Keywords: M/F, oral, lite B&D
Author: W R Jenkins
Title: Potter Ate

  Disclaimer:(standard) Do not screw up. Do not do anything illegal.
 This includes specifically (but not limited to) reading on if you are 
under 18- 21 in some localities  If you are underage you must leave 
now. If you're young and curious, this is not the place to get the 
straight story. You act like this and people will look at you strange 
and give you a wide berth. Also, don't try this at home. Some of this 
stuff is just plain wrong, most of it is unsafe in the present viral 
climate and some of it doesn't work in this universe. They are stories. 
They deal with ideas, fantasies and thoughts that might not even be 
pleasant in real life. Thoughts are like that. Fantasies are there so
we can toy with the sensations without feeling or inflicting the pain, 
despair or humiliation. End Sermon.

	
	Potter Ate- (Potter8.txt) - Okay. The real down and dirty. Big 
excitement over. We've seen it coming; we know what's going to happen. 
We've been treated to a prophecy (19 years after book 7 is 2016). Now 
let's watch the aftermath of the big to-do and see the whole thing come 
together. A humble presentation of things that surely happen and others
that might in the aftermath. (And a bunch of sex.)
	
				Potter Ate

	Chapter 1 - It Doesn't Hurt Boys

	The dark form scurried like a rat along the edges of the room
seeking concealment. The many locks were clicking back like a timer
counting down the seconds left to hide.
	"Oi! What kind of dump are you bringing me to?" called out a
sharp feminine voice.
	"Shhhh- we have to be quiet," came the masculine reply.
	"Why? Is someone home?" the first voice snickered.
	"FILTH! Mudbloods! Scum! Defiling the house of my father!"
	The by now familiar screechs of Mrs. Black rang out as her
portrait was awakened by the intruders.
	"I told you," the man said, with irritation. "Now you woke
her up."

	Filth was an accurate description, Yaxley thought from his
concealment. Although Kreacher had taken to cleaning 12 Grimmauld
Place again when Harry had shown him the tiny generosity of 
Regulus's locket, Yaxley himself had interrupted the house-elf's new
dedication to his duty. And clean or not, he was still crouched behind
a boiler in the lowly, foul nest of a house elf.
	It had come to this. Once he was to be the greatest supporter
of the Lord Voldemort, second in command to the most powerful force
on the face of the Earth. Something even more certain, despite
Voldemort's smiling assurances, when Snape was out of the way.
	Now he was in hiding, a hopeless fugitive crouched in the
den of a servant. Not that they would kill him. No, those weak
wizards didn't have the stomach for that. They would humiliate him,
sequester him, pound him with aphorisms and exhortations to be
soft, well-meaning and bland gruel like themselves.
	That great poof Dumbledore proved to be right about one thing:
there were things worse than death.
	Yaxley's vile mood continued to darken as Donovan Vance
continued his attempted seduction of his current amour in the rooms
above. That was going nearly as well as their triumphant entry 
into Donovan's new secret trysting place.
	"This place hasn't been inhabited in ages!" she protested.
	"Months- only months, but this room is clean enough, isn't
it?" Donovan was nearly pleading.
	"And how many other women have you brought here?" she
didn't relent. "Is that what I am? Your floozy of the week? You
bring me here with promises of grandeur and I get a dilapidated
abandoned house?"
	"It's... It's Harry Potter's house," Donovan made one desperate
stab to impress her, and seeing her look was bold enough to add,
"He likes me to keep watch on it when he's away."
	"More likely you stole the key from your mother," she snapped.
	It was too near the truth. His mother, Emmiline, had let the
name slip and now he was able to use the once-headquarters of the
Order of the Phoenix. Donvan looked plantively at her with longing.

	Harry felt a warm hand touch his head and ruffle his hair. For
a moment it made him think of his mother. He looked up and saw the
tall figure of Ginny standing over him.
	There was something of mother's comfort in her. It was like,
and yet so unlike, her own mother. While Mrs. Weasley would be trying
to regiment his unruly hair into order, Ginny joyed in the disarray.
But the affection, the love was the same.
	"Thinking deep thoughts?" she asked. "Don't you want to go 
down and join Ron and Hermione?"
	Honestly, Harry had been sitting in a state of numbness. It
was as if the fatigue of that final battle had never left him. It had
gripped him through the funerals, the confused attempts to put back
the pieces strewn madly by Voldemort's assault, and most tightly
squeezed his heart when they went to visit little Teddy and his
grandmother Andromeda.
	That grasp on his heart steeled him to vow that he would be 
ever a godfather to the child, that he would love, and most
importantly, never forsake his godson. Yet there was a strange healing
he felt as he saw Andromeda coo over the boy. There was the phoenix
rising from the ashes. Poor Andromeda, widowed, childless, holding her
dead husband's namesake, hope stirring restlessly in her arms,
snatched from a cradle of grief.
	It would go on. There was small comfort in that. Harry had 
known it would go on. Whether he came back from King's Cross Station
to face Voldemort or went on himself, the world did not depend on him.
He only hoped the battle would make for a better world.
	His difficulty was seeing how he would go on. 'Neither can
live while the other survives'; it had consumed him, controlled him,
defined him all his life. It did not tell him how one lived when
the other was dead. He had been putting one foot in front of the
other, following the necessities of community and convention until now.
Now that parked path had stopped. He wasn't sure which way went forward.
	"Or we could just sit here," Ginny plopped down beside him.
	Harry looked at her and smiled. He couldn't help it. Ginny was
not conducive to maudlin contemplation. If there was an answer, 
Harry was sure she was it.
	"No, let's go join them," he said, rising and offering his hand.
	"Sure, just when I sit down," Ginny said gaily.

	Hermione and Ron were splashing in the water at the edge of the
lake, engaged in a spirited quest to drench the other as soundly as
they could manage. Their laughter did much to lift Harry's mood.
	"Oi! That's cheating!" Ron roared when Hermione made him drop
his guard with a jumping dance in front of him and then swept her
arm in a wide arc to send a wave at him.
	"All's fair in love and-- whatever this is!" Hermione shouted
back.
	Harry thought it was delightful to see his friends playing in
such a happy mood. He was glad that the friction between them was
absent, at least for the moment. And he had never seen Hermione look
quite so nice as she did in the veritably shining white two piece
suit she was wearing.
	"Want to join them?" asked Ginny.
	"No suit," Harry said.
	She gave him a look both scandalous and pitying. Harry's head
snapped around as he took a closer look at Hermione's new wear. Yes,
definitely spots on her top- right where... It wasn't a suit at all.
Hermione was cavorting in the all-together. What he mistook for a
suit was simply the skin that had been untouched by sun before today.
	"I'm of age now, so you needn't worry," Ginny goaded him, her
fingers ready at the edge of her jumper.
	"Then why not?" Harry blissfully agreed.
	The ambivalence Ron felt between his friend and his sister had
been long washed away under the tide of inevitability. Since Ginny
was so happy it was easy for Ron to accept that there was nothing he
could do to stop it anyway. Harry stripped off with a light heart,
trying to keep up while sneaking glances at the red-haired goddess
being revealed beside him. Hand in hand they ran to the water's edge.
	"Now that was a lot of flopping around, that was," Hermione
said cattily as the pair splashed into the water.
	For her trouble, she was inundated under a wave sent by Ron.
	"There's plenty of flopping here too, you know," he said.
	"I know, I know," Hermione rounded on him.
	But Harry's twinge that the bickering had just erupted died
as it was born. Hermione launched herself through the water at Ron.
She caught him around the waist as her wake swamped them both. Then
they disappeared.
	"Well, now I guess it's just us," Ginny said as she pulled
Harry's hand around her waist and pressed her body to his side.
	They were well into the kiss, Harry had turned and was holding
Ginny with one hand high, one low and hers tight about his neck when
a spluttering splash told then of the re-emergence. They treated it
with supreme indifference.
	"My god! What are you two doing!" Ron shouted in mock despair.
	Ginny couldn't resist. She pulled away from Harry's mouth just
long enough to retort, "Probably half what happened under the water."
	She had a point, Harry thought as her soft lips again met his.
Hermione had definitely been on the downward trend when she pulled
Ron beneath the surface. But that was less than giggle material these
days. The two couples didn't openly discuss such things, but they
weren't shy about acting them out whenever, wherever in their idyllic
seclusion.
	If they wanted privacy, they only had to insure it by moving off
further into the forest nearby. They knew better than to come looking
for each other these days.

	Harry had sought that privacy on that most important day with
Ginny. He was only half nervous, having realized what she had intended
for his birthday gift what seemed like lifetimes before. Still,
knowing Ginny was willing didn't relieve him of the burden of knowing
how to proceed.
	"I hope you don't have to tell me why we're here," Ginny struck
first when he had led her away and turned to speak. "I hope it's not
some noble speech about why we can't."
	Harry shook his head slightly and opened his mouth to say: no.
Any sound was muffled as Ginny flew at him and drove her tongue into
his mouth. It was almost as if no time existed between. Blissful
oblivion, better than firewhisky, he remembered his 17th birthday in
her room. 
	But no intruding Ron broke the spell. Harry could feel Ginny
pulling him down and went meekly. They embraced on their knees as
they had on their feet until Ginny toppled sideways and drew him
with her.
	"I only hoped it would be you," Ginny said strangely, "I never
could believe it would happen. Hermione always laughed at me, but I
didn't dare believe."
	"Ginny, I love you," Harry said earnestly. "I just never wanted
you hurt. I couldn't bear it if you..."
	He couldn't put the thought into words even now.
	"If you weren't there," he substituted, "I don't think I could
have  gone on. I don't think I could care what happened, to me, to
anyone."
	"So, of course, you hurt me," Ginny said with a quaver that might
have been a laugh but for the tears forming in her eyes.
	"I'm so sorry," Harry pleaded, "I'm sorry I hurt you. Please
don't cry."
	"I can't help it. I'm so happy," Ginny breathed and strong hands
pulled Harry's head down to her weeping kiss.
	If it reminded him of Cho, it was only to destroy the concept. If
he mused how Ginny hardly ever cried, it only reminded him how
important these hours were for them both. And all that was lost as
Ginny's hands moved under his shirt and roamed his naked flesh.
	He did what he could under the conditions, but it seemed he was
always following Ginny's lead. She was the one struggling with his
buttons when he removed his shirt. She was the one that finally jerked
free of her top and removed the struggle with the clasp of her bra
before Harry had to make a fumbling attempt.
	He was grateful for the help. But when it came to the moment of
truth, she left Harry on his own. He was poised on the edge of a
momentous occasion. He felt perhaps he should do more. Had he made it
as special for Ginny as it was for him?
	"Be gentle now," Ginny said in a small voice.
	He hadn't thought she might be as nervous as he was. She hadn't
shown that in her leading him to this point. Harry hadn't given it any
thought because he truly didn't care, but a thought came to him.
	"You've never?" he asked softly.
	"No," she said without rebuke. "I never stopped hoping."
	It happened so easily Harry was barely aware anything happened at
all. Her revelation drew them into another kiss, more heated and
passionate than all before. Somewhere in the twisting, thrashing throes
Harry felt Ginny come to him- or perhaps he went to her. There was warm
and damp embracing his manhood. It was slickly living and invited him 
deeper. He moved without considering the import as his love poured out
more of the comfort she craved in his arms.
	She jerked a bit and went still for a beat as he passed her
innocence and then was more fiery and demanding. She squirmed in his
arms and her hips moved. Harry was finally aware that he was indeed
with his love for the first time. The shock of the tardy revelation
made him gasp.
	"What are you gasping for?" Ginny sniggered through tear-stained
eyes. "It doesn't hurt boys. I've asked."
	The moment of lightness made the weight lift from Harry's
shoulders. He'd done it- at least the first bit. He was inside a woman-
the woman. The world seemed intact. Now he only had to finish without
disgracing himself.
	There were no worries there. For a most recent virgin, Ginny was
eerily skilled in hinting what he should do. Her hips urged, slowed,
guided, and most magnificently sent love, warmth and good things
through Harry's entire being as they consummated their love.
	"Ginny!" "Yes, Harry, yes!"
	It was perfect. Ginny swore she would tell anyone who asked. They
were at the fever pitch together- as one. They couldn't argue who
started it because neither knew. They dropped into the sea of warm 
forgetfulness together, leaving a single circle of ripples spreading
out and tickling them both with renewed waves of completion and desire.

