they watched Jamie attempt to chew her toast around the new tooth. She wasn't terribly pleased at the prospect and kept trying to brush it out of the way.

Hermione twitched suddenly, pulling Harry's attention away from their daughter. For a second, he thought he saw tears in her eyes, but she blinked and her eyes were clear again. He'd caught her doing that a few times this morning, as well as the day before. His exhaustion had kept him from inquiring earlier, but today he wanted to get to the bottom of what was causing her sudden tendency to tears.

"Better get used to it, Jamie girl," Faren grinned as she took the baby from her infant seat and carried her out of the room to dress her. "There'll be more there before you know it."

"Hermione," Harry said quietly once Faren had left, "is everything okay?"

"Of course it is," Hermione said. A bit too quickly, he thought. There was something in her face that had him wanting to press further. The fact that she was biting her lip again made him want to grab her by the shoulders and demand she tell him what was wrong. But there was something else. A plea. Silent though it was, the plea was there in her eyes. Don't ask me again. Not now. Respecting her wishes, Harry beat down the Neanderthal urges and let her change the subject, reserving the right to try again later.

"Do you really know who this is from?" she asked, picking up the paper again.

"I've got a pretty good idea, love," Harry said cryptically, garnering a raised eyebrow from Hermione. Perhaps he was being a bit childish, but if she wanted to keep her secrets, he was going to keep his, too. When he realized that he was acting just a bit less mature than his not nearly-dearly departed cousin at his finest, Harry relented a little. "I'll tell you later after I check it out, okay?" he placated.

Hermione started to question him, but Harry made a show of checking his watch. She waved him off with a furrowed brow and a shake of her bushy head. Harry was suddenly overcome with the desire to kiss the spot right between those drawn together brows. He did just that, startling a laugh out of his wife before she pushed him away.

"Go, you git," she grinned, "or you'll be late."

He'd nearly made it out of the door when Faren's voice stopped him. Jamie was dressed in a pale pink romper for the day and was waving her arms frantically at her father. "We wanted to kiss our Daddy goodbye," she smiled, passing the baby over to him for a quick goodbye peck.

Moments later, Harry was walking down the high street ready to confront the man who currently occupied the top of his Most Likely Note Sender list. He knew he could have told Hermione who he suspected, but not without going into details. Remembering what she'd done the last time she'd spoken about any latent desires between himself and Draco Malfoy, Harry rather wanted to wait until bedtime that night.

Harry had to wait a good few minutes for one of the Malfoys to open their front door, and when they did, he had a difficult time reigning in his smile. Both looked as though they hadn't slept the night before...and not for the usual reasons.

"Morgan cutting teeth, too?"

"Yes," Ginny said around a very large yawn, "that soothing charm in the book Hermione told me about is pure rubbish and us without an ounce of willow sap for the teething gel. Trust my brother to get the most easygoing child in the wizarding world. According to them, Rianne never even fussed. Slimy git." A child's cry sounded from upstairs and Ginny sighed. "His majesty awakes...again."

"What's up, Harry?" Draco said once Ginny had gone after Morgan.

"I just wanted to thank you personally for the little love note you delivered this morning," Harry grinned. But his grin faded a bit at Draco's look of incomprehension. "This," Harry said, a bit more forcefully, pushing the bit of paper towards Draco.

Draco took the paper and read it quickly before handing it back. "What makes you think this is from me? Or are you overestimating your appeal again, Potter?"

"Well, the first clue was the whole scent thing. You're trying to get me back for the stunt I pulled last night." Harry didn't like the desperate note in his voice, but with each passing moment he realized that he was dead wrong about the note originating from Draco Malfoy.

"Harry," Draco yawned, "think about it. This is written on Muggle paper, with a Muggle ink pen. Of all the people you know, I would think I'm the least likely to even know how to operate, much less own, one. Second, I've been trying to coax the demon child into fifteen seconds of silence since I arrived home last night. I wouldn't have had the time."

"Besides," he went on, "this looks like it was written more for a witch than a wizard."

"What makes you think that?" Harry asked, his inner alpha male kicking to life again.

"Look at the words, Harry. All that flowery rubbish...definitely sounds like a wizard itching to get into a witch's knickers to me."

"Such a romantic, Draco," Harry said sarcastically. Morgan's cries of pain echoed towards them from the kitchen, along with Ginny's harried voice telling her husband to stop bullshitting with Harry and come help her.

"And there's the object of those romantic desires now," Draco said, clearly trying to stifle a smile as Ginny began to weave a verbal tapestry of curses, many of which were geared towards vital portions of his anatomy. "My shrinking violet beckons."

Harry turned from the Malfoys' house, chuckling softly at the perfect match those two made. His good humor didn't last for long, though. Draco's words about the note being sent by a wizard to a witch kept echoing in his head. And as much as he tried to convince himself that the note might have been meant for Faren, Harry couldn't push aside the notion that the note was meant for his wife.

Hermione, however, thought that was about as likely as the note being for Madam Pince.

"Harry," she whispered, laying Jamie in her crib later that night, "you've got to get over this notion that there's some wizard following my every move, just waiting for the opportunity to...to...it's just ridiculous. I mean, you're the one that all the witches swoon over. I'm just bushy haired, big toothed, know-it-all Hermione. Who would be obsessed with me?"

"Well, I am. Does that count?" Harry drawled rhetorically from behind her, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her towards him. She fit herself into the curve of his body back to front as they stood whispering over Jamie's crib. Hermione sighed as Harry began to place feather light kisses where her neck met her shoulder.

Hermione turned in his arms and laced her fingers behind his neck. "Lucky me," she said softly, sounding just a little sad. But she rose onto her toes to kiss him properly. The kiss turned from teasing to tantalizing in the swish of a wand. As their kisses grew hungrier, they maneuvered themselves to the bedroom and Harry pinned her beneath him on the bed, his hands fisted in her hair. He pulled his mouth from hers and stared down into her deep brown eyes. He saw something there that frightened him beyond all reason.

For the first time since seventh year, he saw something that could have been sorrow but looked more like fear...and the traces of impending tears pooling at the corners.

All right, he thought, enough of this rubbish.

Harry rose up on his elbows, arms on either side of her. "Hermione?" he said almost fearfully. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione wailed before dissolving entirely. Each sob was like a sword through his chest, but he remained silent until the storm passed. When she'd finally cried herself out, she stretched up and kissed him softly on the lips before squirming her way out from under him.

He rolled over and sat up, watching as she walked over to the writing desk in the corner of their room and extracted a small vial. It was filled about half way with some clear liquid.

"What is that?"

"It's...." Sniffle. "It's...." More sniffles and a pause to hold back deeper sobs. Harry's heart plummeted into his stomach. Was she sick? Was Jamie? Harry was off the bed in a flash, his arms around Hermione in a hug that should have crushed her bones. But Hermione pulled away almost at once. "It's a pregnancy test," she managed, choking back what was probably another bout of tears.

