Gate of Ivory, Gate of Horn

Land of Hope and Glory

War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things. The decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth war is much worse. The person who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing which is more important than his own personal safety, is a miserable creature and has no chance of being free unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself.

- Jno Stuart Mill

A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full numbers.
- Shakespeare

Gloria virtutem tanquam umbra sequitur: Glory follows virtue as if it were its shadow.

- Cicero

Those who know how to win are much more numerous than those who know how to make proper use of their victories.

- Polybius

He who did well in war just earns the right /
To begin doing well in peace.
- Robt Browning

If ever there was a holy war, it was that which saved our liberties and gave us independence.

- Thos Jefferson

Freedom and fear, justice and cruelty, have always been at war, and we know that God is not neutral between them.
- Geo W Bush

Bella suscipienda sunt ob eam causam, ut sine injuria in pace vivatur: Wars are to be undertaken in order that it may be possible to live in peace without molestation.
- Cicero

We make war that we may live in peace.
- Aristotle

i. Draco: The Splendour Falls

These weren't dreams, this was delirium.

_________________________

ii. Harry: A Village Romeo and Juliet

Prophecy? Poppycock. Psychosis, more likely.

_________________________

iii. Dumbledore: Capriole

Dumbledore had never been so tempted to intervene as now. Not because the future held out by the dreams was so promising, but because it promised such recurrent hilarity. He really wanted to live to see these things: he wanted the laugh.

_________________________

iv. The Lark Ascending

Once again, the dreams. Once again, as ever, framed by the scene of the two of them, wounded but alive, meditating the uses of victory amidst the groans of the wounded and the dying.

'Now we both have what we wanted. And we can do as we damned well please. That is what victory is, Harry. And that is what was worth fighting for.'

And Harry remembered the words of a seer from years before: neither may live while the other survives.... Perhaps, now, it would be possible to get on with life: to live, at last. Life springing new....

_______________________

v. Orb and Sceptre / England, My England

The first thing they heard - and for not a few of them, it was a sound akin to the blown bugles of a relief force, or the keen and skirl of the pipes as Havelock's column, or Colin Campbell's, after, came to Lucknow - was the ring of heels on marble, the crisp stride of an angry young man moving at speed through the empty halls of the Ministry. The next sound was a brief exchange at the door: 'Sir, you can't go in there, now, sir!' 'Stand. Aside. Or. Else': and then the door itself being blown back on its hinges.

Harry Potter stormed into the Wizengamot Chamber, eyes blazing, mouth set in a hard line. 'What the HELL is going on here, and who decided I was not to be told?'

'How dare you barge into a sitting in this fashion after it has been called and begun!'

'How dare YOU - HELL AND DAMNATION, HOW DARE YOU SO MUCH AS SHOW YOUR FACE HERE, FUDGE! You don't bloody BELONG here, you belong in AZKABAN! The War's OVER, Fudge, no thanks to YOU! Arthur's and Amelia's wartime decisions "not to open a quarrel between the present and the past" won't protect you any longer!' Harry's voice was rising steadily in volume, and deepening in timbre: the Boy Who Lived was now the Man Who Had Won, and it showed.

'Right,' Ron murmured to Hermione. 'He's shouting. Just like old times, innit? S'pose that means he must be fully healed.'

'Harry.' Arthur was calm. 'Please, do take your appointed seat. It's good to see you up and about, and you can, er, continue your maiden speech as a Wizengamot member in a moment.'

'Minister. I must again first ask, Why was I not informed of this sitting?' Harry glared at his friends, this time, obviously suspecting that they had once again made his decisions for him and conspired to keep him in the dark.

From the back benches, two well-known figures rose. 'Really, Mr Potter, that is enough. Sit down before you do yourself a mischief.' Poppy Pomfrey and Hippocrates Smethwyck, as representing St Mungo's and the profession (Mungo's being, after all, the only teaching hospital in Wizarding Britain), were long-standing Members of the Wizengamot. Poppy gave Harry one of her most no-nonsense looks. 'You're doing a lovely job of concealing it, but it's obvious to any trained eye that you still oughtn't be out of hospital. As for why you were not expected here today, you can cease at once blaming your friends. Hippocrates and I wouldn't sign the medical chit. You can argue politics, law, and anything else you please, young man, but there is no appeal from a medical opinion. Now - as you are here, Heaven knows how, and we may as well make the best of it - sit quietly or I'll have you back in hospital before you can say, "wand".'

Amelia Bones sighed, gustily. 'Oh, let's get this all on a sound footing. Minister, Honourable Members, I present to this body the Right Honourable HJ Potter, already sworn to the Magical Privy Council, and thus ex-officio Member of this Moot, Order of Merlin First Class, and all the rest of it. Thank God we aren't actually obligated to go through all the Muggle formalities. Mr Potter, take a pew. The issue currently before us is, formally, legislation moved by the Right Honourable Cornelius Fudge, late Minister for Magic - which the Honourable Member, Mr Tiberius Ogden, by an amendment that would never have passed muster at Muggle Westminster, procedurally, has made a vote of no-confidence in the present Ministry - the underlying bill being moved relating to forfeiture and attainder measures, war crimes tribunals, and other matters.'

'So I heard from the Press, outside. By the way,' Harry added, 'I've just given the Skeeter woman in charge for being an unregistered Animagus, and for a few other crimes, so you'll be getting that in your tray.'

'Oh, lovely.' Madam Bones's voice was dry. 'I really cannot continue to sit as Speaker and Head of the DMLE both, it's a killing pace. Very well, then, let's get on with it. The Right Honourable Gentleman, Mr Fudge, has tabled and moved a Private Member's Bill. The Honourable Gentleman, Mr Ogden, has by amendment to that bill moved a vote of censure, of no-confidence in the Ministry. Debate will continue - second reading. The Right Honourable and Gallant Gentleman, Mr Potter, is recognised - against the motion, I gather?'

'Madam Speaker. Yes. Against the no-confidence motion, and - by way of a Reasoned Amendment - against the underlying Private Member's Bill now moved.

'Madam Speaker, the second reading is the time for a discussion of first principles.' Arthur could just be heard to murmur, 'Oh, very neat, the lad has grown up', and Albus Dumbledore discernibly chuckled. 'I advert this house to the grave miscarriages of justice that occurred during the ascendancy of Barty Crouch the Elder, and to the unconscionable circumstances surrounding the wrongful imprisonment of that great and good warrior for the Light, Sirius Black.'

'Madam Speaker! I rise to a point of order!'

'The Right Honourable the late Minister, Mr Fudge.'

'Madam Speaker, we have all had ample experience of Harry Potter, and even aside from his notorious instability, the boy can hardly string three words together! I demand that the person now speaking in his guise be immediately examined for Polyjuice!'

Ron was on his feet, feeling fruitlessly for his wand (which was, of course, hanging in its loop in the Member's Cloakroom. Not even the Wizengamot were daft enough to allow its members to come to debate armed), Hermione was white with fury, and Harry was on the verge of eviscerating Fudge wandlessly, as he easily might.

'Madam Speaker....'

'The Right Honourable the Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore.'

'For those not familiar with Harry's - I do apologise, with my Right Honourable and Gallant Friend's - maturation, the point of order is not in fact unreasonable. I move that this Moot do stand recessed for one hour, not to leave this chamber, and that we observe my Right Honourable and Gallant Friend during that period, to lay this concern to rest. As Chief Warlock, I will also avail myself of the time to send the Serjeant at Wands on a few minor errands, as is my right.'

'M- Madam Speaker,' Fudge gabbled, 'on consideration, I withdraw my point of order -'

'Madam Speaker,' said Dumbledore, at his most twinkling, 'I do not. I suggest that my Right Honourable and Gallant Friend have some water now, after which we shall begin our hour's watch. In the interim, I have some summonses for the Serjeant at Wands to carry forth, to absent Members.' He winked at Harry, who subsided, knowing that the old wizard had something up his capacious sleeves.

The Speaker, Madam Bones, made her ruling. 'This Moot shall stand recessed for one hour from - has the Right Honourable and Gallant Gentleman refreshed himself? - one hour from now. No one is to leave the chamber, unless escorted by the Deputy Serjeant: I mean, someone is certain to need the privy in the interim, after all. Quite likely me.'

Madam Bones rose and walked over to where Harry was sitting. 'Now that we're unofficial, Harry, I can say, you do look like you've been through a hedge backwards. Are you up to this?'

'I have to be, don't I? Hardly worth getting shut of old Adderface if Fudge is to take the helm of the brave, new post-War world.'

'You shan't have to do this alone, though, dear boy.'

'Thank you, Headmaster.'

'Please. It's Albus, after all this. Although, frankly, after "all this", given what that's been, I suppose I should be grateful enough you even speak to me.'

'No, A- Albus, you were right. It would have been wrong to have cheapened my mother's blood-sacrifice, and the blood-magic she invoked, by meddling with the Dursleys and the wards at Privet Drive, however much it hurt me.'

'I still find it very difficult to forgive myself for what that protection cost you, my dear child.'

Harry leaned against the old man's shoulder, and closed his eyes, the weariness warning him that he'd been hasty in bullying his way out of Mungo's. 'Well, I understand better now. About that, and about operational secrecy and the burden of command, and not being able to tell people things they would ordinarily, in peacetime, have a right to know. I don't even pitch a wobbly when you call me "dear boy", now, do I?'

Albus chuckled.

'I like having a sort of great-uncle in you,' Harry said. 'I'll take all the family I can get, actual or acquired. I've been in want of one.'

'I know,' Albus said, gravely. 'Still, I've been a stern enough taskmaster. I can hardly expect or deserve that you regard me as family - even "acquired" family.'

'You did what you felt was wanted in light of what my mum had invoked. We both know it would have killed a Muggle child, or at best produced another Tom Riddle, a sociopath. But I wasn't a Muggle, was I, and I was bonded to the blood-magic protections. My Autonomous Magical System kicked in enough to protect me, all along.'

'Cor, mate,' Ron said. 'Maybe Fudge is right: who are you, and what've you done with our Harry? He was never that quick on the uptake, or that eloquent.'

Hermione gave him a 'clout t' lug'ole', as Nev would say, with an order paper. 'Emotional range of a teaspoon, and all the subtlety of a mountain troll, honestly, Ron. Harry was never thick, he was just lazy.'

Harry snorted. '"Lazy", was I? I was too busy saving the world to worry about my marks. See the colour supplements. No, it's all because Albus never lost hope - what am I saying, he never once doubted - that the Light would prevail, and that I had a future after the War. He, Aunt Andromeda and Tinker, Minerva, even Snape, certainly Arthur, they were all enlisted to give me a crash course in what I'd need to know to play my role in the post-War. Though of all the teachers I had, the lessons I most enjoyed weren't from any of them.'

'I should hope not,' Albus chuckled, 'although he was learning as much as teaching. You two led Andromeda quite a dance, in her efforts to give you some polish, and make your Draco a gentleman. And here, by Merlin, he is.'

'Blimey, mate!'

'Cousin Ron, Hermione, Uncle Arthur, Headmaster, Madam Bones.'

Ron looked at Draco and quirked an eyebrow. 'You look like Parvati's boggart, mate. Any bandages and lint left, down Mungo's?'

'Sod off, Cousin.' Draco smiled as he said it, and eased himself down next Harry. 'Hullo, love.'

'Hullo, love. I'd greet you properly, but I rather think we'd both be named for un-parliamentary behaviour. How are you?'

'Better than I evidently look. You want to be in bed, in hospital.'

'Too much to do. And if I want to be in hospital, you -'

'Yes, yes. Take it up with the Chief Warlock. If you are here to join the fray, did you really imagine I'd be elsewhere?'
________________

The hour had passed. It was now painfully, appallingly obvious, even to a man so enamoured of his own nonexistent cleverness as was Cornelius Fudge, that he had badly miscalculated. Harry Potter was precisely who he seemed to be: the Man Who Won. The product, apparently, of serious if belated tuition - surreptitious, ambuscading tuition: secret, political weapons-programme tuition - in the ways of the Wizarding world. And Fudge's most implacable enemy, bar, perhaps, Albus Dumbledore.

In the interim, the chamber had become increasingly crowded, as holders of the Order of Merlin and those members of the Order of the Phoenix sworn to the Magical Privy Council during the War at Arthur's urging - all of them thus, ex officio, entitled to sit in the Wizengamot - had responded to the Chief Warlock's summons.

And the galleries were full to bursting, as the Lobby Press and the Great British Wizarding Public had poured in to see fireworks.

'Although it is, strictly speaking, unnecessary,' Madam Bones was saying, from the Speaker's Chair, 'as by reason of being Privy Councillors they are ex-officio members of this Moot, ceremony is not to be taken lightly,' at which Albus, who was behind this demonstration, smiled in his beard, 'and a formal introduction of the Members whose first, formal, post-War session and sitting this is, is very much in order. The Serjeant will conduct them forward in order. Mr Potter? You still prefer "Harry" rather than your formal Christian name?'

'I do, Madam Speaker. Just Harry.'

She sighed. 'Well, if it's good enough for Prince Henry of Wales, I suppose we can accept it in you. Mr Serjeant, you may proceed.'

And up they came in turn, with Albus himself as one of their 'supporters' and Griselda Marchbanks, the 'Mother of the House' through long service, as the other, to bow, take the oath, sign the test roll, and shake hands with Madam Speaker; and as they did, each one, Arthur Weasley, with a flick of the Wand of State that serves the Wizengamot as a Mace, transfigured their robes, one by one, into the plum-coloured robes, emblazoned with a silver 'W', of the Wizengamot.

Cornelius Fudge, sunk in his seat, looked sick as a Nogtail.

Up they came. Seamus Cormac Fingal Padraig Finnegan. Dean Wayne Thomas. Lee Willis Aramis Jordan. Angelina Marguerite Jordan, née Johnson ('Lee finally wore her down, what?'). Hannah Ivy Irene Macmillan, née Abbott. Susan Amelia Wendolin Bones ('SAW Bones? No wonder she chose to become a Healer'), who exchanged an irrepressible grin with her aunt, and parliamentary decorum be damned. Roger Alan Peter Davies. Theodore Aloysius Lovecraft Nott. Daphne Elaine Maude Greengrass. Malcolm Ian Innes Baddock. Graham Benedict Martin Pritchard. Brands saved from the burning.

Up they came, not a few of them wounded, not a few of them still wanting to be abed in hospital, but all resolute and none willing to fail to appear for this.

Up they came. Harold Ernest Nigel Charles James Macmillan, with great port and gravity. Eleanor Rachel Goldstein, née Branstone ('Tony married outside his faith?' 'Right, because "Branstone" wasn't an Anglicisation of something else. Really, Draco'). Anthony Lewis Simon Montague Goldstein. Terence Ambrose George Boot ('Wanker.' 'Draco'). Michael George Charles Corner. Edmund Aylward Ian Peter Carmichael. Colin Wilfred Albert Creevey. Ginevra Mary ('Molly') Fabia Creevey, née Weasley. Luna Rose Elizabeth Longbottom, née Lovegood. Agatha Emily Margaret Hilda Longbottom, née Leatherbarrow, finally receiving her due after long years of service to Wizardkind. Neville Francis Austen Joseph Longbottom. Nymphadora Cassiopeia Gemma Kore Tonks ('Good God. What was Aunt Andromeda thinking - or drinking?'). Kingsley Garvey Wilberforce Shacklebolt. Penelope Alexandra Mary Weasley, née Clearwater.