	And now Harry had a problem. His reminiscence of that day had
given him an urgent erection. Keeping his back to the others, he edged
Ginny toward deeper water.
	"If that's all you're going to do, we might as well leave," 
Hermione threatened as they sidled from the shore.
	Ginny gave Harry an evil grin. He matched it with one of his own.
Harry pulled Ginny and her trailing arm in an arc while he reached back
for the surface. Together, Ginny, her arm and Harry's arm came forward
splashing a deluge over Hermione.
	Ron splashed to her defence, yelling, "It's on! Oh yes, it's on!"
	They spent a wearying half hour yelling, splashing and trying to
run in the shallows. Harry had rarely laughed so much at one go. His
joy was spiked with the spice of Hermione acting so much like a silly
young girl.
	He loved Ginny, no doubt, and Hermione was like a sister, but he
still found himself goggling at the bedraggled nymph cavorting with
him. He didn't think of Hermione as prudish- strict and perhaps a bit
authoritarian, but not prim or stuffy. Yet he couldn't recall ever even
catching a glimpse of skin. Not even in those long months alone in the
tent.
	And here she was, naked for the world to see, prancing without a
care. He couldn't help looking. She was certainly easy to look at, from
the way her untouched skin marked her like the swimsuit he had mistaken
it for to the bounty that had been covered to keep it untouched. She
was a fine woman. Ron was a lucky guy. Almost as lucky as Harry,
although, love her as he did, he knew he and Hermione would be destined
to a lifetime of spats were they the lovers.
	Of course, she and Ron seemed destined for the same, but Ron
seemed to thrive on that.
	They finally slogged to the shore to collapse on the sun warm
grass. They lay there, basking for a while when Hermione turned over
and propped herself up on an elbow.
	"All right, Harry?" she said.
	"Seen enough?" she cut off his reply to what he took as a greeting.
	His mouth worked soundlessly and then he went beet red as he
heard Ginny giggle. Ron had lifted his head to see about the commotion
and Harry didn't know if they were having him on or setting up a
confrontation.
	"I... ah... um... er..." Harry gurgled.
	"I understand, you know," Hermione gave him the teacher voice, "I
do. I've never been this bold. But it is rude to stare."
	"And anyway," she said lightly, stretching her arms over her head
in a move that made her breasts disturbingly attractive, "I imagine
you'll have the chance to look all you want from now on, because I've
decided that I like being bold."
	Harry felt like he was baking from the inside when Ron flopped on
his back and said, "Go on, Harry. She's having a bit of fun. She told
me your eyes would pop out if you saw her naked."
	"Well, I... ah, yeah," Harry finally found his tongue. "It's just
that I've never seen you like this, Hermione."
	They all laughed at his inadvertant joke and Harry had to smile 
as well. At least Ginny seemed to be taking it well. But the shock was
how blase Ron remained. He didn't seem to have an inkling of fear that
Hermione's exposure might start unwanted affections.

	"Harry Potter? Cheat on me?" Ginny was treating his concern with
laughing scorn, "I know you better than that, Harry. You're too damn
noble. And you're too smart to think that Hermione can give you half of
what I have to offer."
	"Seriously," she said soberly, "I know you too well. Why do you
think I cried so much when you thought you broke up with me?
	"When I thought?" Harry began.
	"We both knew why you did that," she nodded, "You thought it was
noble purpose and I knew it was some stupid thing about keeping me from
harm."
	She kept him from arguing with a sharply cocked eyebrow that made
Harry think of her mother and went on, "So I cried. I cried for losing
you. I cried for the danger you were going to face. I cried because you
were dead. Then I had it out of the way. Whatever happened, I had
already grieved. I would be strong for you. I could face anything and
carry on. And I did, we did. Now there's nothing to face but being
together and being happy.
	"I know you love me. And I know that what you feel for Hermione,
and what Hermione feels for you, has nothing to do with that. Hermione
was having you on just because you're so sincere about stuff like this."
	It was a relief not to have to explain himself. Harry wasn't sure
what he would say. But so much of being with Ginny was relief, and joy.
	"So what about Ron?" Harry asked, "Why has he stopped being such
a berk about these things?"
	"Home cooking," Ginny said, screwing her finger into Harry's
stomach, "It's a known fact that boy are, well, a lot less like boys
when they're kept well-fucked and well-tended."
	Harry smiled at the idea and then had to shake his head to
dislodge the image forming. He didn't really need to imagine Hermione
with Ron. Particularly since he had the ammunition to make a pretty
direct hit on the reality.

	"What possible danger could they be in, Molly?" Mr. Weasley was
asking his wife. "Voldemort's dead. His followers are captured or
fleeing. Kingsley is on top of it and there's never been better days
in our lifetimes."
	"But our family is so much smaller now. Don't you think we
should be together?" Molly whined.
	Arthur didn't want to stir the new grief, but he didn't see
what else to do.
	"We've suffered much less than many families," he said gently.
"And with Percy back, we're almost completely whole."
	"But where?" Molly continued. "Bill off with that French tart,
George doing who knows what in London, Ron and Ginny off 'seeing
the world', there's no one left at home!"
	"Ahh..." tutted Mr. Weasley wisely, "But that's the point isn't
it? Raise them well so they can go out and make their marks on the
world?"
	"But what do I do? Who do I cook for? What is my purpose?"
Molly wailed.
	"You'll always have me, Mollywobbles," Arthur tried.
	His grin became fixed as his wife threw up her hands and turned
away. Maybe employment outside the home, Arthur thought.

	"She iz your muzzer, but I am your wife," Fleur was sulking at
Shell cottage at nearly the same moment.
	"But I don't see how that changes anything," Bill said. "I'm not
asking to leave you. I want us both to go. Just a visit. Just
occasionally. No more than once a week."
	"'Ow will she adjust if you pamper 'er?" Fleur retorted.
	"You know how hard she took Fred dying," Bill began.
	"I liked Fred. 'E wuz funny- tres amusing. I miss 'im also, but
we must go on. I will tell 'er zis," Fleur maintained.
	Seeing that train wreck coming, Bill looked down at his bloody
steak and stabbed at it with his knife. He didn't much like the idea
of stepping into the breach himself, but he was the eldest son. 
Perhaps they could work out a schedule for the brothers to take turns.
Charlie was the lucky one. No way he could be made to feel obliged
to make regular trips from Romania. But Percy... Percy had some making
up to do.

	"Eh? Can't 'ear' you," George was making the same lame joke once
more.
	Verity rolled her eyes, but the young witch George was addressing
giggled invitingly. At least Mr. Weasley was firm about the policy of
keeping his quill out of the employees. Not that he was disgusting or
anything, he had quite the sharp mind for business, but his approach
was so obvious. Of course, that might very well be the point.
	Verity was glad her employer didn't think she fell into that
category. She was a career witch. She was above all that, even if she
had been tempted to test Mr. George Weasley's resolve when Mr. Fred
was killed. It would have been an act of respect, to ease his grief,
if she hadn't quickly realized that it would be detrimental and of
very little real use to either of them.
	He hadn't been very receptive anyway, she recalled. She didn't
remember the little pair of novelty boots over the office door hanging
so quiet for so long ever before.
	As she watched George cuddle up to the giggler, she didn't think
the boots would be quiet long.
	"Excuse me, miss?" her thoughts were interrupted by a young witch
holding a Patented Daydream. "What kind of dream is this- exactly?"
	Still unsure if it was a lark or a confused girl trying to
solicit information from the wrong source, Verity ended the young
girl's long string of questions with a cheeky answer.
	"It will take you to the extent of your experience, that's all.
If you've never even been kissed, then you're wasting your money."
	Her concern that her impatience might have cost a sale evaporated
into a smile when she heard the little set of boots knocking over the
office door. She looked for George, knowing full well where he was at
the moment and, more or less, what he was up to.