It was odd, Harry thought, to feel waves of relief coursing through him as his wife shuddered with misery just a foot away. He gathered her into his arms more gently this time and waited. When the wails turned to whimpers, Harry took her chin in his hand and forced her eyes to his. "You're pregnant again?" he said, the ghost of a smile teasing his lips.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I've been too afraid to take it. But my cycle hasn't started yet and I'm usually very regular in that respect. And then I started thinking...what if I am? Jamie's still so young, we're just getting used to being parents and that's a lot without adding the stress of another child onto it. We're barely sleeping as it is and to add another pregnancy and the resulting sickness and lethargy...and we've never talked about more children. Then there's your scar hurting and the fire on Privet Drive and someone who seems to think one of us is worthy of anonymous love letters, and..."

Harry sealed his lips to hers before she added the state of the earth's ozone layer into the mix. Once he was sure she'd calmed a bit, Harry released her. "So why not take it now and end the suspense?"

Hermione met his eyes with an expression he couldn't read. She was off to their bathroom a second later, emerging a few moments after with the vial clutched in her closed fist. "It'll take a few minutes," she explained, looking a bit sheepish.

"Then let's get comfortable." He held his hand out to her and together they cuddled up on the bed, Harry with his back to the headboard and Hermione's back to his front. His arms and legs kept her cocooned as they stared at the vial. Neither of them said a word.

Then the liquid turned a bright red and Hermione sighed.

"What?"

"I'm not pregnant," she said softly. He couldn't tell if it was relief or regret. Harry took the vial from her hand and laid it on the bedside table, then removed his glasses and put them next to the vial.

"Are you happy or sad about it, love?" he asked, curling her into his arms as they snuggled under the comforter.

"A bit of both, I think," Hermione said, and Harry was pleased to hear no more tears in her voice. "It would be bad timing all around, but..."

"...but, it would have been nice, too," he finished for her.

"Very nice," she said, turning in his arms to face him. "Do you want another child?"

"With you, Hermione, I wouldn't mind a dozen."

Hermione laughed, which had been Harry's hope. Then he felt her slender hand snake down between them. "Then we'd better get started."

Harry saw the grin a second before her mouth pressed against his. Then her hand found what it was looking for and he knew no more.

^*^*^*^*^*^

Let the games begin, Ron thought as he closed the shop for the night. Time to begin his nightly quest to cajole a smile out of Mariah. When it had become apparent that the nightmares that plagued her every night were beginning to take a toll on her waking hours, Ron had put all of his effort into keeping her humor up. He was failing miserably and not terribly pleased about it. He'd thought briefly of a cheering charm, but he wanted something real -- something she'd feel in every part of her.

So far all his famous Weasley humor had managed was a few slight upturns to her mouth. To Ron, that was abysmal failure. He wouldn't claim victory until the smile reached her eyes. Tonight, though, he had a foolproof plan...after all, he thought, a fool had thought it up.

Ron knew that developing more effective mental shields against their Bond was the key element of his smile plan. He'd been strengthening them for a while. He'd noticed the strain in her immediately after the first bad night and had begun to work at keeping his stray thoughts from filtering through to her. The last thing she needed right now was his daily stresses about inventories and difficult customers nagging at her whenever he felt them.

Besides, he thought evilly, he could hardly startle a smile out of her if she knew it was coming.

A few moments after closing the shop, he pushed open the door to their flat and found Mariah on the floor with Rianne, Faren right opposite her. It took him a moment to realize that Rianne was sitting up. Unsupported.

"Well, well," he said cheerfully as he closed the door behind him, "look at my big girl."

Unfortunately, when she turned to look at her father, she toppled right over again.

"Smooth, Weasley," Mariah commented, catching the baby before she hit her head. "Still knocking the girls over with that charm, are we?"

The younger girl put a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle, but Mariah's eyes remained blank. Damn. He was going to have to pull out all the stops. As unobtrusively as he could, he walked into the kitchen and placed the paper bag on the counter. That would have to wait until they were alone.

Faren was at the door by the time he returned to the main room. "Goodbye, Ron," she said, embarrassment coloring her cheeks as she slipped through the door.

"Another fair maiden won over, Weasley?" Mariah teased, carrying Rianne over to him for good night kisses.

"Shut it," Ron said, his own ears a bit pink, "she's just not comfortable using our first names yet. Harry said that she was like that around him, at first, too." He swung his daughter into his arms and pretended to nibble on her neck and hands. Rianne responded with giggles and gurgles and hands flailing everywhere. One chubby fist grabbed a handful of straight red hair and tugged.

"Face it, Ron," Mariah said, pulling his hair free of Rianne's grip before taking the baby back and heading for her bedroom, "you're just too gorgeous for the rest of us witches to handle."

Ron studied her face as she shot the last comment over her shoulder at him. Close, but not quite. Only the corners again. Inwardly, he was kind of glad. He would have hated to let this prank go unused.

What? She thought at him when she walked back into the room five minutes later.

What ... what? He asked, trying to play dumb. From her raised eyebrow, he could tell it wasn't working.

What is close, but not quite? She'd dropped onto the sofa beside him, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.

You. You're not close enough, he thought back, burying his true thoughts deep down and hauling her over to him. Once she was curled into his side, he pressed a soft kiss to her temple and inhaled the clean, soft scent of her. He knew many wizards liked the various perfumes and shampoos that witches used. But not him. He preferred Eau de Mariah above anything else.

Ron, she began, and then stopped when his mouth reached hers. For a moment, she allowed herself to just sink. Sink into the feel of his lips against hers; sink into the warmth of his arms. Sink into the comfort of his love. As Ron deepened the kiss, she allowed his lips to coax hers open, allowed her mind to drift and pretend that she had no more to worry about than what to fix for dinner.

But she did. She felt Ron sigh against her lips and sighed herself. "I'm sorry, Ron." Her fiancé merely kissed her temple and told her not to worry about it. She sensed something behind his eyes, but could hear nothing from his mind except a running list of inventory for the shop.

"Did you talk to Renae today at all?"

Mariah stiffened at the name, but let the uneasiness pass over her. "She owled," Mariah gritted her teeth, "with some more good news. She said the black shadow is growing closer, the fire is burning brighter and that death is imminent."

"Right cheerful, that woman. I can see the letter now. 'Dear Mariah, I'm fine, your friends are in for a shitstorm. How are you?'" Ron snuck a look at his fiancée. The corners of her lips turned up slightly, but she almost looked worse for the failed attempt at a smile. Ron sighed. "I'm sorry, Angel."

"It's okay, Ron. I need to laugh or this will start to eat me up from the inside, and I appreciate your trying to keep my humor up. But it's all...it's just all so vague. And it hasn't changed. From what she's told me, and what I've been able to piece together by talking it over with you, they are in for a shitstorm. I just don't know who exactly, or when exactly, or what exactly. Hell, I don't know anything exactly. I just..."

