Trouble in Paradise

--a *Harry Potter* fanfic by AngieJ (also known as Ebony Elizabeth)

DISCLAIMER: No magical creatures were harmed during the writing, proofing and posting of this fic... oops, wrong disclaimer... J.K. Rowling owns everything and everyone you recognize, except Cassie and Simon, who own themselves. :-)

Trouble In Paradise

Chapter Eleven – Serpentine Fire

"Going to tell a story

morning glory

all about the serpentine fire

Surely as life’s begun

you will as one

battle with the serpentine fire..."

--Earth, Wind, and Fire

It wasn’t the end of the world.

At least, not right away it wasn’t.

The sun went on rising and setting without turning into blood. The stars appeared at night and traveled their courses without falling out of the sky. The moon still traveled through all its mysterious phases with no sign of darkening. No demons were evicted from an abyss. Neither famine nor pestilence nor war immediately followed that eventful third day of April in 2009.

Life went on for the rest of us as it always had.

At least, at first it did.

There was news, of course, of what had ensued in the weeks after the Summit (as I’d termed the event in my mind). Ron had moved completely out of the house in Chelsea, splitting his time between his luxury suite in Liverpool and his and Mo’s love-nest in Canada. There was a considerable amount of tutting behind closed Weasley doors over his supposed shamelessness, but there wasn’t much that could be done.

When I ran into Janet MacCullough one day in Hogsmeade (she was visiting with a colleague who had attended Hogwarts for a Quidditch game) she said that the Professor was giving Professors Black and Lupin an unusually wide berth, so that even the youngest Dumbledore students knew that something was wrong. Reading between the lines of what she said, I gathered that some of the more astute telepathic ones might have known quite a bit more than that... Janet included.

Hermione was nowhere to be found. The unspoken assumption was that she’d gone to her parents... according to Fred, the Grangers had promptly gone on holiday the day after the Summit. Their whereabouts were unknown. One couldn’t blame Hermione for wanting to be as scarce as possible.

So at first the greatest tragedy seemed to be the end of a marriage that we all thought would last forever and a day... and the end of a friendship everyone thought would last even longer than that.

No one outside of our immediate circle knew of what had happened. This was because none of us really talked about it. Some things are beyond words... there is no language but a cry to express them. Since none of us talked about it, and neither Ron nor Hermione filed for divorce with the Ministry at that juncture, the press did not get wind of the matter.

I didn’t have time to worry about it much. For better or for worse, the march of days goes on, and a witch must keep her head even when those all about her are losing theirs.

That spring, I found much to keep me occupied... and made it a point to dwell on what had happened between Ron, Hermione, Mo, and Harry as little as possible.

My mother came for a long-promised visit in mid-April. She’d sold her London home the year before, but didn’t seem to mind taking up residence in our spare room.

Fred, however, did mind, as he expressly told me several times before we invited her. He had this way of waiting until I was in an excellent mood before bringing it up, in order to catch me at my "best moment."

"Angel," he began, pulling me into his arms as I slid under the covers beside him, "I know your mother needs a place to stay and trust me, I would love to have her here, but I'm afraid it'll cut down on private time between you and me."

"We have a five year old running around. We don't have private time now," I reminded him, resting my head against his chest sleepily.

"Angel," he whined.

"Freddikins," I whined right back. We both laughed. "Fred, what's the real reason you don't want my mother to come?"

"I'm outnumbered three to one," he said in a little voice. It took me a moment to understand what he was talking about, but then I laughed again, so hard that I fell back into my pillows. "It's not funny! The bathrooms are already overrun with all of your... girl... stuff!" I wiped the tears from my eyes, still giggling.

"Oh, Fred, I love you, I really do." He smiled uneasily as he rested his head on my shoulder.

His smile broadened as he reached out a hand and traced his thumb along my cheek. Then he moved his hand and rested it on my abdomen.

"Maybe these two will even the score a little," he said with a smile.

I opened my mouth a few times, no sound coming out. How did he know? I had tried to bring myself to tell him so many times, but never quite got around to it. I couldn’t really blame my silence on the recent upheaval. I had known that as soon as he found out, I would be in virtual lockdown. Fred Weasley was not a rational man when it came to my health. While his intentions were sweet, it got rather annoying when he practically wanted me to spend my entire pregnancy in bed.

"While you struggle for words, I'll tell you how I found out. Yesterday, the bill came in for our Gringottscard."

"Oh, bollocks, I meant to check the mail before you."

"I saw on the statement that there were a few extra charges to the Granger-Longbottom Clinic, and for more than just your physical therapy. I was worried..."

"....about the money..."

"...about you, so I went to check it out. I got there and Neville congratulated me. He also made a lewd remark I would never repeat in a dark pub, but that's irrelevant. I got him to tell me loads about your pregnancy without letting on that I knew nothing of it." I let my lashes drop to my cheeks in shame. "You're not the only detective in this family."

"I've been meaning to tell you, Fred. I really have."

"I know you have."

I chose my words carefully. "So you're not angry with me for keeping it from you, then?" He shook his head.

"I took a look at what's happening to the couples around us... Ron and Hermione broke apart because they couldn't be honest about how they really felt and what they needed from one another. Anything between Harry and Hermione is destroyed for the same reason. Harry and Ron haven't spoken since that day and they're best friends! Ginny and Malfoy... well, let's just say they're the only people who see their own relationship as 'functional.' George and Anya... well, I suppose nothing in there is really their fault. She was gone for all that time..."

"Do you know what happened to her?" I asked gently. I'd been curious since the moment she reappeared, but didn't ask a word, out of courtesy. Fred shook his head and drew me close, spooning me.

"No, she hasn't even told George. She won't talk about it... but the point is that life is too short to hold grudges over petty things, Angel. All that matters now is that I know about those babies, and that you’re all right." He kissed me. "I’m so glad about it, love."

"I am too. More than you could ever know. So Mum can stay then?" I said as Fred's eyes droopily began to close and he brought me closer into his embrace.

"Flibbertigibbet," he muttered sleepily against the linen of my nightgown.

I took that as a yes.

**********

By the time Mum arrived from Jamaica, all of Fred’s mock-objections had melted away like sugarquills left on the shelf too long. He and Malinda both were overjoyed to have her with us. Even after Mother had settled in, she seemed a bit nervous about intruding upon our privacy.

"Are you sure you and Fred don't mind me being here?"

"Oh, Mum," I laughed. "Really, the pleasure is all ours. Why don't you come shopping with Alicia, Anya and I? We were planning on stopping by Dob and Wink's."

Dob and Wink’s is a magical emporium, opened by a married house-elf couple the year after the war. In fact, their start-up capital was the reward the International Confederation of Wizards offered them for meritorious service on the House-Elf Liberation Front. (The Confeds gave boons of thank-you gold to just about everyone who found themselves on the front lines of VW2, which is the reason why they are now over three trillion Galleons in debt--although Lee always says the real reason is because the Secretary-General is a supply sider from the U.S. Department of Magic.)

The concept of one-stop shopping for witches and wizards caught on slowly in England, but when Dob and Wink’s opened its first stateside stores in Massachusetts and Louisiana five years ago, the concept spread like unchecked chitzpurflitis in a wand shop. Now one hears older magical folk who are expatriates from the States muttering about "a Dob and Wink’s on every corner--whatever happened to the mom-and-pop establishments in your friendly neighborhood wizarding shopping district?" This is why on any given Saturday from April to October, Diagon Alley is now overrun with American tourists who "ooh" and "ah" over the quaintness of it all... and why most of us Brits consequently avoid Diagon Alley on those days like the plague.

Since the old guard’s protests against Dob and Wink’s first Diagon Alley store ended in one extremist bringing in a Norwegian Ridgeback to torch the place in late 2005, Draco Malfoy invited the corporation to build in his Emerald City. After all, one of the proprietors had formerly been associated with his family in the years before the water. Thus was another black mark against Draco scored in the minds of the traditionalists. Although in the end, I had a feeling that my future brother-in-law would win the showdown.

By the time Malinda was ready for Hogwarts, I wouldn’t have to go from store to store in Diagon Alley, paying whatever ridiculous prices the proprietors demanded. I could go straight to Dob and Wink’s and buy everything she needed under one roof.

"Sacrilege," Alicia said, when she arrived a few minutes after Anya and we were on our way out the door. "Diagon Alley’s been flourishing for millennia. However could two little house-elves bring the foremost wizarding shopping district in the world to its knees?"

"You’ve never been to a Dob and Wink’s, have you?" I grinned. Alicia shook her head, muttering about being far too busy with Quidditch.

Mum grinned as well. "The one in Kingston gets more than its fair share of my gold. How I wish they had been around when I was raising children... and I daresay your mother-in-law feels much the same, ‘Lina."

I shook my head. "Oh, Molly’s satisfied with Diagon Alley. She’s done well enough by her family for over forty years by going there... and she doesn’t trust anything that’s wholeheartedly endorsed by Draco Malfoy."

"I don’t understand why everyone is so down on that poor boy," Mum said, shaking her head. "I met his father once during the war, at a conference, and he and his mother were along... I could tell at once that she wasn’t what Lucius was, and that the part of her in her son would end up being his salvation."

Alicia snorted. "Oh, come on, Mrs. Johnson! The wizard has great PR, but underneath it all Draco is still Lucius Malfoy’s insufferable, blueblooded brat. The same little snot who used to cheat at Quidditch and curse kids in the corridors when their backs were turned. Personally, I think Ginny Weasley is a fool."

"Whoever says love makes one sensible?" Anya asked in her quiet way. Once again, I realized with a pang how much I must have missed by not befriending her during our school days.

"I do," Alicia replied. "The problem with witches is that they go into situations with both eyes closed. And then they wonder why wizards come in, take whatever they want from them, and leave..." She trailed off, shaking her head wildly. The Spinnets were divorced when my friend was a small child... which just may be the source of Alicia’s commitment-phobia and highly individualistic outlook on life.

Mum laid a caressing hand on Alicia’s brown hair.

"Someday you’ll have more sense, girl."

So we set off for the Emerald City, Apparating to the Narcissus Tower and using the portal. Dob and Wink’s was spread over a sprawling plot of land directly opposite the portal exit. Broomsticks zoomed towards it so thickly that with long straw-tails and flying robes, they appeared from the ground as overlarge beezerkers.

"I thought that the pro-Diagon Alley faction in the Ministry declared Dob and Wink’s an illegal establishment, and forbade them an operating license," Alicia remarked idly as we walked the winding yellow brick path to the entrance. "I’m surprised a swarm of Ministry officials haven’t come to shut them down."

I scoffed at that notion. "Why would they? I have no way of knowing for sure, but from what I’ve gathered from colleagues, Draco likely pays more Galleons’ worth of bribes in any given year to the Ministry than I’ve ever made in my life. And besides, everyone suspects that the actual Emerald City isn’t really located in England... he’s made it unplottable, but if it really is in the States, the Ministry can’t touch him."

"Slimy git," Alicia muttered. "He hasn’t changed all that much. Mark my words, Ginny Weasley will rue the day she changed her last name to Malfoy. Old Lucius must be spinning in his grave... that is, if this marriage doesn’t make him rise out of it."

Alicia’s ominous predictions were stopped by our arrival at the threshold of Dob and Wink’s. There were no windows at all, but two house-elves outfitted in cloth-of-gold tunics opened twin wooden doors, grinning and welcoming us... and we stepped inside.

The inside of a Dob and Wink’s is a total assault on the bargain hunter’s senses. From the warehouse-like eaves hung freshly painted wooden signs indicating various departments. Apparel—Teenage Witches. Menagerie. Quidditch and Broomcare. Apothecary. WWN Music Boxes. Amulets and Charms.

Alicia’s mouth had dropped open. "I’ll never set foot in Diagon Alley again."

We all laughed.

As we made our way through the front entrance, we were accosted at once by a middle-aged witch pushing a cart.

"Fried pumpkin slices, dears? Bulstrode Foods’ latest product... a nutritious snack for children... and here’s a coupon for twenty percent off, if you like..."