	The hedges were growing shabby. The peacocks were in molt. The
whole manor had taken on the air of seclusion of the family huddling
together inside. To be generous, it might be said to be a winter pause
gathering for the coming spring, but since the Malfoys were never 
generous without expectations of gain, I won't be either. 
	"Pure blood MUST count for something. We are the cream of the
wizarding world. The cream will rise, mark my words."
	Lucius heard only the deafening roar of indifference as he 
repeated the same rant for the uncountable repetition. Narcissa sneered
with some contempt, but Draco no longer even heard him.
	They followed him because their fathers were afraid of his
father- or expecting some hand-out, same thing, Draco was musing. Well,
sure, he knew that in some sense. They responded well to orders on some
level as well. But they had no feeling, none, toward him.
	He'd gotten a bad bargain. Famous Harry Potter was still
everyone's darling and he... He was stuck with a weak old fool that had
proved his quality quailing under the amused mocking of the Dark Lord.
	Well, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, Draco thought in
a rare moment of self-examination. Allowing himself, however briefly,
to admit that his own ambivalence, and outright terror in the face of
Voldemort, had a connection, perhaps a bloodline, to the old man he was
reviling at the moment.
	"Something to eat, Draco dear?" Narcissa hoped to break Draco's
mood.
	"No Mother, I won't have anything," Draco replied.
	Potter! Mudbloods! Everything he had been told upside down! Draco
couldn't even work up the indignation to stir him from his malaise. He
had everything- everything he had been told was his by right- that was
his by the very nature of the world- taken from him.
	He no longer cherished the illusion it was a set-back, like his
father. It was defeat. All the proud little games, all the mischief,
the air of certainty, it had been based on Voldemort's return. And
he wasn't coming back now, was he?
	He was still rich, but rich wasn't enough. Old words, Voldemort's
words, came back to him: there is no good and evil; only power and
those too weak to seek it. Voldemort's defeat did not make them less
true. Their truth was one more defeat for Draco. He had proven to be
one of those too weak to take power.
	Draco stirred. Narcissa followed his movement attentively. She no
longer had anyone but her son. 

	"I think it's getting time to go," Harry said as he sat with his
head on Ginny's shoulder. "We have to sometime. But I don't know where."
	Ginny turned and looked down into the brilliant green eyes. It
was nice to see them not filled with anger, fear or purpose, but she
also noted the sad lack of peace.
	"Shush now," she laid her finger on his lips and he kissed it.
"You've got a mountain of gold in Gringotts..."
	Harry stirred and opened his mouth to protest. Ginny put her
finger as a bar across his mouth and continued.
	"You've got a mountain of gold in Gringotts and I'm a Weasley,"
she said. "I know you want to do something. This isn't about being
so rich you can laze your life away. But we've got time- time for
you to figure it out. I've had a lifetime of making Sickles do the
work of Galleons. There's no hurry. Let it come to you. I'm sure
we'll get by."
	Harry knew he was being gently teased but he couldn't resent
it, not when Ginny was making sense; sense and a promise to be there
with him. This wasn't something he could face and defeat. It wasn't
a snitch to catch. This was settling on what he wanted and he'd had
precious little experience with that in his life.
	"Then what do you want?" Harry turned the question to Ginny.
	She raised her head and shook out her ginger hair. Harry
sighed as the motion brought strands fragrant with her summer scent
tickling across his face.
	"I don't know," she said thoughtfully. "Maybe we should stay
at home and make babies."
	Harry sat up and looked at her. They had never gotten that far
in the discussion of being together forever. That talk always seemed
to get side-tracked into baby-making practice.
	"Seriously?" he asked, "Then don't you think we ought to get
married?"
	"I thought you'd never ask," Ginny batted her eyelashes at him,
before breaking into giggles that became a raucous laugh.
	"All right, Harry?"
	This time it was an honest inquiry from Hermione, who was
cuddling with Ron on the other side of the tent.
	"Hermione! He just asked me to marry him!" Ginny managed to
just get out past gasping breaths.
	"Well done, Harry," Hermione said, seeing the situation and
joining in the new favorite pastime of winding Harry up.
	"Well now, mate, I'm glad you're going to make her an honest
woman," Ron joined in. "I was going to have a talk with you about that."
	That was about enough of that. Harry could forgive Ginny almost
anything and he was so happy to see Hermione frivolous that he accepted
her gibes as well, but Ron? There was male pride at stake there.
	"Me? What about you?" Harry asked. "How long do you think 
Hermione is going to let you hang about once I take the plunge?"
	Ron sputtered something that sounded like, "yeah, well" and
turned the shade of his hair.
	"Go on, Ron," Hermione jostled him, "They're not serious."
	"You're not serious, are you?" she checked with a sudden
turn of her head.
	"He did ask," Ginny maintained, unwilling to let it go.
	"And I'll stand by it," Harry said, bringing a bit of a lull
and catching Ginny in mid-laugh.
	"Make it official?" he asked and went to one knee. "Generva
Weasley, will you marry me?"
	There was a hush no one was willing to break. Ginny stared
down where Harry's hand held hers in uncertain silence.
	"Are you serious? Are you making fun of me?" she asked barely
above a whisper.
	"Dead serious," Harry said. "Though we might postpone the
wedding a bit if you don't mind."
	"Like until we can revive your mother from her faint," he added,
skirting dangerously close to levity, but then turning serious once
more, "I mean it. I've only wondered if you'd have me. Or if I'd be
around to have. I want no other. Yes, I'm serious. Will you marry
me?"
	Whether more official or less, guardians of propriety will have
to answer. Ginny made no verbal reply. Instead, she pulled Harry up
by his hand and flew into his arms. Their kiss made Ron and Hermione
turn away instinctively. Catching them in the act of making love was
one thing, but that kiss, somehow, seemed more intimate, more indecent
to intrude upon.

	"Now about that other thing," Harry said as they lay cramped 
together on the camp bed. "Staying home and making babies?"
	"I think I wanted to see if you were willing," Ginny confessed.
"You know we've never talked. And you were thinking about the future
and all."
	"Then let's talk now," Harry said, eager for what he saw as a
small glimpse into the future that had been bewildering him, "Do you
see babies in the future?"
	"I'm a Weasley," she said. "Obviously, I was the baby, but 
babies in the future is a family trait. Do you see babies in the future?"
	Knowing his own mind, Harry had seen no reason to announce it.
Not being as perceptive as Hermione, or Ginny for that matter, he
hadn't understood that Ginny needed to know his answer. 
	"Lots of them," he said. "All looking like their beautiful mother
and never knowing how special it is to have parents that love and care
for them."
	Being perceptive, Ginny finally fell on the huge flaming signpost
that announced Harry's ever-burning desire and eternal regret. Not that
she hadn't known it in some general sense. But now she knew she figured
in his vision.
	"You want to start now?" Harry asked as Ginny pressed her rear 
against his groin and wiggled it seductively.
	"That's the question isn't it?" she purred, as happy as she was 
when Harry was finally hers. "But I think you were right. It's tacky
to have your children as guests at the wedding."

	Chapter 2- Lost and Found

	Even Ron was overwhelmed by his mother flitting about him like a
moth around a candle flame. With no one to watch, he accepted the
smothering hugs and affectionate touches with good grace and the near
constant outpourings of her cooking with zest. But there were times
when it was inconvenient to have a mother around.
	Intrigued by Harry's mirror, Hermione had researched the spell
and reproduced it on a pair of, interestingly enough, crystals balls.
The irony of using tools of her least beloved subject was not lost on
her.
	"This way at least they're of some use," Hermione had said as she
presented Ron with one of the pair.
	Ever improving on previous design, Hermione had discovered that
the balls added a benefit of perspective lacking in the mirrors. That
was, the projected image grew or receded and with it the scope of the
scene depending on how near or far the other person was from the ball
and in a realistic three dimensions.
	The growing heat between Ron and Hermione made Ron bristle when
his mother's coddling forced his face close to the globe so that he
wouldn't be discovered in some compromising act. There were stolen
moments, mostly late at night, which was early morning for Hermione,
where the lovers could stand back to admire each other fully, although
it was pale comfort since admiring was all they could do.
	Now in Brisbane, Hermione was finding it more of a task than she
had anticipated to trace Wendell and Monica Wilkins in their great
liberating trek across the great Down Under. Some of their trail had to
be communicated in whispers to Ron, who, uncharacteristically, was
gallantly silent at the more risque features of Hermione's parents'
voyage to seek their magically implanted dreams.
	"Perhaps my mind wasn't as undivided as it should have been,"
Hermione lamented after relating a sighting of her parents engaged in
aboriginal fertility rites. "I had a lot on my mind those days."
	"We all did," Ron replied, "And we didn't know the half of it, 
did we?"
	"I meant you, dunderhead," Hermione said sharply. "All we went
through and then finally settling on... You know what happened as well
as I do."
	"Me?" Ron was shocked. "You let me mess up a spell?"
	"Always the note of surprise," Hermione mocked him, "Maybe I
shouldn't let something so insignificant matter to me."
	"I never thought you would," Ron said soberly, "It's not like you
have to. I'm just Ron. It's enough that you fancy me."
	"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione thundered in a tone that both reminded
Ron of his mother and made him fear the commotion would bring her,
"Don't you ever say things like that to me. I won't have you feeling
inferior. It's your only problem, you know. You do quite well when
you're not worrying about not being good enough."
	It was as if the crystal balls retained some power to reflect
more than images, or perhaps it was the familiarity when her face 
softened to a grin. Ron's mind was immediately filled with images of
Hermione, Hermione in his arms, Hermione around him, Hermione
encompassing him.
	"That's all you, isn't it," Ron blushed. "A bloke can't help but
be... energetic when he's with a woman like you."
	"Well, I guess you aren't so insignificant," Hermione smiled at
Ron's blush as much as his words. "Not as I remember."
	The brief flare of bickering was extinguished in a flood of
stuttering references and giddy professions as they settled back into
assurances of their love and the desire to be together again. Pain such
as none can bear, surely, was their lot when they were parted.