"You just know that your friends are in trouble," Ron finished.

Ron could tell she was close to the frustrated tears that had haunted her for too long over the past few months and knew it was time to implement his latest plan. With any other witch, he'd have probably encouraged her to cry. But Mariah hated tears and resorting to them would only make her more miserable. He pressed another slight kiss to Mariah's temple, rose and walked into the kitchen. He returned a moment later with the contents of the Honeydukes bag he'd brought home and two mugs of butterbeer. He'd used his wand to arrange the sweets on a plate and set them on the table.

"Do you ever not think of food?" she asked, taking a chocolate and one of the mugs.

"What would be the point?" Ron said as he swallowed the sweet he'd taken from the top of the pile. "Even if I forgot, my stomach would remind me." He watched warily as she popped the sweet into her mouth, chewed and swallowed.

"What's wrong?" she asked, noticing his careful observation.

"Just waiting," he said casually.

"For what?" But seconds later, she answered her own question by bursting into feather.

Ron doubled over with laughter as Mariah tried to yell at him. It had come out as a squawk. When she molted a moment later, he was still laughing. Mariah, however, looked fit to kill.

"I can't believe you slipped me a Canary Cream," she said blankly. "You ate one from that pile, I saw you. How come you didn't turn into a bird?"

"I made sure to put the one innocent one on top." This came out broken as he tried to say it while still laughing.

"Ronald Weasley," she said, in a deathly serious tone.

A small voice in the back of his head clicked on, and he finally realized that she didn't sound happy at all. She sounded irate. He'd opened up his mouth to apologize when he felt a wave of love radiate from her and the mental embrace he felt whenever she was overcome by her own emotions. And then she smiled. A real Mariah smile, from the tips of her mouth to the twinkle in her blue eyes.

The smile turned evil in the blink of an eye. "You are so dead," she laughed.

Ron sprang from the couch a second before she did and a chase ensued through the flat, around furniture, back and forth through the bedrooms. Twice, Mariah caught hold of the collar of Ron's shirt, but he always managed to get himself free. It didn't end until Ron's overly large feet tripped him up and he landed face down on their mattress. Mariah landed on him before he could get himself turned over.

She used her position to her advantage. There was one thing she knew about her fiancé that many didn't. Ron Weasley was extremely ticklish. And for knowingly slipping her a Canary Cream, he deserved no mercy.

He was still face down on the mattress. She was straddling his back, knees on either side of him with her bottom sitting on his. The perfect posture for ultimate suffering.

Mariah started slow, as all good torture should. Ron was struggling, but the pressure of her knees kept him in place. Her first motion was two light fingers running down his sides, from his waist to his underarms. Ron jerked.

"Mariah," he said warningly, his voice muffled by the mattress.

"You asked for this, Weasley," she said matter-of-factly, "now shut up and take it like a man."

She felt him stop struggling beneath her, but felt his whole body tense, too. Good, she thought, just how I want you.

Be gentle with me, Angel.

No chance, pal. And she began.

A touch here, a stroke there. Hitting his sides, his neck, the undersides of his arms. Every spot she knew to be extremely sensitive. He was laughing, struggling, trying to turn beneath her to stop the constant barrage. She granted him no quarter and kept tickling until she was laughing nearly as hard as he was.

Finally, feeling that revenge was truly hers, Mariah eased up and allowed Ron to roll over beneath her. He was breathing hard with the laughter and struggling. But he was something else as well. When he'd turned over and she'd settled herself back down, it was to find him in a considerable state.

Oh, really? She asked, raising an eyebrow as she settled herself, still fully clothed, over him.

Really, he grinned up at her, arching his hips more fully toward her. They were hot, naked and panting mere moments later. They rolled over and over on the mattress in a clear play for dominance. After ten minutes of being under her control, Ron clearly felt a need to regain a bit of the upper hand. He did so by teasing her unmercifully until she was the one begging. Their evening of attack and revenge left them both lightheaded, curled into each other, and smiling contentedly for the first time in months.

"I love you, Ron," she sighed, feeling blissful unconsciousness beginning to steal over her. She knew there were things they needed to discuss, things that needed saying. But just now, she could've cared less. Right now, she had Ron's arms around her. Nothing else really mattered.

It was almost as if the fates couldn't give her one night off, as an owl chose that moment to tap on the glass of their bedroom window. Ron grabbed his wand from the bedside table and opened the window. The owl fluttered onto Mariah's lap, waited for her to untie the letter and then flew out again. No fuss, no muss. But both of them knew that owls arriving in the middle of the night rarely brought good news.

"It's Renae," Mariah gasped after scanning through the letter once. "She's gone."

"What do you mean, gone?"

"I mean gone. As in no longer here. She had the baby a few hours ago. Kalena knew and showed up just in time to help her. The baby is the Triuna and Kalena's taken them both off. She doesn't say where."

"But what about...all this," Ron waved his hand impatiently. "She's just dropped all this crap on you, on us, about the perilous future of our family and she's off?"

"Welcome to the Diviner World, where our motto is 'every witch for herself'," Mariah said, icy hatred dripping from her words.

Ron took the letter and scanned it himself. "What does this mean?" Ron asked, puzzled.

"What?"

"'You have the means to remedy this, Mariah, you know it.'"

"Renae's gibberish," Mariah scoffed, then lay back down and curled herself into Ron's side, laying her head on his chest.

They both fell silent, but neither slept for a long time.

^*^*^*^*^*^

When Harry and Hermione went downstairs the next morning, there was another note waiting. This one was on the living room table. Hermione picked it up as Harry was holding Jamie.

"Another one?" he asked.

"No," she sighed deeply, "this is much, much worse."

Harry used his free hand to take the letter from her, and then tilted his head to meet her eyes over the rims of his glasses. "Hermione..." he said, in a you-shouldn't-say-things-like-that tone.

"Face it, Harry," she said, tension already creeping into her voice, "when my mother writes a letter, there is never any good news inside of it."

^*^*^*^*^*^

"Minerva McGonagall!"

Hermione's voice echoed through the staff room like a banshee's cry. All heads snapped up, staring at the young professor as she stood at the room's entrance, fury nearly shooting from her eyes. Harry had let his sixth years out early for the express purpose of seeing this live.

"Hermione!" Minerva stood from where she sat with Sara, her surprise evident. "Whatever is the problem?"

"You're the problem, Minerva," Hermione said, lowering her voice only slightly as she approached. "Or I should say your penchant for sending owls to a certain meddlesome mother is the problem."

Harry was fairly sure it was the first time he'd ever seen Minerva McGonagall blanch.

"Hermione, let me explain," the other woman sputtered amid chuckles from the other teachers. Flitwick appeared to be intensely interested in the ceiling, Sara looked almost blank with shock and Harry saw Snape actually clap a hand to his mouth.