She wasn’t the only one who was offering free samples that Saturday morning. Nearly a dozen new products were pitched to us before we finally made it past the entrance and into the store. Once fully inside, we all split up... Anya and Alicia were off to the Quidditch and Broomcare Department to price new brooms for Anya, while Mum and I wanted to pick up a few grocery items for my home. Before we rejoined the others, Mum insisted on looking in the toy department for a trinket despite my protests. And there were all kinds... miniature Hogwarts Express train sets, kid-sized cauldrons, even the grow your own warts kits I remembered from my own childhood.

"Hush, girl, let Malinda’s grandmother spoil her," she laughed, looking at the Quidditch action figurines and picking up the latest Ron Weasley doll, outfitted in golden Liverpool Lions robes. "Unlike my grandmother, I know how to treat my grandchildren."

I laughed, then sighed. "Oh, Mummy, I wish you’d consider moving back to England permanently. Grandmother Lavinia..."

"...needs me more than she lets on," finished Mum. "I know you and Fred despise her, but she’s all the mother I’ve ever known."

"She’s also an incredibly evil woman, Mum, and you know that. How can you excuse her involvement in the last war? How can you excuse what she’s doing now with the Cabalistica?" My mother’s mouth dropped open. "Diane all but told me about their last meeting in Egypt. How can you just sit by and..."

Mum shushed me. "‘Lina, I’m not like you. You are your father’s child... all spirit and fire and dew. You’ve always faced trouble head-on, running into a situation with guns blazing. I’m not like that. But just because you don’t see my fight, dear love," here she laid a hand on my shoulder, "doesn’t mean that your mother does not fight."

"Perhaps not, Mum, but what happens when Grandmother finally dies and Diane tries to snatch the Matronship from you?"

"Di isn’t what you think she is," my mother said, a bit harshly. "You and Di are as different as night and day... but when all is said and done, she is not the child of the Society... she is the daughter of Mark Johnson. Perhaps not his reincarnation as you seem to be," she winked at me, "but she was ten years old when he died. While you can barely remember him and he never saw Liv, Di’s memories of her father are clear as Veritaserum. In the end, those memories will help save her."

As Mum turned away to examine the new Quidditch Pitch for the ALL YOU CAN BE doll collection, I recalled the conversation I’d had the month before at the Prophet with Diane. My mother’s words encouraged me somewhat. I hadn’t quite got over the chill of learning just how deep into the shadowy Dark Arts worldwide movement my sister was...

Someone was staring at me. I looked up into a pair of pale blue eyes. They belonged to the black-haired witch who had been bartending at Draco and Ginny’s engagement bash. She was pushing a snack cart--and the moment our eyes met, her lips curled into a smirk.

"You!" I hissed angrily.

"I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about," the woman drawled. Her accent was thick--Australian. "Perhaps I remind you of someone you think you know?"

"Perhaps I ought to alert the MLE about your presence..."

"Kitty," my mother said suddenly. In my shock over seeing the mysterious bartender again, I’d almost forgotten she was with me. "What a pleasant surprise."

The witch nodded. "Linda," she said with a cordial nod. "It’s been ages since last we met. Sydney last year, isn’t that right?"

"Yes, I think so. The Australian delegation sponsored a marvelous affair. We enjoyed ourselves tremendously. And how are all the O’Rourkes?"

"Well, thanks." Kitty O’Rourke’s icy gaze flickered back on me again, and she lowered her voice. "I wish the same could be said about your family. Such a daughter as you have... forsaking the Great Society’s leading bloodlines to mix with the rabble. You have universal sympathy among our kind, Linda."

"You’ll have warty green lips and a purple pickle for a nose if you keep on yammering about my husband’s..."

My mother raised her hand in a gesture of peace. "Kitty, my daughter’s choices do not make her any less my daughter. Please relay that message to anyone concerned about my supposed humiliation."

Kitty nodded again. "Aye, Linda, you know I will. And after all, your daughters Diane and Olivia more than make up for this one. Two out of three isn’t bad."

I lunged for Kitty’s neck, but my mother’s firm grip on my wrist stopped me.

"Opinions are like wands--every wizard and witch worth their salt has one," said Mum quietly. "Good day to you, Kitty."

The minute Kitty pushed her cart out of sight, I rounded on my mother furiously. I was so angry with her that afterwards I never could quite recall everything I said. I do know I told her that Kitty was almost certainly the woman who’d tried to poison Mo, Hermione, myself, and goodness knows who else more than once.

"She may have even been in the Leaky Cauldron that day in January when Hermione was poisoned... she’s a murderess, Mum, and you’re just letting her walk away as if nothing is out of the ordinary..."

"Let me take care of Kitty," my mother said. "As I told you before, your choices don’t make you any less my daughter. What she says will not affect how much I love you."

My blood boiled.

"This isn’t about pride or families or love or daughters. This is about the fact that a woman who has attempted murder on my ownfamily is walking away without so much as a--"

"Have you any proof?" my mother asked calmly.

"Proof?" I sputtered. "How about my own two eyes, Mother?"

"Plus the two in the back of your head, Weasley," a voice said from behind me. I turned to see Alicia with a broom in her hand, standing next to Anya. "What did we miss?" I looked at mother, whose face was still calm with indifference. It only reinforced the belief that I got all of my emotion from my father.

"Nothing," I said, forcing a smile.

"You two found a broom, then?" my mother said with a smile. Alicia nodded, but Anya looked a little unsure.

"Top of the line. Fastest broomstick on the market," Alicia said proudly, as though she’d created it herself. It was a Starline 3000, with a maple shaft and redwood twigs. "Starline 3000" was emblazoned in shimmering gold ink near the handle. A Quidditch broom, for sure. "This baby can get up to 260 kilometers an hour and brake to a dead stop in three and a half seconds. Even the Cannons can’t lose with these."

"I really don’t need such a fancy broom," Anya protested. "I just need to be able to get around." She didn’t look meek or mild in Alicia’s presence, the way she always had at Hogwarts and in the years immediately following. I was surprised to see they were getting on quite nicely.

"Nonsense, Anya. What was the last broom you had? A sputtering Cloudrunner 320? It’s about time you know what a real broom rides like." She held the broom out at arm’s length and admired it.

"That was five years ago," Anya reminded her quietly. There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment. Five years had been quite some time for us, but it must have been an eternity to Anya… wherever she had been.

"Anya’s not a Quidditch player," my mum reminded Alicia. "No need for all the outrageous bells and whistles you so love."

"That’s the problem with today’s society. Witches and wizards just don’t hold the same pride in the broomsticks as they used to. You’d think they were just these meaningless pieces of wood used to get from place to place. Now I’m not all for the wizards-are-superior angle, but flying is one thing we can do and they can’t."

"Some of us, anyhow," I murmured. Merlin, I missed flying. I met Alicia’s eyes and she looked stricken.

"Oh, that was so heartless, Ange. I’m sorry," she said. Before I could reply, I felt a small, soft object slam into my feet, almost knocking me over. I looked down in surprise to see a house-elf standing at my feet, brushing off the oversized apron she was wearing.

"I is sorry, miss," she said quickly. "I is not meaning to run into you, miss, but I is rather clumsy. Many apologies, miss." She bowed before me, almost dropping the washcloth she was wearing as a hat.

"It’s all right," I said, suppressing a giggle. One would think that house-elves would learn to dress properly, but I suppose some things would never changed. The house-elf at my feet was older than the average working house-elf, but still quite energetic. Something about her was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

"I is coming over here to see you. You all is gone from Hogwarts, isn’t that so, miss?" We all nodded slowly, not quite sure what to make of the little creature. She squealed and clapped her hands. "Oh, it is you then!" Alicia and I exchanged a look.

"I is Winky!"

"Winky!" Anya laughed. Winky's big eyes filled with tears and she threw both arms around Anya's legs, almost knocking her over. Alicia caught her arm and stabled her. "It's good to see you, too, Winky."

"Oh, you is Anya. You was sometimes sneaking down to the kitchens with the red haired boys. Not as many as these... two." Winky seemed confused as she looked between Alicia and me. "Where is your other? You is not lost your Bell, have you?" Her eyes filled with tears again. "Oh, I is so sorry. Bad Winky!"

"It's okay, Winky," Alicia said. "You didn't know." She patted the top of Winky's head awkwardly. Winky wiped her nose on the bottom of Alicia's robes and I had to jam my fist in my mouth so I didn't laugh aloud at her expression.

"You is Alicia," Winky said matter-of-factly. "You was always with the red haired boys and black haired boy. Always so loud." Alicia roared with laughter at this; Winky had remembered her perfectly. "And you is Angelina," she said, rounding on me. "You is always with the loud red haired boy. There was two loud ones, but one was a bit quieter. The loud one liked you lots."

"I should say so," my mother put in, "as they're now married." We all laughed, as Winky's eyes got big.

"Miss Winky, ma’am!" a voice called from the back of the store. "We is needing you to sign for a parcel..."

"I must be going," Winky said quickly. "Enjoy the day!" With this, she scampered off and out of sight.

"That was weird," Alicia said flatly. "I was always under the impression house-elves lived short lives, but if she was a house-elf at Hogwarts…"

"The life span of the average house-elf is a longer than Muggles, but not quite as long as witches or wizards," Anya spoke up. They're far healthier than we are, though, because of their-" she broke off, blushing a little. "Sorry, I got a little carried away."

"No problem, Professor," Alicia said under her breath. Anya shrugged it off, turning to look at a Skeedoodle. "Do you think the boys are back yet?" I shrugged. Fred had left early that morning, telling me that he, his twin and Lee were all going out to reacquaint themselves with their bonds of friendship, which really meant they were going to find an abandoned field and practice really dangerous Quidditch maneuvers.

"Most likely. Wonder how many broken bones this time," I mused. Anya and my mother wore identical masks of horror. "Well, if he wants to throw himself off his broomstick doing some sort of exploit, I'm not his mother and I won't stop him."

"If Lee tries something stupid without a Cushioning Charm on his broom..." Alicia began. "Well, I certainly won't deal with faulty equipment." I had a feeling that the faulty equipment in question had nothing to do with Lee's Starline 2600. Anya looked as though she was fighting down giggles and my mother just shook her head.

"Vulgar women, the lot of you," she said, throwing up her hands. It was amazing how much more animated my mother became when not under my Grandmother Lavinia's thumb. I loved her so much more this way.

"Maybe we ought to beat them home… have some sort of surprise waiting for them," Alicia said with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Other surprises in the past had included taking the Cushioning Charm off Fred's broom just before a match in third year (he never really forgave me for that), bewitching Lee's dreadlocks to dance every time someone mentioned toads and Stitch-charming the neck opening of all George’s robes shut.

"Surprise?" Anya asked innocently. Alicia roared with laughter and threw a lanky arm over her new friend's shoulders.

"I am going to love corrupting you." This time, Anya did look uneasy, but at the same time a little excited. The two turned to leave and my mother squeezed my arm before following.

I moved to follow, but felt a chill run up my spine. It was almost as though someone was watching me with an icy glare. I turned and looked over my shoulder to see Kitty leaning nonchalantly against a broomstick display, eyes boring into mine. Soon, they were narrowed into slits. I took a step forward - I was too damn old to listen to my mother - but then stopped. Now wasn't the time. I wouldn't give the ghoul the satisfaction.

I turned on my heel and walked out.

************

We arrived back at my home, laden with all sorts of miscellaneous things I should have had cleaned up in the past week. Alicia plucked a jumper of Malinda's off the couch and plopped herself lazily onto the soft cushions. Anya was far too entranced in her new broom to notice anything. My mother, on the other hand, was horrified.

"Angelina Ifeyani! What have I raised you to be?"

"Chill, Mrs. Johnson. It's not your fault your daughter married the most disorganized wizard on the planet," Alicia said with a laugh. She mused for a moment. "Although Lee does give him a run for his money."

"George couldn't find his hat under all the mess at his flat," Anya said, finally looking up from her broom. "Really, it's awful. It's all I can do not to straighten up. He won't let me lift a finger; it's actually really frustrating."

"I would love it if Fred never let me lift a finger," I giggled, falling onto the couch next to Alicia. My mother crossed my living room and walked into the kitchen.

"Are you ladies thirsty or hungry?" she called.

"Both!" Alicia chirped.