Up they came. Mundungus Cavendish Fletcher ('They're having us on!'). Oliver Andrew Walter Wallace Wood (He's a right Wally, all right' 'Shut up'). Lavender Patricia Elaine Brown ('Still unmarried, eh? Hmmm...'). Katherine Joan Georgina Bell ('Another dewy maiden? There's hope for Boot yet'). Dennis Alfred Cyril Creevey ('I cannot believe that Fleur's sister is dating Dennis Creevey.' 'Veela, even part-Veela, are very attracted to the utterly fearless. Dennis simply doesn't know what fear is.' 'That's not courage, I doubt he could spell it, either'). Justin Rupert Theodoric Peregrine Finch-Fletchley ('"Flinch" is certainly shorter'). Blaise Anthony Dominic Paul Zabini ('Don't you dare drool.' 'Who, me?'). Alicia Camilla Anne Smith, née Spinnet. Zacharias Wystan Smith ('Alicia must have been under Imperio.' 'Sssh!'). Andromeda Theodora Alcyone Drusilla Tonks, née Black ('Oh, God. We're doomed'). Ted - 'just "Ted", damme, or "Tinker" if you like. No, really, Amelia, I insist. Don't want a show, what? No need for it, that sort of thing's not, er, Our Sort's sort of thing' - Tonks.

Up they came. Padma Teresa Kirke, née Patil ('"Teresa"?' 'They're all of them Wesleyan Methodists. The Apostle Thomas? Goa? All that. I've warned you about stereotyping people'). Parvati Martha Sloper, née Patil ('Cradle-robbers, the twins. With a taste for Gryffindor Beaters. What, were Gred and Forge unavailable?' 'Will you leave off? We're going to be found in contempt of the Moot, you prat'). Severus Septimus Tiberius Parr Snape ('Parr? As in Catherine Parr?' 'Oh, we must ask about that'). Remus John Lupin -

'POINT OF ORDER, MADAM SPEAKER!'

'During Introductions? The Right Honourable the late Minister, Mr Fudge, is out of order.'

'HE'S A WEREWOLF!'

'ORDER! ORDER!'

'A DARK CREATURE!'

'HE'S A WIZARD, FUDGE!' 'PUT A SOCK IN IT, CORNY!' 'GET KNOTTED, FUDGE, YOU PECULATING TRAITOR!' That was from a spectator in the galleries - some said, from Arabella Figg.

'ORDER!'

'MADAM SPEAKER, I SPY STRANGERS!' At least the galleries could be cleared and silenced, and some order restored.

'ORDER! ORDER! MR SERJEANT, CLEAR THE GALLERIES! ORDER! I FEEL LIKE BETTY BLOODY BOOTHROYD HERE! ALL THAT'S WANTED IS A HESELTINE APING TARZAN TO COMPLETE THE PICTURE! ORDER, BY MERLIN! ORDER!'

'WHAT'S NEXT? HOUSE-ELVES? TROLLS? VAMPIRES?'

'GET STUFFED, FUDGE!' 'WE'VE ALREADY DEATH-EATERS, AND THAT'S TO YOUR ADDRESS, FUDGE!'

'ORDER!'

'PUREBLOOD BIGOT!'

'ORDER OR I'LL CAST SILENCIO ON THE LOT OF YOU!'

Order there suddenly was.

'Thank you,' Madam Bones said, grimly. 'The Right Honourable and Gallant Gentleman, Mr Lupin, is accepted as seated. Serjeant, bring the Right Honourable the late Minister, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, before the Bar of the Moot.'

Fudge was toadying before she had quite finished. 'Madam Speaker, I unreservedly and humbly apologise. We are all, I fear, still strung to a high pitch in light of the War just ended, and I wholly forgot myself.' Truckling, crawling little shit, Draco whispered.

'The Moot,' Madam Bones said, in measured, icy tones, 'will consider the matter as a Committee of the Whole, at the next sitting, bearing in mind that there is no appeal from the Speaker's ruling. I am unwilling to suspend this Moot at this of all junctures, or to declare that "grave disorder" exists: it would further mar the Introductions of New Members. Be assured, however, that this matter will be dealt with at the next sitting of the house. The Serjeant at Wands will reopen the galleries now, and Introductions will resume - in good order.'

In fact, they resumed in a tense and chastened quiet. And up they came, the new members, heads high, jaws set, and more than ever determined to see off Fudge and all his kind.

Up they came, bowing to Madam Bones, taking the oath, signing the roll, and taking their seats - all on Arthur's side of the floor. Remus John Lupin, completing his interrupted oath. Minerva Victoria Alexandra Mary Elizabeth McGonagall, with the light of battle in her eye.

Up they came. Aberforth Oswy Offa Egbert Pirran Dumbeldore ('Does it pong of goats, suddenly, to you?'). Alastor Kentigern Giles Moody, a 'retread', returned to the Wizengamot after long wilderness years. Sturgis Patrick Delaney Podmore.

Up they came, at the last. Hermione Jane Weasley, née Granger. Ronald Bilius Weasley, grinning despite himself, enjoying every minute of the ceremonial recognition of his achievement, although he had attended his first sitting the day before.

Up they came, Hermione and Ron, and all the gallery stood for them, and remained standing.

Up he came, in dead silence, the gallery standing in his honour: Draco Orion Junius Brutus Black Potter-Malfoy. The gallery stood silently, and stayed standing.

Beneath their eyes, up he came at last, with all the Moot, even Fudge, however grudgingly, rising to honour him. Harry James Potter, 'just Harry', Member of the Wizengamot. Formalities completed, he took a seat - his seat, ever after - just below the gangway on the front bench, on the Ministry side, and there was a great sigh as everyone in the chamber and the galleries exhaled.

'Madam Clerk?'

The Clerk bowed to Madam Bones, and rattled off, tonelessly, moved ... private ... amended ... motion for vote ... censure ... no-confidence ... underlying motion on bill ... fudge ... second reading ... potter.

Harry was first on his feet, as if he weren't going to be the one to catch the Speaker's eye on this subject in any case.

'Mr Potter.'

'Madam Speaker. As I had begun to say earlier, in my ... adjourned ... remarks, second readings are the proper time to discuss first principles. The ... Right Honourable ... the late Minister -' Harry's tone dripped sarcasm - 'proposes a programme of attainder against a class of persons, based on blood, irrespective of merit or guilt. As my Right Honourable, Noble, and Gallant Friend - that is to say,' he smiled, 'my husband -' Draco stared at his husband, and mouthed, 'noble?', and Harry immediately answered him in passing - 'the last blood-scion of the House of Black, has reminded me, the Right Honourable the late Minister would appear to fall, himself, within the proscribed class, the so-called "purebloods". It does not require much cynicism to realise, even without having read the undoubted loopholes -' there was laughter in the Moot, and a few cries of, 'Hear! Hear!' - 'to realise, as I say, that loopholes must surely exist, however great the Right Honourable the late Minister's reputation for willing self-sacrifice.'

'ORDER!'

'In which case, where are we? Madam Speaker, where we are is, we're on the first step of the long, broad slope to Hades, is where we are. The legislation moved purports to condemn all purebloods to, um, dispossession and - I speak subject to correction by Learned Friends - attainder. As it is unlikely that the author of such legislation means to include himself in that dispossession, what his bill means in practise is that certain people, based purely on blood status, and who are excluded from what I am sure are carefully crafted loopholes, are to beggared and bullied without benefit of trial and regardless of their guilt or innocence. While those behind the bill are safe in the peace, as they stayed safe and snug and out of the line of fire during the War.' He looked at Fudge with clear, naked contempt. 'The provisions of the bill proposed, that provide for war crimes trials, are so much window-dressing, then. In short, the bill before this Moot represents everything we fought against.'

Cries of 'No!' and 'Never!' and 'We'll not have it!'.

'Fortunately, Madam Speaker, it is also, as bills go, dead as a clifted Porlock.' Cheers. 'It is self-evident that any vote or division of this Moot as now constituted would bury the legislation, and quite possibly not the legislation only.' Laughter. 'And yet in this very fact lies a problem.'

Dead silence fell.

'With his usual sagacity and resource, my Right Honourable, Gallant, and Learned Friend, the Minister for Magic, realised that many of us who fought in the War would be less than enthused about the politics of peace. Using all the powers of a Minister in wartime, he swore all the members of the Order of the Phoenix, and everyone who played a major role in the war effort, to the Magical Privy Council. Well, that made us all - we who weren't already - ex-officio members of this Wizengamot. In short, the Minister trapped us.' Laughter. 'And here we are today, in numbers more than sufficient to vote this legislation down as it deserves.' Cheers and whistles.

'Order!'

'But, Madam Speaker. We may be here on merit, if war service counts as merit -' cries of, 'It does!' - 'but we are not here by election, now, are we?'

A hush fell.

'Nor are any of this Moot.

'Madam Speaker, this must be ended. It cannot be tolerated. It shan't be stood for.'

Fudge jumped to his feet. 'I warned you all! He defeated a tyrant, and now he thinks he's Oliver Bleeding Womcrell, to rule us all by diktat!'

'ORDER! And it's "Cromwell", I would advise the Right Honourable the late Minister.' (Much sniggering.)

'The Right Honourable the late Minister mistakes me, not that that's new.' Laughter and jeers. 'It isn't a matter of what I'm prepared to tolerate. It's a matter of what they are.' And he gestured to the gallery. 'Madam Speaker, for centuries we have used the Statute of Secrecy as an excuse to build petty, personal empires. It is our excuse for carrying on governance in a hole-and-corner fashion. The Muggle governments are regularly misled and deceived by us. The Sovereign is deprived of any meaningful right and role, to warn, to advise, and to be informed. Yet the Minister for Magic is just that: a Minister of the Crown, not an independent king, commissar, or kaiser. Hiding behind the skirts of the Statute of Secrecy, though, we see to it that neither the Crown nor the Crown-in-Parliament is truly aware of what we do. We abuse their trust and think nothing of it. The prayer that daily opens the proceedings of this Moot asks that the Almighty lead us to "lay aside all private interests, prejudices and partial affections", so that "the result of all our counsels may be" justice, loyalty, and the public benefit. Instead, we tread perilously close to treason.

'Right, fine, the Crown and Parliament are only symbols of the true source of authority, which is what an American Wizard, Thomas Jefferson, once called "the consent of the governed". It would, perhaps, be acceptable to shield ourselves from the control of the Crown and Parliament, under the Statute of Secrecy, if our authority came directly from the governed: the Witches and Wizards of this realm. But does it? There's not a soul in this Moot who was ever elected to anything, with the possible exception of churchwardens and those active in their local WI or Mother's Union. Decades of "emergency" legislation and "being on a wartime footing" have created a self-perpetuating Moot answerable to no one and wholly un-elected. The -'

'Elections,' Fudge snorted. 'The Potter Party emerges!'

'The Right Honourable the late Minister raises the bogey - I may say, the boggart - of faction and partisanship. Well, Madam Speaker, it would be an improvement. I'd much sooner see this Moot elected by party than selected by patronage.' Arthur, by now, was rocking in his seat, grinning. Albus and Andromeda had done them all proud in training Harry for a post-War role, and the lad was a natural. Doubtless that Welsh, Evans blood. 'I'd sooner know that a member was here because he was a principled conservative, rather than a pureblood cousin, or that she was elected for her liberalism, not her lineage!' 'HEAR, HEAR!' 'I'd sooner deal with a member pledged to a party manifesto than one manifestly pledged to a patron!' Cheers. 'This late-Roman-Republic scheme of clients and cousinage is likely to produce a Cæsar or a Sulla - you'd think, Madam Speaker, that a world of folk with Latin given names would know that! If we don't want a Pompey, we'd better start looking for a William Pitt! Better a Gladstone and reform than Gaius Marius and a revolution!' 'HEAR! HEAR!'

'And that, Madam Speaker, is why I find myself coming to a conclusion not far removed from the proposal of the Honourable Member, Tiberius Ogden.'

Dead silence.

'I do not propose a vote of no confidence. I have the most unreserved confidence in my Right Honourable, Gallant, and Learned Friend, the Minister for Magic. But I do submit, Madam Speaker, that we will be confronted with more and worse motions than that urged by the Right Honourable the late Minister, daily and increasingly, so long as we as a body remain responsible neither to the Sovereign, to the Parliament, nor to the People. We didn't fight a war against a would-be Dark Lord only to become prisoners piecemeal, under colour of law. It seems to me, Madam Speaker, that the first order of business in the peace is to restructure a just and lasting Constitutional settlement that restores sovereignty to the source where it belongs and whence it comes: the people. And I can say this much, Madam Speaker: I will not stand for election, and if elected, I will serve only when first Stupefied, put in a body-bind, and Mobilicorpus-ed to the Moot for a three-line-whip vote. My lack of political ambition makes the average backwoodsman in the Muggle House of Lords look like Tony Blair and Gordon Brown combined.' Laughter from the Muggle-borns and puzzlement from the 'purebloods'. 'Madam Speaker, I think it obvious that the bill before us is dead as a defunct Fwooper.' Sniggering. 'It is no more. It's ceased to be.' Rising hilarity amongst the younger members and the Muggle-borns and half-bloods. 'This bill has expired and gone to meet its maker. It's a stiff. Bereft of life, it rests in peace.' Loud laughter. 'It's pushing up the daisies. Its legislative processes are now history. It's off the twig, it's kicked the bucket, it has shuffled off its mortal coil, rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible! This is an ex-bill.' Laughter and cheers.

'However.' In that one word, Harry managed to reverse the mood, infusing the chamber with a sense of gravity and concern. 'If we do not act to make a fair post-War settlement and to restore sovereignty to its source, the People, our society, this Moot, and all hope of continued liberty, all hope of avoiding such perils as this bill represented, will be as dead. It is for us, having won the War, to secure the peace, by making our world fit for free Witches and Wizards to live in!' Prolonged cheering.

'As to the ancillary issue, then, I would move an amendment, that this Moot, having confidence in this Minister, resolve into a Committee of the Whole, prepare a new Constitutional Wizengamot Act, and then go to the country on it.'

'MADAM SPEAKER!'

'MADAM SPEAKER!'

'MADAM SPEAKER!'

'MADAM SPEAKER!'

Madam Bones chose to call upon Arthur Weasley. 'The Minister for Magic.'