	Harry wasn't sure if Mad Eye's spell knew Snape was dead or if it
had finally realized Moody was or if it had finally faded. He was
grateful not to have his tongue roll up or be greeted by a ghostly
Dumbledore.
	It wasn't that he had to impress Ginny. In some heroic sense the
magic added to his stature, but he wanted it to be perfect. In its
possibilities the house was quite nice, really. Only the possibilities
were a long way off if you looked at it objectively.
	He knew better. Ginny had spent more time in his house than he
had and was aware of all that. How drab or how much work it would take
to resuscitate the neglect of decades wouldn't put her off. He knew,
but his knowledge had no power over the desire of his heart for it to
please her.
	"Welcome home," he whispered as they entered the hall of 12 
Grimmauld Place.
	"I guess you don't have to carry me over the threshold this
time," Ginny whispered in reaction to Harry's somber mood.
	Oh- it was a joke, she might have said, but in that softer place
that her hard shell protected, it was telling Harry that all was indeed
perfect. It was a house that had accommodated her whole family and
more, if not comfortably, at least well enough. There were rooms for
children, many children, and space for all the things a happy family
might do.
	They tip-toed past the curtained portrait of Mrs. Black and
paused. There was no Kreacher in the kitchen with a shepherd's pie for
them. Harry had not recalled him from his post at Hogwarts while he was
on holiday. There was little to do in the sitting room. Harry didn't
feel the urge to sit.
	It was another urge that made Ginny cast her eyes up the stairs
with a smile creeping across her pretty face. Her face was serious,
however, when she turned to Harry.
	"This place has a lot of memories," she said bluntly. "Sirius, 
Mad Eye, even Snape, my father nearly dying, Ron made prefect, Fred and
George together..."
	Harry was sobered. He thought he had misinterpreted her smile.
Even the joy this place had entertained was now touched with sadness. 
Perhaps it was foolish to think they should come here.
	"I didn't mean to make you sad," Ginny said as Harry's face 
reflected his thoughts. She slipped her hand into his. "I only meant to
say that will always be a part of this place for us. Now is the time to
make new memories, happy memories, to put the old ones in their place."
	Harry was cautious to interpret her meaning when she pulled his
hand and led him up the stairs.
	"Now which room should be ours?" she asked on the second floor.
	"Not the one with the portrait of Phineas Nigellus," was Harry's
immediate reply.
	Not Sirius's room- that would be too painful, not Regulus's with
the Slytherin banners: Ginny pushed open the door of Mrs. Black's room.
It was the master bedroom. Harry was master of the house. It had also
been the residence of Buckbeak which he rather preferred to thinking
of it as Mrs. Black's.
	"What do you think?" Ginny asked once more as she had at each
door.
	"I think this is our room now," Harry declared, feeling more
certain when he heard his words aloud.
	"Then this is our bed," Ginny said, pulling him over to sit on it
beside her. "Now about those happy memories..."
	He had only wanted it to be perfect for her. He didn't fear her
turning away to pursue another, not really, even if she had shown the
tendency before. He knew, knew in a way beyond understanding, that she
was his. They had exchanged so much in the brief weeks away from the
world. She had shown him her fear and concerns as naked as her body 
was quickly becoming as she stripped off.
	He only desired it to be perfect because she deserved no less,
because he wanted to give her no less. And now she was setting all his
accounts askew as she came to him with love in her eyes and set him in
debt he could never repay.
	"I love you, Ginny," was what his mouth managed.
	"Then I want to see some proof," Ginny answered, fixing him with
eyes full of a desire that was dangerous.
	Oh best of women, my love, that the field on which I prove, be no
less than your form complete, and my love hounded by yours in a contest
where I but dare compete.
	Or so sang Harry's soul as Ginny roughly shelled him from his
clothes and fell on him. Thoughts of perfection were lost in
perfection. The world was not with him as they grappled in embrace.
There was only the fair face with its slightly lidded eyes making his
heart leap and the rest of her making more animal parts of him throb
with desire.
	It was, as it always had been, always would be, the thing that he
lost being restored. A part of himself that he had never known was
being returned to him. Ginny sighed softly as he moved within her. Her
hand tousled his hair, bringing so many emotions. Harry was content.

	As he moved from content to need, a whisper slid through the hall
below. Cries not meant to be overheard were the reminder Yaxley carried
out into the London cold. Scowling at his fugitive lot while the
brainless boy howled with pleasure, Yaxley paused a moment before he
turned.
	Where now? Now his sanctuary was invaded, where would he find to 
hide? An expression of contempt twisted Yaxley's mouth as he hit on the
least pleasing, but perhaps last possible refuge. Fixing his mind on
the iron door, he turned into oblivion, aiming at last to arrive on 
the steps of the Manor Malfoy.

	"I'm with you, I am," George said to his eldest brother. "I can 
see how it must be. I've got some experience in feeling alone myself."
	Fred's death loomed as a specter over them all, but Bill could
understand that it haunted none of them as it did George, the constant
conspirator, the permanent mirror-image. He knew as well that the
twins' constant war with their mother masked a contradictory affection
that by its volume beggared the rest of the family's.
	"I'm not saying you have to move in, but we should all do our
part to ease the shock," Bill said.
	"Easy enough for me," George concurred, "I can leave Verity in
charge a day or two. She can run things easily enough."
	"With Ron home at the moment, I think she's occupied but I'm
thinking past that," Bill said.
	While his brother had an excellent idea, George glanced out
between the curtains of the office at Fleur. Yes, Gringotts was down
the street, but even coming back to London Bill had never been chained
to the office.
	"So how are things with you and Fleur?" George asked.
	"She's a Veela, brother," Bill sighed. "You can't resist her
because you don't want to, and you better not because of that other
side."
	"Oh- rough," George poked Bill, "You import a bon-bon and hold
out for sympathy because she's too sweet."
	George knew little more than when he first asked. Still there was
something on Bill's mind. Being Bill there was no way to pull that from
him. It was something that Bill let on at all.
	"I'm not saying there's anything wrong," Bill said emphatically.
"I knew what I was getting. I wanted a women with spirit. No drab
little mouse for Bill Weasley. It's just... Well, sometimes it's hard
not to be bowled over."
	"Pecked are you?" George laughed. "It couldn't happen to a nicer
guy. I guess you're learning something about the cost of deluxe models.
You get what you pay for and you pay for what you get."
	Verity had heard that shopkeeper's adage before. She had been
more interested in Mr. George expressing his faith in her. It gave her
a nice secure feeling, a feeling of being appreciated.
	She wasn't so much eavesdropping, that was impossible in the face
of the imperious beauty addressing her, but she had caught Mr. George's
praise.
	"Of courze zey are not like my Bill," Fleur was saying, "But
zere are certainly otherz that could make you a fine 'usband."
	Verity appreciated the well-meaning attempt, particularly since
she knew it was gracious of Fleur to notice her at all, but she was
keeping  her own counsel about the length of her hair and her life
aims. If a wizard came along, the right wizard, she might change her
mind, but as it was she had a position- a position from what she
overheard that was secure and she needed little else.
	"No, Mr. Bill needs better than me, but I don't want to settle,"
Verity said with a touch of irony in her shopkeeping manner. "Anyway I
have what I need here. It won't be long until Mr. George opens another
shop and I'm hoping he thinks of me to run it. It's the career I've
chosen and I like it."
	Fleur struggled to keep her nose from wrinkling at the thought of
keeping a shop rather unsuccessfully, but the effort was noted. Then
Bill came in to collect her and she left with a parting good bye.
	"Anything I can do, Mr. Weasley?" Verity peered inside the
curtains.
	"What? Oh no, Verity, just family business. Go on with what you
were doing," George replied.

	"Kreacher?" Harry called out in the kitchen.
	He wasn't at all sure about the status of his house elf, if
Kreacher was still his at all. He had lent Kreacher to Hogwarts in his
mind, but he wasn't sure how that worked. And Hermione was on the other
side of the world where he couldn't ask her.
	But he was freshly pressed, newly washed, naked under his robes
and ravenous after the activities that led to all that. Ginny was
wandering about the room, trailing a hand along a table, re-living
things that had been before as she adjusted to the way things were now.
She was likewise naked and ravenous, but more inclined to substitute a
second helping of sex for food.
	Then there was a loud crack and Kreacher appeared in front of
Harry. He was wearing the tea towel with the Hogwarts crest and Regulus
Black's locket still about his neck.
	"Master," Kreacher's nose touched the floor in his deep bow. His
bullfrog voice empty of the contempt Harry had heard in it many times
before.
	"Then you're still my elf? Good," Harry said almost to himself.
"Are you able to stay with me or do you have duties at Hogwarts?"
	The questions seemed to confuse Kreacher. He looked up with his
 watery eyes and answered simply, "I am bound to Harry Potter. Duties
at Hogwarts will pass to another elf."
	"I'm glad to see you," Harry said genuinely, "I need... oh, first
this is Ginny, Ginny Weasley. She lives here now with me. I'm going to
marry her."
	Kreacher simply stared at Harry. As complex as their relations
were and confusing as this gale of information was, Kreacher had not
heard a question nor a command. Being introduced to a witch, by a
wizard no less, was something he had no guide for a response.
	"Master Harry?" Kreacher reverted to the standard response.
	Memories of Dobby painfully returned as Harry noted the contrast
between the elves. Where Dobby had been efflusive about Harry's
greatness, Kreacher was confused by the same graciousness. Harry made
another try explaining himself.
	"I want you to take care of Ginny as you do me," Harry said. "She's your mistress like I'm your master."
	Kreacher nodded soberly. That was expressed in a way he had no
trouble processing.
	"Oh- oh yes, can you get us something to eat?" Harry asked.
	"What does Master desire?" Kreacher asked.
	Harry looked to Ginny. She shrugged her shoulders.
	"Something light," Harry said. "Bacon, eggs, toast, tea. And you
don't have to call me master."
	"What does master wish to be called?" Kreacher was obstinate.
	"You- as in what do you want, or Harry," Harry said, "And she's
Ginny."
	Kreacher simply nodded and walked quickly to the pantry.
	"A mountain of gold AND a house elf. Seems like I've made quite 
a catch," Ginny teased. "Now I better get pregnant before it all slips
away."
	"I thought you didn't want our children at the wedding?" Harry
laughed.
	"That's for little people," Ginny went on. "There are more
important issues when you're going for the gold ring."
	"You're the gold ring," Harry turned serious again. "If getting
you pregnant is what it takes, then I think we better keep trying to
make sure."
	"You're the one that wanted to eat," Ginny reminded him.
	Kreacher seemed happier in his accustomed role setting plates of
delicious smelling food before the couple. Harry took the cue and
didn't disturb the elf's efficiency. He decided instead to set on the
food with great gusto, showing his appreciation and filling his belly
in one.