"A little hungry, Mum," I called. Anya stood and headed for the kitchen slowly.

"I'll have something to drink... but let me help you, Mrs. Johnson." It was with those words that I heard loud male laughter just outside the door.

Suddenly, I was being pulled into the kitchen by Alicia, who was giggling and hopping about as if she'd just been stung by a Billywig. She extinguished all the lights in the house, but I could see a bit from the light through the window. Anya, Alicia and I were all sitting on the ground and my mother was at the sink. Anya looked startled, Alicia excited and my mother just a bit confused.

"What on earth?" asked Anya incredulously, right before Alicia clapped her hand over her mouth.

I raised a finger to my lips, trying to stifle my own giggles. "Shh! They’ll hear us…" I whispered.

My mother was shaking her head. "You two… after all these years…"

"Mum!" I pleaded. "Please… just hush for a minute so that…"

After that, there was no time to say anything else. The front door opened with a creak, and the loud masculine voices resounded throughout the foyer.

The first voice I heard was that of my little daughter. "Daddy, Daddy, can I take my new ‘Catch the Clabbert’ game up to my room and play?"

She squealed, then giggled—I assume either her father, uncle, or Lee had picked her up and tossed her.

"Certainly," said Fred. "Make sure you figure out how to do the touch-lighting well, and be quick at it, because you’re going to have to play me before the day’s out."

"But I always beat you, Daddy," said Malinda matter-of-factly. "Uncle George and Mummy are way smarter than you are."

Apparently Lee and George were the ones roaring with laughter, for over their merriment I heard my husband say, "Right then, poppet… why don’t you go on upstairs and check it out?"

Lee recovered first. "Ah, fatherhood. Got to love it."

"Yeah, that’s why you have a parcel of kids," said Fred.

"That’s the best part of being an uncle," George sighed. "I can have all the fun of having nieces and nephews, but when they start whining, I can send then home to Mom and Dad."

"Aw, the two of you have shrivelfigs for stones," was Fred’s comment. "It takes a special sort of wizard to become a father… requires both art and finesse that neither of you two obliviated gits have."

"And you’re specially qualified to be a parent because…?" asked Lee. I looked at Alicia and winked. Whenever Lee Jordan used that tone of voice, he usually had this one-of-a-kind look on his face that involved crinkling his thick eyebrows together so that they looked like two furry caterpillars meeting headlong for a snog.

"Because I’m the leader," said Fred matter-of-factly, which set the other two off again. "No, seriously, I am. I was married first, I had the kid first…"

"You’re gonna die first," chimed in Lee.

"I’m going to d… ha, ha. Very funny. Just wait, Jordan. Your day is coming. One of these days, you’re going to wake up, and Alicia’ll have you Spellotaped from head to toe…"

George began to laugh then. No one can laugh quite like George Weasley can. He sounds like a cross between a hyena and a Fwooper with a bad head cold.

"…and all she’ll have to do is roll you down the aisle to the altar," my husband finished with a flourish.

"Sort of like the way Ange did you, right?" said Lee.

"Nah, in her case it was a dead powerful Love Potion… before I knew what hit me, I was being fitted for formal robes and looking at honeymoon packages…"

The men laughed again. In the kitchen, Alicia, Anya, Mum, and I exchanged looks as I folded my arms, stifling the urge to rush into the front room and set him straight once and for all.

"At least she didn’t Enthrall you the way Anya’s doing to George," Lee said.

Anya’s mouth dropped open. Alicia’s eyes narrowed as she mouthed, "He’s going to get a piece of my mind this evening." Again, I was glad to see that Alicia and Anya were taking to each other so quickly.

A loud scuffling noise diverted our attention back to the living room. There were grunts, groans, and then came Fred’s voice saying, "George, geroff!"

"Take that back!" said George, panting.

"Whatever is the matter with you today?" Lee asked. He seemed a bit breathless as well.

"Plenty. Have I ever, in all the years we’ve known each other, in the decade since you’ve been with Alicia, ever said anything even remotely like that about your girl?"

"George, I just…"

"You just what? Just think that I’m going to stand here and let you call my witch a whore?"

I glanced over at Anya. She’d turned beet red.

Now here came Fred’s voice again, attempting to play the mediator. "George, Lee didn’t mean anything by it, all right? He was only joking."

"Some jokes are in poor taste," snapped George. He still sounded as if all the wind had been knocked out of him. "Certain things are best left unsaid!"

"George, calm down," said Fred. "You’re acting as if someone slipped Alihotsy Extract into your pumpkin juice…"

"Don’t you tell me to be calm! Imagine if someone had called Alicia or Angelina a whore of the worst sort… imagine how you’d both feel."

"Okay, imagining," Lee said. "Not empathizing. Sorry."

Alicia’s lips mouthed to us, "That’s it. He is definitely sleeping on the sofa tonight."

But now George was continuing. "Anya Parker is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Every day that I wake up and see her sleeping snuggled up next to me, I thank Merlin and every star in the sky that for some odd reason it was me she chose. Me. And she loves me… in her eyes, I’m second to none.

"Remember back at Hogwarts, the girls who were brave enough to crush on us Jesters? Either they went for you, Lee—the exotic one with the pet who matched your hair—or they went for Fred, the louder twin. The twin who spoke first, partied hardest, and laughed loudest. Oh, sure, a few went for me after Fred was taken… Katie being among them."

Lee voiced my thoughts. "Come on, George. I’m sure Katie…"

"Katie grew to love me. But sweet as she was, Katie’s first stirrings of interest were directed at Fred. It was only after Fred started teasing the life out of Angelina in the fifth year that Katie backed off." Dead silence. "As long as we’re being honest, might as well be completely honest. Back then, we both looked exactly alike. Which twin would you have gone for, if you were a witch?"

"George," Anya whispered, under her breath and next to my ear. "No contest. None at all."

"In your dreams, love," I whispered back, low, winking at her.

"The past, all in the past," said Fred. "The question is, what are you going to do about Anya?"

"What am I going to do about her?" George’s tone of voice revealed what he thought of that question. "I’m going to take care of her, protect her, love her, marry her if she’ll have me… and then perhaps I’ll see what this fatherhood business is all about."

Anya’s mouth was wide open.

"But you’re…" began Lee with a gulp, "…you’re… you like wizards, too. Surely you’re not going to expect Anya to perform a temporary Pseudophallus Hex on herself every time you get the urge to…"

More scuffling. I shook my head. Anya was still glowing. At my mother’s look of horror, Alicia shrugged and whispered, "This is getting old fast."

Lee spoke first this time. "I see the woman’s shagged your sense of humor away. But Presh--you remember him, don’t you?--had a valid point. What’s going to happen the next time some winsome wizard showers you with his charm?"

"Same thing that happens when all those hot lady Quidditch players walk past you naked when you interview in the locker rooms, Jordan. Nothing."

"George, old boy, for the first time in his roguish life I think Jordan may have actually stumbled upon a valid point," Fred said to his brother. "You’ve not been in any relationship longer than a few years. He’s been with Alicia for nearly twelve years, and Angelina and I have been married for eight and together for going on fifteen. You are going to be tempted. And because you are attracted to both, you’re going to have double the temptation. What then?"

"Then I’ll do something that neither of you so-called ‘straight’ wizards managed to do every single time the opportunity presented itself… I’ll remember my love, and what she means to me, and how much I treasure her happiness."

"But she’s so… George, does she have any other interests besides you?" asked Lee. "All I can remember of her from the past is that at Hogwarts, she was always mooning over you but trying desperately to hide it, and then after the war she went to work for you two at your Hogsmeade store so she could pine after you some more. Don’t you want a witch who has a life of her own?"

"Anya isn’t that pitiful, Lee," Fred said, ending the ensuing tense silence. "She was the best store manager we ever had at any 3W outlet. She has a green thumb… always kept the window boxes up at Hogsmeade looking spiffy… George always said she could just look at things and make them grow. And I don’t think the girl’s ever met an animal she didn’t like… of all the people I know of, only Charlie and Liz are as good with magical creatures as she is…"

"Harry’s pretty good with them too," George murmured.

"Oh, Harry’s the exception to every rule, he’s good at just about everything," replied Fred dismissively. "He doesn’t count. The point I was making is that Anya’s a wonderful witch, and one of the sweetest creatures I’ve ever met. She may not be anything like our women, Lee, but she’s all right for George if that’s what he wants."

"She’s all I want," said George.

And here I began wondering if Anya’s face was going to stay ruby red forever.

"What do you see in her?" asked Lee, persisting.

I’m sure Fred thought the question as inappropriate as I did. "What does anyone see in anyone else?"

"That’s all right, Fred," George said with a laugh. "I can talk about Anya all day. In fact, if I were to stand here and list all the reasons why I love her, we’d be here until the last night of the world. But if that last night were to come tonight, I wouldn’t mind… as long as she was with me."

"Yeah, he’s got it bad," Lee said. "Forgive me, old friend. I had no idea."

"I didn’t either, until I saw him in the hospital with her," Fred said. "The way he watched over her… it was obvious to me that she was the one."

George laughed. "Thought you knew way before then, Fred."

"No, I only knew it for sure recently. I suspected years ago, of course."

Lee groaned. "Ah, the psychic twin link. I get it. So, George, what are you going to do? Wait a while?"

"Why? I’ve had this…" he paused for effect while in the kitchen we all gasped, "…since the day after I brought her home from the hospital. I know she’s not expecting it at all. She never expected anything from me other than maybe a ride home… she doesn’t think much of herself. She doesn’t know how wonderful she is. She doesn’t know…"

"She knows now!" exclaimed Alicia, swinging open the kitchen door. "Lumos!"

Everyone stood frozen for a moment. The men stared at us while we looked at them.

Everyone, that is, save Anya. Tears were streaming down her face. From head to toe, she was trembling as if her very soul was a harpstring and George had played precisely the right note.

Without another word, she ran into his arms.

Sometimes fairy tales, long after happily ever has faded into distant past, end with sadness and regret. Ron and Hermione were a case in point… it was only then, watching George and Anya embrace, then kiss as if each other’s lips were sustenance and life, that I realized how upset I’d been over Fred’s younger brother, his wife, their best friend, and the mess they’d made of their own lives.

Yet there are times when Rapunzel really is rescued from her lonely tower.

Once in a blue moon, a gallant prince really does present Cinderella with an enchanted glass slipper.

And once in a lifetime, Sleeping Beauty is awakened from eternal repose with love’s first kiss at long last.

This was one of those times.

For the first time in months, my heart had been privileged to witness a new love, pure and sweet... and I was glad.

*************

Early the following morning, I kissed my sleeping husband, shook off my drowsiness and headed off to the Prophet. As always, the newsroom was abuzz with some sort of new breaking story that would line tomorrow’s Augurey cages. For a moment, I was worried. Had what happened at the Summit gotten out? Did the world now know of Ron’s affair and the broken Covenant?

Hiding my anxiety, I nonchalantly leaned against Tirzah’s desk and listened to the gossip for a few moments.

"—really about seven! I can’t believe no one’s looking into them!" Tirzah was saying to Colin.

"I’m sure there are Ministry wizards out looking for the missing people," Colin replied.

A laugh and then, "Oh, you are so naïve, Creevey! Have you seen the list? They’re all no-names. They are nobodies as far as the Ministry is concerned."

I stepped away from the desk, caught between relief and a sickening sort of anxiousness. The relief was for the Weasley family, all included. In some ways, the more time between Ron and Hermione’s marriage dissolution and the time the press had their field day, the better. The family could get used to the idea on a personal level, before being attacked and harassed by the press. On the other hand, it was better to get everything over with as quickly as possible; dragging out the whole ordeal would only cause deeper emotional wounds.

I wondered how long the façade was going to continue.

"Morning, sunshine!" a familiar voice called. I scowled as I recognized it.

Rachel Ratliff waved to me with long, red-painted fingernails and hugged me before I had a chance to cringe in disgust.