'Madam Speaker, I wish to associate the ministry of the day wholly and unreservedly with the remarks and proposals of my Right Honourable, Noble, and Gallant Friend, co-heir of the House of Black.' Sensation. 'As to the Right Honourable the late Minister's bill now proposed, I move that the Bill not be read a second time, and, as to the amendment by the Honourable Member, Tiberius Ogden, I move that this Moot does have confidence in the Ministry.'

'The question is put -' and that was as far as Madam Bones got. There was no need of a division.

'I told you that playing word games in the ward would come in handy,' Draco said in the ensuing tumult, leaning over from his seat between Bill and Charlie, who had been sitting in the Moot since the previous, wartime session.

'Right,' Harry said, 'because your cheating at Scrabble was just your way of helping with my political education.'

'Damn sight more useful than Basilisks and Ladders - besides, you cheat at that.'

'I'm a Gryffindor, we don't cheat.'

'Muttering to the board in Parseltongue, Harry?'

'Nothing in the Rules says I can't. So it isn't cheating.'

'Oh, you're going to go far in politics, I can tell.'

________________

The Moot had adjourned after Harry's proposal for, in effect, a whole new Constitutional Settlement. When the Moot sat the next day, it was Draco's, Ron's, and Hermione's turn to shine.

The first order of business after the opening prayer was an extraordinary one: the naming of Cornelius Fudge for unparliamentary behaviour. Madam Bones, as Speaker, having called him to the Bar of the Moot, Albus Dumbledore, as Leader of the Moot and Chief Warlock, moved, in accordance with precedent, that the former Minister be temporarily suspended.

'The Right Honourable, Gallant, and Learned Lady, Hermione Granger-Weasley.'

'Madam Speaker. Precedent is very clear here. Honestly, it's unequivocal, actually. As set forth in The Wizengamot: An Annotated Constitutional History -' Harry was heard audibly to chuckle, and Ron buried his face in his hands, shoulders heaving and the tips of his ears, just visible, as bright as his hair - 'the Moot has the duty as well as the right to ensure the dignity of its proceedings and the maintenance of its authority. The Right Honourable the late Minister has averred that he was overwrought. We all are, Madam Speaker: it's not a week since the end of the War, and there is hardly a household not still mourning a loss. Nor would I accuse the Right Honourable the late Minister of fudging the facts, but, overwrought or not, he has a history of personal attacks, including those made with the power and under the cloak of his former office, against my Right Honourable, Noble, and Gallant Friend.' She paused and smiled at Harry. 'Sadly, my regard for the truth does not permit me to refer to him also as my learned friend.' Laughter. 'Really, though, Madam Speaker. Personal animus against my Right Honourable, Noble, and Gallant Friend, Harry Potter, against my Right Honourable, Gallant, and Learned Friend, Remus Lupin, or against any Honourable Member, must never be allowed to spill over into the conduct of any Member in and before this Moot. On the occasions when it does so, the penalty is clear and unequivocal, not because Honourable Members cannot look after their own personal dignity, but because it is not their dignity and integrity, but that of the Moot as a whole, that is offended. Simple justice demands a five-day suspension, precisely as precedent dictates, Madam Speaker.'

With more dignity than he had exhibited in years, Fudge rose, bowed, and said, 'Madam Speaker, in the face of the eloquence and learning demonstrated by the Right Honourable, Gallant, and Learned Gentlewitch, whom I congratulate on her maiden speech -' 'HEAR, HEAR!' 'AN HONOURABLE AMEND, FUDGE, GOOD FOR YOU!' - 'I cannot imagine what there is to be said, save that I again and unreservedly apologise, to the Moot and to the Right Honourable and Gallant Gentlemen whom I offended. If you will grant me leave, Madam Speaker, I shall begin serving my five days's suspension without the need of further debate.'

'Madam Speaker.'

'The Right Honourable, Noble, and Gallant Gentleman, Mr Malfoy.'

'Madam Speaker, I beg that the Right Honourable the late Minister not withdraw before the sense of the Moot is ascertained and the suspension moved is determined. My Right Honourable, Gallant, and Learned Friend, Mrs Granger-Weasley, is perfectly correct: there is a vital principle here at stake. She is also, I submit, correct that simple justice admits of but one result to this debate.'

Fudge, to his credit, sat quietly and took this, knowing that every eye was on him, and believing, as everyone save Harry believed, that Draco was putting the boot firmly in.

'Madam Speaker, it cannot be thought that I hold any brief for the Right Honourable the late Minister, nor, I should hope, can it be thought that I of all people am indifferent to the history implicated in any clashes between the Right Honourable the late Minister and my Right Honourable, Noble, and Gallant - husband. Yet my Right Honourable, Gallant, and Learned Friend, Mrs Granger-Weasley, has stood and spoken for the principle of abstract justice. Madam Speaker, I would stand and speak for mercy.' Sensation.

'ORDER!'

'Madam Speaker, I speak for mercy because of the principle involved; and most particularly, I speak for mercy because I have so often stood in want of it. It is a principle no less vital - and no more so - than is justice, and I may say that we are all of us more likely to be in want of the former than particularly desirous of the latter.'

'Hear, hear,' Harry said, clearly, and Arthur echoed him. Fudge looked over at them, his face a study. Was it possible that, even now, there were those who would not willingly see him destroyed? There had been little enough of mercy in his life and career, shown him, or given by him.

'Madam Speaker, I feel it no betrayal of my Right Honourable, Gallant, and Learned Friend, Professor Lupin, and of my Right Honourable, Noble, Gallant, and - may I say - beloved Friend, my husband, to stand and speak for mercy here, even in this cause, even under these circumstances, because they, and certain others of my Right Honourable Friends here, including my Right Honourable, Gallant, and Learned Friend, Mrs Granger-Weasley, and my Right Honourable, Gallant, and Learned Friend, the Chief Warlock, were the ones who taught me mercy, showed me mercy, and redeemed me by mercy.' Sustained cheering and applause. 'My Right Honourable, Noble, and Gallant Friend and husband spoke feelingly, yesterday, of our need to preserve and redeem and secure our victory by going forward together, to build, as a unified people, a new and better world from the rubble of Riddle's rebellion.' Quite as neat a turn of phrase as young Harry's, Arthur whispered to Albus, there on the Front Bench. Yes, Albus said, the both of them are a credit to us all. Andromeda has done yeoman work. 'I would not see that future undercut in the first days by the creation of faction and the embittering of personal relations between those of different traditions and views, at the very moment in which we must all come together. The Right Honourable the late Minister has now twice apologised unreservedly to this Moot, and withdrawn his remarks; it is my position, Madam Speaker, with respect, that he not, in light of that fact, be suspended.'

'Madam Speaker!'

'The Right Honourable and Gallant Gentleman, Mr Ronald Weasley.'

'Madam Speaker. I am, obviously, married to my Right Honourable, Gallant, and Learned Friend, Hermione Granger-Weasley. I am, obviously, the son of my Right Honourable, Gallant, and Learned Friend, the Minister for Magic. I count, obviously, my Right Honourable, Gallant, and Learned Friend, Professor Lupin, as one of the Wizards in this world for whom I have the most respect, second, I suppose, only to my respect for my Right Honourable, Gallant, and Learned Friend, the Chief Warlock. I am profoundly moved by the words of my cousin, my Right Honourable, Noble, and Gallant Friend, Draco Potter-Malfoy, and it is hardly a State secret that my dearest and closest friend in the world, since we were small, is my Right Honourable, Noble, and Gallant Friend, Harry Potter.

'Madam Speaker, whatever I am, whatever I know - and there are plenty who'll say it's not much -' laughter and jovial dissent - 'I've learnt from one or another of these Right Honourable Members, whether at my father's table, in the Defence classroom, in my school common room, in the Headmaster's office, and I spent quite a lot of time there -' laughter - 'at my best mate's and his husband's house, or peeling potatoes and helping with the washing-up at home.' Laughter. 'Madam Speaker, let me simply tell the Moot what I have learnt, then. I've learnt that justice is a dead and cold thing without mercy. I've learnt that mercy unhitched from justice is merely indifference. I've learnt that harshness can strangle hope, and I've learnt that repeated forgiveness absent repentance and a change of behaviour corrodes the soul of both parties.' Harry noticed - Arthur certainly noticed, as did a few others, including Albus, Hermione, and Draco - that Ron was looking over at Percy as he said this. 'Well, after all. The Moot may remember, I once owned Peter Pettigrew as a pet rat.

'Madam Speaker, I don't believe I've any business speaking for or against a result, here, or telling Honourable Members who remember seeing me in nappies how they want to vote. But I've been privileged to have learnt a lot over the years from some bl- - from some really impressive sources, and I just thought perhaps we might all think about those lessons as we do vote. Because I don't think you can separate virtue, goodness, from mercy, can you? I mean, Har- er, my Right Honourable, Noble, and Gallant Friend, Harry Potter, reminded the Moot yesterday of the principles in the opening prayer. So I suppose it's all right if I remind us that goodness and mercy are two faces of the same Knut: "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever". So. Well. Right, then, that's it, Madam Speaker.' And he sat down abruptly.

'Madam Speaker?'

'The Right Honourable, Gallant, and Learned Gentleman, Remus Lupin.'

'Madam Speaker, my Right Honourable, Gallant, and Learned Friend, Mrs Granger-Weasley, correctly states that it is not my dignity at issue here, but that of the Moot as a body. That being said, I do wish to state, unreservedly, that I for my part bear the Right Honourable the late Minister, Cornelius Fudge, no animus for the matters for which he has so handsomely apologised.'

'Madam Speaker!'

'The Right Honourable, Noble, and Gallant Gentleman, Mr Potter.'

'Madam Speaker, I wish to associate myself with and adopt the remarks and position of my Right Honourable, Gallant, and Learned Friend.'

'Madam Speaker?'

'The Right Honourable, Gallant, and Learned Gentleman, Mr Lupin.'

'I will conclude, if I may, simply by saying that it was my privilege some years ago to have taught my Right Honourable, Noble, Gallant, and Learned Friends - that's respectively, by the way, I'm afraid none of them turns the hat trick -' laughter - 'but it is over the past two days, quite as much as through the War, that I have realised just how great a privilege it was, listening to them here in this Moot.' 'HEAR! HEAR!' 'And that is perhaps especially true of my Right Honourable and Gallant Friend, Mr Ron Weasley - and I assure him, I'd say that even if his father were not the Minister for Magic.' Ron and Remus exchanged grins. 'Madam Speaker, for my part, I am ready for the question to be put, and so move.'

'The question is put, Whether the Right Honourable the late Minister, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, should be suspended from this Moot for five days for un-parliamentary behaviour. All those in favour -'

'Madam Speaker, I call for a division!'

'Madam Clerk will send out the division owls. It is a free vote. Two minutes.'

In fact, there were no absent members, nor had there been since the preceding day and the cry, 'Harry's up!', but the formalities must be observed. Within two minutes, all of the messenger owls had returned, and the members trooped out into their respective lobbies, to wait eight minutes, register their votes, and return. Fudge, of course, remained in the chamber, as did Percy, simply because he was acting as more or less an unofficial whip for the Minister, had not participated, therefore, in the debate, and was paired with the unofficial whip for Fudge's faction (unstated though such alliances then were), Umbridge's successor, Madam Edgecombe, who was sitting like a lump behind Fudge. Ron also stayed in his seat, literally unable to vote either way.

Percy walked awkwardly over to his brother. 'Er. Ron.'

'Perce.'

'Ah. All of you. You particularly. Er. Excellent maiden effort.'

Ron shrugged, not dismissively, but self-deprecatingly.

'No, Ron, it was. It. It was very thought-provoking.'

Ron looked up and studied Percy for an interminable moment. 'I hope so, then. I hope so like buggery, Perce.'

'Ah. Well, I suppose that's an allowed word just now, but in about thirty seconds....' Percy grinned, ruefully. Like me, it said. Forgive me. Help me find my way home.

'Yeah, I suppose so.' Ron smiled back, a tentative reaching-out. 'I know Dad relies on you, here. I'm counting on you to show us the ropes.' Don't bugger this up. Mum and Dad need you. We all do, but you know better than to wait to hear it from me or the Twins.

Percy smiled, a smile more open than he'd managed in years. Thank you, Ron. Thank you for holding out a hand. Thank you for the lifeline. 'I can do that,' he said, and actually ruffled Ron's hair, getting his hand batted away for his pains - but gently. 'Christ, they're coming back. We'd best be ready.'

'You're the expert, mate.' Welcome back, you silly bugger.

From the Speaker's Chair, Madam Bones, watching discreetly, smiled.

________________

'You were magnificent, love. And I was very proud that you stood up for what was right, and merciful. I love you.'

'I love you as well, you lunatic, but the division lobby's hardly the place to show you. And besides, it's not only mercy, I want the bastard here where we can keep an eye on him, not loose for five whole days, up to Merlin knows what.'

'I'd give Hermione that explanation, she might be a bit less than pleased that we voted the other way to her.'

Draco just looked at him. 'I retract everything I said about your having decent political instincts. Do you seriously think she and I didn't have this little gavotte already planned as of last night? The only thing that wasn't scripted was Cousin Ron. Can we get back in there now? Fudge has escaped by one vote, which means she owes me a Galleon - she'd predicted a margin of three against suspension - and Hermione and I still have plans for this sitting.'

Harry simply shook his head, and laughed.

________________

In the months that followed, the foundations of the post-War settlement were secured, the Wizengamot was reformed, elections were called and had, and Draco established himself as being as formidable a committeeman as Hermione was a debater in the Moot.

Then they escaped, to Domdaniel and to lives too long put on hold.

________________

vi. Crown Imperial

'Just ... just be on your best behaviour,' Aunt Andromeda had sighed. 'Harry: be yourself. Draco - well, don't. No, I don't mean that, but for God's sake, be a gentleman, not a Lucius-clone. You've no excuse, now, after all: now that you know better.'

________________

The COURT CIRCULAR, Wizarding Edition, as published in the

Daily Prophet:

HOLYROODHOUSE PALACE

HM the Queen this morning arrived at Holyroodhouse Palace for the Summer Stay in Scotland and was received by the Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, the Lord Provost of Edinburgh, and the Captain-General of the Royal Company of Archers, HM Bodyguard for Scotland.

HM the Queen and HRH the Duke of Edinburgh will dine tonight with the Lord High Constable of Scotland, the Earl of Erroll; the Hereditary Master of the Household in Scotland, the Duke of Argyll; the Lord Lyon King of Arms; the Banner-Bearer for Scotland, the Earl of Dundee; the Bearer of the National Flag of Scotland, the Earl of Lauderdale; the Keeper of the Palace of Holyroodhouse, the Duke of Hamilton and Brandon; the Governor of Edinburgh Castle; and members of the Wizarding community, including HM Minister for Magic and Mrs Weasley; the Headmaster of Hogwarts; the Rt Hon HJ Potter, OM (1^st), MPC, MW; the Rt Hon D Malfoy, OM (1^st), MPC, MW; the Rt Hon RB Weasley, OM (1^st), MPC, MW, GGC; the Rt Hon Dr Hermione Granger-Weasley, OM (1^st), MPC, MW; and the Rt Hon Neville Longbottom, OM (1^st), MPC, MW, and Mrs Longbottom (Luna Lovegood Longbottom, OM (2^d)).