"This, I'd love to hear," Hermione softened her voice and allowed Minerva to lead her from the room.

Harry rose to follow, not wanting to miss the rest of the argument, but before he took three steps towards the door, Sara stood and bolted out of the room. The curiosity that had plagued him since he first stuck his nose in Dumbledore's pensieve reared its head and he followed her fleeing form.

Once in the open corridor, he glanced left and right, but there was no sign of Sara. Until he heard the muttering. Cocking his head to the side, Harry followed the muffled sound. Sara was standing with her back to him, hands clenched on a window sill, talking to herself. He could barely make out what she was saying, but the glass in front of her bounced the occasional word back to him.

At first, he'd thought she might be crying, but the white knuckled grip and tensed shoulders told him she was muttering in anger, not in sadness.

Harry was about to step forward when he finally caught more than a few of the garbled words.

"Unbelievable....some kind of spell...no other explanation...if only I could...something's going to change...what should be mine...pay...."

Harry sank back into the shadows when he heard another set of footsteps approach and left her to her mutterings. As he hadn't heard exactly what she'd said, he didn't know what he could really do. But he fully intended to watch the new Transfiguration teacher a bit more closely from now on.

*^*^*^*

Owls flew and heads stuck through fireplaces all around Hogwarts and Hogsmeade throughout the remainder of the day. An indignant Hermione owled Ginny. Ron told Harry via his office fire. Draco, wanting to yell at someone about his mother-in-law, ended up comparing notes with Mariah, the Weasley in-law to be.

Later that evening, the six of them gathered at Draco and Ginny's to commiserate over dinner. Once they were able to compare notes a bit, it became readily apparent that the owls had been flying fast and furious between Minerva, Molly Weasley and Jeanne Granger.

From what they'd been able to piece together, Minerva had received an owl from Molly, wondering if Jeanne Granger knew about the dedication ceremony, similar to Muggle christenings, which traditionally took place before a witch or wizard's sixth month. She'd been after Ron about it for nearly two months, but Ron had chucked those letters straight into the fire. He and Mariah had enough to concern themselves with -- an impending wedding and premonitions of doom et cetera -- that a dedication for Rianne hadn't even crossed their minds.

But his mother, bless her interfering little heart, just couldn't let it lie. Instead, she'd written to Jeanne and Minerva, and between them, they'd arranged everything and planned the three owls to deliver the edicts simultaneously.

And they'd arrived via owl that morning. To each couple.

Ron and Mariah's had been waiting on their kitchen table when they'd staggered from their mutually sleepless night. Harry and Hermione's had been left on their living room table. Ginny and Draco, much to everyone's amusement, had been interrupted in the middle of some early morning loving by an owl landing on their footboard.

"It wouldn't have been so bad," Ginny laughed with the rest, "but he kept staring at us."

"Performance anxiety, Malfoy?" Ron grinned at his brother-in-law. He was rewarded for that comment by a dinner roll to the head.

"So what are we going to do about all this?" Hermione sighed, waving at the three nearly identical letters on the table in front of them.

"I think it's obvious, Mione," Harry said grimly, reading off the contents of theirs, "we're having a dedication for the kids. All of us, next weekend, at Hogwarts, at 4 in the afternoon. Whether we want one or not."

"At least they're letting us pick our own godparents," Ron interjected, which set the room to silence. The six of them glanced back and forth from parents to prospective godparents. Because there was one thing the room's six occupants knew without any wavering, the only people they wanted looking after their children if they weren't there to do it were sitting right at this table. Before anyone could give voice to the conundrum facing them, Mariah stood.

"Look," Mariah said, holding her hands out in front of her. "We can bat names around like bludgers all evening or we can do the only sensible thing." She waited a beat. "Draw names out of a hat."

Sputters of disagreement met her suggestion, and she held up her hands again to ward them off.

"No, Ron," she said, picking the one random comment she'd heard clearly as it had gone straight to her mind, "I'm not taking Rianne's godparents lightly. I'm saying that if we end up checking out early, I want Harry and Hermione and Ginny and Draco to be there to raise her. And I think the rest of us feel the same. But since we can only put down one godmother and one godfather on the certificate, we have to pick somehow. Once that's done, I suggest that we each draw up a will or something that lists the care of our children to reside with the four remaining."

When she sat back down, Ron gripped her hand tightly. He could hear her desperation, feel her fear and her worries that someone would ask about the quaver in her voice as she'd spoken.

It's so important, Ron. For them to decide, to plan. Because if she was right, there's every chance...there's...

Ron squeezed her hand again, trying to send as much of his strength to her as possible. It seemed to work, because her shoulders relaxed and her hand ceased its death grip on his. Harry had once told him what it was like for him before the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament -- wishing he was just another student waiting in anticipation rather than in fear of what was coming -- and Ron thought he knew a bit of what Harry had felt then. As he glanced at her sister and Draco, at his best friends; he wished he was like them and had no knowledge of the possible dangers looming on the horizon.

We're doing all we can, though, love, Mariah thought at him, think we can leave the wolf at the door for a bit and just enjoy the rest of the night?

The six of them drew names from an old wizard's hat Draco summoned from the front closet. There were a few groans and lots of laughter at what the luck of the draw had dealt, but Ron felt himself relaxing and let his friends' teasing and taunting cheer him. Once the hat had been banished back to the closet, Ginny waved their empty plates into the kitchen and summoned pudding and coffee.

"In a way," Hermione said resignedly, "it is kind of nice not to have to do anything."

"Sets a dangerous precedent, though," said Ginny, slicing cake and handing it around. "We'll have to watch them for signs of collusion more closely from now on."

"Minerva won't take part in anything of this nature again," Hermione said smugly, "not after the dressing down I gave her in her office."

"I'm still upset with you over that," Harry said, throwing his arm around her shoulders.

"She deserved it."

"I agree, love. I just wanted to be there to see all of it. I thought Flitwick was going to burst an organ keeping his laughter in." The Charms teacher's reaction reminded Harry about his observation of Sara, and he told the rest of them what he'd seen.

Harry shook his head at the memory. "She seemed manic. She was talking to herself, raving almost. I couldn't really hear her, but I did hear her say something about not standing for it much longer. Something about breaking the spell."

"Maybe she's your mysterious letter writer, Harry," Draco said, offhand. "From what I've heard, she's mad about you, turning up wherever you are and such. Maybe now you'll stop casting aspersions on my good name."

Ron, who happened to be taking a drink of Butterbeer, sprayed the table in a fit of coughing.

"Can't handle your drink, eh, Weasley?" Draco smirked, wiping down the front of his robes.

"Not when I hear the phrase 'good name' used in tandem with Malfoy. No offense, Gin."

"None taken, git," Draco drawled back, trying to maintain a severe stare. He and Ron held each other's eyes for a few moments, but broke into smiles rather than blows.