"You’re looking very lovely this morning," she said, voice dripping with false sincerity. "Some witches may be a little embarrassed about their figure, but I must say you carry your weight very well." I resisted the urge to tear off each one of those ever-so-lovely fingernails and shove them down her throat. Before I could let the inclination turn to action, she began to speak again. "I wanted to ask a wee bit of a favor from you, love—" (Hah!) "Since it’s been ever so quiet on the Weasley marriage – by that I mean the Red Weasel and his enchanting wife – I was wondering if perhaps you might want to, oh, you know, throw me a bit of information. Prophet exclusive. I’ll make sure you would look really good," she promised hastily.

The last time she promised she would make someone "look good," the poor young witch had been not only portrayed as a vindictive beast, but had to go into two months of marriage counseling with her husband because of all the vicious rumors Ratliff spread.

"No, thank you, Rachel. You know what I think of your articles and empty promises. If you’d like the ‘scoop’ on my brother-in-law and his wife, then you ought to ask them yourself." Never mind that I hadn’t seen Hermione since the Summit and Ron was keeping himself constantly busy and neither of them would dream of speaking to Ratliff, no matter how much it would hurt the other. For in the end of all of her writings, everyone was a villain and she was the whistle-blowing genius whose duty it was to expose the world’s injustices.

Without another word, I brushed past her and crossed the room to sit at my desk. For a moment, I missed the privacy of my office, but smiled at the picture of Fred, Malinda, and me perched on the corner of my desk near my inbox. I touched the frame tenderly.

"MRS. WEASLEY! Great wizards, have you heard?!" an excited voice called across the newsroom. For a moment, I looked around for my mother-in-law and then realized that I was the one being yelled at. I looked up from my parchment to see Danielle Walters, a young intern who’d just graduated from Hogwarts the year before, standing before my desk, clutching folders full of parchment to her chest.

"What is it, Danielle? It’s far too early in the morning to be shouting," I yawned again, wondering when I’d become so old.

"Have you heard the news?" she asked again, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Obviously, she wanted to turn this into some sort of guessing game. I sighed and rested my chin on my hand.

"No, I have not, but I’m sure you’ll tell me."

Danielle looked as though the Christmas holidays had come early as she plucked a sheet of parchment from her folder and lay on the desk before me.

It was simple copy sheet, yet to be edited (as I could tell from the absence of red ink). What first caught my interest was that the editor-in-chief, Cassandra Claire, wrote it herself. She was usually in charge of the stories that had global effect on the wizarding world, not the mere gossip that I had suspected. The next thing that caught my line was the title, neatly printed:

I gasped softly as I read the article.

I read on, hands trembling.

Beneath the article was a MMRI employee to owl and instructions on how to be eligible for partaking in the alpha group. My hands were still trembling as the parchment slipped through my fingers and fluttered with a whisper to my desk.

I would be able to fly again.

*************

I waited in silence as Blaise Zabini waved a wand slowly across my abdomen, murmuring a soft incantation. The exam was almost over, and there was only one last thing to do... the casting of the bairn-revealing spell or MagiScan, which many Muggle-born witches inexplicably call an ultrasound. Sound has nothing to do with how magic helps us view our unborn.

"Fetus materialus!" he announced, and an image made up of sparkles formed in the air above me almost instantly.

"Twins," Anya stated the obvious, after a moment of awe. She had come along with me for her own check-up, and had just finished with Neville before joining me in Blaise's office. She had been waiting patiently in the chair near me, looking at the pictures on the wall with a dreamy smile. When the spell had been performed, she'd finally averted her gaze.

"Angelina, in just six months time, you are to be the mother of two very healthy baby boys," Blaise said with a smile. He rotated the image with his wand and I was reminded of the time Fred and I had come in to have Malinda's MagiScan done. I'd never seen Fred look so proud before in his life.

The image slowly faded and I sat up.

"I'd like to see you again in two weeks," Blaise said. I nodded. Next time, I would bring Fred.

I stood up and looked to Anya. She seemed interested in one particular picture of a group of silver-green lizards crawling up and down a tree.

"They're Mokes," she said thoughtfully, standing. "I used to have a whole family of them living in a tree in my backyard years ago. I never told anyone. A lot of wizards like to take their skin and make them into moneybags and the like. I always thought it was a terrible thing to do." She looked at the picture again, frowning as though trying to grasp onto some far away memory. Finally, she shook her head and smiled at me. "Ready to go then?"

"Of course. Are you sure you want to wait around during the physical therapy session? It's rather boring," I warned. Anya shrugged.

"If I go home, George is just going to make me lie in bed anyhow and bring me soup." We both laughed. If it was one thing the Weasley twins shared besides features, it was that they were both irrationally overprotective when it came to the health of their loved ones.

Anya opened the door for me. "Did you and Fred plan to have more children?" she asked idly as we started down the hallway passed other doctors and patients.

"Sort of," I replied, remembering Fred's words on New Year's Eve: How do you feel about giving Malinda a little sister or brother soon? We really hadn't had much time to discuss it, as Ron and Hermione broke out into a blazing row just seconds later.

Again, my thoughts were turned to Hermione, who no one had seen in weeks. I was terribly worried. She hadn't left the Burrow in what one could call a stable state of mind. After the horrible secrets that had been revealed, I wouldn't be surprised if she did something...

"Knut for your thoughts?" Anya asked gently, waving a hand in front of my face. I shook my head, driving the morbid thoughts out of my mind. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Just a little worried about Hermione," I confessed. Anya's face changed from concern to pity.

"What Ron did to her was horrible," she said sadly, looking down at her feet as we walked. "Horrible" was an understatement and certainly not the first word to spring to my mind. "And Harry was just as wrong."

"They're men. Supposedly, they can't help themselves," I said skeptically. I knew damn well that they could help themselves just as much as women could. Men just happened to be self-serving bastards most of the time.

"That's so awful," she said in a low voice. We rounded the corner and into the lobby. Only three patients were waiting: one very pregnant blonde haired witch, holding what looked to be her husband's hand (but who knew nowadays?), a four year old girl who seemed to be by herself and a rather old wizard with a beard that might've rivaled Dumbledore's.

I watched as the old wizard stood impatiently and stormed over to the receptionist's desk.

"Has Dr. Granger made it in yet?" he asked edgily, banging a fist on the counter. The receptionist jumped, startled, and then sighed, removing her glittering glasses.

"I told you, Mr. Diggle; she's simply not available right now. I have offered to call Dr. Borowski in, but you insist upon waiting," the mediwitch assistant on duty replied, and then pursed her lips. "Dr. Granger is on emergency leave, sir. I'm very sorry, but perhaps we could reschedule with another doctor…"

"I don't want another doctor who's not familiar with my problem. I want Dr. Granger!" By now, the little girl in the corner was watching with wide eyes, and Neville, who'd appeared out of nowhere, approached the man.

"Mr. Diggle, is there a problem?" The man's face immediately softened and I felt a stab of pity. All he wanted was his doctor.

"This young whippersnapper won't let me see my doctor. Some nonsense about emergency leave," he said, adjusting his hat.

"I'm afraid Miss Gudgeon here is merely acting as she has been instructed. Dr. Granger is taking a long, well-deserved vacation. Now, Dr. Borowski is taking over her patients and is familiar with your particular problem," Neville reasoned. The man's shoulders slumped; the fight was drained from him.

"I just want to see my doctor." He looked and sounded very sad. "No matter how bad the aches and pains are in these old bones, she never fails to charm them away. And she always sez, ‘Why, there’s nothing really the matter with you, Mr. Diggle! We’ll give you a draught and a wand-tap, and you’ll be good as new!’ There’s no doctor quite like her."

Neville seemed annoyed at this. "Well, we’d like to think that all of the medical professionals at this clinic are competent and caring..."

"I didn’t say there was no one better," Mr. Diggle said tersely. "I said there wasn’t no one like her. That Dr. Granger is one of a kind. They don’t make ‘em like her..." here his voice broke. "These old bones have been around for more than a century, but she’s the best darn mediwitch I’ve ever had."

Neville laid a hand on his shoulder and the old man’s crystal blue eyes sparkled for a moment.

"I’m sorry. I wish she was here, but she isn’t. We have Dr. Susan Borowski visiting from the States, and she is one of Dr. Granger’s dearest friends. Would you like to see Dr. Borowski, or would you like to reschedule for another time?"

A long, rattling sigh. "I need another prescription for Pepper-Up Pills. I’ll see this Borowski girl, then."

Having settled the dispute, Neville smiled slightly over at us before steering the old man off down a corridor.

"I wonder if Hermione knows how many lives she affects," Anya mused beside me, again reminding me of her presence. Fred wasn't kidding on his birthday when he'd said she was the type to fade into the background. "Sorry, just thinking out loud," she apologized, blushing a little.

"It's all right," I laughed. Neville reappeared a few moments later, looking ruffled.

"Hermione deserves time off and everything -- she's been working like a house-elf for the past year and more-- but I don't think she knows how much we need her around here," he said, approaching us. I smirked, as he was echoing Anya's words just moments earlier.

"Did she tell you where she was going?" I asked. He shook his head.

"She owled at the beginning of the month and said she was taking a bit of a holiday," here he paused, "but we've not seen or heard from her in weeks. I'm getting worried about her."

"I'm sure she's off having the time of her life somewhere," I said quickly. Neville knew I was lying -- I could see it in his eyes -- but he didn't call me on it. For that, I was grateful.

"Have you picked up your application for Danae?" Neville asked brightly, effectively changing the subject. Was he kidding? The moment I'd finished reading the press release, I'd rushed to Paracelsus to get a copy. It was sitting completely filled out on my kitchen table.

"Yes, I filled it out last night," I answered. Neville's face took on a serious look.

"You do understand the risks and consequences involved, Angelina?" By this, I knew he was referring to my pregnancy. From what I understood, the risks were very minimal… but then again, so were the risks of miscarriage during a Polyjuice transformation.

"I know what the disclaimer and the fine print said… but Neville, isn't it worth having my flying abilities back? Even the Muggle version of the stereotypical witch has us on broomsticks. I've been without flight for over a decade -- I want my life back." The emotion in my voice startled even me.

"But at what cost?" Anya said quietly. "The Danae Project will still be there after you have your children. What's a few more months if it promises a little more safety?"

"Actually, Anya," Neville corrected, "There is going to be a two-year waiting period after the alpha trials. The staff in charge of the project wants to watch for side effects and other snags in the original design."

"Two years," I murmured. With the promise of returned skill, two years seemed like an eternity. But could I risk the lives of my unborn children? "I've got a lot to think about," I said, forcing a light smile. Fortunately, Neville didn't seem adamant on making the decision for me.

"All right, then. Ready for another fun-filled exam?" he said brightly. Anya giggled.

Flatly, I replied, "Oh, joy."

*************

Fred, Malinda, and I had just sat down to dinner on the last day of April when Arthur’s nearly-bald head appeared in the fire. The flames that licked at his ears and reading glasses were the same color as his fringe. I also noticed that he looked extremely tired. After greeting both me and Malinda, he addressed his son in a solemn tone.

"Thank heavens you’re there, Fred," said Arthur. "I suppose you didn’t get the owl at work... George said you left before he could say anything to you..."

"George knew I was coming home early, as it was his idea," Fred replied, a little tersely. "I put in a lot of extra hours while Anya was in the hospital, so he’s trying to make it up to me."

"What has happened, Arthur?" I asked.

He glanced over at Malinda, then shook his head sharply. "Perhaps the two of you ought to come over sometime tomorrow..."

Fred pushed aside his plate. "If it’s all that urgent, Dad, I will come now."

Arthur nodded his approval and his head disappeared from the flames with a snap, crackle, and pop. Fred kissed Malinda’s cheek and tickled her, then kissed my lips quickly.

"I see you’ve made my favorite dessert... wait up for me."

By the time Fred arrived back home, it was after dark. I’d cleared away all the dishes with Malinda’s help, played hide-and-go-seek with her, then put her to bed before taking a long, perfumed bath. After I was dry, I twisted my crinkled curls up and fastened them in place with pins, then slipped on a short negligee made of rose-pink lace that contrasted prettily against my dark amber-toned skin. I hoped I didn’t look too fat in it. My stomach was slowly transforming from concave to convex again...

Out of the pantry, I extracted a few dozen scented candles. I settled them around the floor and on the kitchen table in distinctive runic patterns before using a selective Lighting Charm so that they would burn for a few hours before being extinguished for good. Goodness knew I didn’t plan for a repeat of Ron and Hermione’s Valentine’s Day front-page embarrassment.