	"Ronald Weasley!"
	This time there was no confusing the voice or the tone. Ron
startled and then cautiously poked his head around the corner to see
his mother holding up a pair of socks- that pair of socks.
	"What is the meaning of this, Ronald?" Molly demanded.
	She was too warm for him to feign innocence. He knew very well
what she meant. Those were the socks he used to catch his semen when 
he masturbated with Hermione.
	The very thought brought something of a change to Ron. It was
Hermione after all. He wasn't going to be ashamed of her. Her strength-
largely in the form of her latest browbeating- stiffened him.
	"I'm a grown man, mother," Ron said. "That is hardly any business
of yours, but as you want to know, it's from the feelings I have for
Hermione when I talk to her."
	Molly took a step back as if staggered. Ron? Little Ronald? Mixed
with the shock was the implication her agile mind ran to beyond her
bidding. Bill was married, so of course. George and Fred- now just
George of course, they were free spirits. Even Percy perhaps, but Ron?
The idea struck her like a slap.
	"Hermione? Hermione Granger? That little girl that has stayed
with us so many times?" Molly goggled, "And what else have you and Miss
Granger been getting up to?"
	"Not much, seeing she's at the other end of the world," Ron said
tersely, "But whatever you're thinking is probably true. I love her and
she loves me. I plan on marrying her someday."
	It was the first Ron had said the words, although he felt it was
a mutually accepted fact between Hermione and him. He softened his last
words out of concern for the look of distress on his mother's face.
	"Now what is going on here?" Mr. Weasley came into the kitchen
in time to see his wife crumble.
	"What did you say to her?" he rounded on Ron.
	"I just said..." Ron began.
	"Nothing Arthur, nothing," Molly cut across him. "It's just that
my boy is all grown up. There's nothing we can do, is there?"
	Seeing his chance, Ron slipped back into the other room. As he
left he saw his father take the socks from his wife and regard them
with suspicion.
	His parents' voices were like the murmur of winds on a lonely
night as he moved away. It was the sound of them discussing grown-up
things, secret things in his childhood. For once, he had no wish to
know what those things were. He could guess near enough.
	He had nothing to be ashamed about. Beyond some sadness at adding
to his mother's precarious state, he knew he had done the right thing.
He wished Hermione could have seen his bravery. It was all her, after
all. He would have never stood up for himself, but he couldn't let
anyone, not even his mother, speak ill of her.
	It was harder to keep that resolve when his father sought him
out.
	"Your mother and I have had a talk," the elder Weasley began as
he sat down, cornering Ron in his chair. "It seems things have been
going on under our noses that we only just found out about."
	He didn't seem angry, but he never seemed angry, even when he
was. Yet there was something in his serious look that kept Ron from
feeling the need to rise.
	"I didn't mean to upset her," Ron felt a sudden need to
apologize.
	"Yes, yes, your mother is having a difficult time adjusting," Mr.
Weasley waved Ron away on his way to his concern, "It seems all our
children have gone off to find lives of their own. But it's you I want
to talk about, Ronald." 	 
	Ron was hardly ever addressed as 'Ronald' by his father. It made
him sit up straighter in his chair.
	"Yes, Dad," Ron said, his throat tight.
	"I suppose I mean to ask your intentions," Mr. Weasley was
bewilderingly unclear and seemed to be searching for words, "If you
have, and I don't mean for you to answer, had... relations with
Hermione then I must tell you it is a dangerous thing to trifle with a
woman's heart."
	Ron almost laughed from relief. It was an eerie feeling to be,
not so much addressed as an equal, but taken as one on the same level.
In fact, he felt more at ease than his father seemed.
	"I told Mum I'm going to marry her," Ron said. "I meant it. I
want her and she wants me. I'm not trifling."
	Mr. Weasley relaxed. Something of the familiar grin came to his
face, the grin that said: then it's all right as long as your mother
doesn't know.
	"Glad to hear it, son. Glad to hear it," Mr. Wesley sounded
normal, "She is quite the bright one, isn't she. And muggle-born, how
delightful. A wonderful addition. Then is a celebration in order?"
	Ron felt the need to restrain him. Now he was going off too far
in the other direction. He needed to call a halt.
	"No, not yet," Ron said a trifle too squeakily and blushed, "I
mean, I haven't officially asked her... and we weren't going to do it
right away. And it's not the time. But it will be. I promise."
	"Your mother seems to think the 'doing' is long past," Mr.
Weasley teased Ron, "And she knows about these things. But I think we
can wait to celebrate until you ask the young lady."
	"Thanks, Dad," Ron breathed, "But what do you think Mum will say 
when she finds out about Ginny?"
	A shadow of concern crossed Arthur's face as he digested that bit
of information. It seemed he had not let his mind wander as far as the
youngest in his brood or what she might be up to on her extended holiday.
	"Ginerva is of age, of course," he began sensibly and then
descended into alarm, "What has your sister been doing?"
	Ron had put himself in a hard place. It was so obvious to him he
couldn't see why everyone didn't know. But telling his father about 
the others wasn't the same as confessing himself. His father had a soft
spot for his youngest and Ron didn't want to be the agent of change.
	"Harry asked her to marry him," Ron tried to find safe ground,
"They are very fond of each other. I only meant with us all deserting
our home and all."
	"Ah, Harry is it," Mr. Weasley seemed relieved, "Fine lad, famous 
and all but you'd never know it. Asked Ginny to marry, you say? And are
they off making plans now?"
	Ron had a very good idea exactly the kind of plans they were
making. He was looking forward to those 'plans' himself when Hermione
returned, but he couldn't say that to his father. He only hoped his
father's good opinion of Harry held when he found out.
	"They said something about visiting Harry's house, you know, 12
Grimmauld Place, when we split up," Ron said. "I guess they're cleaning
it up."
	Mr. Weasley thought soberly about that for a long moment. Ron was 
sure he had got to what they were up to. There was a look of sadness,
or perhaps acquiescence on his face when he finished his thoughts.
	"Then it will be cause for two celebrations, I hope in the near
future," he said with a hint of resignation, "And may I suggest you use
a hand towel in the future and rinse it out so your mother doesn't have
to face her little Ron growing up."
	Ron realized how little he had appreciated the balance his father
brought to their family. Even in the face of shocking and obviously
disturbing news, he had the presence to dispense that bit of wisdom.
	His warm feelings were only disturbed by the uncomfortable
stirring inside him. The time for relying on mutual acceptance had
passed when he announced his intentions to his mother. Then next time
he had contact with Hermione, he had to propose. There would be several
kinds of hell to pay if Hermione found out his entire family knew of
his intention before she did.

	"Are you sure this is the time for this?" Ginny asked nervously.
	"When will it be better?" Harry asked. "I don't know that this 
will work and if it doesn't, we'll have time to think of another way."
	The idea had come to him as he walked through the rooms of his 
house. He was, as Ginny before, remembering and realizing he had never 
had such a tour. The last time he had wandered carefree, or as much as
he managed that in his young life, the house had belonged to Sirius.
	He stopped by the tapestry and studied it again. Toujours Pur-
the pureblood motto he wistfully translated as: Tuesday's laundry soap.
Then it hit him. What had Hermione called it? Extinct in the male line.
It was just the kind of thing that might shut her up.
	Perfect went on a ways beyond tip-toeing through your own hall
for fear of a mad portrait of the house's previous owner. There had to
be a way to appease or eliminate Sirius's mother. He didn't know if she
was too mad to listen to reason, but Harry wanted to have a go.
	In a moment of inspiration he had asked Kreacher to accompany
them. Harry was uncertain if it was the voluntary nature of his request
or some distaste for his idea, but Kreacher only reluctantly agreed.
Harry was glad he had. Kreacher figured prominently in his plan.
	"FILTH! Mudbloods! Scum! Blood-traitors defiling the house of my
fathers!"
	There was no hesitation as the curtain opened but Harry fancied 
there was a hint of surprise on Mrs. Black's face for being freed
voluntarily. Harry also noted she had added more hateful spew in honor
of Ginny.
	"Shut UP!" he screamed over her din. "Listen to me. It's MY
house! There is no house of Black!"
	He seemed to make no dent. He didn't know what he had hoped for,
but this wasn't it.
	"They're all DEAD!" Harry shouted. "Sirius is DEAD! Regulus is
DEAD! Bellatrix is DEAD! They're all dead like you! The only remains of
your blood is Narcissa, Andromeda and her half-werewolf grandson!
Narcissa is a MALFOY! There are no BLACKS!"
	The portrait continued to stare wildly at them but stopped the
screams. It seemed to be waiting. Harry pushed Kreacher forward.
	"You know this elf. He's mine as well," Harry said, "But you 
might believe him. Kreacher, tell the truth. Has the Black line died
out as I said it has?"
	Harry felt it was the key. She would know the rules of the house
elf's enslavement. He felt she would trust Kreacher more than a
stranger.
	"Yes, Harry Potter. It is true," Kreacher croaked.
	"You see," Harry said, quieter now, "There is no house of Black.
It has died out. Extinct in the male line, I believe is the phrase.
There is no one to protect the house for. No one to protect the house
from. The world has moved on."
	Then Harry was moved by the truth of his words as much as the
lost madness on the face of the portrait. The words were a club to beat
down his foe but not to mangle its memory.
	"If you will be quiet, you may stay," Harry was generous,
"Otherwise I will keep searching for a way to be rid of you."
	Harry was not sure if it was pride in Hermione or a feeling less
generous when he added, "My friend is a witch that Sirius said was the
brightest witch of her age. She will sort you out if you don't behave."
	Harry closed the curtains, unsure that his words had any effect.
He had quieted her momentarily. That was a start. But whether she would
erupt more terrible at this news or accept defeat was a question that
could only be answered by time.

	"Hermione, I want to ask you something," Ron spoke into his orb.
	"Oh what is it now," Hermione snapped, already bristling at his
hang-dog look and apologetic tone, "Do you want to know about all the 
boys I've been with on my travels?"
	"Yeah- yeah, I do," said Ron, rising, "I think you better tell me
about them now."
	"Why now, Ronald?" Hermione took joy in twisting the knife, "You
haven't cared in weeks past. What makes you interested now?"
	"Because I want to ask you something," Ron was adamant.
	"Something other than how I've been with every boy I've found?"
Hermione sneered.
	"How many boys?" Ron asked heatedly.
	"None, Ronald Weasley, none!" Hermione spat from the edge of
tears. "I thought you'd trust me. I thought we meant something to each
other. I thought you loved me enough to know I wouldn't do that to
you."
	"You brought it up," Ron said grouchily, "I only wanted to ask
you something."
	"And that is?" she was steely even with tears staining her
cheeks.
	"I wanted to ask you to marry me," Ron mumbled.
	"Sorry? I didn't catch that," Hermione glared.
	"Will you marry me?" Ron asked loudly.
	Hermione said nothing. For a moment Ron thought she was about to
turn and run. Ron thought that more emotions than he had felt in his
life passed over her face in the next long minute.
	"Did you ask me to marry you?" Hermione asked in a small voice as
if questioning the reliability of the orbs.
	"Yes, Hermione, will you marry me? Make it official," Ron spoke
with relief now that the words were out. "Not now, obviously, but
sometime and not too far off either."
	"Arse"
	Ron thought he heard it muttered under her breath, but it warred
with the strange look she was giving him. It wasn't quite like any look
he had suffered before, it was wistful and almost sad but, somehow,
content. It didn't look like the face of someone calling him names.
	"Yes Ron, of course, yes, but why now?" Hermione finally spoke.
	Her expression was much more conducive to slandering him as he
told the story of his confrontation with his mother in the kitchen.
	"You... collect your... in your socks?" was Hermione's
contribution.
	"Dad suggested a hand towel," Ron said honestly. "But what does
that matter?"
	"It's... it's... it's... ," she sputtered for a bit, "It's so
like you Ron Weasley. I see I have enough to be going on with with
you."
	For the first time since they had been apart, Ron felt as if her
lips met his when they each kissed their globes in parting. It hadn't
gone so bad, not after the rocky start, he thought.