"I've been thinking about that letter all day, though, Harry," Draco said. "Could it be some old flame from your past? An old ghost come back to haunt you?"

Harry rolled his eyes at him, idly pushing his bangs out of his eyes. "I don't think so," he said quietly. He chanced a curious glance at Hermione. She met green eyes with a twinkle in her own.

"Lothario," she whispered.

"Quiet," he whispered back, blushing slightly.

They were so wrapped up with each other, neither noticed the way Ron and Mariah's gazes had collided or the mental conversation that took place between them.

After two hours of talking, during which several tortures were examined for their interfering parents, they decided that there was no other recourse but to grin and bear it. As they pushed back from the table, Morgan's cries were heard reverberating around the upstairs. Draco glanced hopefully at Ginny, but she shook her head and pointed to her wedding ring. With a sigh, he headed up the stairs.

"Come and see the samples Felicity sent this afternoon for the tablecloths, you two," Ginny said, excitedly, leading Mariah and Hermione towards the lounge.

"Nope," said Mariah, digging in her heels, "I want to know what the deal was with your ring."

"Oh that," Ginny grinned, "we take turns when Morgan screams. I keep track of whose turn it is with my wedding ring. If the ring's on the proper finger, it's his turn."

"Ginny," Hermione commented, "you didn't move the ring over when he went upstairs."

"Noticed that, did you? My husband's fault he's not too observant." The three witches cackled all the way into the den.

"He has to realize you're never taking a turn, though," Hermione commented.

"Eventually, yes," Ginny grinned rather broadly. "He rants and raves like a lunatic and I offer to make it up to him."

"You ever think he fails to notice on purpose?" Mariah asked.

"Of course he does," Ginny giggled and all three dissolved into laughter again.

*^*^*^*^*^

Draco was nervous. Very, very nervous.

Over the course of his courtship and marriage to Ginny Weasley, they'd had many tense discussions. His feeble attempts at leaving her for the sake of her family stood out particularly clear in his mind. But she'd knocked down every argument he'd ever made in those instances and he was not looking forward to butting heads with her over this one.

Because once she heard what he wanted, she'd go mental. There was no way a Weasley, a Gryffindor, was going to sit idly by while Severus Snape took the role of a grandparent at their son's dedication.

In every wizarding dedication, there were godparents that stood as parents' choice for caregiver should something happen to them before the child became of age. But it was also tradition to have the child's grandparents stand up with their progeny as well. Draco's parents were no longer living -- and he wasn't sure he'd have asked them even if they were. Severus Snape, however, had been more a father to him than the man who had sired him and he was not going to back down on this.

Once Morgan was settled back in his nursery, willow sap potion on his red and inflamed gums, they made their way towards their bedroom. He had opened and closed his mouth many times, trying to get the words to come out.

"Out with it, Draco," Ginny teased as she slipped a nightgown over her shoulders. "You look like a fish."

Gathering what fortitude he could, Draco took in a deep breath and plunged straight into it. "Ginny, I know your parents will be standing with us during the dedication and I'm honored to have them there. They've accepted me as your husband and that's something I never imagined would happen. Considering our families' histories, that's nothing short of miraculous. But as I have no parents anymore, I was just..."

Draco couldn't continue his litany. Mostly because he'd always found it difficult to form words when his wife had her tongue in his mouth. And then he found it difficult to form thoughts while she did the thing with her tongue on the roof of his mouth. By the time she'd wrapped her hands across his arse and pulled his hips to hers, he was close to forgetting his own name. When Ginny had finished kissing him, she pulled back and smiled up at him.

"Are you going to ask him tomorrow?" she asked, her eyes bright.

"Who?" Draco asked, completely seriously.

"Snape," she said simply, "that is what you were working up to, isn't it? You want him to stand up with us, right?"

It took a moment for her words to register. Snape? Snape who? When some of the blood filtered back into his brain, he remembered what he'd been saying before she attacked him. Then he realized that she'd known what he was leading up to all along. "How did you know?"

"I know you, Draco."

She said it as though that answered everything. Draco supposed that it did.

"I love you, Red," he said, lowering his head to take her mouth. He tried to pour everything he was feeling into the kiss. He tried to tell her physically what he'd never quite been able to vocalize. His love for her, how lucky he was to have her at his side, and how he didn't feel complete without her. Somehow, those three words didn't seem to convey it well enough for him. He supposed that he got his point across, however, because soon her nimble fingers were unfastening his shirt and pushing it off his shoulders. With his hands on her hips, Draco gently maneuvered her to the bed and eased her onto the mattress.

The sound of crumpling parchment distracted him.

"What the bloody hell?"

"Oops," Ginny laughed, reaching for her wand on the bedside table and banishing the mess to the small writing desk near the window. "I was working on wedding things before dinner. I forgot to put it up...what?" Her final question came as Draco's brow furrowed again.

"Pardon?" he asked, confused.

"You're wearing the brooding face. What is it now?"

Draco didn't bother to ask what his brooding face was. He was too afraid that she'd tell him.

"The wedding," he said blankly. "You're really enjoying all the planning, aren't you?"

"Yes," she grinned. "I love it. In fact, I found the perfect flowers for Mariah's bouquet today, they're a very rare white and red rose, and it'll be a job getting..." she stopped when Draco sighed loudly. She stared into his gray eyes, reading the secrets in them as easily as if they were written across the pupils. But she said nothing. When she crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, Draco knew he'd better start talking.

"I was just wondering if you missed not having a wedding of your own to plan," he said seriously. He was apparently wearing his brooding face again because she grinned widely. If there was one thing he loved about the woman next to him, it was her ability to keep him from slipping too far into that brooding mindset.

"Nope," she said, her tone flippant as she pushed him back onto the bed and threw a leg over him, straddling his hips.

"But you helped plan Harry and Hermione's, and now you're having so much fun with Ron and Mariah's..."

"Yes, I am. I'm also quite glad I'm not the bride. All those decisions would have driven me mad. It's just not me, Draco. It's not us."

Draco thought about arguing, but her present position offered too many other, more palatable possibilities. He thrust his hips slightly upward before taking hold of hers, a very wicked grin sliding over his face. "And what exactly is us, Red?"

"I was hoping you'd ask," she grinned back. She then proceeded to show him for the next several hours.

^*^*^*^*^

Journal Entry

I am trying, beloved. But I fear our time apart is not strengthening my resolve. I realize that the spell under which you've found yourself is not going to dissipate in mere days. But I need more from you than the sly looks you bestow upon me. I need the feel of you, the scent of you. I need you in my arms. Knowing that the spellcaster still occupies that happy place is like a splinter under my skin.

I shall endeavor to carry on. But it's getting difficult...to be without you near me constantly. To be so close without the ability to declare our love openly. Our time is coming, of that I am sure. Stay true and stay mine, beloved, and we will be together.

*^*^*^*^*^*

"Well?" Hermione asked, nearly ambushing Harry in the Transfiguration corridor before the bell signaling the end of afternoon classes rang.