An embarrassment, when all was said and done, that would pale next to the news story that would break any day now...

All the same, I couldn’t help but feel sad.

Trying to think of pleasanter things, I went into the kitchen for the plum-cake, a pitcher of milk, and plates. After the table was set, I headed back upstairs to grab a Muggle album or two of my father’s... since neither Diane nor Olivia were interested, I’d inherited his entire record collection. Although I loved classic wizarding rock such as the Weird Sisters, Celestina Warbeck, and Perseus, and singers like the Charmettes, Whyte Ryder, the Spellbinders, and the Wanderers, the magical world long ago fell behind the Muggles when it came to penning odes to love.

Setting an old Beatles 45, "Let it Be", into our Malfosoft MusicBox ( MuggleConverter sold separately) I sat down to the table, resting my chin on my hands.

The front door opened. In stepped Fred, looking extremely weary and haggard. At first he didn’t seem to see me, and he certainly wasn’t cued in to the atmosphere I’d tried to create. When he saw me, he managed to force a smile. I stood up and went to him.

"Darling, whatever is the matter?"

In response, he crushed me to him. Held me so tightly that after a moment I had to protest a bit. Otherwise, I feared my ribs would crack.

"Can’t... breathe..." I managed to grate out.

He eased his grip on me just the slightest bit. Now, that was more like it. Time to repeat my question. "What’s the matter?"

Sigh. "What do you think?"

I sighed too. "Which one is it this time, Ron or Hermione?"

"Hermione. But this time it’s not... silly or melodramatic. It’s serious, Angel. She’s disappeared."

"Disappeared?" I was alarmed until the events of the past five months came rushing back. "Perhaps she doesn’t want to be found. I thought she’d gone on holiday with her parents."

Fred released me so that he could take off his cloak. I took it from him, and sent it to the coat rack in the foyer.

"That’s what everyone assumed. But her parents came back from their month-long sojourn in the States--they were visiting Hermione’s aunt, who lives in Boston--wondering why they’d had no word from their daughter in over a month. They went to the house in Chelsea, of course, only to find that no one had been there for weeks and weeks. Their attempts to contact Ron were unsuccessful, as his Liverpool place doesn’t have Muggle-friendly amenities and they knew nothing of Mo and Muskoka. So they came to Mum and Dad."

"Has the Ministry been notified?"

"Yes. From what they can ascertain, the last anyone saw Hermione was the Tuesday after... well, you know, after everything happened. She was sighted by an Auror friend of hers, Lisa Turpin, in the Shepherd’s Bush area, walking out of a Muggle travel agency with an unmarked parcel in her hand. According to Lisa, they exchanged pleasantries and Hermione seemed just fine. Lisa offered Hermione a lift in her Fiat... Hermione declined, saying she was expected at her Diagon Alley office and she’d just take the tube. Then she walked down the street... and vanished."

"Again, love, perhaps she doesn’t want to be found..."

"Even so, she’s in trouble. Ron finally showed up right after I got there... most of the story came out again, for the benefit of Hermione’s parents. Mrs. Granger cried a lot, and I think Mr. Granger is ready to stick that brother of mine on a spit and rotisserie him. Some of us went with Ron to Chelsea to see if we could find anything there. Nothing save one clue—Hermione’s hand on their clock is pointing to Mortal Peril."

I sucked in a deep breath.

"It’s the Cabalistica, isn’t it?"

"Has to be. They’re the only ones powerful enough to capture a witch like her."

"Does Harry..."

"He’s still out searching. Even though the Ministry has an entire squadron of Aurors on the case. Even though Sirius immediately put a dozen Black and Potter operatives on it for good measure. Even though the initial trail went cold long before anyone knew anything was amiss. He says he doesn’t intend to stop to eat, drink, or sleep until he finds her, and somehow I believe him."

"Do you think she’s..."

"She very well could be. I can’t lie to you, Angel. George and I have been working for Sirius and Harry for a long time. The Cabalistica is fast becoming one of the deadliest Dark supercovens I’ve ever heard of... very soon even the Order won’t be any match for them. You heard what Sirius, Remus, and Harry said that day you were nosing around Black and Potter... even their operatives haven’t been able to infiltrate the Cabalistica without disappearing or dying.

"Hermione is perhaps the most famous Muggle-born witch breathing. She no longer has the protection of the Covenant... a Covenant which made her the perpetual enemy of the Dark Side. On top of that..." here Fred looked more solemn than ever, "...we know now that she is the woman referred to in the Seventh Prophecy, and the Cabalistica cannot find that out. I’m sure they all but suspect..."

Fred sat down at the table, and I took the seat next to him.

"You’ve told me all about the Covenant. Does Hermione’s disappearance have something to do with her breaking it?"

He shrugged, cutting himself a large slice of plum-cake. "Perhaps. I can’t say for certain, because I don’t know much about it. I know that the minute she broke it, something happened... because when they first entered it, the Order told the three of them that it could not be broken without serious repercussions."

I shook my head slowly. "Poor Hermione. Tell me, what is this Seventh Prophecy? I thought there were only six."

For students of Advanced Divination, there is a seventh year Magical Eschatology option. Fred and I had been taking Divination since our third year... Divination had been my mother’s best subject at the Academy, and I’d wanted to see if I had a similar propensity for it. (I didn’t.) Fred says he took it because everyone else in our crowd did... and because it amused him to poke fun at Professor Trelawney.

Studying the Prophecies of the End during the year of the Scourge was an especially eerie pastime. The Prophecies of the End had been issued by none other than Nostradamus, whom Muggles write off as an old crackpot but who was actually a great Seer in his day. (The reason why the Muggles know all about old Nostradamus is because he lived long before the International Compact on Wizarding Secrecy.) As the Prophecies of the End apply to magical folk only, they were left out of his Quartos and instead presented to the French Wizards’ Council, whose headquarters they are now displayed and where they have been scoffed at ever since.

All of the prophecies are written in extremely long passages of extremely flowery Medieval French, and we had to study the dusty Latin translation in Trelawney’s course. Interpretations widely vary, but a great number of people worldwide believe that all six of these latter-day prophecies have been fulfilled.

In a nutshell, the first referred to "the servant of perdition", a "son of a snake" who would hate the "children of the earth and strike them with a scourge". This prophecy had been applied to everyone from Faust to Grindelwald until Voldemort, who fulfilled all twenty-six verses of the prophecy to the letter. Nostradamus even mentioned Tom Riddle’s favorite childhood food (fried Re’em liver with onions, rare).

The second prophecy refers to the "twice-blessed man". The "firstborn seed of a stag and a flower," the twice-blessed man is mentioned in the Muggle Quartos as well, and again, the title had been applied to everyone from famous witch Anne Boleyn (despite her sex) to the great Dumbledore himself. When Harry defeated Voldemort multiple times, cheating certain death twice to do so, people began to murmur about the man of Second Prophecy fame. After the war, the Boy Who Lived also became informally known the world over as the twice-blessed man.

Prophecies numbers three, four, and five are supposedly more ambiguous. But most now believe the "rat’s sacrifice", the "terror that walks amongst the shadows", and the "ice for an age" referred to Peter Pettigrew’s wavering, the Scourge, and the Sponge respectively.

The Sixth Prophecy is the last and the most famous. It refers to "a pact of old made new" between a golden weasel, a carrier pigeon... and the twice-blessed one. This pact would "strike fear into the heart of the son of perdition" and "turn iniquity back again for a time." Certainly the pact Nostradamus referred to was the Covenant. Ron was quite obviously the weasel. The carrier pigeon, an ancient messenger, symbolized Hermione.

And once again, Harry was confirmed as the twice-blessed man.

At this point, the last parchment cut off. Commentators’ interpretations of what the mysterious number meant varied, and many an Arithmancy Ph.D. has written her dissertation on the subject. The vast majority believed that the Sixth Prophecy would end with 3,595 years of peace in the wizarding world... the pessimists disputed that, and believed that the number referred to weeks, which meant the peace would only last for seventy years.

Whether seventy or fifty-two times that, the Sixth Prophecy confirmed that the wizarding world was in for a longer period without war that it had enjoyed since before the Golden Age ended aeons ago. Hence, the term Pax Dumbledorica.

But Fred was shaking his head gravely.

"The reason why no one knows of the Seventh Prophecy is because the Order has kept it secret since the time of its composing. Nostradamus was sworn to secrecy as well... for he had a place at the stone table made gold in his day. As the current leader of the Order, Sirius has the rest of that parchment, Angel..." His voice broke, and he shivered a little. I placed a caressing hand on his shoulder and he continued. "Anyway, the last word was left off the Sixth Prophecy... it’s on the parchment with the seventh."

"What is it?

"Days."

"Days?" My eyes went wide. "But that means..."

"Yes. And Angel, the number is so exact that it would frighten anyone with good sense. The Death Eaters’ unconditional surrender was given on 31 May 1998, right?" I nodded. "Pax Dumbledorica was declared worldwide on the first of June, the very next day."

He pushed his cake to one side.

"Hermione broke the Covenant on the third of April, 2009..." I said.

"That is exactly 3,595 days, Angel. Leading right into the Seventh Prophecy..." He shivered again. "Angelina, remember how our world laughed at the Muggles during their Y2K scare? Karma, it seems, is not without a sense of irony."

"What’s going to happen, Fred? What is the Seventh Prophecy?"

"Death," said Fred. "It begins--at least, this was how Sirius translated the French--with a death. A very specific death, unique in its violence and brutality, a death of an individual who will be mourned the world over. And the first of it should tell you why we’re so alarmed about Hermione’s disappearance... here, let me read it to you." He pulled out a parchment out of the pocket of his robes. I could tell the writing was not his.

"Those ‘sorrows’ read like a dime-store horror novel," said Fred grimly. "In the next verse, the twice-blessed man dies defending his bird. So does the weasel ‘with regret too late’, along with a woman ‘who holds the stars in her eyes’.... and...." here he gulped, "all the weasel’s burrow, many generations of woe."

"No..." I moaned. My teeth clattered from fright.

"The rest of the Prophecy is even scarier than that. According to Nostradamus, immediately following this some terrifying epidemic is going to hit the wizarding world... a pandemic, really. ‘Silent killer, seduce us to the realms of the night’... chilling stuff like that. No witch or wizard will be able to survive this dread disease. It goes on to talk about multitudes dying... vices multiplying... and at the very end..."

I cried out.

My dream, mydream!

"...there will be no more magic at all on Earth. Only Muggles. All of the magical world--beings and beasts, flora and fauna, and people will vanish without a trace. It predicts the end of our world, Angel... and if we are interpreting the prophecies correctly, this will happen. Sooner than later. In our lifetimes."

We were both silent. I was no fatalist, but when it came to certain things, I employed a "better be safe than sorry" policy. Suddenly everything I’d witnessed since Christmas made perfect sense.

"So Hermione breaking the Covenant just might be the event that sets all this in motion."

"There’s no ‘might be’ about it. Whenever Harry finds her, we may just see things play out line by line. Powerful as he is, if those are Cabalistica agents holding Hermione, he’ll have a fight on his hands... and no Covenant to aid him. He’d have a better chance working with Ron, but Ron and Harry refuse to even be in the same room together these days, let alone cooperate in this. Ron’s hired a private investigative firm to search for her in the Muggle world while he and Mo search, because he says he will not work with Black and Potter. Even if he and Harry were to find her at the same time... again, the Covenant is broken, so..."

His eyes met mine. I read a lot of things there... fear, uncertainty, helplessness. All mingled with an abiding love for me, and perhaps even an apology for things ending up this way. As this was all somehow his fault.

In that frightening moment, being Mark Johnson’s daughter helped me yet again. For I felt a wellspring of desperate, furtive hope bubble up inside of me... hope that would not allow me to accept any words of gloom and doom.

Besides, there were two new lives growing inside of me. I felt as if I had every right to thumb my nose at death.

"I don’t believe it," I said firmly. "Hermione’s disappearance is very scary indeed, but I can’t think that it’s the first sign of the end of our world. I bet if she were here right now, or if she had been at the Burrow hearing all that foolish talk, she’d have laughed each and every one of you to scorn. You know she is not a fatalist... wouldn’t playing right into the hands of Fate only serve to annoy her?"