	Chapter 3 - The Naked Truth

	It was time for Percy to do his part.
	Mrs. Weasley had a way of preaching sermons without saying a word
that drilled into Ron every day after the incident of the socks. It
wasn't that she was so much angry. He felt more like a stubborn stain
that she knew would resist all her efforts to clean.
	Her service at the table had become a bit sharp and there were
few smothering hugs and all but no affectionate touches. Ron felt she
would come around eventually, but saw no need to suffer through the
intervening stretch of time.
	He had an invitation from Bill, negotiated without his knowing,
on an assurance that the other Weasleys would take their turn
'coddling' their mother and Bill and Fleur would stay at home. It
wasn't like he would be in the way. Something had broken when he asked
Hermione to marry him, something bad had been banished. Not having
identified the tension before, Ron was mystified by the difference of
its absence. Now they spent double the time gazing into their orbs and
Ron had taken to carrying his around in case Hermione wanted to reach
him.
	He would be spending his time with a woman half a world away. He
had no intention of being noticed, much less interfere with life at
Shell cottage. It had worked out, if tensely, before. Ron was confident
it could only be better at the second try.

	Ron missed the fireworks by a matter of hours. He had departed
for Shell cottage with a doubly cold send off from both lingering
lessons to be preached and the sense of abandonment. Later in the day,
Molly went on a crazy ride of peaks and valleys when Ginny and Harry
arrived.
	Even without Ron's stumble, Mrs. Weasley had assembled a mother's
suspicion about Ginny's protracted holiday. It was damning enough based
on the facts. Four children off on their own. Two of them were
obviously up to no good and Ginny had always been too wise for her age.
	"Enjoy yourselves on your little detour, did you?" she asked as
they came in the Burrow.
	Harry's senses were keen enough to detect an air of tension,
most times felt just before an outburst. Ginny could have only been
more aware of the signs, and her bubbly behavior mystified Harry.
	"Oh yes, Mummy, we went to Harry's house and you know what he
did?" she left a beat silent and answered herself, "He made Mrs. Black
be quiet. He figured it out. Isn't that clever?"
	"Well, yes... yes, I suppose it is," Mrs. Weasley was bumped off
track by her daughter's revelation, but not so far that she couldn't
ask, "And I suppose that's all you did?"
	"Oh mother, you know it's not honorable for a girl to kiss and
tell," Ginny changed completely in reply, affecting an upper-crust air.
	"And you, Harry," she rounded on him, perhaps knowing her attack
would be more successful, "I never thought you would be so
irresponsible."
	Part of him wanted to ask why having a bit of a holiday after
ridding them of death and slavery at the hands of Lord Voldemort was
too much to ask and most of him wished he could find a nice, safe 
answer that would stop Mrs. Weasley glaring at him. He searched for
the diplomatic answer, but he didn't know what to say.
	"You leave him alone," Ginny came to his rescue as if they were
in the schoolyard and her mother was a playground bully. "You can be
as disappointed as you want with me, but don't have a go at Harry. He's
done nothing but save us all. He's the most honorable.. wonderful...
You just leave him alone."
	What had begun like an animal protecting her territory had
collapsed to near tears, but Ginny was still standing fiercely between
Harry and her mother with her eyes wet.
	"Mrs. Weasley, I think you should know that I've asked Ginny to
marry me," Harry had found the words to say. "She's said yes and I
want you to be happy for us."
	Through the cheek and the deference, Harry had thrown aside his
ill-fated attempts to mollify Mrs. Weasley in favor of his natural
straight line. There was one important fact and it needed to come out-
would come out in any case, and Harry wanted it said.
	"This is so sudden... but you're both far too young... " Mrs.
Weasley tottered from dizzy to concerned like a pendulum. "But you
can't take Ginny now, not right after Ron announced his plans with 
Hermione. I won't have anyone left."
	"Ron asked Hermione?" Ginny was near comical as the news
brightened her face and made her eyes smile over tear-wet lids. "Where
is Ron now?"
	"We didn't know when you were coming and he left this morning to
visit Bill and Fleur," Mrs. Weasley said, a trifle nervously. "But 
don't think of popping right off. Let me feed you at least."
	If Mrs. Weasley seemed a bit spare, at least it hadn't affected
her cooking. She set them steaming bowls of leek and ox tail soup and
went about making a stew. As they sat over their soup, Ginny could
hardly sit still.
	"Do you think he went down on one knee? I would have loved to see
him. I'm so happy for Hermione. Of course, we knew he'd get to it
eventually, but he is Ron... Does that mean Hermione's back? Oh, we
have to see her," Ginny chattered like several programs being broadcast
at once.
	Harry was more subdued.
	"I don't know that he asked her at all," he said quietly.
	"What?" Ginny pulled up abruptly, "But Mum said..."
	"Think about it," Harry said. "We were together until Hermione
went off. He hadn't asked then. And I don't think Hermione would come
back and not let us know. He's my best mate and your brother, but don't
you think he might have said that under pressure? I mean, where is he
and isn't your mother being a bit odd?"
	"A bit odd- yeah," Ginny said, sounding eerily like one of the
twins. "But with the weddings and the scandal..."
	"Scandal?" Harry didn't recall any scandal.
	"You did lure away her only daughter and ravish her, you know,"
Ginny smiled at him. "That you're willing to make it good doesn't stop
me from being a ruined woman."

	Yaxley scarcely noticed the change. There was certainly more of
a house elf's burrow about the Malfoy Manor than the triumphant days
of Voldemort holding court. Lucius was a caricature of his vain,
bombastic self, empty and seeming a bit mad.
	Nor was his welcome enthusiastic. They were trying to distance 
themselves from inclusion in Voldemort's followers. They agreed to 
hide him, not welcome him. Yaxley assumed the conflict in Lucius made
him mad.
	While quite happy to escape notice, for whatever reason, when it
came to punishment, Lucius was vain. His escape from notice had to gall
the vanity of one who fancied himself within the inner circle of the
Dark Lord's followers. Yaxley smirked as he thought of poor self-
important Lucius having his insignificance rubbed in his face.
	But that put done to any thought of relying on Malfoy for any
help in his plans to regain power. Still, the accommodations were good,
if secluded, and the Malfoys were so eager to ignore him that they
could be counted on to not interfere. It was an acceptable hiding place
while he needed to hide.
	Perhaps he would demand it for his own once he had gathered the
remaining Death Eaters and continued the Dark Lord's inevitable
campaign. Certainly Voldemort's powers were undeniable, but it was his
army of loyal followers that had done most of the heavy lifting. For
the most part he had issued orders and killed followers. Yaxley knew
his plans might not be so inspired, but he doubted not killing
followers would lower morale.

	Shell cottage was as cheery as when Ron sought refuge there after
losing Hermione and Harry in the wood. Only this time it was not an
air of disappointment as much as irritation. Contrarily, while neither
Bill nor Fleur seemed to notice him, he still felt an air of unwelcome.
	"Hardly noticed you, little brother. How does that add up to
being a bother?" Bill said with forced jollity.
	"It just seems you two have got... stuff going on and I might be 
in the way," Ron said.
	"Something to do with socks?" Bill asked, "And we'd appreciate it
if you do use socks and not our towels."
	It wasn't his own irritation at being the butt of the joke again
that made Ron drop it. He knew when Bill was being the big brother and
would not offer another shred of information.
	There wasn't anywhere else. He didn't want to return to the
Burrow so soon after leaving and Bill was assuring him he was welcome,
however he felt. He would have to stick to his plan and stay in his
room except to use the bathroom and eat.
	It was such a strange transformation. All Ron's encounters with
Fleur from the first were fraught with humiliation over his giddy
fancy for her, from his mis-guided attempt to ask her to the Christmas
Ball to his tongue-tied babbling when she lived at the Burrow. She was
still as striking, still aglow as she glided around the cottage, yet
the glamour seemed at its end.
	Ron suffered no bumbling and was not haunted by her presence any
longer. She was still beautiful and his brother was lucky to have her,
but Ron found having someone to settle his heart on removed the
witchery that made him long for her.
	"It's like I can feel it in the air," Ron told Hermione. "They
don't say anything, but they're... tense. And they hardly take their
eyes off each other, like they're watching for something."
	"Maybe they're arguing and don't want to do it in front of you,"
Hermione said, happy to hear something so mundane after the
uncomfortable accounts of her parents frolicking starkers in the mud
baths.
	"They don't look like they're arguing," Ron sneered, "It's more
like they're looking for a chance to have it off."
	"Hmmm..." Hermione mused, "But they must have it off all the
time. They're married. It does sound strange."
	It was enough without longing for Fleur or craving her best
opinion of him. He probably would have come on faint if that was the
case. It was strange and more as well.
	Hermione might have been able to decipher more, but Hermione was
the last person Ron wanted at his side when he opened the bathroom door
and discovered a naked Fleur squatting on the loo with a strange device
shoved right up... a place Ron would never, ever, admit to have been
looking at. A gulp, a backwards jump and a slammed door did nothing to
removed the image branded on his brain of his sister-in-law in the
all-together.