________________

If Harry and Draco had expected anything grand rather than well-bred, they were soon disabused of the notion. Lucius, no doubt, should have expected all of this to go off with a reverential and museum-like air of ostentation, underlined with pomp and sheer side. That was proof of just how non-U, in the end, Lucius Malfoy had truly been. The note of slovenly sumptuary was distinct, and Aunt Andromeda would have been perfectly in her element.

________________

'Mr Potter?'

'Ma'am?'

'I think you'll appreciate the haggis tonight. In honour of Our having the Wizarding community with Us this evening, We had it prepared with Firewhisky.' The August Personage twinkled at him, unnervingly reminiscent of Dumbledore at his merriest and most self-mocking.

'Really, Ma'am? I wouldn't have thought -'

'Oh, I don't touch the stuff myself.' She chuckled, and all but winked. 'After all, I do have to reign all evening.'

________________

'Mr Malfoy?'

'Ma'am?'

'You've managed to throw your end the table into hysterics. Might one be allowed to share the joke?'

'I was just telling the duchess, Ma'am, that there was enough flannel talked in the Wizarding parliament to make enough pyjamas for every patient on the NHS.'

The Prince Consort barked out a short, Naval laugh. 'Remind me someday to tell you who Admiral Fisher was, Malfoy.'

The Sovereign dissolved into markedly girlish giggles.

'Evidently,' Arthur Weasley added, 'parliaments and politicians are the same in both worlds.' Lady Errol rapped his knuckles lightly, chuckling.

________________

'Tell me, Albus, how is Severus Snape?'

'Positively lightsome, Ma'am, since the end of the war. All becks and nods and wreathè d smiles.'

The royal eyebrow shot up.

'Well,' Albus chuckled, 'by Snape-ish standards, that is.'

'Ah.'

Harry couldn't help himself. 'You know Snape?' He hurriedly added, 'Ma'am.'

'Such a fascinating man.'

Harry goggled.

'I believe,' Draco smiled, 'loyal subject that he is, Harry is worried about your safety, Ma'am. He and Severus have never gotten along comfortably.'

Prince Philip snorted. 'Has anyone?'

'Be that as it may,' the Sovereign said, in somewhat steely tones, 'he is a fascinating, if rather difficult, man, and has done good service. And the world needs potions-makers, at least since Queen Anne died. She was the last of us, you know, to have had any powers at all, really: that is why the practise of touching for the King's Evil, curing scrofula by the Royal Laying On of Hands, fell into abeyance. Sadly, the price of the Hanoverian Settlement and the Protestant Succession has been that we've been Squibs ever since. Not even a shot of Bowes-Lyon, not even a shot of Spencer-Churchill, has done any good thus far.'

Harry and Draco, in their innocence, exchanged looks of wild surmise, whilst Hermione quelled Ron's instinctive 'bloody hell' with a glance.

HM smiled at them, in a grandmotherly sort of way, and changed the subject. 'Mr Longbottom, I understand you have some most helpful ideas about the gardens and orchards at Sandringham?'

________________

vii. Overture: 'The Wasps'

'I cannot believe you got into an argument with the bloody Duke of Edinburgh!'

'I - it was a perfectly respectful disagreement! And Her Majesty agreed with me! And, besides, it was all Nev's fault!'

Neville laughed. 'Now, Harry, lad. I did nowt: nobbut make appeal t' your opinion.'

'Don't be alarmed by it, Draco,' Dumbledore said, chuckling in his beard. 'I've been having the same discussion with HRH for years, now. I will admit that he has done well enough with the water garden at Balmoral, and his extensions to the flower and kitchen gardens there, but Hagrid and I have beaten his marrows, his carrots, and his "guid Scots kail" at the Aviemore Show every year for a decade and more, running. It was perfectly proper of Neville to have appealed to your experience with orchards, my dear boys, and the ensuing discussion was entirely in line. Bless the man, he does quite well, really, but after all - as between the two of us, I do think I know rather more about bees and pollination even than he does, Prince and Royal Duke though he be. And certainly more than does his Factor at the Castle.'

________________

'Harry,' Albus said, gravely. 'I am rather getting on in years, you know. And my tasks here are all but done. No, no, don't start stammering like that, I'm not dying just yet. But I don't wish to wait any longer to give you this.' He handed Harry a book, worn with age.

'My cousin Violet, you see, married a Yorkshire squire, a Muggle. It was rather a runaway match, and it did not end well: there was something of a family tragedy, in the end. They had two sons, my second cousins, both of whom chose to live as Muggles. It was, I think, partly in reaction to their family upsets; certainly, both of them became extreme rationalists, as well as misogynists, and deeply distrustful of emotion. Yet they were very much good and wise men, and did much good in their lives.'

Harry breathed again. For a brief, terrible moment, he had wondered if, somehow, the Riddles figured in this story, but evidently that was not the case.

'Living as Muggles and repudiating magic, both died fairly young: neither lived past his hundredth birthday, in fact. But the younger of my second cousins, after he retired to Eastbourne, on the South Downs, did contact me a few times, and our correspondence was of some use to him in the researches that occupied his retirement.

'This book, which he finished just before the 1914 War, represents the fruit of those researches, and I can claim to have made some small contribution to it. I think you will find it of use at Pottersfield, and it may interest you simply on its own merits.'

Harry looked at the book. Its title was not promising, though it stirred some faint, vague memory in him. A Practical Handbook of Bee Culture, with Some Observations Upon the Segregation of the Queen.

'Thank you, sir.'

'Off you go then, Harry. I expect it will come to you by the time you get home to Draco.'

Harry could still hear Albus's chuckles as he Disapparated.

________________

'You're having me on.' Draco looked at Harry and looked at the book once more. 'No, you're not having me on: the only time you let your inner Slytherin out to play is when we're having it off. Albus is having us on.'

'I don't get it,' Harry muttered. 'Any of it. Apparently you do.'

'You don't - yet you were raised by Muggles - oh.' Draco's face fell. 'Never mind, I forgot which Muggles. Loathsome shits.' He looked again at the book Harry had brought home: A Practical Handbook of Bee Culture, with Some Observations Upon the Segregation of the Queen. 'If Albus is not taking the piss, though.... It actually makes sense,' he said, growing visibly interested, and speaking more and more rapidly. 'It makes sense. If they did exist and chose to live as Muggles, how better to hide in plain sight than to hide beneath the veneer of being fictional - and that would mean that the Irregulars were right all along and that that bloody Edinburgh eye doctor was merely the literary agent for old John H. Watson, MD, MRCS, late Surgeon-Captain, Indian Medical Service, wounded at Maiwand - my God, it's beautiful in its subtlety! I'll want to look into this!' He ruffled Harry's hair, kissed him on the forehead, and all but skipped from the room, whistling.

Harry felt strongly that he was being managed and that things were being kept from him, yet again. He couldn't quite manage to resent it, not just then: he was always a bit out of it after Draco had played with his hair. (They had both long since found out one another's weaknesses, the subtle things that reduced the other to a not-so-cold shape, and had agreed by the most solemn treaties not to use those weaknesses as weapons or for advantage, although Draco, naturally, tended to exploit any loophole he could find.) Still, it was bloody annoying. And why had Draco left whistling a Muggle pop tune from their parents's days, 'Baker Street'?

Harry sighed. Some days, nothing made sense.

________________

viii. Summer Night On the River / The Wand of Youth

'Of

course your father was an utter shit when he was fifteen and sixteen!' Remus had been more animated than commonly, thanks to exasperation. 'Why? Because he was fifteen and sixteen years in age! Of course he was a right shit at that age - that's the point! So was your godfather! So was I, in my way! And God knows, so were you! I dearly hope you and Draco decide to have children, I want to watch you deal with them when they hit that age!'

Well, Remus had his revenge, though he never actually came right out and laughed in their faces.

There had been surprisingly few War Orphans, thanks to Harry's and the Order's having struck Riddle's Rabble early and hard, before the DEs and their master had been able to embark on a wholesale campaign of terrorism and genocide; surprisingly few War Orphans, and more than enough families eager to foster or adopt. It had been more than enough for Harry and Draco to act in loco parentis as the schoolmasters for the rising generation.

Oddly enough, it had been Draco's researches - those he carried out himself, and those he had partnered on with Hermione - into Wizarding genetics that had borne curious practical results. Once it had become so clear to the Wizarding world as to brook no denial that there was no such thing as a 'pureblood' as formerly understood, and that magic was a recessive trait that could crop up in anyone - or fail to do, however 'pureblooded' the family - several new concepts and consequences followed.

In the first place, it was acknowledged that there were only three types of humans: actual Wizards, persons with potential Wizarding lineage, and Squibs. Secondly, given that any human, regardless of his or her own actual magical capacity, was a carrier of Wizarding genes and could potentially generate Wizarding offspring, a closer look was taken at children who received Hogwarts letters but whose families declined to send them. No one, in the post-War environment, had any inclination to override the rights and choices of anyone, Muggle or not; but it was recognised that the rights and choices of the Muggle parents were not entitled to greater deference than the wishes of the Muggle-born wizard or witch, even at the age of eleven years. Close cooperation between the Magical and Muggle governments was in order, to ensure that Muggle-born magical children were allowed to attend Hogwarts if they wished, with guardians in the Wizarding community appointed for them (Molly Weasley seized on this idea with alacrity, as an alternative to a too-quiet, 'empty nest' Burrow, as did - for surprisingly similar reasons - Aunt Andromeda and others. Fortunately, if to the ill-concealed envy of their own offspring, Molly and Andromeda both treated the fostered children with the indulgence of grandmothers rather than with the iron fists of their mothering days). For instances in which parental refusal to send a child to Hogwarts was accepted by the child, only to be resented or retracted later, everyone from Albus to Hermione to Harry to Draco to Luna to Severus had taken a hand in designing special programmes at Hogwarts and Domdaniel for late-joiners seeking to enter the Wizarding community and be trained.

More troubling had been the realisation that, in not a few cases, Muggle parents and Muggle physicians, confronted unknowingly with childhood manifestations of accidental magic on the part of Muggle-born Wizarding children, had in their ignorance shunted the children into therapy, custodial care, and disastrous regimens of medication. This had led to the suppression of magic or even the incapacity of the child in the period between birth and the time a Hogwarts letter would otherwise be sent. Alterations were hastily made to the quill and ledger at Hogwarts so that Wizarding children were not left effectively unsupervised until their eleventh years and the time for their Hogwarts letters, but there were any number of children already deleteriously affected by this further, foolish consequence of the previous secrecy regime.

It was in just such a case that Harry and Draco had first found themselves learning the burdens of foster parenthood. Rhys Jones-Morgan, small, Welsh, pale, and excitable, rather like a Cymric Creevey, had been bounced from therapist to therapist, and from prescribed medicament to prescribed medicament, for his first eight years, the length of his family's purse paradoxically exposing him to greater harm than would have befallen a poorer child, as his parents could afford correspondingly more intensive, invasive, and incessant 'care' - all of it, naturally, if unintentionally, harmful. Harry and Draco served as his foster fathers from his eighth year to his eleventh, when he entered Hogwarts, and as his guardians in the Wizarding world until he came of age at seventeen (Ravenclaw, Prefect, seven NEWTs, and a quite decent Seeker, as well as, Welshly, singing bass in the Hogwarts Choir, in a voice bigger than his whole body).

And finally, of course, Draco's and Hermione's researches had led to the Wizarding Genome and Genealogy Project, and thence in turn to the 'alembic babies', the Wizarding equivalent of children conceived in vitro. At that point both Draco and Harry, happy though they were raising Rhys, had succumbed to broodiness, with the result that anyone might have expected.

Which was why they were standing beside a small stream at Pottersfield, discussing otter shit.

The soft pencils, washes, and stark pen-and-ink of Winter had long since given way to the pastels and watercolours of a Somerset Springtide; now Hogwarts had broken up for the long summer hols and Domdaniel for the Long Vac, and Summer, in deep oil-paint hues, was upon the land, the last of the Springtime being painted over by the day. Rhys, dripping water, dripping gold with refracted sunlight, laughing, stepped out of the stream, a sodden bundle under each arm. A sodden, giggling bundle under each arm.

'Sirius James Nigellus Potter-Malfoy! And you, Lily Andromeda Narcissa Potter-Malfoy, you little hoyden! When Auntie Hermione and the Grandmamas catch sight of you two -!' Harry was trying desperately to be stern. And failing, if his irrepressible grin were any indication.

'You know,' Draco drawled, trying to keep a straight face, 'the backroom boffins at St Mungo's swore that the DNA was all Potter, Evans, and Black, without a trace of Malfoy taint. I ought to have known that when they presented us with twins, they were having us on. There simply must be some Weasley in there. You two,' he addressed their mock-penitent children, 'are the Second Coming of Gred and Forge.'

'See if I ever act the surrogate for the two of you again,' Ginny quipped, scraping leaf-mould off her wellies. 'Not as if Colin doesn't keep me busy enough with our own brood, I think he means to challenge Mum and Dad for the title.'

'Not for lack of trying on Ron's part,' Hermione said, from behind them, causing them all to jump, guiltily, and the twins to try and hide behind their foster-brother's legs. Even at fifteen, though, Rhys was too small for that stratagem to be successful. 'Good Lord,' Hermione said, catching sight of them. 'All right, you two! Baths all 'round! March,' she said, and chivvied them towards the house. They heard her voice trail off as they moved up the meadow, 'Honestly, you lot! It all comes of hanging about with fathers and uncles and other irresponsible men! Molly and Narcissa will have a fit apiece! Whatever in the world possessed you two to go floundering into streams? Honestly!'

'Speaking of responsibility,' Justin said - to Rhys's and the twins's occasional exasperation, they were if anything overly endowed with actual and courtesy uncles, aunts, godparents, and Other Adult Preceptors, all of whom had an annoying tendency to Be Somewhere Nearby pretty much around the clock: Rhys had once complained, to 'Great-Uncle Remus' (a title Remus rather pointedly failed to relish), that it was one thing to enjoy the benefits of an extended family, but it was ironic and rather annoying that Remus was the only one of the Old Crowd who didn't hunt in a pack, and having all one's teachers, all the War Heroes, and most of the Wizengamot living in one another's pockets and thus in one's own, even over the hols when one ought be able to escape them, was a bit thick - 'speaking of responsibility,' Justin said to Rhys, 'how the devil did they end up in the bloody stream?' Justin sniffed, and went on. 'Were you having a brew-up? Because it smells of jasmine tea.'

'Does it?' Harry was delighted, and started peering about, just as Draco grasped his elbow and pointed. 'YES!'

'What's that, old boy?'

'Otters,' Harry grinned. 'I'd watch where I stepped, Justin.' Justin looked down and stepped back, hastily.