"But..."

"Wherever Hermione is, I hope with everything within me that she is all right. I also know that she’ll do all she can to stay alive until she can be found, and if possible she’ll either escape, leave a sign, or attempt to send word."

Fred shook his head. "She’s only one witch."

"She’s one hell of a witch. Oh, Fred, I can’t tell you why I believe this, or how I know... but I’m not afraid for Hermione. Not at all. She’s going to come out of this just fine."

He sent a sidelong glance my way. "What makes you so sure?"

"Because even as sidetracked as she’s been lately, she has a tool at her disposal that the Dark Ones know nothing about. That tool is love. Evil cannot anticipate love, because it cannot understand it. So Hermione may be surrounded by darkness even as we speak, but in the midst of that darkness she is light. That one blind spot may be all that is needed to save her in the end."

Fred sighed, then smiled a little at me. I suppose he’d finally noticed what I had on.

"You should wear pink more often, it’s your color," he said. "You look good in it."

I smiled back. "You should wear nothing more often," I said, reaching for the fastenings of his robes. "You look good in it."

Later, so much later in the night that it was almost day, we stole back down the stairs like two small children on Christmas morning, and danced to the dusty music of another of my father’s old Muggle albums. This time not the Beatles... another British group from the late seventies. Clinging to each other, soft silk brushing silken skin, footsteps moving in time to the sounds of soaring strings, staccato percussion, and seductive winds.

Heatwave said it far better than I ever could. Even if it was the last night of the world, I couldn’t think of anywhere I’d rather be than with my husband, my lover, and my very best friend... making love, dancing, and laughing.

Perfect love drives out all fear.

For Hermione’s sake, I hoped she was holding on to that truth... wherever she was.

*************

"What I’d like to know," said Sonia DasGupta, settling down more comfortably into Molly Weasley’s rococo chair, "is howyou plan to get Draco Malfoy into either a codpiece or a toga."

The statement, as strange it sounded on the surface, was not as over-the-top as it seemed. Draco and Ginny were still trying to decide on a wedding theme--the current choices included either a Venetian masque or an ancient Roman ceremony--although they would tie the knot in just ten short weeks.

It wasn’t as if Ginny needed anything… she was about to marry one of the richest men in our world, and I was sure there were not many Muggles whose bank portfolios could compare to his. Draco told his beloved fiancee that she could have any type of ceremony she wanted, no matter how big or small. Ginny decided she wanted everything… yet Ron and Hermione had already had the most elaborate traditional wedding known to date and she certainly didn’t want anyone reminded of that.

Especially now that Hermione had been missing for nearly a month.

Perhaps this is the reason why everyone went all out for Ginny. This was the first of three bridal showers that had been planned for the much-beloved Virginia Weasley. The next week, her colleagues at Gladrags and throughout the fashion industry were planning another party for her… and Draco’s Rosetti cousins, not to be outdone, were in the process of putting together a surprise affair the week of the wedding, when we’d all be in their Italian domain anyway. For a little girl who’d had to settle for patched-up robes and Spellotaped textbooks less than half a lifetime before, she was doing quite well for herself.

Our own poor little rich girl sat on the sofa, decked out in another DasGupta original that I certainly couldn’t afford--light summery sleeveless robes the color of fresh butter. At the designer’s question, she simply arched red eyebrows coquettishly and smiled.

"I’m sure I don’t know what you’re getting at, Sonia," said Ginny. "My darling will look simply delicious in either traditional Roman garb or the Venetian mask he’s having made by Berridges… he has the face for both."

"He has the nose for both, n’est ce pas?" said Madeleine, with a wicked twinkle in her eye. At Ginny’s look, she laughed. "Ah, Ginny, don’t look so serious! You must admit that your wizard’s nose is rather… how shall I say?… pointy."

Molly, who was sitting next to her daughter, had to use a hand to cover her laughter. Ginny stared at her Mum as if she were the most horrid type of traitor.

"Nothing about my love muffin is pointy!" She turned to where Liz, Anya, and I were sitting on the love-seat. "Right?"

Sisters-in-law occupy an interesting position within many families. We learn quickly that we’re damned if we do, and damned if we don’t. The lot of the usurper.

"Uh… right?" said Liz, looking extremely uncomfortable.

This was not enough to satisfy Ginny, who in the grand tradition of all brides was tripping merrily down the path towards Total Insufferability. "Anya? Angelina?"

"He does have a nice nose," said Anya diplomatically. Instead of taking it in the way it was intended--as a compliment--Ginny appeared even more annoyed. Making a mental note to later give Anya yet another Weasley family induction, I attempted to put a smile on Ginny’s face.

"Oh, come now Gin, surely you don’t expect us to believe that nothing about your husband-to-be is… well, pointy, do you? Why else did you insist on that codpiece? Hopefully for you, it won’t be too hard…I mean difficult to retain your dignity as a well-to-do bride must…" I was interrupted by the tinkling of a bell.

According to what my father told my mother long ago, in Muggle lore witches spend a great deal of their time cackling lasciviously. I suppose we all conformed to the stereotype just then.

This first bridal shower, which we sisters-in-law had sponsored for Ginny, was being held on Remembrance Day. The British Muggles have a similar holiday, but ours is a bit different. Ever since the war, all wizarding shops and schools close from sunset on the thirtieth of April until sunrise on the second of May.

But our memorial of the war dead isn’t supposed to be a solemn occasion. Neither is it very reverential. Instead, we hearken back to the distant past, to the Golden Age of Faerie in our celebrations, and we celebrate life… life that the sacrifice of our martyrs made possible. This, we are told, is pleasing to them--the sweet sounds of frolicking and revelry and song that echo from this world into the distant hereafter.

What constitutes a Remembrance Day celebration depends entirely upon the persons involved. Some use it as an excuse to get drunk and laid… usually the same ones who use any holiday as an excuse for drunkenness and sexual excess. Some use it as a time to visit the Second Voldemort War Memorial at Hogwarts (the only magical place in England which is quiet on May Day), then to enjoy a glorious picnic with alumni and current students by the lake.

As for the Weasleys, we do on Remembrance Day what we do best… we gather. It is the one holiday of the year during which none of the women cook. Arthur decreed on that first Remembrance Day, ten years ago, that he and his boys would make dinner for mother, sister, and sisters-in-law on that day every year from then on. At first, we were very afraid… and had every reason to be. Molly didn’t believe in her husband and sons being in the kitchen much, and it showed. I nearly broke my teeth on a piece of barbecue that year, and the potatoes… but there, it doesn’t do to dwell on the past.

Since then, they’ve had more practice. Even if the resulting meal can’t compare to the best of Molly Weasley, it is rather nice not to have to worry about the soup for a change.

So as our men alternated between the backyard and the kitchen (we kept hearing the back door slam, and various curses of frustration, normal Remembrance Day sounds), everyone laughed at my teasing remark. And listened to the chime of a Bell Star that sounded every time one of us said the word "bride. And laughed some more...

…until Maureen Ludlam appeared in the arched doorway of the living room.

She was with Ron, of course, and carrying their son, whose tiny dark red head rested in repose on her shoulder as his arm curved protectively around the child’s mother. She turned so that he could remove the whispery mantilla-like shawl from her shoulders. Mo lifted the sleeping child up and handed him to his father, taking a gift-wrapped box he had tucked under his arm. In exchange, Ron kissed his lover’s lips quickly and disappeared from the doorway without even glancing at us. Seconds later, I heard heavy footfalls on the steps… most of the children had been scampering throughout the upper floors ever since a light rain outside broke up their outdoor play.

Mo walked into the main room with the grace and bearing of some foreign queen, exotic and regal. Her princess-seamed robes were black print and short sleeved, splashed from collar to ankle with tropical flowers that slowly changed between various hothouse colors. Almost instantly I was reminded of the kaleidoscope robes she’d worn on New Year’s Eve at the Golden Snitch. These robes she was wearing five months later would have done nothing for any of the other women in the room… but for her dark hair and light olive skin, the effect was perfect.

"Happy Remembrance Day," she said, tranquil as a countryside pond. "Ginny, congratulations."

She walked over to where Ginny was sitting between Christina Rosetti and Molly. Both Draco’s cousin and my mother-in-law looked extremely uncomfortable.

As for my sister-in-law, she didn’t make a move for the gift. Instead she stared into Mo’s dark eyes… Ginny was wearing contacts again, green ones this time.

Finally Ginny said:

"How do you get your clothes to flash like that?"

Mo’s mouth curved into a half-smile. "I treat them on my own with Streeler dye. My godsister Danataya raises them in the Yukon… even in Canada, they do very well in greenhouses."

"I thought the dye was poisonous," said Sonia, seeming very interested. "Every time we test Streeler-dyed fabric, there’s almost always some allergic skin reaction…"

"Not if you mix powdered Graphorn horn with the dye. Neutralizes the venom, and has the added benefit of making the fabric soft and wrinkle-free."

Ginny shook her head. "Graphorn horn is too expensive even for me."

Mo shrugged. "My parents loved to hunt out West--well, I should say in the Rockies--during their off-seasons. One of the few things they left me were three Graphorn horns. I’ve only ground up one… but I’ll give you one of the remaining two if you like."

Ginny considered this peace offering. Then she reached up and took the gift from Mo’s hand.

"Have a seat."

Mo did so, sitting on an extra company chair that had been dragged in from the shed. The room was overly quiet, yet there were quiet murmurings from among the women until Penelope came in from the kitchen a moment later and began the entertainment by pulling a old, patched and frayed hat out of her robe pocket.

This hat had supposedly been in the Weasley family almost as long as the Sorting Hat had been at Hogwarts. Although it was not blessed with mindreading powers, it did make up songs for special family events; it had been brought out for every bridal shower, baby shower and baby naming, at least as long as I had known the family. Of course, we'd seen the set of photographs of Molly wearing it, first as a blushing bride, then as each son came along, and again with Ginny.

The bridal shower songs were always sung to a tune that resembled, of all things, Greensleeves, and the baby-oriented song was always to the tune of the traditional nursery rhyme Sparkling Nightlight. The guests were always glad when the tunes were done, as this hat's voice wasn't half as pleasant as the Sorting Hat's.

Plus, when the tunes were done, it was time to get on with the magic.

Earlier that day, we had filled the hat with all sorts of things that a woman would traditionally need during marriage - cookbooks, kitchen tools, a freezing compact, housekeeping things, mending charms, a Lockhart book or two, and a few untraditional things as well, including, embarassingly enough, lingerie. Before our actual presents were opened, Ginny would pull out the five things that the Hat deemed most necessary for her married life.

Ginny, for all her daily poise, looked as nervous as I remembered her when she sat on Hogwarts' three legged stool in the Great Hall, when the Hat dropped onto her head and over her eyes. Moments ticked by as she sat, and we watched, murmuring among ourselves.

"What did you pull out?" Anya asked me.

Fred, of course, had arranged for the untraditional grab bag items to be, well, very untraditional. I told Anya how I pulled out half a dozen prototypes from 3W, including a bar of soap that leapt out of my hands and began running around the floor, a walking, talking gingerbread cookie with a vocabulary of only four-letter words, and a nose-biting teacup. Of course, I did end up pulling a pretty dark blue silk nightgown. But I never figured out what the two furry circles attached to the headband were for; Fred said he picked it up in a Muggle clothing shop, and it was still sitting in the Burrow's front closet.

Finally, Ginny pulled the Hat off her head. Of course she didn't say what she had told it, or what it had told her. She simply sat it atop the coffee table and it broke into a song that garbled five hundred year old words with more modern thoughts.

As I watched Ginny pull a silvery bathrobe that glowed as if it was lit by the full moon out of the hat, the words of the song stayed in my mind. Some of that was clearly applicable to the talented Mr. Malfoy - and in this case, Greensleeves was clearly appropriate for Slytherin's former star pupil, but the balance? When had Draco Malfoy ever wagered life and land for anyone without a gain to himself -- even if it was for the benefit of Ginny?

Ginny took a jewelry box and ink bottle out of the Hat before wewere interrupted by someone stepping briskly into the room.