	"Umm, Mrs. Weasley, we don't have to stay if it's any bother,"
Harry said.
	"Bother? It's no bother," Mrs. Weasley answered, "And I won't
hear of you two popping off now. It's too late."
	"But I've just been up to Ron's room and it seems the place is
packed with boxes," Harry said.
	"Ron's room?" she asked, "Yes, we did move a few things in there
when he left."
	It seemed to Harry the move had come rather quickly since there 
was such a small interval between Ron's departure and their arrival. To
him it was another sign of Mrs. Weasley's strange behaviour.
	"Then where am I to sleep?" Harry asked, hoping a straight
question would yield a straight answer.
	"I thought you'd be sleeping in Ginny's room. You did say you
were engaged, didn't you?" she said.
	Harry blinked. It seemed a natural thing to do with Mrs. Weasley
bounding from one extreme to the other. First it was a scandal that he,
what had Ginny said? ravished her daughter and now they were supposed
to sleep together. Deciding not to provoke any more violent swings in
her attitude, Harry nodded and backed away.
	"Well it's all right if you're going to make an honest woman of
me. And I can't be ruined again," Ginny explained as she changed into
her nightdress as casually as if they were an old couple. "You know
Bill and Fleur slept together while she was here, except that
Christmas."
	Harry wasn't pondering the intricacies of this reasoning. They
weren't an old couple and watching Ginny disrobe distracted him. His
mouth still went dry when her wonderful breasts came out of her bra,
all milky and capped with bubble-gum pink. She was slender like a
willow until her hips branched and any part of that part of her was
another wonder that would win his attention over brutal pain, much less
some confusing words.
	"You know those are only going to get lost in the covers,"
Ginny brought him back to himself.
	She was pointing at his underpants as he sat on the edge of the 
bed in underpants and t-shirt waiting for her. He looked up at her
evil grin.
	"I didn't think we... I thought we were sleeping. Don't you think
someone might hear?" Harry stumbled.
	"It's only my parents and they're at the other end of the house.
But if you're nervous," Ginny picked up her wand and pointed it at
the floor saying, "Muffliato!"
	Harry skinned out of his shorts and left the t-shirt on. As he
and Ginny slid together under the covers, he was struck by the way
their lovemaking echoed Mrs. Weasley's conflicting moods. Above, they
seemed clothed, having a rather heated snog. Below, Ginny's warm skin
met his below the border of his shirt and her rucked up nightdress.
	Ginny was as wonderful as ever. Their half-clothed lovemaking was
another in the ever-changing journey that was at once always the same
in its intensity and fulfillment.  

	"Oh Ronald! Stop being such a puppy and kiss me," Hermione said
after Ron confessed his bathroom peek, "As if Fleur ever had any
interest in you."
	Seeing his lip curl, Hermione rushed to soothe him.
	"And I know you didn't mean it," she said earnestly, "I trust
you. It's okay. Now can I have my kiss?"
	Hermione had repaired matters as swiftly as she once thought when
she had located her parents. The circumstances were a bit odd.
	"Honestly, it wasn't like they ever put on clothes," she
lamented her cornering her erstwhile parents.
	Ron struggled to keep a straight face as Hermione admitted
bursting into their room while they were in the act. He stopped holding
it in when Hermione broke into laughter herself.
	"I'm not sure Daddy will ever get over the shock," she said, "but
I had some time to get used to it while he was standing there starkers
arguing with me to leave."
	Several times more affable and several times more embarrassed
when Hermione reversed the memory charm, her father had let go of any
rancor at her manipulation in favor of finding something to cover
himself. Turning down Hermione's offer of magical transport, they
preferred to use their return tickets in a strictly muggle manner while
promising to be more... restrained on the remainder of their holiday.
	"Now tell me- is your mother still spare about these wedding
plans?" she asked.
	"Everyone," Ron said. "You should have seen Dad getting excited
about having a celebration. It was scary."
	"Scary?" Hermione was stern.
	"For dad. You know dad. He only gets that way about muggle
stuff," Ron explained. "It was mad to see him so excited. He was, I
don't know, desperate."
	"Well, of course," Hermione was smug, "From what you say about
your mother, he must be desperate to find something that will distract
her."
	"Distract her from what?" Ron asked.
	"Oh Ron, you'll know these things some day... After you grow up,"
Hermione sighed.

	Chapter 4 - Lessons Learned

	Percy had arrived. He had, as his brothers had observed, a lot to
make up for and, appropriately, he was well equipped for the task. His
level of sycophancy suited him to dote and be doted upon.
	He regaled her with tales of the changes at the ministry under
Kingsley and she listened to him drone in rapt attention. He accepted
her hovering as his due, although with suitable thanks.
	With her thus distracted, Harry and Ginny took the opportunity
to reverse course and desert the Burrow. Word had arrived shortly after
Hermione herself that she was back. It was a good enough excuse in any
case and Mrs. Weasley didn't want to argue.
	"Well, Harry, we didn't expect you," Bill was a bit brisk as the
pair came to the cottage door.
	"We just dropped by to say hello to Hermione," Harry said. "We're
going back to London now. The Burrow is a bit... odd right now."
	"Mom's gone around the twist," Ginny said. "First she's angry,
then she's feeding us..." 
	"I guess it isn't that different," Ginny reconsidered, "It just
comes so fast now."
	"That's why we sent Percy," Bill confided. "Dad said she was
at wit's end in the empty house so we've set up a visiting schedule so
it won't seem so bad."
	"Harry!"
	A bushy-haired missile interrupted the Weasley family conference
as Hermione flew at Harry and threw her arms about him.
	"Hermione," Harry groaned as Hermione seemed to be intent on
squeezing the life out of him.
	Ron blushed fiercely but laughed along as he took his turn on the
dunce stool while Hermione revealed the truth behind Ron's proposal.
	"And I thought he was jealous that I was seeing other boys,"
Hermione admitted, "Although I still wasn't the first to know his
intention."
	"You've always known my intention," Ron complained, "Usually
before I do. It was just saying the words, that's all."
	"I admit I've known your intention," Hermione said slyly, "But
I wasn't sure that you'd settled on making it permanent."
	Ron was not relaxed enough not to be horror struck by that
concept. His mouth gaped under a dumb stare as the implication hit him.
It was right. It was a good thing... but forever?
	"Cheer up, mate," Harry said. "From what you said, we're going to
get a party out of it. What's a lifetime of Hermione if you get a
party?"
	For a moment it was like looking at 11-year-old Ron as he looked
down shame-faced while he cottoned on to being needled.
	"It's the same for you and Ginny," he retorted.
	Harry looked at his red-haired beauty and felt not the least
tremor at that. Happiness forever? His only fear was that it might not
be true, that Ginny might be taken from him like everyone else he cared
for. Forever was a happy dream he fervently desired.
	"And you said yes?" Ginny faced Hermione with her facetious
question.

	The girls seemed to be hoarding a secret after a sequestered
tete-a-tete. They returned nothing but knowing smiles when questioned,
even by Ron's ambush technique. They were even more anxious to bid 
Bill and Fleur adieu, however, and Ron and Harry contented themselves
with that.
	It was back to 12 Grimmauld Place, this time as a foursome. It
had little to do with getting on with their lives, but they all had
to admit they had been rebuffed on their first attempt and were willing
to take a break before pressing on again.
	Though Ginny may have argued native ability and contended that
no better could be found, Harry was still a newcomer in the ways of
love. Not that he lacked sincerity or ambition, but he was still a
novice in all love's wondrous forms.
	He was first distracted and then perturbed by the noises coming
up from the floor below when Ron and Hermione were there together. It
wasn't, he thought after he had acknowledged his transgression in
listening at all, the way normal sounds were at all.
	At times he could hear Ron grunting and huffing, not a hard sound
to recognize as he had heard it from time to time before. Only it was
a solo performance. He took it as logic that gasping sighs and shrill
breaths were the companion sounds of Hermione, only they didn't seem
to accompany anything.
	He looked up like a boy caught with his hand in his mother's
change purse when Ginny walked in. She rolled her eyes with a smile.
	"It's not listening in if you can hear it through the floor," 
she said reasonably.
	"I wouldn't listen if I knew what I was listening to," Harry
said, "I just don't get what they're doing."
	Instead of pitying him, Ginny cocked her head to listen for a
moment.
	"It's like this? One then the other?" she asked and Harry nodded.
	"Hermione must have read it in a book," Ginny said maddeningly.
	"Excuse me, what?" Harry asked.
	"Stunned sex," Ginny said. "Everybody acts like it's some
dangerous game to play. But I say, good for them. I can hardly believe
either one of them would do it."
	"Excuse me, do what?" Harry was feeling short on details.
	"It's all about trust, which is why everyone treats it like a 
joke," Ginny said patiently, and seeing Harry's expression hurried to
her explanation. "One partner lets the other stun them. Then the one
not stunned can do whatever they want to the other."
	"So only one of them knows what's going on?" Harry was confused.
	"And that one could play any dirty trick they wanted. That's why
it's about trust," Ginny said. "And the stunned one doesn't know- at
the time at least- so the other one can have any fantasy they want."
	"I'm still not getting it," Harry said. "Are they having it off
or what?"
	"Whatever the one not stunned wants," Ginny said most
unhelpfully, then took a deep breath, "Look, the classic thing goes 
like this. The candidate strips off and then gets all sexy, dances on
the bed, touches themselves, whatever. When they're really at a peak,
the other one stuns them and takes over. It's not like there are rules,
it's just a thing."
	"Do you want to do that?" Harry asked, mouth dry.
	"Do you?" Ginny returned the question unopened.
	"I trust you to do anything you want so that's not an issue, but
isn't it like fucking a dead person?" Harry said. "Isn't it better when
we're both conscious? I know I like the sounds you make."
	"You mean the sounds you make me make," Ginny prodded. "And I not
only trust you, but I'll let you do whatever you want while I'm awake."
	Harry looked relieved.
	"Only you have to promise me something," put concern back on his
face.
	"Promise me you won't be ashamed or afraid of what I might
think," Ginny said sternly. "I want what you want and there's nothing
I won't do if you want it. I'm always up for a bit of fun."
	"You too then," Harry said, already aware that Ginny knew of 
things he couldn't dream, "Yours are more likely to be more imaginative
than mine."
	"All right Harry. Only it doesn't take imagination to make it the
best ever for me," Ginny said, sitting close to Harry, "It's you that
makes it the best ever."
	