'Otter dung,' Draco said, quite as pleased as Harry was. 'No idea why, unless Providence has a pawkier sense of humour than I'd've credited, but otter shit does smell of jasmine tea.'

'I did know that,' Justin muttered. 'We've otters in the Fens, you know. Not as if I'm some bloody Londoner, damn it all.' Blaise poked him in the ribs.

'We've been working very diligently,' Harry said, 'to get more otters back. Well, proof that the stream's pure and the land's healthy, isn't it, having otters.'

Blaise chuckled. 'Isn't Hermione's Patronus an otter, Ron, old man?'

Ron just looked at him, a corner of his mouth quirking up. 'You know Hermione,' he said. '"Why, yes,"' he mimicked, '"as a matter of fact it doesn't, it doesn't stink at all."'

Had Hermione been there, she would have had no difficulty in hexing them all, as Ginny, Colin, Justin, Blaise, Ron, Draco, and Harry were all laughing too hard to have done anything at all about it.

Rhys, unwisely, thought that perhaps this was a good time to make a quiet bolt for freedom.

'Not so fast, dear boy.' Even though still slightly breathless from laughing, Justin was at his plummiest. 'Seriously - damn it, you lot, put a sock in the "Sirius" puns - Rhys, I know you're a responsible lad, so how did the twins manage to end up in the stream, eh?'

'Well, Uncle Justin....' Rhys hated sentences that began, 'Well, Uncle', or, worse still, 'Well, Aunt': they never ended well.

'Justin,' Harry said, lightly but warningly. If there were to be any tickings-off of his children, foster or otherwise, they would come from him or from Draco, and Justin damned well ought know it well enough by now to have remembered the fact. 'Now. Right. Rhys? I know we'd left them with Uncle Nev.'

'So you did,' Nev said, once again causing them all to startle as yet another War Hero popped up behind them without warning - literally popped, as he had Apparated there from the gardens. 'Sorry, sorry. Give over, now, and down wands. Peacetime, now, bain't it? Or if thou'rt that easy capped, sithee, were well to be less careless about flanks and rear.'

Ron chuckled.

'Hermione just gave me rocket. Nowt t'lad here could have done: Luna and I were watching them, when little terrors oop and floated away. They'd been playing leapfrog in garden, wi' Trevor. Saw them splash down right next Rhys and nobbut a few yards from you lot, and Rhys grab them as you blundered over like a drove of beasts, so there was nowt I was wanted for here, was there, now? I mean, if t'lad here and half t'Heroes of t'War weren't enough to handle two childer, what t'hummer can I add to mix? Bar leave him wet through and folk nattering at him, happen, which tha'rt doing fair 'thout me, by or near.'

'Well said, Neville, dear.' The tones were cut-glass and cool, the voice a new one, and once again from behind them. They jumped, and Harry threw his hands in the air in frustration, snarling, 'That is it, I am bloody setting a picket guard!'

The icy blonde who was his mother-in-law looked at him with cool amusement. 'I don't know whether to be alarmed that the Man Who Won is still so jumpy this far into the peace, or charmed that my son-in-law remains so humble and sweetly self-deprecating. Draco, put your wand down at once, I will not be drawn upon by my own offspring. I am not Lucius, after all.

'Now. Neville is obviously the only intelligent one here, as he has correctly seen that the twins were simply showing the usual accidental magic one would expect at their age - the tales I could tell of what Draco got up to at that age I shall keep in reserve, against any future need of blackmail -'

'Mummy!'

'- And Neville is also obviously the only one here to be intelligent enough to realise that instead of interrogating Rhys like so many Aurors rampaging through the Lestrange house, one of you at least might have thought to cast a drying charm on the boy before he catches his death, wet as he is and standing in the damned stream!'

'It's all tidy,' Rhys said, defending them all. 'No harm.'

'"Tidy"?' Narcissa sniffed. Shaking her head, she cast a quick warming and drying spell on him, so that he steamed like a horse. 'Rhys, you come of perfectly acceptable, upper-middle-class Anglo-Welsh stock, not some pithead peasantry, and I'll not stand for your using this singsong Wenglish in a misguided attempt to show your egalitarian colours. It's the sort of thing Nymphadora does, and that Muggle politician, and I cannot approve it. It certainly does nothing for Nymphadora.

'As for the rest of you.... The problem, clearly, is that you look at Rhys - compact, shall we say, "cobby" - I'm sorry, darling, I imagine you may be sensitive about your lack of height, but you're not precisely towering like Ronald, now, are you? Nor ever shall be, I'm afraid - short, underweight, and black-polled, and whether or not you realise it, you subconsciously see the young Harry Potter, and expect Rhys to act precisely as Harry should have done. It's the same silly mistake Severus Snape - and others, I might add, including the late and unlamented Tom Riddle and Lucius Malfoy - used to make, seeing Harry as James.'

'Anything else you'd care to add about our child-raising abilities, Mother?' Draco was steaming without the benefit of warming and drying spells.

'As a matter of fact, darling, there is. Two things, in fact. Firstly, that you have chosen to, ah, "raise" Rhys and the twins in a way very different to that that Lucius chose to do with you, and that is, or was, commonly done amongst our sort of people. Rather than shove them off on house-elves, you have elected to bring them up yourselves, treating them as small Wizards - well, and Witch - and including them in your discussions. You have exposed them from the earliest possible age to a genial werewolf, repentant ex-Death Eaters, gay couples.... You have interacted with them as if they were individuals, from the very start. You have not left them to obsequious servants to spoil and appeared only to mete out punishment.

'As a result, you have the most wonderful children in the world and you make me regret every day that I didn't make away with Lucius in his sleep when you were two or so, and I am more proud of the way you and Harry have been parents to Rhys and the twins than I have ever been proud of you in my life, and that includes your war service.'

She had finally done it. She had rendered Draco speechless.

'On the other hand,' Narcissa said with a cool smile, 'the wonderful extended family you have created does have its limitations, including Justin's hectoring Rhys without cause, none of you having the nous to dry him off, and the exceedingly annoying fashion in which Ronald keeps staring at Rhys as he gets older.' If there was anything Narcissa Black enjoyed more than spending her late husband's Galleons, it was putting the Kneazle subtly amongst the you-know-whats. Like all the Blacks, notably including Sirius (and Nymphadora Tonks), she loved to shock.

'Nain 'Cissa!' Rhys was scandalised - and capable of fighting back in his own way, by deliberately using the Welsh for 'granny'. 'Uncle Ron - I mean - I, um, I know how it feels to ... I mean, I'm used to the way girls at Hogwarts, and some of the blokes, the paishes, sometimes look at me, and Uncle Ron never - there's no tawch-taste to't, though, I mean....'

Draco kept his mouth firmly shut, having already crossed glances with Harry, though he had his own ideas on this subject: Cousin Ron was one of those rare creatures, a complete heterosexual, but Draco had always suspected and would suspect to his dying day that Ron's love for Harry was so great that, were Draco not in the equation, Ron would have had a bugger of a time choosing between Harry and Hermione, straight or no.

'Did I say there was?' Narcissa was amused, and had accomplished her goal of feather-ruffling. Ron, for his part, was still speechless, literally unable to say anything for the conflict of emotions in him.

'No, Mother Malfoy,' Harry said, crisply, 'you merely implied it, with all your most equivocal and subtle talents. I'm glad we can afford you the Olympian amusement, we poor mortals. Rhys.... Ron, I know perfectly well why it is that you have been casting covert and hungry looks at the lad, and Rhys, you as a Ravenclaw ought to be able to guess. After all, what does your Uncle Ron do for - well, you can hardly call it a living, can you, it's a bloody hobby, but, still.'

'Well, Da. He's the repository of all matters statistical and the editor of Wizden's ... oh. My. God.'

Draco raised an eyebrow. 'Well, Cousin Ronniekins?'

'All right,' Ron said. 'I want all of you to swear a Wizard's Oath that you won't tell her Hermione what I'm about to say.'

'That,' Draco said, cautiously, 'depends on whether -'

'Rubbish,' Harry said, earning himself a glare from his husband. 'I bind us all to that. Now. Ron?'

'Right. Harry, Draco, I know that as his foster fathers, you have to disapprove, or at least pretend to do. And Hermione would A-K me for saying this. But, yeah. Rhys, if you spent less time in the library like a good little Ravenclaw and more time practising on the pitch, you could be a better Seeker than your foster fathers combined, and I admit I can't help fantasising about what you could do in shaking up British Quidditch if you'd just concentrate and turn pro soon as you leave school. I don't "want your body", ta ever so -' Ron shuddered, with all the fervour of a solid heterosexual, allied to all the outraged morality of a doting father who has just heard suggested the idea that an underaged child was being eyed predatorily by an adult '- but the Cannons and the Magpies and the Falcons all damn sure do, in a sense.'

It was Draco who broke the brief silence that followed. 'Cousin, I long since learnt to leave off underestimating you. But I don't think I've heard three such dead-on pronouncements from you in one statement since the War. Officially, yes, Harry and I have to say that his studies are far more important for Rhys than is Quidditch. I'm the one who actually spouts the official line because I'm better at lying with a straight face than Harry is: God knows he and I both skived off all the work we could afford to skive off, in favour of playing. And yes, Rhys could easily make Hogwarts forget that I ever played, though I can't see him or anyone relegating Harry to a footnote. And finally, you're quite right: if Hermione had heard you blaspheme against books and boffin-hood, she'd have had your balls for bludgers.'

'I've no doubt Ronald is right about Rhys's capacities,' Narcissa said. 'But I was not simply being malicious when I entrapped you all with a bit of misdirection and, oh, sleight of hand, shall we say? Like a Muggle stage "magician"? I think you've all proven my point, once more. Rhys is not Harry, nor yet Draco, and it's past time he was no longer compared to and measured by them and their pasts, be it as regards games or anything else. And if that is true of your foster son, it is true of the twins as well, who are the result of combining the genes of the two of you but are very much their own people - although I admit that darling Ginevra's having provided the egg, although no Dna(m)*, and carried them to term, seems somehow, by osmosis, to have given them a Weasley streak. Honestly - as Hermione would say - those two are the Second Coming of Gred and Forge.' Draco snickered. Apparently, everyone thought that.

'Howdonabit, Duchess.' Neville was uncompromising. 'Th'art fawce as ferret, and there's allus plottin' a-purpose to thi mankin' abeawt. "Firstly", it was you said, talkin' of lad. Well, what's "secondly", then?'

'Why, Neville, darling, you can't possibly suspect me of ulterior motives and cunning machinations.'

Nev answered her wry grin with one of his own. 'Th'art nor 'avin' me on, Duchess. Coom t' thi cake and milk yet, tha will. Now, then: after summat or t'other, th'art. Happen it have to do wi' fatherhood and these two here?'

'Darling, you're so earthy and wise when you're putting on your Simple-But-Cunning Lanky Peasant turn.'

'Narcissa....' Harry's tone was perceptibly impatient.

'I admit that I came down here partly to see if - as I expected, and I was quite right - you were all standing about jawing at Rhys whilst he stood in the stream with his feet wet, and partly to get as far as I might from where dear Molly and dear Hermione were alternately, antiphonally, and contrapuntally scolding and cosseting the twins, with Andromeda looking on and cackling at them. But I also wanted to warn you rather jumpy War Heroes that several of the - highly select - persons who are allowed, by your wards, to Apparate directly to you, may be expected within the hour, and it would be better that you not suddenly hex them simply because they startled you.'

'Mummy?'

'Yes, darling, a delegation from Mungo's.' She looked at her brooch-timepiece. 'And here, I think, they are.'

_______________

ix. A Child of Our Time

'Uncle Severus! Aunt Poppy!' Rhys wasted no time in rushing them - it was as well, perhaps, that Narcissa had cast that drying charm - and hugging them both. Snape flinched, but patted Rhy's shoulder, awkwardly. Looking on, Draco began to think that his mother might have been right: Severus Snape was not a man to accept affection easily from anyone, nor had he, in his life, had much chance to do so, but it might well be exceptionally difficult for him to accept Rhys's love, given the boy's superficial resemblance to Harry, and thus to James Potter.

But accept it he must: to Rhys, Severus Snape and Poppy Pomfrey had been saviours (though it was, perhaps, as well that Rhys's affection for Snape had never been put to the test by having the man for Potions. Now that Snape had ceased teaching at Hogwarts, only the most masochistic undergraduates at Domdaniel braved the perils of his tuition). Poppy and Severus had worked like navvies to reverse the damage Rhys had suffered at the hands of unknowing Muggle physicians and therapists who had not recognised his accidental magic, and Rhys would never cease to regard them as personal heroes and family members on the same level as Harry and Draco themselves.

Poppy had bestowed one of her rare, dry smiles on Rhys - Draco suspected that somewhere along the line, she was related to Minerva - and straightened his collar before turning to address them. Augustus Pye, now a fully qualified Healer at St Mungo's, was with them, beaming all over his rather undistinguished face.

'Scrumpy!' Harry called, and the house-elf majordomo appeared with a pop. 'Let's have everyone here, shall we?' Harry's attempt to be calm was betrayed by the slight quaver in his voice. Scrumpy grinned and appeared to be executing the first steps of a jig as he Disapparated, to return in record time with Hermione, Luna, the young Austen Francis Algernon Longbottom (eighteen months's worth of Wizardling, and quite a handful already), Dennis Creevey, Aunt Andromeda, Tinker, Tonks, Remus, Molly - with a series of young Weasleys, ranging from Wilfred Creevey, born ten-months-before-come-Tuesday, to Bill and Fleur's eldest lad, Charles-Yves, 'Charlot', who would be eight years old on Thursday next - and Arthur, with the Potter-Malfoy twins perched on his shoulders.

'Oh, my,' Molly said, grasping the situation immediately, given the presence of Healer Pye, Poppy, and Snape.

'Yes, indeed,' Poppy said. 'Very much so. Augustus?'

Healer Pye cleared his throat. 'Well, now, Mr Potter-Malfoy and Mr Malfoy-Potter. Lovely Dna(m) you have, I must say.'

'Our spunk is strong,' Draco whispered to his husband, in mock-dramatic tones.

'I knew I made a mistake in ever letting you watch Star Wars,' Harry hissed back.

'I'm very pleased to tell you that you're to be fathers again.'

'Boy or girl?' Harry's voice trembled.

'Er, well. As far as viable "alembic babies" go, in embryo, well. Er. Two of each?'

Ron caught Harry and Blaise fielded Draco adroitly as their knees buckled.

'I say,' Tinker said, 'are you absolutely certain you're not Weasleys? Twins was one thing, but....'

'We don't need an answer right away,' Healer Pye said, hurriedly.

'Answer? If there are four viable embryos, damn it, then we're going to have four new children,' Harry snapped. 'You cannot imagine we should ever consent to discarding potential lives!'

Snape raised a dour brow. 'Aside from the congenital idiocy for which you are already celebrated, Potter, what precisely has possessed you to make such a lunatic commitment? Four children? And Heaven help you in finding hosts for the spawn!'