It was Hermione.

All conversations and motions stopped as she entered, dressed in lovely robes of periwinkle lace. Now, I was expecting to see a woman who’d apparently listened to Fwooper song far too long and had consequently been driven insane. Instead Hermione looked cheerful as a nymph high from Billywig stings. There was a hum on her lips and a bounce to her step.

"Hi, everyone!" she said. With lace-gloved hands she handed Ginny a gift wrapped in shimmery cloth-of-gold and kissing her cheek. "I’m so happy for you, dear."

"Ah… I’m… thanks?" said Ginny, looking as confused as I felt.

Hermione greeted the rest of us in turn more warmly than she ever had in my recollection. Then she faced Mo and shocked all of us.

She smiled at her.

"How are you today, Maureen?" she said, embracing her as if she were a beloved and long-lost sister. Over Hermione’s shoulder, Mo’s eyes were twin orbs.

"Well, thanks," said Mo. It was funny to see her disconcerted. One could tell that it didn’t occur very often.

"And how is that wayward husband of mine?"

Molly, who’d bent over to put Ginny's "essentials" into the basket that waited at the ready, began to choke.

Jumping up quickly, I steered Hermione away from Mo and towards my place on the love-seat. This was because everyone else seemed far too Stunned to move.

Perhaps Hermione had become a Fwooper Fool after all.

"Why don’t you have a seat, Hermione, and I’ll go get you some water."

The kitchen was a royal mess. Bill, covered from head to toe in wheat flour, was flipping a mass of dough into the air as I walked in. Unfortunately, his aim was off and the doughball landed upon my head with a firm plop.

"Sorry, Angelina," Bill said, using his wand to Summon the dough back, then set it down in order to pluck it free of hair strands before he resumed his tossing. "I’ve not made my famous meringue pie since last Remembrance Day."

"Thank Merlin for small favors," said Fred, levitating a huge double-sized roaster filled with marinated spareribs. "That famous meringue pie gave me indigestion for a week afterwards."

"At least he makes an attempt to cook," said Charlie, who’d charmed a number of knives to chop onions, cabbage, and leeks on their own. "That one in the pantry, on the other hand…"

"Don’t talk to me right now," sounded Draco’s voice from the hidden depths of the kitchen storage room. "I’m attempting to see if any of this wine is salvageable. Some of this vintage isn’t fit to clean my cauldrons with, let alone tempt anyone’s palate."

"Word is that he can cook, but won’t," Charlie said, ignoring Draco. "Ginny says he had to fend for himself in Seattle, but he won’t lift a finger to help out here."

Draco emerged from the pantry, shaking cobwebs from his fair hair, features wrinkling with distaste as he regarded the bottle of port in his hand.

"That’s what I have servants and house-elves for. Is this," he said, holding up the port, "what your father was referring to when I asked about wine?"

"Think so," murmured Fred. "Speaking of Dad, let me get these outside to him… he’s testing some Muggle contraption or the other that’s supposed to keep him dry, but I had better sneak a ImperviusCharm on him before he catches his death. That rain doesn’t show any signs of letting up."

The bottle of port was set onto one of the counters so soundly that it wobbled. Draco pulled a round gold talisman out of his pocket by a chain, almost lazily, and called out, "Nod!"

Two seconds later, a house-elf popped into the room, rearranging his tunic, monogrammed with the Malfoy family crest. "You rang, sir?" Even Draco Malfoy’s house-elves spoke with the stilted, proper accent of the wellborn.

"Yes, I did. I need a bottle of port… don’t touch any of our newest acquisitions, nor the bottles locked in special storage. A flask from the everyday dinner supplies will do quite nicely. While you’re at it, bring a bottle of what my wife-to-be likes… that pink champagne… and her father’s partial to merlot."

"Is there anything else you require, sir?"

"Not at this time."

"Of course. Right away, sir…" and the house-elf popped once more, and was gone.

Draco turned around to catch me staring at this exchange. "Was there something in particular you needed, Angelina?"

"I…" For a moment, I’d forgotten what I’d come into the kitchen for. "I’d like a glass of water for Hermione, please. She isn’t feeling very well."

Draco’s usual smirk faded. Bill stopped in mid-toss and the dough hovered in the air. Charlie, still chopping, nearly sliced his finger off. Percy and George, who’d just come in with other large roasters filled with grilled fish and lobster, nearly dropped their cargoes.

"Hermione’s here?" asked Percy. "But she’s been missing for nearly a month! She’s still on file with the Ministry’s Missing Magical People and Beings Bureau..."

"Nevertheless, she’s here now. Alive, well, and acting very strange."

A loud explosion sounded from outside, followed by shouts that sounded very much like Arthur.

Bill groaned. "What did Fred do this time?"

Leaving the dough floating a good three feet above the table, Bill headed out the back door, followed by Charlie, Percy, and George. As they left, a pair of horseflies zoomed into the kitchen… and both got stuck in the dough.

I’d been so busy watching the flies that I didn’t notice Draco fill up a glass for Hermione. The first I realized it was when he walked past me, glass of water in hand, and out of the kitchen.

He returned a moment later, sans glass.

"That is not Granger," said Draco.

I gasped. Somehow, that made a whole lot of sense.

"Then who…"

"No one you need concern yourself with," he said in a low voice. "Discretion is key. Go back in there. Do not let on that you know she isn’t who she seems. Meanwhile, I’ll summon some help she and her accomplices will not expect."

"Help? Do you think…"

He placed a finger against pale lips. "There’s nothing to think about. We’re sitting in the midst of a trap. Would you like it sprung? By all means, keep on with that tone of voice… she’ll know we’re on to her within seconds."

"Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?" I asked, whispering this time.

"You’ll have enough to do once the cavalry arrives. Remember, do not reveal what you know… and not a word to the others."

So I went back into the living room, passing Molly who was muttering something about saving her kitchen on the way. As I sat down, Not-Hermione smiled at me. A chill ran up and down my spine, but I smiled back.

For Ginny was now opening our gifts to her. When she got to Hermione’s gift, Ginny sat it on her lap gingerly.

"What pretty wrappings," she said. "The best I’ve seen so far. Of course, I expected that from you, Hermione. Only the best."

Not-Hermione smiled. "Oh, think nothing of it, my dear. The best is yet to come."

Ginny tugged at the bow… and the box came apart in her hands. Except for a swirling of fine chartreuse dust which obscured most of our vision and filled our lungs with strange smoke, nothing seemed innocuous…

…save the scales that were now racing up Not-Hermione’s arms as she began to transform into what she really was.

Anya screamed and recoiled. Liz withdrew her wand from her robes and pointed at the creature next to her, but her wand became limp as a pasta noodle. The rest of us instinctively withdrew our wands, and we found that they were also ineffective as rubber children’s toys.

Sonia screamed even louder than Anya had.

Mo didn’t seem afraid at all. She walked up to Not-Hermione, scaly, lengthening arms and all, and demanded:

"We don’t scare easily. Who the hell are you, and what do you want?"

"I thought you knew, Maureen," said Not-Hermione in a chilling version of Hermione Granger’s voice. "I have a score to settle with you… so if you’ll just come with me…"

"Not today, hon," said Mo. "Not any day."

That’s when I noticed that Not-Hermione no longer had regular legs. Instead, she was being held up by at least a dozen slimy, lizard-like coils and seemed to be half-floating, half slithering on them.

"Oh, Maureen," she said in a hissing voice that still sounded like Hermione, "you say that as if you have a choice." Several of the coils shot forth, twining around Mo’s limbs, waist and neck. I was horrified until I saw that Mo could still breathe.

Mo was beginning to seem a bit more ruffled, but not frightened. For she’d guessed the identity of the imposter.

"Orla, you bitch, you’d better let me go while you still have the chance or so help me, I’ll have those damned snake guts of yours for garters."

Orla Quirke-masquerading-as-Hermione then laughed, a hissing sound of mirth mingled with a promise of mayhem.

"You’ve ordered me about for the last time, Maureen Ludlam. The tables are now turned. Now, unless you want your neck snapped," the coil around Mo’s neck rippled threateningly, "you’ll shut that yap of yours until I give you leave to speak."

"Let her go!"

That was Ron, coming into the room, blasting Orla not with a wand, but with what seemed to be energy emanating from twin blue orbs that hovered a couple inches away from his palms. I’d never seen Ron like this… nor did I understand how he was able to focus enough to fry the snake-woman without benefit of a wand.

Orla let Mo go after only a few seconds. Mo stumbled onto the floor, limp… but Ron continued to hit Orla with the energy stream as it turned from blue to green to yellow. She began to vibrate, coils crackling, mouth opened in a soundless scream.

Whatever Ron was doing, it seemed to be draining both the she-creature and him. But just as Ron seemed to be at the end of his strength, Draco appeared in the doorway, balancing silver orbs to form a dual blast, adding his own energy stream to Ron’s and turning it rippling onyx black.

How did they do that? I had to figure it out. Such a trick was not only useful, but looked dead cool.

Orla’s vibrations grew more rapid, the scales on her body beginning to hum with an eerie otherworldly sound. If she exploded… maybe the rest of us ought to take cover…

Then a sidelong blast of liquid pearlescent light knocked both Ron and Draco to the floor. For a wild instant, I expected to see Kitty O’ Rourke… or even my sister Diane, for some reason.

It was neither of them.

Harry, staring at Orla very strangely, walked into the doorway as we all stared at him. Orla’s lips curled into a flirtatious smile. She seemed none the worse for the wear.

"Well, if it isn’t the hero," she hissed. "Hello, handsome."

"What have you done with her?" Harry asked. His voice was very cold.

"You’ll have to ask the Cabalistica, won’t you? Dr. Granger is now their cherished pet… and Mo Ludlam will soon be mine to do with as I please."

Both Mo and Harry reacted at once. Harry immediately cast another spell from his fingertips—"Ignem Inferno!"—and the blast was of red, swirling fire. But at the same time, Mo had been infuriated by Orla’s last statement and pushed her as hard as she could—catching Harry’s wandblast across the small of her back as she fell atop Orla.

Mo cried out in pain.

Ron, finally recovered from the surprise Stunning, got to his feet. Before his best friend could react, he punched Harry so hard that his glasses broke. Then he headed over to Orla, rolling up the sleeves of his robs as he went.

But it was too late. Orla—who no longer looked anything like Hermione—had completely transformed. From the waist up, she was her usual honey-blonde angelic self, save with long forked tongue. From the bottom down, she was a mass of two dozen slithering and writhing coils… each ending in a venomous fanged snake head.

"It’s about time you paid attention to me, Ron Weasley," hissed Orla. "Unfortunately for you…" two of her snake-coils looped around Ron’s ankles and tugged, "…I’m no longer interested."

Ron sprawled to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Draco, who’d now recovered from his Stunning (from what I could gather, this was because Harry hit him last and longer), tried to hit Orla again, but it was too late. She swept up Mo in her coils again, cackling, "Easy

as taking candy from a babe!" and in a whirlwind of opaque black smoke, she was gone.

Chaos ensued. Apparently Orla’s "gift" had somehow sealed off the upstairs and the backyard, for the other Weasley brothers now rushed into the room. Fred immediately searched the room for me and before I knew it, I was being crushed in a tight hug. Dante Rosetti and Nick Riordan were also there for some reason… I wondered why Draco had summoned them. Many of the children ran downstairs, including my Malinda… she ran immediately to me and her father for hugs and reassurance.

The happy reunions didn’t last long. For Harry and Ron were now engaged in a battle royale.

"Where the hell do you get off, hitting me?" Harry snarled, shoving Ron backwards. Ginny, whose wand was straight again, used it to Summon Harry’s broken and disregarded glasses to her for repair despite her fiance’s frown.

"Because one good turn deserves another, you sanctimonious, self-righteous bastard!" snapped Ron, shoving Harry back even harder. "You screw my wife and try to sweep it under the rug, then fry my girlfriend as if she’s a side order of bacon…"

"Excuse me, but isn’t there something wrong with this picture?" said Harry, voice oozing with sarcasm. "You say it as if you have the right to have a wife and a girlfriend at the same time!"