"She said yes," Harry smiled, pleased but thankful that the encounter was over. He'd seen Minerva McGonagall in various states of emotional upheaval, but he'd never seen her in tears. He had been woefully unprepared for the twin rivers that had coursed down her cheeks after he'd asked her to stand in for his mother at Jamie's dedication.

Something of his thoughts must have played across his face because Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist. "Did she cry?"

"Yes," Harry said, still a bit shaken at having to witness it. "I still don't know why."

"Are you that thick or is it a man thing?" Hermione asked, her lip twitching at his stunned face. "You were asking her to stand for your mother, Harry."

When his face didn't clear of its confusion, Hermione just hugged him to her tighter and said, "Men."

The bell sounded soon after and they headed off in the direction of the Great Hall and their weekly duty at the staff table. They were a few steps away from the stairs when a door banged open to their left. Harry was astounded to see one of his students burst out of it.

"Annika," Harry said, perplexed. "What's wrong?"

She didn't say anything, she just kept staring at him and Hermione and then back at the empty classroom. Her mouth was hanging agape, her eyes wide and bright with fear.

Harry met Hermione's eyes as he drew his wand from the inside pocket of his robes and headed into the classroom.

The cold hit him immediately. It was an old, familiar chill that sent his nerves dancing and tensed his shoulders. As his eyes landed on the Dementor, he heard Lily Potter's anguished scream tear through his heart. As Dementors weren't a common sight these days, their kind having deserted England not long after Voldemort's death, it took a moment to act. Deciding to determine how it had gotten here later, Harry raised his wand and conjured his Patronus. Prongs walked quietly towards the black hooded figure and lowered his antlers as if to gore the decaying figure. The Dementor took a step backwards and Harry clued in immediately.

He dismissed Prongs with a casual wave and was just about to destroy the boggart when he remembered Lupin's first lesson and his eager third years. "Immobulus," he called, stunning the creature into stillness. Harry located a latched box in the cabinet to his left and stuffed the boggart inside. Once secure, he carried the case to the hallway.

Hermione was standing near Annika, looking puzzled. The girl was standing with her back to the wall, her arms wrapped around her own middle. Harry was a little surprised that Hermione wasn't comforting the girl. But she didn't exactly look receptive to any nurturing. Hermione had probably tried and been rebuffed. Seventh years were frequently like that; desperate for their independence and therefore unwilling to take help or comfort from any adult.

He'd been no different, so he couldn't blame her.

"It was a boggart," he explained, walking over to his student.

Annika laughed a high, still slightly panicked sound. "Well, that's good. I thought for a second..." she trailed off, looking from Harry to Hermione. "Never mind."

"Keeping it for a pet, are we?" Hermione joked, trying to lighten the fear that still danced in the young girl's eyes.

"I've got plans for this fellow," Harry said solemnly, dropping a wink to Annika for the same reason.

Their efforts seemed to have worked, because she smiled back and gave a more genuine laugh before excusing herself and walking back down the hall in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.

"I wonder what her boggart was," Hermione asked as Harry levitated the case and charmed it to follow them. Arm in arm, they walked in the other direction towards dinner.

"It's a basilisk," Harry said, startling his wife. "We did some brushing up on them last year and that's what it turned into. Gave me a few bad memories, I don't mind saying. I was halfway to my wand before I remembered it was only an exercise."

There was a single, very pregnant pause. "Don't say it, Harry," Hermione admonished the moment his mouth opened.

"What?" he said in a would-be innocent tone.

"Don't mention my boggart from third year. I don't want to have to hurt you."

"I was going to do no such thing," Harry said in his most earnest voice, his hand covering his heart. Hermione stopped their forward progress so abruptly that the case nearly slammed into the back of Harry's head. She stood in the middle of the corridor, crossed her arms and raised a single eyebrow.

"I was going to speculate that these days it might be Minerva telling you your lesson plans are all wrong."

She said nothing for a long time. "You're going to pay for that one, Potter," she snorted, although Harry could see the corners of her mouth fighting to stay down.

"Is that a promise or a threat, Mrs. Potter?" He grinned at her and raised his eyebrows comically. There was something in her smile in that moment that shot through his system like fire. It's that smile, he thought, the one that she gives just to me. The one that says I love you and I want you and you're mine all at the same time. And Harry knew that he had to kiss her and kiss her now.

He walked towards her, slowly backing her into the wall. She stopped only when her back hit stone. "Harry," she said, half warning, half pleading, her tongue snaking out to lick her lips.

"Sorry," he said, not sorry at all, "but you're just too tempting." Without another word, he swooped down and feasted on her lips. Her arms were around his neck seconds later, grabbing at the black mop and tickling the base of his neck. Harry's hands snaked under her robes to settle on her rear and pull her more fully to him. Her tongue darted into his mouth as he pressed his desire into her.

The sound of a young girl's cough had them springing apart like kids caught it the Astronomy Tower.

"Katia," Harry said, hoping the third year wouldn't notice, or comment on, the high pitch of his voice. He suddenly became uncomfortably aware of the number of people walking down the corridor. He wondered how many of his students and fellow teachers had passed by either gawking or grinning at the pair of them snogging like teenagers. Most assuredly it was more than Hermione would easily forgive him for. She'd get him back for the public display...and he was starting to look forward to it.

One of these days, he was going to have to learn some control where his wife was concerned. Then a whiff of her apple scented shampoo hit his nose as she ran nervous fingers through her hair. Not bloody likely, he thought as his hunger for her kicked up another notch.

Hermione elbowed him in the stomach and tried to shut off his libido. Harry tried to surreptitiously conceal the most damning evidence as he turned toward Katia. "What can I do for you?"

"It's nothing really," she said quickly. "I was just...my sister is a first year now and she wanted to see the award we were given last term. While we were on the way out, I noticed that yours is missing. The one from your second year."

"Missing?"

"Well, it wasn't in its usual place," she clarified. "I told Mr. Filch, but he didn't seem to think it was a big deal. Just told me I'd forgotten where it was and to get back to class."

"That sounds like Mr. Filch all right," Harry conceded. "But I wouldn't worry about it, Katia. He probably moved everything around when he cleaned up all the glass after Peeves went berserk. I'm sure it's still there."

"I suppose that makes sense," she said, sounding so much like Hermione that he was struggling to keep his face blank. Her fellow Gryffindors called after her a moment later and she went over to them. He and Hermione stood staring after them, what some were already calling the second Gryffindor Trio, with a pang of nostalgia.

"Doesn't seem like that long ago that we were ferreting out the school's secrets, does it?" Hermione asked as they moved into the Great Hall.

"No, it doesn't. And that reminds me, I need to send an owl to Draco later tonight about Ron's bachelor party," Harry said and they both shared a laugh at the memory of the bouncing ferret who was now one of their dearest friends.