'Don't even think about it,' Ginny interjected. 'I did my bit, with the terrible twosome, I'm not in the running just now to resemble a cross between a Plimpy and an Erumpent again, thank you.'

'No one suggest such a cross-breeding to Hagrid, I beg of you,' Snape sighed. 'Seriously, though, Potter. No: never mind, Potter. Draco, I shall address myself to you, as the sensible member of this ménage. Surely you cannot -'

'What I - Harry and I - can and cannot do, Uncle Severus, is for us to determine, and not the business of some dog-in-the-manger misanthrope whose sole contacts with the rest of humanity consist of his sticking his outsized nose into other people's affairs -'

'Now, Severus, darling.' Narcissa's voice had taken on a throaty note, and Snape shied like a horse, showing the whites of his eyes. Ever since Narcissa had found herself a very rich widow with a legally impeccable reputation - whatever Society thought - she had been quite blatantly on the market for a new husband, and Snape lived in mortal terror of her. 'There are not two Wizards in Britain more in want of a large family, or better placed to have one, than Harry and Draco. For Harry, fatherhood and family are a reparation of shocking and painful losses, and a filling of a terrible void -'

Dear God,

Draco whispered, she's been listening to that damned guest therapist-woman on the wireless again. We must demand Jordan take the 'Witching Hour' off the schedule, ban it from the airwaves, and have that bloody woman and her blasted 'empathy' sent to Azkaban.

'- And of course for my dear son, it's a means of rehabilitating the line and giving one last two-fingered salute to the shade of his appalling father, may he rot in Hell. I applaud the whole of it, and I assure you, surrogates shall be found for my four newest grandchildren. Perhaps Susan and Millicent would take one each? Though, actually, I shudder to imagine life in a household with two heavily pregnant Lesbians, and all the hormones sloshing about, hip-deep. Hmmm.... I must fire-call Amelia....'

'Before you enlist the Estrogen Brigade, Narcissa, someone must talk sense about the practicalities -'

'GOD ALMIGHTY DAMN MY SOUL TO HELL, BUT THAT IS ENOUGH!'

Harry's expression made even Draco step back a pace. Only Rhys, Poppy, and Molly stood their ground: they weren't impressed by an explosion of temper emanating from the Most Powerful Wizard of the Age. (It was likelier, in fact, that Rhys would punch him in the arm and bump shoulders with him and call him 'Da' in a wheedling tone, Poppy put him to bed with a potion, and Molly box his ears and then feed him seedy-cake.)

'Is there,' Harry asked, glaring, 'anyone else who'd care to spoil this news by meddling in our family affairs?'

This might well have quelled Snape for the day, at least, had not Narcissa tried to exploit her son-in-law's warning for her own advantage. 'Really, Severus, darling, if you want a role in our family affairs, you might join the family first.' And she shot him a smouldering come-hither glance.

That, doubtless, was what provoked him to forget Harry's clear warning that the matter should be dropped: Snape always reacted badly to being frightened, and a husband-hunting Narcissa panicked him.

'Madam, you are in no position to play the "family loyalty" card, or have the circumstances of your widowhood escaped your memory? At least I changed sides only once.'

'No,' Harry snarled, before anyone else could form the words. 'The day's buggered already. Let them have it out, and be done with it.'

'And,' Draco added, furious in his turn, 'be damned to the both of them.'

Rolling her eyes, Andromeda pointedly cast Protego on the rest of them. 'You may as well give the man the full version, sister, dear.'

'The one you nagged, chivvied, and goaded out of me?'

'I make no apologies for demanding to have full assurances before I let you near the heirs of our House, Narcissa. Severus, you asked for it.'

'So I did.' Snape affixed his best and coldest sneer to his face, determined to brazen the matter out. 'Well, Madam? What do you have to say for yourself as regards family loyalty?'

'That I have served it all my life, in ways a common usher at a school can hardly imagine. I admit the man was handsome enough, but I married Lucius Malfoy, common little upstart that he was, because my parents so resolved. I suffered through the unutterable boredom of his and their politics as a matter of family loyalty. When he elected, typically, one upstart fawning upon another, to fall at the muddy feet of that mongrel maniac, I kept silence, as a matter of family loyalty. And when he and his master -' she spat the word - 'pursued their own destruction? I stood aside and let him: as a matter of family loyalty. I evaded having that unspeakably vulgar tattoo - as a matter of family loyalty. I got my way in preventing my son's being sent off to that Teutonic terrorism training centre: as a matter of family loyalty. I saw to it that he was, rather, sent to Hogwarts, where, whether in Salazar's House or no, he at least came under the influence of Albus Dumbledore, of Dumbledore's prize spy, and, as it transpired, of a quite handsome young Gryffindor: all as a matter of family loyalty.

'I observed and docketed and preserved for use and exposure every transaction between Lucius Jumped-Up Malfoy and his ... associates ... all as a matter of family loyalty. At no small cost, and despite the remarkably annoying effects upon his demeanour, I at least made sure that my thoroughly-spoilt son was a security risk to Lucius and his unbearable, ill-bred allies, and utterly useless as a spy against the Light: as a matter of family loyalty. I happily, coolly, and comprehensively spiked Lucius's guns and sabotaged his underbred ambitions at every turn - as a matter of family loyalty. And don't think I didn't know what was afoot as regarded the family trust monies, either.'

'Loyalty -' Snape ground out.

'Loyalty, Snape, because it was the House of Black that had me marry him, and it was the House of Black against whom he and his filthy little friends offended. They ruined Bella, they killed Regulus, they ruined and then killed Sirius, and used poor Bella to do it, at that, they intended to kill Andromeda, and they would quite likely have found some way to ruin or kill my son, regardless of his loyalties, had they not been stopped. Loyalty, you silly little man. Because I was a Black, first, last, and foremost. Because I am Draco's mother, and Lucius Malfoy be damned, the crawling, boot-blacking, tuft-hunting, toadying little bastard. Loyalty. Because I never forgot and never forgave them for Regulus and Sirius, and for their ruining Bella. Do you think I gave or give a two-Sickle dam about politics and causes and sloganeering, when it was my blood and house and lineage that was at the sharp end?

'Family loyalty, Severus, because I never forgot who I am, and whose daughter, cousin, mother, and sister I am: I never once forgot that I am Narcissa Livia Electra Nigella Junilla Black, of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. What was Lucius Deed-Poll Not-Quite Malfoy to that?'

And she strode away, regally, without waiting for an answer, never looking back. Snape, his face working with rage, spat on the ground, and Disapparated.

Justin broke the silence, extending his hand to Rhys. 'Damn me if I ever want to end up like either of them. I'm sorry for being an ass earlier, m' boy, I ought damned well to have known you'd be taking good care of the little beggars.'

'Ach-a-fi, Uncle Justin, you surely must know I'm passing fond of the little small dwts. Pax, though: we're hewm, now, and no cribbin' from me. Jawch, I never was mad with you, any road.' Rhys was known to bedevil his Magical family as he teased his Muggle family, by throwing every scrap of Welsh and Wenglish he had at them. Teenagers glory in wrong-footing their elders.

'Good,' Harry said, crisply, Draco still being too angry for speech. 'Poppy, two of each, then, two boys and two girls, invoice 'em to us, and let this be the last time there's any shadow on the news.'

'Oh, Harry, dear, I'm sure it will be the last. Fancy! Four! I can tell you, they were dancing in the labs at Mungo's.'

Harry couldn't help it. He broke into a smile, and hugged Madam Pomfrey. 'And were you dancing as well, Poppy?'

'Heavens, was I not! As often as you and Draco put one another in hospital in your school days, I would never have thought to see the day!'

That broke the back of Draco's black mood as well. 'So,' he teased, knowing full well how to draw her, 'you'll stand by with the Skele-Gro if we decide to mark the news with a family Quidditch match, Poppy?'

Her reaction was Pavlovian. 'Don't you dare, Draco Potter-Malfoy! That abominable game, it's a danger to all concerned!'

'Well, damn it all,' Tinker said, 'we want to do something to celebrate! Mark the momentous event and all that!'

'By God,' Harry said, 'we do and we will! Scrumpy! We leave tomorrow morning at half ten. We'll need picnic baskets for - why not, damn it, the lot, say forty, we'll send out owls tonight! Get Tatty in, and Dobby, to pitch in! We'll get every Weasley in creation, all the Old Crowd, the lot!' Harry loved this family he had made for himself: they knew, all of them, that the great duty of family was to catch the stumbling and uplift the downfallen.

'Love? Might the rest of us hear what the plan is?'

'We're off to Hambourne-On-Sea, by Merlin! Vulgar fun at the seaside, brass bands, stage mechanists, the usual scrum on the Pier and at the Pavilion, penny arcades, and striped rock!'

'Bathing?'

'St Mark's Sands all right by you?'

Draco smiled. 'I'll try not to pounce on you, no matter how delectable you look in nothing but your bathing costume.'

Rhys made ostentatious sicking-up noises, which were drowned out by those being made by Ron. Hermione walloped both of them.

'D'you know,' Tinker said, excitedly, 'it's been utter and absolute yonks since I've seen a proper Punch-and-Judy show!'

'Oh, really, Tinker, don't be childish,' said Aunt Andromeda. 'It's damned nearly how you raised Nymphadora.'

'Mummy!'

'This,' Arthur said, 'should be great fun. Will there really be a stage mechanist, d'you think? With - with batteries? And Muggle magnets?'

Molly rolled her eyes. 'Lovely,' she said. 'Who needs more children with this lot? You're all acting as if you're five.'

Arthur grinned, and put his tongue out at her.

_______________

x. Dona Nobis Pacem

When the Man Who Had Won and his extended family, including most of the Establishment in one package tour, elected to descend upon a seaside resort en masse, the preparations involved tended to take on the aspect of a military campaign. In logistics, at least, although, as veterans of an extremely deadly war, none of the participants were inclined to facile comparisons. Even so, there remained a few malcontents and irreconcilables at large, and a certain level of security was in order whenever so many members of the Wizengamot and the Ministry of the day were going to be out in public.

'And remind them,' Harry had called into the flames as he closed his fire-call to the Auror Office, 'we'll have Muggles with us - Rhys's Muggle parents and the Grangers, at the very least.'

He turned and set his shoulders. He had a duty to fulfil.

'I'm off, then,' he said.

'Not alone, you're not. Not by the longest of chalks.' Draco took his hand, and squeezed it. 'And certainly not after the day we've had. I am going with you. All right, love?'

'All right, love. Thank you.'

They Apparated to the small, cozy lodge, a few fields away from the house and screened by trees, carefully tucked away from anything alarming (such as displays of magic or visible house-elves), where Arabella Figg kindly helped look after Aunt Petunia.

'Hullo, Arabella. How is she today?'

'Harry, dear. Hullo, Draco, love. Swat a cat out of the chair and sit. Oh! The house-elves gave me the office, I'm so happy for you both. Fancy! Four new little ones! You wouldn't dare not let me have a hand in looking after them, I trust and hope.'

'Figgy, we wouldn't dream of it. Wouldn't bloody dare, actually.' Draco ducked as she swiped at him with her knitting, both of them chuckling. 'But - how is she today?'

'Ah, well. She's been asking after Vernon, and Lily, and her Mum. Not one of her better days. I expect she'll call you Dudley again.'

'She always had an idealised image of him,' Draco said, 'but it was truly excessive if she can think he'd ever have been this handsome.' He struck a pose: anything to make Harry, on whom these visits weighed so heavily, smile.

'Oh, go on with you. Mind you don't tire her; she'll want you back here in five minutes once you've left, but, there, at least she's no notion of the passage of time from one visit to the next.'

Petunia, more scraggy than ever, was huddled next the cold hearth, rocking endlessly in her chair, her lips pursed, staring at nothing.

'Pet! Visitors, dearie.'

She looked up, with the vaguest spark of recognition in her faded eyes. 'Oh, my,' she said. 'Hullo, James. Hullo, Vernon. I think Lily is with Mummy, I can't imagine where she is, else. I do hope you're getting along, Lily and I can't possibly have it otherwise. After all, we shall all be a family in years to come, now, shan't we?' She motioned Harry closer, and said in a penetrating whisper, 'Don't tell Vernon you're a You-Know-What, he's a Muggle, you know.'

'How are you feeling today, Petunia?' Draco bore up manfully, despite having been taken for a young Vernon Dursley. He could still be atrociously rude. He schemed even when he slept. He had the temper of a boomslang and a tongue that could flay a Graphorn. But it was at moments such as these that Harry knew just why he loved Draco Malfoy: because Draco loved him enough to be beside Harry even for such painful scenes as this.

'I am well, thank you.' She looked away, the thread broken. When she turned back to them, she was clearly drifting. 'Hullo. Have either of you seen my husband Vernon? Or Dudley. That's my son, you know. Such a sweet boy, and so clever and handsome. I should like to see them, please.'

'I'm afraid they're not here just now,' Harry said, quietly. Nor would they be. They had been amongst Riddle's few victims, in one of his few successful operations. In a sense, it had been the self-styled Lord Voldemort's greatest success: even now, Harry could not find it in himself to mourn them, but he could and did grieve their loss, and the guilt it burdened him with was thus redoubled. Even Tom Riddle might have been satisfied in his malice by the weight of remorse that Harry bore over the deaths of his uncle and his cousin.

'Oh,' Petunia said. 'Can - do you think it possible I may see them soon? I should very much like to see them, please.'

'I ... I think it will be soon.' Harry was trying not to choke up. 'Are you comfortable for now?'

'That woman who was here is very nice. Do you know her?'

'Mrs Figg, you mean,' Draco said, surprisingly gently.

'Who, Duddykins? I quite like that shirt on you, did I buy that for you?'

'I. Um. I don't recall.' They had long since given up trying to set the old lady straight. It was a pointless exercise, and it served but to agitate her.

'I'm sure that I did. I made certain I bought you shirts last week.'

'Thank you, then. Is there anything we can get you?'

'I have everything I need, thank you. Mummy and Lily are at the shops now, I expect. I can't conceive why. We never seem to run short of anything. But I expect you will say that women just naturally enjoy a day out.' She broke off, and sipped some by now lukewarm tea with exaggerated care. 'Did you know my sister? She was always the clever one. I wish we saw one another more often. Do you think she will call soon?'

'I know she'd wish to do.'

'She's very clever, my sister. You'd like her, everyone does. I don't think people care for me quite so much....'

'Nonsense.' Harry's voice was firm, earnest. 'If they don't realise your worth, they're fools. You're a brick, old girl: even when you'd rather not do your duty, you've always done it, anyway.'

'Thank you, James. It was good of you and Remus to call. I'm sorry Lily is out. You'll stop by again, won't you?'

'Like clockwork,' Draco said, trying not to sound like a man newly mistaken for a werewolf, however refined, kindly, and well-behaved the werewolf in question.

Mercifully, Mrs Figg bustled in at that juncture. 'Petunia, dear, would you like a lie-down? You're tiring, I'll wager. And the lads need to be off.'