There was a sudden darkening outside… had a cloud passed over the sun? It seemed a lot more like an eclipse. And then I looked down at my feet, for I detected an ever-so-faint rumbling underneath them. I glanced back at Fred, but he seemed totally focused on the escalating conflict.

"You had no right to my wife, and you still don’t!" Ron roared.

"Ever think about this? Had it not been for a mistake I made, you wouldn’t have had her in the first damn place! And here’s some more food for thought, asshole… while you were frolicking in your love-nest with that girlfriend of yours, your wife was missing for weeks and weeks before the rest of us put two and two together and realized that we needed to search for her!"

Harry punctuated this last comment with a shove so angry and vicious that it knocked Ron straight back into his mother’s knick-knack shelf. In response, Ron threw an uppercut which landed squarely on Harry’s jaw. Before they could begin brawling again in earnest, however, they were both blasted by Percy and Penelope. Immediately their mouths were completely overgrown with skin, their hands were boneless flippers that were unable to curl up into fists, and their legs locked together so that all they could do was hop.

"What’d you do that for?" Fred said. "Best to let them fight it out…" I elbowed him in the ribs and clapped a hand over my daughter’s mouth before she could ask for clarification about why Uncle Harry and Uncle Ron were having it out. Unfortunately, I’m sure the older teens now knew what had happened, along with the Rosettis, Christina and Nick, and just about everyone else.

"Did any of you stop to ask yourselves where Mum and Dad Weasley are right now?" asked Penelope, shifting her wand from one hand to the other.

Percy folded his arms. "Look outside."

Malinda and the young twins made it to the window at the far side of the room first. What little Rave said made us know something was wrong.

"Mummy, Mummy! It’s Christmas again!"

My own daughter gasped too. "Yeah, it’s snowing… whoa!"

Gryff just clapped his palms to his mouth, giggling.

Everyone glanced around at each other. As many of us that could ran to the window… then out the front door.

The Burrow was no longer at the end of the Ottery St. Catchpole lane that it had been situated upon for centuries. Instead, it was now perched high upon a lofty mountain, situated in the midst of an imposing mountain range that stretched as far as the eye could see. I was no great judge of distances and height, but we were definitely pretty high up… definitely above the tree line. On a ledge. On a precarious ledge. A good three feet of the house hung over the void.

Molly, Arthur, and the barbecue were nowhere in sight.

Everyone began talking at once. Spouting out their theories of where we were and how we got there. Raging about how it was this or that person's fault that this had all happened. Shivering and freezing in the piercing cold... it had been May where we'd just come from, and a pretty warm day at that.

We might have continued forever like that if Draco and Ginny hadn't intervened. With a quick wave of his wand, Draco levitated his fiancée so that she was standing head, shoulders and waist over even Bill, who was the tallest of us all.

"Everyone be quiet!" she shouted, seeming in that moment very like her mother. Because of the relationship most of those in question had to Molly Weasley, she got the attention she wanted right away.

"This is not the time for us to fall apart. Now, I have no idea where we are, but I have a feeling that neither we nor the house are supposed to make it back to England. We can't Apparate out because we'll get splinched, since we don't know where we're starting from, and we can't exactly leave the kids. Now, does anyone have a portkey handy?"

Nobody answered her.

"Clearly," Ginny spoke into the silence, "whoever sent us here obviously doesn't want us to make it back alive."

"And I always said she was the brilliant one," muttered Fred.

Ginny glared at him and continued. "This is what we’ve got to do. We’ve got to figure out where we are, where Orla took Mo, and then formulate a suitable plan of action."

"I say we all go back into the house until we’re rescued," said P.J., scratching behind one ear. His mother sent a disapproving glance his way.

"P.J.’s right," said Bill. "The kids ought to stay as close to the house as possible, with perhaps one or two adults to supervise. Meanwhile, the rest of us can form scouting parties so that we can get our bearings."

"I am not going out there!" Sonia exclaimed. "My Great-Uncle Deshai was killed when he tripped over a Horklump? while backpacking in Nepal and fell into a gorge… there are all kinds of dangers in the mountains! Rock slides… avalanches.. false ledges…"

"Graphorns…" said Ginny thoughtfully as Draco lowered her slowly to the ground. One could tell that even in the midst of her pep talk, she was thinking of that Streeler dye.

"That’s why we need a good guide," said Christina, stepping forward.

"What, there’s a Sherpa hag around?" asked George.

Dante put a hand on Sonia’s trembling shoulder, and laughed. "My sister and I grew up playing in the foothills of mountains much like these. We can help you get around…"

This seemed to satisfy everyone. Dante and Christina would lead two separate scouting parties that would diverge after we were able to get off the rock shelf. Thus ensued another Great Debate about each witch and wizard’s talents, strengths, and challenges, who ought to be paired with who, and so on. The children grew rather bored with this, and after raiding the attic, ghoul and all, for old patched winter cloaks and mitts, they all came back out to build a small army of snowmen away from the ledge.

It wasn’t until Anya brushed past where I was standing that I noticed her again. As if in a trance, she walked over to the very edge of the snowy mountain shelf we were standing upon. Instead of proceeding right over the edge, she stopped about a foot short of it, kneeled down and peered over, using small hands to anchor herself to the ground.

George was only a few steps behind her. "What is it, love?"

"I think I’ve been here before," she said slowly. "And if I have, we are somewhere in the Alps… but a place in the Alps that is quite invisible to the Muggles."

Fred noticed me staring, and tuned into the conversation that Anya and George were having.

"Invisible because they don’t notice it, or because it is hidden?" prompted George.

"Perhaps both, or neither. Or perhaps this place only looks like the Swiss Alps, but in reality is somewhere else… or nowhere at all."

Anya stood up, and backed away from the ledge. The three of us followed her back to the disorganized crowd.

"Where are Ron and Harry?" she called loudly. It was perhaps the boldest tone of voice I’d ever heard Anya Parker use in all the years I had known her.

"Still inside, still hexed," Bill answered. Amidst the minor excitement of the Burrow changing locations, we had forgotten all about both of them.

Several people returned back inside, and soon Ron emerged from the front door, looking none the worse for the wear. The rescuers followed, and Harry brought up the rear. Obviously he and Ron were giving each other a very wide berth. Ginny gave Harry his repaired glasses, and with a grateful nod he put them back on.

Anya didn’t seem to care much about these subtleties. Facing Harry, then Ron, she addressed them both.

"Do either of you have the ability to track lamia spoor?"

Ron closed his eyes, frowning. "Not anymore," he said.

"What if Charlie and Liz helped you pick up the trail?" she persisted. When Ron shrugged, she turned to the other man. "How about you, Harry?"

"I never was as good at tracking and subterfuge as Ron was," he said, yet sounding as if the person he was referring to was halfway across the world instead of only several feet away. "How do you know Orla’s a lamia?"

"Orla’s not a full-blooded lamia, but her mother is," Anya replied. "Her mother… I do believe her mother was one of my initial captors. What Orla said about her mum and pets triggered something inside of me. This place confirms it. Ginny’s more right than you know. We are not supposed to get out of this alive. Not alive in any real sense of the word. Life is antithetical to a lamia’s nature."

The minute I heard the term "lamia", I began to shiver uncontrollably, and not just from the biting cold.

Chroniclers of the elder days tell of fairy creatures called lamias who appeared in numerous threatening guises--as monstrous serpents, for instance, or as scaled and clawed beasts. But lamias were perhaps most dangerous when they walked abroad as beautiful women. Although their natures were amorous and haunted by a yearning love for mortals, the lamias represented the darkest side of Faerie.

Charlie let out a low whistle, and his wife’s face had turned gray.

"Perhaps our first priority ought to be getting the Burrow back where it belongs," said Liz. "I don’t like the idea of scattering very much at all if there’s a lamia loose in these mountains."

Her husband nodded. "After the nundu, the chimaera, and the manticore, the lamia is the deadliest magical beast ever known to man," said Charlie. "But unlike the first three creatures on the Confed’s Most Dangerous List, there have been no recorded instances of anyone ever killing a lamia."

"Shapechangers," added Liz. "Other than boggarts, they’re the only true shape-shifters on earth. Their favorite guises are as serpentine creatures.… and beautiful naiads."

"But they are neither dragons nor women, not really," said Charlie. "Because of their sentience, they would most appropriately be classified as magical beings, but their bloodthirstiness precludes them having any real relationship with any but the most vile and corrupt human beings."

"Mountains are not their usual habitat, are they?" asked Madeleine.

"No. They prefer water, and often disguise themselves as harmless water-nymphs or river guardians," Liz said. "Easier to obscure their spoor. It’s distinctive. Human noses can’t pick it up though… but a werewolf-friend of ours once described it to me in old Romania. The strench of flowers rotting, he said. The lamia who had left it behind returned and killed all in his pack."

"I might be able to help you with that, cherie," Madeleine said. We all turned and stared… what secret was Ginny’s friend keeping? "I would need something to pick up the scent, though… I have been fortunate enough never to run into one of the accursed things."

"Then we need something that’s saturated with Orla’s scent," said Bill.

Penelope had a bright idea. "What about the cushion she was sitting on?" One of the children ran to get it, and Madeleine raised it to her dainty nostrils. After a while, she shook her head.

"She must not have let her skin touch it," was Charlie’s opinion.

Then Ginny suggested the glass of water that Draco had offered her. Again, this didn’t help Madeleine. I’d wondered why Orla-as-Hermione had been wearing those tacky lace gloves. Now we all knew.

We were all silent for a moment. No one seemed to know

"Daddy," said Malinda at my elbow, "I don’t like this place."

She pointed at Elizabeth Molina, who was dangling something from her hand.

"The boys," Elizabeth Molina indicated P.J., Paul, and Joseph, "told us to go get some snow from that drift way down there. And we found this. "

Charlie took the object away from his daughter. It was a watch. The band seemed to made of gold and platinum intermingled in a Greek key pattern, but the face was a plain Muggle one on the inside.

"That’s Hermione’s watch!" exclaimed Ginny.

"And you know this because…" Draco began.

"Flip the face over," she said with a nod. Charlie did so… revealing a regular wizarding clock in miniature, tailor-made for a mediwitch.

"Her parents gave that to her as a gift when she finished medical school," Ron said, looking noticeably upset. "Had it specially made for her. She doesn’t leave the house without it on. I swear, if someone’s hurt her, if they’ve hurt either of them, I’ll…"

Harry walked over to Charlie as he read the wizarding face of the watch. He muttered over some of the selections on it. Home. Traveling. Clinic. Hospital. In Surgery. On Call. Sleeping (Rare). According to Charlie’s mutterings, the hand was on Mortal Peril.

"She’s alive but still in danger… damn!"

"You can say that again, Harry," said Charlie. "Look at this."

On the side of the band which bore the magical face, there were dried droplets of blood. Red as rust.

Madeleine took the watch out of Charlie’s hands. Halfway up to her nostrils, she winced. "Something is not right! I smell not dried blood, not metal or sweat, but… rotting flowers."

This set off an immediate commotion. Penelope, Liz, and I ordered the children into the house immediately. Everyone else fanned out in all directions on the ledge and immediately above (although this effort was slowed by the fact that all of the brooms were in the shed, still in Ottery St. Catchpole), on edge, prepared to be attacked at any moment.

Once we determined the area was clear, fear turned to anger.

"How did a half-wit like Orla capture Hermione?" asked Nick Riordan, who’d been observing without comment up to that point. "More to the point, how could such a powerful witch vanish without a trace until now?"

"Broken Covenant?" speculated Anya.

Harry shook his head. "The breaking of the Covenant only reversed spells that the three of us ever did in tandem--there were only a few of those--and made it impossible for us to transfer abilities to one another, which we did quite often. Nothing that would have made her vanish from the face of the earth or made it any easier for Orla to capture her."

"Well, how about a broken heart?" asked Ginny severely, glaring from her brother to the man she’d once dated and adored. "Perhaps Hermione didn’t have the will to put up a fight when she was abducted."

"Now, vixen, let’s not get overly sentimental," said Draco. "Granger was supervising the Danae Project at the MMRI the Monday morning before she was abducted, the day after we sat around your parents’ living room and were so thoroughly entertained by the airing of all th