Dinner that night was an exercise in torture. Stuck at the staff table, Harry had to endure Hermione's version of revenge. He was positive no one else in the Great Hall had a clue what was going on, but he also knew that he if he didn't get his wife alone soon, he was going to implode. To the rest of creation, she looked as though she was carrying on a conversation about the implications of Arithmantical theory. But as she spouted numbers and spells to LinaVector, she was slowly creeping her slender fingers up and down his legs. What is it with her and driving him mad under tables?

"Hermione," Harry half groaned, half growled.

"Yes, Harry?" she said in a would-be innocent tone. The devilish light in her eyes gave her away.

"Nearly finished?" he asked, indicating her plate.

She grinned even wider as her index finger hit a particularly sensitive spot. "Nearly."

Harry couldn't stand it anymore. He stood, sent up the hundredth thank you for the billowing robes, grabbed Hermione's hand and pulled her to her feet. "Good night," she called to a broadly grinning Lina.

Harry didn't even bother heading for home. He dragged her through his classroom, into the office and backed her against the wall. He wasn't particularly delicate as he threw her robes to the side and loosened her clothing. Neither was she, he thought as he felt her hands push his trousers and boxers out of the way. But there was a time and a place for delicate -- the wall of his office didn't quite qualify.

When they returned home that evening, dismissed Faren and headed up to their room, they were both still grinning like Cheshire cats. Until Hermione caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

"What?" Harry said, knowing exactly what was wrong and not bothering to hide his amusement. This time, the revenge was his.

"My robes are on inside out," she said, glaring at the humor radiating from his green eyes. "And you knew. We passed twenty people when we left the school, and then Faren...and they all saw..."

"Guess I should have mentioned that, eh?" Harry said, now raising his hand to stifle the laughter.

"You are in so much trouble," she hissed, backing him onto the bed. The couple spent a rather enjoyable evening getting each other back as often as possible.

*^*^*^*^*^*

The morning of the dedication dawned dark and gloomy. A shroud of grey clouds blanketed the sky, carrying a hint of snow. The wind howled, running through the bare tree branches like children on holiday and twice as loud. It was a day to spend curled into a chair with a good book or a willing mate. But for three families, it was time to get all dressed up and brave the elements.

Morgan Malfoy was already balking at the idea. Draco could hear Ginny trying to cajole the baby into the tiny set of wizards robes Molly had sent for the occasion. Morgan hated clothing of any kind, so he knew his wife was in for a struggle. But Morgan's father had more important things on his mind this winter morning than the contortion involved in dressing an irritable infant.

Draco pulled his best robes over his slender frame and muttered to himself as he righted them. It wasn't so much that he minded being godfather to Jamie Potter; even though that probably meant that they'd end up raising the girl after her act-first-think-later parents got themselves done in over one noble cause or another. Then again, he thought, with their current level of friendship, he'd probably end up dead right beside them.

No. That's not what was bothering him. The part that seemed hardest to swallow was that in less than two hours time he would be watching as Ron Weasley become godfather to his son. It was almost beyond comprehension. Fastening the black velvet robes at his chest, he sighed deeply.

Ginny, dressed in robes of deep blue, Morgan nestled at her shoulder, came over to him, a look of utter satisfaction on her face.

"You can stop the sighing, Malfoy," she grinned up into his gray eyes. "If I'm expected to allow Snape to act as your father, you can accept my brother as Morgan's godfather."

"I should have suspected this, I suppose. You gave in way too easily on that. You going to be throwing that at me a lot, aren't you?"

"That's the current plan," she grinned. "I imagine your father's flipping over in his grave about now."

Draco hadn't thought of that. He allowed himself a moment to picture the look on Lucius' face upon hearing that a Weasley would take on such a role for a Malfoy. Suddenly, his whole outlook brightened. He could see his father's face, see it fill with blood as the man's temper heightened. He could almost hear the sputters of outrage in the voice he'd grown to loathe.

"You're right, Red," Draco grinned, pulling Morgan from her. "He'd be livid." Morgan hadn't quite finished his teething yet and was still gnawing on anything he could get near his mouth. A large wet mark on the shoulder of Ginny's robes attested to this. Ginny followed Draco's gaze and ran a finger over it. She shrugged and walked out of the room, both of them knowing it would be pointless to change. He'd just chew on the next ones. Drying spells were clearly going to be the order of the day.

All set, they stood in front of the fire. Ginny hoisted Morgan's baby bag on her shoulder and covered Morgan with a blanket. They'd found out rather early that their child despised traveling by Floo. Because of this, they walked whenever they could. But, as Hogwarts was over a mile away and it looked like snow was imminent, their method of travel couldn't be helped. Ginny lit the fire and threw the powder into it, saying "Harry's office" before they stepped into the warm flames.

Morgan, being as observant as most children are to things they find distasteful, began screaming the moment Draco's foot hit the warm flames. Within moments, they were stepping out of the fire, covered in ash and soot, Morgan screaming as if he'd just been separated from a limb.

"Nice sound, that," Ron teased as Morgan continued to wail. "What, he get a good look at his dad this morning?"

"Shut it, Weasley," Draco said. His ears were surely bleeding by now, but he stood patiently as Ginny removed the blanket and muttered the cleaning spell to remove the soot.

"That's Godfather to you, Malfoy," Ron grinned, not wanting to lose the opportunity to tease him about it again.

"The only reason I agreed," Draco replied, walking towards where Mariah stood, "is your fiancée. As long as you're with her, you probably won't turn into half the wanker you have the potential for."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Mariah said easily, "I think. Not sure what that says about my taste in men, though." She returned his kiss to the cheek in greeting, but he couldn't help but notice the sadness in her eyes as she looked into his. Something about that look, her eyes, sent a chill of foreboding down his spine.

When Ginny and Mariah began to coo and twitter about Morgan and Rianne's dedication robes, Ron wandered over towards Harry; Draco used the time to scan the room. And it was just as he thought.

Not another Slytherin in sight. The room was, in fact, crawling with Gryffindors, both past and present.

He supposed it shouldn't be a surprise to see Remus Lupin and Sirius Black there, but it was a bit odd to see one of them with a date. Draco almost choked when the woman standing with them rose on her toes to kiss Lupin's mouth. He suppressed a quick shudder but kept his face impassive.

"A bit unpalatable, isn't it?" said a deep voice behind him.

Draco spun to face his fellow Slytherin, a look of comical horror on his face. "I suppose werewolves need love, as well." He considered this. "How do you suppose...?"

"I don't even want to think about it," Severus held up a hand to stop him. "Good morning, Ginny. You're looking well."

"Good morning, Severus," Ginny said, and Draco was glad to hear not a trace of malice in her voice. He'd have fallen in love with her again for that alone, if he wasn't hopelessly gone already.