'That would be lovely. Do come again soon, er.... Yes. Well. I'm sorry you missed Lily.'

'We came to see you, Au- - Petunia. Take care. We'll see you again soon.'

'Lovely, dear. Vernon will be so sorry he missed you.'

'Come along, dearie,' Mrs Figg said. 'The lads will show themselves out. You mustn't overtire yourself.'

As soon as they were out of Petunia's line of sight, they Apparated back to the great house, in determined silence.

But family know that the great duty of family is to catch the stumbling and uplift the downfallen. Scrumpy met them as they came in with tonic news, news that proved that once again, the family they had made for themselves knew when to step in, to steady their stumbles and lift them from the mire. 'Master Harry, Master Draco, Scrumpy is to be telling you that Fred Weasely and George Weasley is being here to see you both.'

'That's -'

'- Right,' the Weasley Twins said, in their typical antiphonal style. They had Apparated from wherever Scrumpy had vainly put them 'to wait quietly', and were now sharing a plinth apiece with two rather indifferent statues on either side of the doors to the Great Hall. The statues had crowded over rather ungraciously to make room, and were muttering sub voce.

'A little bird -'

'- And we don't mean that bloody owl of Ron's -'

'- Told us you wanted cheering up -'

'- After an afternoon's sniping -'

'- And Snape-ing. So we said to ourselves -'

'- "Selves," said we -'

'- "It's time for a special limited engagement" -'

'- "Of the Gred-and-Forge Show" -'

'- By way of a command performance for the Man-Who -'

'- And his beloved sidekick, the Ferret-What -'

'- And besides -'

'- There are Matters To Be Discussed.'

'Oh, are there.' Draco was wary.

'Oh, not to worry.'

'No one suggests you are tainted by Being In Trade.'

'We're the shopkeepers -'

'- Who "keep a lady in a cage most cruelly all day" -'

'- "And make her count and call her 'Miss' until she fades away" -'

'- Not you. You're merely the bloated capitalist investors -'

'- Who want to see Our Latest. The tip-top article -'

'- A most superior wheeze -'

'- And likely to make the four of us a hell of a lot of dosh.'

'In that case,' Harry said, 'lead on.'

They led.

'Cor,' Draco said, carefully, 'as they say, blimey. Also, in the words of Cousin Ronniekins, bloody Hell.'

'Now, this,' Fred said - or it may have been George - 'is the ticket. In addition to animating the models -'

'And,' George, or, of course, possibly Fred, added, 'charming them to be unbreakable, especially in the case of one Vicky Krum, whose figurine is now guaranteed to be impervious to damage even from a jealous adolescent Weasley who has damn near let a Hermione Granger slip away -'

'- We have arranged things with our dear friend Lee Jordan at Spellcast House, in his ever so exalted capacity as Director-General of the WWN -'

'- And with the chaps at the Floo Network -'

'- And with that self-same Ronald Weasley -'

'- Now older, presumably wiser, and editor of Wizden's Quidditcher's Almanack -'

'- So that the game is automagically updated with statistics in what they tell us is called "real time" -'

'- As opposed to unreal time, we take it, which is what we thought was passing when we first found out about the two of you. We'd always said Harry would date a Malfoy when pigs flew -'

'- Which means it's all Sirius's fault for giving Ron that ruddy owl with the joke name.'

'It's a damned good thing you two are so profitable,' Draco said, 'because otherwise you're too tiresome for words.'

The Twins grinned, and said in unnerving unison, 'We know. Our plans are evidently working, then.'

Harry was watching, raptly, as the model Quidditch players flew about the model pitch, chasing the tiny Snitch, beating the model Bludgers back and forth, tossing the miniscule Quaffle at the scale-model hoops.

'And what makes this leagues ahead of anything else that anyone is working on,' George (or, as it may have been, Fred) added -

'- In addition to the continuously updating statistical information -' Fred (or, of course, George) interjected -

'- Is that it can also be played in Manager Mode.'

'You can choose from all past or present players, with all the lifetime or current statistical information for each -'

'- And create your own team -'

'- And play as many seasons as you like, as your players naturally age, retire, and come up from school or the minor divisions, in turn -'

'- And create a Quidditch dynasty. We got the idea from Draco's darkest secret -'

'- Namely, the Muggle games he plays on the Muggle confuter and the internets -'

'- Which he won't admit to because they're "tycoon" games -'

'- And he's afraid it will remind people of Lucius's grandfather, the counter-jumper.'

'Sods.'

'We know.'

'Can you - would it be possible,' Harry asked, 'to make this multi-player? Over the Floo, say?'

'Yes.'

'But not yet.'

'We could do it tomorrow.'

'But first we want to sell as many of these as we can.'

'Then we introduce the multi-player online expansion pack -'

'- For almost the same price -'

'- And the punters pay us their hard-earned Galleons a second time.'

'You two would have made frighteningly good Slytherins.'

'We know.' They smiled at one another and solemnly shook hands. 'Now, we must be off.'

'We'll see you tomorrow at half ten.'

'For now, this prototype stays with you lot.'

'Along with these.' Fred (or George) handed over three small boxes.

'Not on the market.'

'Not part of the game.'

'Unique and exclusive models.'

'The Seeker Harry Potter -'

'- the Seeker Draco Malfoy -'

'- And,' they said in unison, 'the Seeker Rhys Jones-Morgan. Not available in shops.'

'Good Lord. You -'

'Mustn't tarry,' they said, and Disapparated before they could be thanked.

Draco and Harry exchanged rueful grins. 'If Rhys were to find out about this tonight....'

'... We'd all three stay awake all night playing with the damned thing, and spoil tomorrow.'

'Parenthood,' Harry said, succinctly, and not for the first time, 'is a damned nuisance.'

'Yes.' Draco smiled. 'Especially when they're very small, and interrupt one all through the night.'

'You think we'd be well advised to stock up on uninterrupted nights, starting now?'

'Brilliant idea. At least you can't get me preggers.'

Harry leered. 'I can try.'

'Oooh, that's the fun part.' They exchanged a glance, and raced each other for the stairs.

_______________

xi. The Walk to the Paradise Garden

The Wizarding seaside resort of Hambourne-On-Sea was a riot of colour and movement (and odours) that sprawled along the strand, serried its ranks along the Parade, spilled across the flats into the water and the bay, ran up to the cliffs, hills, and combes that marked the inland line and the start of farming (and Muggle) country, and scrummed, jostled, crowded, larked, shoved over, queued, and made room for a little 'un at the Pavilion and the Pier (both named in pious memory of the great Tilly Toke).

'Great God,' said Mr Granger to Mrs Jones-Morgan. 'Good Lord,' said Mr Jones-Morgan to Mrs Granger. And, 'Right, you lot! Stop standing about like great lumps, and get stuck in,' Ron cried. 'The Muggles-in-law and Rhys's mum and dad, you stick by me, we'll soon have you sorted and in the swing of it. House-elves, to your posts! (Tetty, Winky, you're detailed to the Muggles, do try and keep them out of trouble.) Now! Let the madness begin!'

Hermione sighed. Next, he'd be waving a toy spade and bucket, on the sands.

There was ample justification for the Muggle wonderment that possessed Rhys's natural parents and Ron's mother- and father-in-law. As was typical of the Wizarding world, this Wizarding version of a seaside resort was a super-saturated, hallucinogenic version of its Muggle counterpart, making the latter look pallid and tame by comparison. The Winter Garden, with its riotous profusion of magical plants under acres of gleaming crystal - and it was paned, not in glass, but rather in tissue-thin and iron-stout panes of transparent crystalline minerals, each lightly tinted in jewelled colours - the famous Winter Garden seemed like something out of a paradise concocted by John Bunyan working with a committee of pre-Raphaelite painters. Certainly, it was heaven to Neville, who was headed there at speed, with an herbological gleam in his eye. The Pier, adamantly disdainful of Muggle physics and engineering, held up by magic and sheer custom, ran crazily, drunkenly, out to its terminal island, encrusted with shops, stalls, pubs, and arcades as its posts were with barnacles, teeming with Wizards and Witches. Every so often, someone would fall off, and hit the wards a few scant inches above the sands or the sea, and be flipped lazily back onto the boards of the pier.

In a flawless sky, in perfectly charmed weather, children and not a few of their elders, some of them their considerable elders, shrieked with delight as the Bludge-'Em brooms collided and reversed, only to collide again.

The Pavilion, the pride of Hambourne, resembled nothing so much as what might have emerged had Wizards kidnapped Chambers, Lutyens, Nash, Pugin, Ruskin, and Wood, plied them with firewhisky, had them stung into delirium by swarms of Billywigs, taken their resulting designs for the most outré building each could conceive on a bet, torn the blueprints in pieces, reassembled them in the dark as a single drawing, and entrusted the resulting incomprehensibility to a team of drunken and colour-blind house-elves, with an unlimited budget and no Clerk of the Works, to erect.

By moonlight.

In three nights's time.

And yet, even the Pavilion's famed Neo-Mongolian-Rococo annexe faded almost from one's notice when one confronted the sheer scope, sartorial eccentricity, and strangeness of the Wizarding world, en masse, at peace, on holiday, and resolved to enjoy itself to the hilt.

And over all, the redolence of butterbeer and firewhisky, fish and chips and mushy peas, Fizzing Whizzbees, Scotch eggs and bangers-and-mash, bubble-and-squeak, toad-in-the-hole, gallons of tea, buns, strawberries, ices, curries, candyfloss, ice mice, Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans, cakes, and - gladdening Harry's heart and weighting his purse - a quite acceptable trade in cider and perry alongside the pumpkin juice. Over all and underpinning all, the ozone and the tar, the sand and the sea, the turf and the banked heaviness of over-spilt plantings of flowers, and the jostle of humanity. Over all and behind all, the thump of the brass bands, the occasional boom of an Exploding Tuba, and the squeals and shouts and laughter and occasional screaming fit of innumerable children.

Luna stood beside Harry, looking over and through the scene with her calculated air of vagueness. Held negligently in the crook of her arm, kicking his heels against her hip, little Austen Longbottom seemed to be chewing - or gumming - something dodgy, judging by the state of the front of his little sailor-suit. 'Neville wouldn't let any of the children have anything more this morning than, as he put it, "poddish an' blue milk", so they'd have room to gorge themselves here. Still, I expect they'll all be sick as little Nogtails tonight from a day's greed.'

Draco, on Harry's other side, struck his hand against his forehead. 'Damn it! I meant to ask Gred and Forge -'

'Ask us what?'

Draco whirled around, half-levitating as he did so in his startlement. 'Don't do that!'

'Ask us nicely, now. What was it?'

'Oh. That game. What about the tickets and food and drink, eh?'

'You can play with the prices in Manager Mode. Too dear -'

'- And the punters won't come to the pitch. Too generous -'

'- And you can't afford to sign that new Keeper. We would have told you -'

'- But we thought you'd be up all night playing the game and finding out on your own. Instead, you evidently went to bed early -'

'- But neither of you seem to have gotten much sleep.' They looked blandly at Harry and Draco.

'I hate you both, so much.'

'We know.'

'Now, now,' Arthur interjected, tacking towards them under full sail with a squadron of smaller vessels, Weasleys of the new generation all, coming along behind. 'We have professional music-hall comedians here, no need for the three of you to waste time with the usual amateur hour. In fact, once Harry let them know we were all coming today, Derwent Shimpling, bless him, insisted on giving a matinee performance. Is the count right on this lot, Molly, dear? No one missing? Really. Remarkable, most remarkable. Well, that's a good omen. Come along then, all, the crowds will only get worse whilst we wait. Besides, I want to see the stage mechanist's next performance.' Shooing various grand-Weasleys before him, he started forward.

_______________

Draco had been willing to let them stew. Or go hang. Or sod completely off, actually. But Harry had put his foot rather firmly down: this was to be a family outing, and family, in their terms, included Severus Snape and the Widow Malfoy, whether either of them liked it or not. After all, they'd sent out whole parliaments of owls to ensure that such other members of the official extended 'family' as Minerva, Kingsley, and Mad-Eye were along to celebrate the news, they couldn't very well debar Snape and Narcissa.

Reasonably soon, however, even Harry was willing to admit that principle could be taken too far. Narcissa was, if anything, in a more predatory mood than usual, and as for Snape, he was at his impossible worst.

As he had demonstrated, to the point of even so douce a man as Arthur's becoming mildly impatient, at the stage mechanist's show. The Great Teknous, as he billed himself (a Squib with a red-brick engineering degree, if rumour were to be credited), was a popular draw, and Arthur, of course, was happy as - in Luna's words - a Nargle in mistletoe. 'Me old p'fessor,' the showman was declaiming, ' 'e allus said, "The quickness of the heye deceives the wand", said 'e.'

'Good Lord,' Snape muttered.

The Great Teknous grinned, and abandoned the faux accent that always went with that part of the patter. 'Of course,' he said, in tones that could have rivalled Justin's, 'my old Muggle don was a Trinity, Cambridge man. He had many fine qualities, but the greatest advantage he possessed as a teacher was his ... magnetic personality.' With a flourish, he gestured to where a small magnet was rising to levitate. 'Behold the wonders of science,' he cried.

Snape threw himself into heckling. 'All done with simple Magic,' he said, loudly. 'A first-year's Leviosa.'

'Really, Severus, it's too bad of you,' Arthur said, looking hurt.

'Not a problem, Minister,' the Great Teknous called out, jovially. 'I rarely have so distinguished a heckler as Professor Severus Snape! Very well, then, cocky, up you come, we'll see what you make of liquid nitrogen, or the six-foot fire wave!'

Snape shrugged away, snarling, as Harry put a firm and final hand on his shoulder. 'Severus,' Harry said, clearly and politely, but in a tone that made clear the suggestion was an order, 'why don't you go mingle with the crowd. I, myself, will step forward and be the proverbial Mug From the Audience Who Assists the Stage Mechanist.'

'Well,' the Great Teknous crowed, 'this is our lucky day! Three cheers and a tiger for Our Own Harry Potter! Harry -' Harry had become resigned to the fact that the entire Wizarding world felt itself on Christian-name terms with him - 'that famously unruly head of hair has nothing on the results of some static electricity!'

The crowd applauded and laughed, and Arthur bounced on the balls of his feet, exclaiming, 'Eckletricity! Super! Fascinating!'

'Get Draco,' Harry laughed, as he Apparated onto the small stage. 'Anything that can muss his hair must be magic!'

________________

Later on, Harry found himself scanning the crowd of bathers and sun-worshippers, looking for his Draco, who, he well knew, would be out there outshining everyone. The Wizarding public displayed in cross-section an astounding variety in dress for the occasion, from the pipe-clayed and straw-boatered, to the Victorianly modest in yards of flannel, to, as he knew Draco would be, the little exhibitionist, those wearing nothing save a modesty charm (and, in Draco's case, a sunscreen spell, SPF 2500).

'Lookin' for our favourite nudist?' Narcissa was working, these days, on sounding jolly, hearty, and County, for deep reasons of her own.

'Hullo, Narcissa.'

'Would that you had seen him at the age of five. He went through a phase in which he simply would not stay clad, no matter how often we ran him down and forced his clothes on him.'

Harry snorted. The image was painfully cute.

'I thought it would give Lucius heart failure. Sadly, it did not. He's over there, by the way,' she added, gesturing to where, sure enough, Draco was preening himself, mother-naked save for the charms.

'You've been keeping an eye on him?'

'Heavens, no, darling, I've been ogling all the other Wizards. Incest is one of the few vices to which the House of Black have not, historically, been prone. Besides, had I suspected how the two of you would turn out, I should have poisoned Lucius years ago and done my best to pip Draco at the post and nobble you.'

Harry's reply was dry, and equable. 'You've the wrong bits, belle-mère.'

'Yes, so I gather. I do so envy Nymphadora her talents. My, my ... I see that neither Bill nor Charlie Weasley is given to the ridiculous Edwardian fashions of far too many a Wizard. Lovely sight.'

'Narcissa!'

'That earring of Bill's has much to answer for. And as for Charlie ... those arms.'

Sometimes, Harry thought, the only thing a man could do was laugh.

_______________

'Rhys?' Hermione was a trifle taken aback by Rhys's rather shocked look: like most adolescents, he had the façade of jadedness, if not the reality, down pat. Certainly, freed of the Muggle interferences with his magic, and brought up by Harry, Draco, and Company, he was a far more stable and stolid young man than the somewhat nervy and excitable eight-year-old who had first entered their lives seven years before.

'Bopa. Mum, Da. Uncle Ron, Uncle Justin, Uncle Blaise.'

'You look as if you've seen a ghost,' his mother said.

Rhys laughed. 'Mum, I've seen more ghosts than you've had hot dinners, remember?'

'Yes, well,' Justin said, at his plummiest. He and Tinker, who, with Draco, had been the only ones to have had the first smatches of a Classical education, pre-Hogwarts, had been arguing earlier about construing Snape's latest muttered complaint about the crush, which had been in Greek, 'philei to plethos to daimonion,' which, Greek being Greek, could mean either 'the mob loves the devil' or 'the devil loves the mob,' and Justin was feeling especially Etonian. 'Something's twisted your tail, what?'

'Well, Uncle Justin, you remember what you said about the Sickle-arcade machines?'

Rhys's mother, who was a trifle strict beneath her somewhat fashionably broad-minded veneer, had been concerned by the 'What the House-Elf Saw' machines, if only for the vulgarity involved ('perhaps the least bit common and inappropriate?'), and Justin had reassured her: 'No vice in them at all, Margot, really. The lad's damn near the Muggle age of consent, and two years from Wizarding adulthood, I can't imagine he'll be corrupted by grainy pictures of Rubenesque Witches posed stiffly in Victorian unmentionables. Whatever the case in Tinker's day -' he had had to duck a playful punch - 'today, the bloody things are there for a laugh.'

'Of course I recall,' Justin said, now.

'Well, they seem to have updated them.'

Blaise grabbed a Sickle and raced for the nearest machine, as Rhys blushed.

'Merlin! So they have,' Blaise said, his eyebrows almost meeting his hairline. 'Modern Witches - and Wizards, ah, "stiffly posed" -' he coughed, and Justin fidgeted uncomfortably - 'and the house-elf jape is represented by the fact that all that they seem to be wearing is - or, rather, are - um, socks.'

Rhys's mother was not amused, but a crisis was averted by Ron, who dissolved the tension by the simple expedient of falling down laughing, helplessly flailing, and sputtering, 'S-s-socks ... any SPEW emblems on 'em, Blaise?' By the time Hermione was done taking a strip of his hide, the issue was closed.

_______________

'Why, Narcissa? You should, I'd think, be enjoying your freedom, not looking to put your head back in the marital noose.'

Hundreds of yards away, that most famous of husbands, Mr Punch, was evading a noose of his own, to Tinker's delight, cozening a Voldemort puppet, playing Jack Ketch the Hangman, into hanging himself on his own gallows.

They stood on the Parade, looking out over the bathers, Narcissa's eyes restless, hungry, searching.

'Harry, darling, for you and Draco, the other is irreplaceable. I, on the other hand, quite like having someone to buy me things, even though I could perfectly well do it myself, and to trot out as a stalking horse, and one luscious man is as good as another for that. No one save a fool has ever underestimated Minerva McGonagall, not for a minute; and that, darling, has been a terrible disadvantage to her. By contrast, my sister and her husband can both hide behind their ridiculous double act, quite usefully, just as I screened myself by letting people distract their minds watching that ass Lucius. Even now, vamping Snape, or having cast pitiably obvious nets in the sight of that downy old bird Albus Dumbledore when he was with us, God rest his cunning old soul, or pursuing Oliver Wood and letting everyone dismiss me as a Nundu dressed as a Kneazle ... darling, it has all had its benefit, as camouflage at the least. Your friend the giantess, after all, inherited a controlling share in her late first husband's family business -'

'I hadn't realised Olympe had been married before,' Harry said, mentally smacking himself.

'Darling, headmistresses, unlike cooks, are not given a married woman's title simply as a custom or convention of their position. She was married to Hercule Maxime, who left her the reins of the family Champagne business, inherited from a previous cunning widow, Veuve Géant. I suspect she means to speak with you, by the way, about your cider holding's becoming their British importer and distributor, it would be beneficial to you both. And notice, she wasted no time in marrying Hagrid and fluttering like a poor, helpless woman in the interim, which at her size is ludicrous. And to think the poor old lad is trying so hard to make an Englishwitch of her, at that....

'The point, darling, is that the right husband, in addition to being handy about the boudoir, can be a useful and attractive accessory.'

'Narcissa!'

'Really, darling, it's not so very different to the post-War campaign to Make Purebloods Cuddly, is it?'

Harry remembered having overheard, not a week previously, the most downright and unvarnished discussion of that issue he'd yet heard, in the form of a rather cool chat amongst Molly, Andromeda, and Narcissa. Draco, who was a natural mimic, and he himself, having revealed a certain vein of humour after the War, had developed something of a party turn that gently ribbed their rural neighbours, with Draco as the chaw-bacon Moonraker and Harry as the frustrated urbanite. 'They do be vurriners.' 'Nonsense, I know that they live in this county, at Idmiston.' 'Ah. I fancy you do find hine there, but that's clear t'other end of the county. Vurriners, they do be.' 'How can you call the Prewetts "foreigners" when they live in Wiltshire just as you do?' 'Now, there were no cause to be a-taking me up that-a-way. They do be vurriners, why, some on 'em do live clear over in Hampshire, at Shipton Bellinger, they do. Oh, there do be vights over them girls, at that....' Molly's humour on the subject had led, that day, to an exchange with Aunt Andromeda and with Narcissa that Harry had found appallingly instructive.

'It's quite simple, Narcissa. You ought really be able to grasp it. There is a point to the joke.' Andromeda's tones were steely.

'Narcissa, dear.' Molly was motherly, but no less firm. 'No one expects you to sound like a farmwife.'

'County, on the other hand, would do you no harm.'

'It is not,' Narcissa retorted, 'that I disapprove. On the contrary: a return to the old ways is hardly uncongenial to me, though I cannot say I embrace it with quite Neville's enthusiasm. What is not clear to me is why this rather ostentatious bit of pureblood theatre should be in such good odour with the Ministry and the Victors.'

'If, by the Victors, you mean Harry, dear.... He has had a fair bit of dealing with the Continentals, you know, and then, last year, he and Draco went on several exchanges with foreign schools and universities, though it was Blaise who got sent to the European ones: the Istituto Pontifical degli Studi Arcane e Magici, all the old Habsburg foundations, the Boursonne, the Hellenic Academy, the Akademiya Koldovstva - I never feel I say that correctly - and all. Well, dear, what with Harry and Draco corresponding with the Australians, though they never got to do anything with the East of Suez crowd, and going to North America.... Apparently, the Red Indians have their own schools and guard their secrets still, but there are the old colonial foundations: the Instituto Real de Brujería para Las Indias y la América, which took me forever to learn to say, the Académie Royale et Épiscopale des Beaux Arts Magiques de la Louisiane, the Nieuw Amsterdam en de Vallei van Hudson Academie van Hekserij: all overlaid with the newer ones, the New England universities, Luce, Swynford, Exmouth, and all the old Southern ones, Jefferson & Rodes, the Virginia Magical Institute, Buckingham & James, Overbury, Texas Alchemical & Magical -'

'Molly, darling -'

'- Well, Harry and Draco came back convinced that what are stereotypes for Muggles are simple facts for us. I mean, as far as national and regional differences, and the way they shape us and our magic. Well, look at dear Fleur, after all.'

'Tinker spent months quoting Toynbee at me,' Andromeda said, grimly. 'I finally had to hex him silent.'

'Lovely, darling, but, Molly, darling, I still cannot see -'

'Really, Narcissa.' Andromeda was discernibly impatient. 'Harry and Draco approve because it fits one of their theories, I expect Draco will get a monograph out of it. The benefit to the purebloods in the wake of the late War, however, is that it improves the image: people trust those with rural accents and regional roots, believing, in the teeth of all evidence, that the happy local farmer and peasant won't cheat them senseless. And the benefit to the Ministry is, No one, not in this country, at least, can be led into rebellion by a demagogue speaking anything but RP English. We're far too snobbish to do. If Tom Riddle had had Neville's native accent, or Colin's, he'd have been laughed to scorn before he ever sat his OWLS.'

_______________

Of course, had Ted-the-Tinker Tonks ever wished to take over the Wizarding world, people would have followed him eagerly, simply for the amusement value. Earlier despots had had to bribe the people with bread and circuses. Tinker, with Andy or without her, was a music-hall turn in himself. At the moment, he was planted in front of the eye-searingly striped hangings of a Wizarding Punch and Judy show, with all the children of the extended family gathered 'round him, stirring mirth in everyone save the 'professor' performing as he recited the memorised lines of the show along with the puppets, half a beat late. Being the least bit deaf, he was a bit louder than he seemed to think; and being the least bit deaf, he didn't hear the supplemental commentary that the Young Intake he was in charge of were adding to his recital.

'"That's the way to do it",' he repeated with Mr Punch, and was oblivious to the sotto voce antiphon from a Weasley offspring, '"Money for nothin' and your chicks for free".'

Tinker hadn't had such a day out in years.

________________

With the exception of Remus and Tonks, whom no one had seen in some hours, Harry, now reunited with a clothed and collected Draco, felt that he had now personally greeted and chatted with every Witch and Wizard in Britain. (Tonks had dragged Remus off to the funfair, where, between the Thestral carousels and the pumpkin shies, she had repeatedly chivvied him through the queue for the Ghost Train - which, of course, featured real ghosts - at the appropriate moments of which she had contrived numerous embraces and not a few episodes of light snogging. Tonks, when she knew what she wanted, notoriously made a dead set for it, and her Aunt Narcissa could profitably have gone to her for lessons.)

Minerva had indeed appeared, chuckling over an encounter with Snape. 'He duckit into a fortune-teller's tent to escape me, as if he could do. I caught him as he exited, and made him tell me the fortune.'

'What was it?'

'"From the waves o' the sea tae the ocean sae wide, A holiday waits for ye on the next tide." His interpretation, delivered at considerable length and wi' nae sma' amount of morbid imagery, was that the only way he could work free of Domdaniel was tae drown himself. I told him he maun continue teaching until your four impending bairns had matriculated. That's when he went tae earth in the saloon bar.'

They had also seen Hagrid and Olympe, promenading on the Parade: Olympe had wanted to see all the stalls and shows on the Pier, but Hagrid refused to leave the Parade and the Pavilion: 'Dunno as 'er'll be up to th' weight,' he'd muttered, looking dubiously at the ramshackle structure.

Pansy had come gushing up to them, vowing that if she and Theo weren't working on a Family Of Their Own, she would have been the very first to volunteer to carry one of the babies, which had put an expression on Draco's face that left Theo laughing silently for the next quarter hour. Gred and Forge had sidled past, with a hunted look, which was explained when, a few moments after, Narcissa passed them with a wink. Draco's reaction had been even more extreme than when Pansy had been creating. They'd seen Daphne - 'Queenie' - Greengrass, who, it transpired, was walking out these days with Gregory Goyle: Goyle, as he had on each of the thirty-two occasions on which they'd met since the War, had spent ten inarticulate minutes in alternately patting Draco's shoulder and wringing Harry's hand in mute gratitude. They'd seen Vincent Crabbe, as well, who had finally been released from St Mungo's, he having been severely wounded in the War, fighting against his own father; he seemed to be finding his feet quite nicely, thin as a lath now, clad in an heroic aura, and being attended to quite fervently by Lavender Brown, who had spoken briefly and with rare seriousness to them about possibly acting as one of their surrogates.

So, too, finally, had Susan Bones and Millicent Bulstrode, with whom they had spent a good half-hour. Susan was still deceptively fluffy and pretty and ostensibly fragile, which fooled neither Harry nor Draco, and Millicent was quite evidently wrapped around her finger. Millicent herself, four-square, uncompromising, careless of what the world thought, had been transformed by happiness and peacetime, though still as downright and blunt as ever, standing there in yards of summer tweed and chewing an unlit cheroot. With a sudden sympathy of insight, Harry had wondered if perhaps Aunt Marge had been so unpleasant because she had been so desperately unhappy, repressed, and in denial.

'It would, of course,' Millicent had said, forthrightly, 'set the household by the ears, eh, Suse? But we'd like to consider it anyway, and talk further later on this week. Feel we owe you that much, and it would be a privilege -'

'Now, Millicent -'

'No, I know, you hate playin' the hero, but we do owe it. Anything they suggest to the contrary's bloody bilge, far as I'm concerned. Saved us all. Simple as that. So. Surrogacy. Mull, and we'll jaw it over in a few days. Suse, love, am I right? Right, then.' And without further ceremony, Millicent had stumped off, adoringly following Susan Bones, who seemed to float away.

It was late in the afternoon. The children were distended with food and fizzy drinks, too tired even to be quarrelsome, and slightly sunburnt. The adults were in little better condition. Harry and Draco stood a little aside, gazing down, from a slight elevation, upon the seaside and the strand, the Pier and the Pavilion and the Parade, and all the still jostling and happily noisy crowd. They would be there into the night, the crowd, for the fireworks and the fairy lights in the velvet dark, careless and carefree, thoughtlessly at peace.

Harry and Draco exchanged a glance. In all its innocent vulgarity, its fat and sometimes fatuous self-satisfaction, this peaceful world, freed of the threat of the Dark, was, in its own rather common, malt-vinegar-sprinkled way, their monument and achievement, a fit future into which to bring children.

This, funnily enough, was what they'd fought for.

It was enough. They gathered the family they had made for themselves, and set their faces towards home.

_______________

* 'Dna (magical)', of course.