Hermione entered the room a few moments later, Minerva McGonagall and the Grangers in her wake as well as a wizard Draco had never seen before. Draco blinked when he took in the man's Muggle attire. And then it hit him, this man must be the surprise he'd heard Ginny muttering about over the past week. She hadn't said much to him, but he knew it involved Mariah. He shot his eyes to her just as she moved away from the main group to stand by a frost covered window.

Mariah was staring into the patterns the frozen condensation had created as if they held the answers to all of her questions. Her fears and sorrows were fighting with the joy of the day's upcoming event. She was afraid that the dark feelings were winning. Since Renae's departure, she'd been unable to put the woman's dark predictions and portents out of her head for more than a few hours at a time. Her dreams remained disturbed, but she could get no more clear indication of what they meant or what they were trying to tell her. A very small part of her wished she'd listened harder when her mother had explained about dreams and signs. But even in her teens, she'd loathed the idea of having anything to do with her mother's world.

Her blond head shook in a disgusted, almost desperate attempt to dislodge any such thoughts. Dreams were just dreams. They weren't future pictures or omens of doom. They were just as she'd told Hermione back at that Virginia library so long ago. Dreams were just the subconscious taking out the trash. Nothing more, nothing less.

She snuck a surreptitious glance over her shoulder at the Malfoys and she felt the sadness start to sneak into the corners of her soul. Ginny, Morgan and Draco sat together on an oversized loveseat, speaking with Severus Snape. Her heart lurched as Ginny placed her hand to Draco's arm and squeezed slightly. Then she felt a pair of lips on the back of her neck. She didn't even bother to tease.

"Hey love," she said on a sigh, trying still to shake off the doom-and-gloom persona that tended to cling to her when they were gathered together.

"You planning on smiling at all today?" Ron said. Mariah whipped her head around to bore her eyes into his. He was as closed off to her as a complete stranger. She could get no sense of him at all, not even a vague thought that he was hungry.

"What are you hiding from me?" she accused, her tone soft so as not to attract attention.

"A present, Angel," Ron grinned, leaning down to kiss her forehead. When he pulled back, their eyes held each other's again.

Turn around, Mariah, towards the door.

She did. Unbelievable as it was, her father was standing by the door with Harry, Hermione and Hermione's parents.

"Daddy?" she said, tears filling her eyes as she ran across the room to him.

Her father caught her tightly to him and spun her in a circle. When they stopped, Mariah pulled away slightly to search her father's face. It had been so long since she'd seen him. She'd forgotten how much he could calm her, settle her, just by his presence. In her whole life, the only thing she'd ever been able to count on was her father. The only person that didn't lie, didn't manipulate, didn't use her for their own gain. He was the only one that had ever loved her for her.

Until Ron.

"Daddy," she choked again, reaching out a hand for Ron and beckoning him over. He walked over to her nervously. Rianne, gurgling at the newcomer from the safety of her own father's arms, stared at her grandfather with bright eyes and a curious expression.

"Daddy, I want you to meet Ron, and our daughter, Rianne," Mariah said softly, her throat hoarse from the tears. The men shook hands and seemed to size the other up as their hands unclasped.

As Mariah watched the two most important men in her life shake hands, she was beyond words. But Ron felt the love, the gratitude, and the inexpressible joy nonetheless.

I love you, too, Angel.

*^*^*^*

The dedication itself took place in the Great Hall. Normally, smaller rooms were used for such personal ceremonies, but Harry and Hermione had wanted their students to be allowed to attend if they so desired. Both were amazed to see nearly all of them there. Katia, David and Zach had arrived nearly an hour beforehand to ensure they had seats up front and Harry saw his entire seventh year Defense Against the Dark Arts class right behind them. Faren was seated next to Annika and the two were chatting amicably about something. He was glad to see the friendship growing between them, glad that Faren was finally meeting some witches her own age. He made a mental note to prod her to spend some time in the village during the next Hogsmeade weekend rather than cooped up in her room with her books.

Rather than crowd the ceremonial platform with all the families at once, they had elected to perform each dedication separately. They'd drawn straws to decide the order. Draco had voiced his impatience with the Gryffindor tendency towards fate but had been told, repeatedly, to kindly sod off.

Harry and Hermione went first. They stood in the center with the Grangers behind Harry and Sirius and Minerva behind Hermione. Draco and Ginny held Jamie as Dumbledore performed the incantation over her. The five minute ceremony was repeated over Morgan. Draco shifted an eyebrow as Ron ensured he was the one holding the baby. He opened his mouth to say something, but Ginny elbowed him in the ribs before he could. Then Rianne was brought to the dais, held by Harry. Mariah still looked a bit red around the eyes as she clutched her father's hand.

After half an hour, the ceremony had concluded and everyone was allowed forward to welcome the new witches and wizard into their world. The girl students fussed over the babies' small robes and the boys merely looked awkward. Hermione had taken one of the empty seats and her students were all crowding around her, cooing over Jamie. Katia had stood away a little, her face showing how much she wanted to come closer but her hesitancy to do so. Hermione signaled her forward, motioned for her to sit and then placed the baby in the young girl's arms.

But one person didn't rush forward to join in the congratulatory motions. Instead, he hung back and signaled to Harry.

"Yes, Headmaster?" Harry said, joining the older wizard near the back wall.

"I've done as Minerva asked and looked into the probability of Voldemort being responsible for your scar hurting," Dumbledore began.

Harry was a bit taken aback. With all that had happened, the twinge he'd felt had faded out of his memory. True, he occasionally felt a tickle along the scar, but he had accepted Snape's reasoning and it rarely registered in his conscious mind. He recounted his discussion with Snape to Dumbledore, but the older man did not look appeased.

He caught Hermione's eye across the short span separating them and she nodded curtly. Trusting that Jamie was safe with Katia...or, she should say, safe with Faren sitting next to her on one side and Annika right next to her, Hermione rose. "Katia, could you watch Jamie for me for a moment?"

"Of course, Professor," Katia said in an awed voice, clearly touched to be left with such a responsibility.

She arrived at Harry's side just as Dumbledore started speaking again.

"That may be, Harry," Dumbledore agreed, but didn't look like he thought that was the case. "But the mark Severus continues to feel was burned into him deliberately. Yours wasn't."

"So what?" Harry said. "I don't see how that would make much of a difference." Harry touched it again unconsciously and nearly stumbled backward when he felt an answering caress.

Dumbledore merely sighed. "Just be on your guard, Harry. I sense that this...feeling...you're getting is a sign of trouble ahead. The charm to connect two people through touch is not that complex. An obscure one, yes, but not impossible. Nor is it difficult to perform. All the caster needs is one item to touch the area to be charmed and there will be a connection. And it worries me that I've seen you touch that scar no less than five times since the ceremony began."

The scream kept Harry from answering. The whole room went silent as the sound of a young girl in pain echoed around the hall. Harry and Hermione both began to run at the same time.

And they both reached Katia mere seconds after she hit the ground.