	Hermione did a good job of keeping him in check but every so
often Ron broke through with another idea.
	"Who says you have to work for Gringotts to recover treasure?"
was one of his most sensible attempts to map a course for the future.
	While Harry likely could claim an exemption for his missed year
at Hogwarts, having saved the world and all, the others were dealing
with diminished expectations due to their interrupted education. Or
at least the two Weasleys.
	"It's not the same for you either," Ron told Hermione a bit
huffily after the latest of his schemes, investigating wizarding
mysteries, was rejected, "You'd probably get 112 per cent if you sat
your N.E.W.T.s even without the last year."
	While properly flattered by Ron's assertion, Hermione was in the
awkward position of disputing that it made a difference. And, for once,
she was unsure what to say. 
	If she had had a normal life, school would be over now in any
case. She was in the uncharted position of being without school. Of
course she had always realized that she must go on, but much like
Harry, she had no guide which way to go.
	Ginny, whose ambition was more like the twins than her older
brothers, sat uneasily in these discussions. She had the only thing she
truly wanted. The opportunities open to her seemed enough. She would
see what suited her in time. 
	Her present concern was to help the only thing she truly wanted
find happiness in whatever he wished to pursue. On that subject she was
as lost as Harry himself.
	"Ginny has pointed out that it's not an urgent matter," Harry
said, trying to soothe tempers, "We have time to think it over and find
what might interest us."
	While Ron easily accepted the service of the improved Kreacher
and didn't fuss over room and board, Harry was coming very near
reminding him of his position as the recipient of Harry's largess. If
it only mildly offended him before, with Hermione's opinion to consider
it loomed like a strike against his manhood.
	"But we can't live off you forever," Ron blurted out, "I mean
it's great you being generous and all, but it isn't right."
	"We will find something, Ron," Hermione said soothingly, "But it
doesn't do to start one thing after another. We want to be settled,
don't we?"
	Harry marveled at the way Hermione handled Ron. He was also 
impressed that Ron reckoned her importance so dear as to not bristle
at her manipulation. Perhaps his uneasiness at the fragility of their
relationship could be put aside.
	"But what?" Ron threatened to whine, "What am I suited for?"
	He had given up his vague plan that he might somehow join the
Ministry as... something, which had been less a plan than drifting with
the current. That flow had been interrupted and he was finding himself 
hard put to choose an alternative.
	"If they hadn't given Stan Shunpike back his post as conductor
of the Knight Bus, you might have tried that," Ginny snipped.
	"Oh, ha ha," Ron tried to sound bored at his sister's cheek.
	"What we need is career guidance," Hermione said suddenly, and 
was abashed by the questioning looks she drew, "I mean there must be
some part we missed. What do they do for seventh years at Hogwarts?
Wouldn't there be some suggestions like we got after fifth year?"
	"Sure, go back to school. It would be something like that," Ron
said. "We're too old. It's past. We can't go back and pretend."
	"Because you might be uncomfortable is not a good reason, Ronald
Weasley," Hermione snapped. "And I didn't say we should enroll, just go
back and see what suggestions the teachers might have."
	Harry understood Hermione's deference to teachers, but his
feelings were with Ron. The last year had been more than any year of
school. The events, the things they suffered had changed them. He
wasn't ready to put that away and pretend he could go back.
	"Just for a visit..." Hermione was nearly pleading as she saw the
set of Harry's face.

	"I'm sorry Miss Granger, I really don't know what to say," 
Professor McGonagall shook her head, "These are decisions every student
must make for themselves. I cannot tell you what to become. You must
decide for yourselves."
	"But what about not finishing and not having N.E.W.T.s?" Ron
asked desperately.
	"Yes, I see," McGonagall said gravely, "But that might be a
matter for your employer in some cases."
	Seeing the look of confusion on Harry and Ron she continued, "If
you were to take up Healing, or Magical Law, yes, Potter, Auror as
well, those professions have their own schools for the additional 
education you require, conducted, for instance, at St. Mungo's or the
Ministry."
	"I will of course recommend each of you as I am able, but it will
be left up to the institution you choose to admit you," she said. "And
you must choose which institution for yourselves."
	"Is there a book list for what we would study in seventh year?"
Hermione asked with her usual deference to a teacher.
	"I'm sure nothing in the advanced studies has escaped your
notice, Miss Granger, but I can make you a copy," McGonagall said with
the barest hint of a twinkle in her eye.
	"Arrangements might be made for evening instruction if any of you
require extra preparation," she added, looking at Ron, "But might I
suggest you talk to witches and wizards that do what you think you
might fancy. They might be more helpful in narrowing down your
choices."

	"Of course," Hermione said, holding her book list like a
talisman, "We should go to the Ministry and talk to people. You know a
lot of them Ron, I'm sure they'd help."
	While Harry didn't mind, he was doubtful of success. Hermione's
busy trips across the land offered a distraction from sitting and
treading the same ground over and over, but he didn't think this
talking would make up their minds for them.
	As he didn't see what might help, he fell into place in
Hermione's train, resigned to follow her mad quest as it gave him 
something to do. Not that he was bored with being with Ginny. Not even
sitting quietly and just looking at her, but it might hold off those
times that the uncertainly crept back in.
	The Ministry had not yet seemed to settle on the face it wished
to show the world. The 'Magical Brethern' fountain had of course been
destroyed and the black, ugly mass of 'Magic is Might' had been removed
without replacement. As a result there was a vast empty space in the
main entrance, as if the Ministry was itself gutted and trying to
revive.
	However true that was, there was a bustle on every other floor
and the group felt decidedly underfoot. Kingsley himself rescued them,
showing that his new post had not dimmed his Auror instincts. He pulled
Harry into his office like an old friend and the rest trailed in their
wake.
	"You're rescuing me from another argument about broom
regulations, not that I'm not happy to see you, Harry," Kingsley said.
	When Harry told him of Hermione's idea of interviewing a puzzled
look came over Shacklebolt's face.
	"I thought you were going to be an Auror, Potter. I thought that
had been known, and used, by the Ministry when they... before,"
Kingsley said.
	When they had tried to bribe him with a preferred position, Harry
filled in grimly. Still, it was like a splash of cold water to be
reminded of his old intentions. He had turned away from the idea in his
feud with the Ministry, but hadn't that changed?
	A Dark wizard catcher- the romance of that came back to Harry. 
What had he ever done that wasn't an Auror's job? Those thoughts warred
with the calm Harry had sought once his task was done. He'd done his
part. He'd had his fill of danger and death.
	"I could have someone show you around," Kingsley offered. "As for
you lot..."
	He let that hang. Rather politely and not quite looking
Shacklebolt in the eye, Hermione offered a suggestion.
	"I'm sure we can find our way, Minister. We can find Ron's dad
and he'll guide us," she said.
	It wasn't the best thing Harry could have wished for. He found
himself routed to the Auror office to find Dawlish, whom he had watched
Dumbledore stun on several occasions when Cornelius Fudge was Minister.
Above that, he had to watch Ginny recede down the hall in the tow of
Hermione and Ron.
	"Ah, Harry, Kingsley said to show you around and answer your
questions," Dawlish said more jovially than Harry expected.
	It stood to reason when Harry thought about it. Fudge would have
brought his best man to a confrontation with Dumbledore. That Dawlish
was found wanting only put him in a group with every wizard in regard
to Dumbledore.
	Harry surmized that Dawlish was like the rest of the wizarding
world in regards to himself. That is, happy to pretend they were always
doubtful that he was a lunatic or a liar. "Only doing my job' he might 
say if Harry questioned him, which he wouldn't.
	The office was familiar. Harry remembered visiting with Mr.
Weasley when he was summoned to a hearing before his fifth year at
Hogwarts. That was the start of much unpleasantness with the Ministry,
but he found his memory untainted by those events. Dawlish was now
in Kingsley's cubicle and a different array of pictures decorated the
walls than the portraits of Sirius Black Harry remembered.
	"Just the leavings of your triumph," Dawlish said as he followed
Harry's gaze. "A few Death Eaters that we would still like to account
for."
	Dawlish launched into the requirements and training of Aurors
with such gusto that Harry felt assured his abbreviated education
would not be a drawback. He didn't feel like asking because he was
still wrestling with the question of why he didn't think of being an
Auror at once, and the litany of training had reminded him sadly of
Tonks.
	He was relieved to see Ron, Ginny and Hermione coming to collect 
him. Hermione had her hands full of pamphlets like they had examined
after taking O.W.L.s. Ron looked dour and Ginny broke into a smile 
when she saw Harry.
	"Hermione can do anything," Ron said rather sharply. "And it's
good luck to the rest of us."
	"No one said anything like that, Ron," Hermione sighed. "They
only said that N.E.W.T.s would be required for everything you took an
interest in."
	"What about you?" Harry asked Ginny.
	"You already know my aspirations," Ginny said with a meaningful 
look that made Harry look around desperately for something to be
interested in.
	Ron was confused by the exchange, but a well-placed elbow by
Hermione made him close his mouth with questions left unasked.

	Chapter 5 - The plot dribbles

	Sounding for all the world like young Draco, Yaxley was working
himself into a frenzy over the unfairness of it all.
	"Potter. Harry cunt Potter. That would be the proof of it all,"
Yaxley was declaiming to several empty chairs in his room. "The Dark
Lord's obsession and downfall. What better sign that a new order has
been established than the cold, dead corpse of the Chosen One?"
	It was a grand scheme indeed, if Yaxley could decide whether it
would be the announcement of the new order or a recruitment device.
He'd had precious little success convincing the remaining Death Eaters
that the time was ripe for an offensive.
	Marching boldly under the Dark Lord's banner had left no room for
excuses for the twice apprehended. It seemed they felt concealment was
the better part of valor. True, those he had contacted, McNair and
Rookwood, were not the greatest thinkers, but Yaxley felt they
reflected the opinion of the majority in this instance.
	Bringing down Harry Potter would be such a crowning glory of the
Death Eaters triumphant. It was a corpse they could march over to the
reins of power. Before the wizarding community could rebound from the
horror and the fear, they would be in control, complete control, and
it would be too late.
	It would be wasteful of a grand gesture to kill Potter as a way
to convince skulking cowards to come out of hiding. Yet it seemed that
might be the only sign that would give them backbones again.

	"Ginny, I like the other thing too," Harry was being
unnecessarily delicate in the face of Ginny's attack.
	"But I want to do something for you," Ginny said firmly. 
"Remember when I said you had to speak up if there was something you
 wanted and you told me to do the same? I want to."
	"But I'm not doing anything. I'm not doing my share," Harry
protested.
	"Then we'll fix that later," Ginny remained firm, "You can return
the favor. But for now, just lay back and relax."
	He had been a child, even though Ginny was younger, when they
first started 'going out'. He was too amazed to protest about anything
when she dipped her head in his lap and took his organ in her mouth.
	Now, less amazed and sufficiently experienced in the ways of
love, he felt somehow useless as he dropped back to the bed and let
Ginny bend over him. It was so unequal... Then her words echoed.
	It wasn't enough to distract him from the spider crawl of her
lips over the skin of his penis, but it made him think. He'd heard, in
rude comments and jokes, about that. It didn't have a high reputation
among boys. That didn't bother Harry much, since it was Ginny, but
there was his woeful ignorance.
	He didn't know where to start or what to do. A creeping worry
began, but it couldn't stand in the onslaught of Ginny's warm mouth
coming down to cradle his penis. He'd do it. He had to. Ginny was
making him feel so good and he'd do anything to know he was making her
feel like this.
	Ginny smiled up in elfin delight at the limp form moaning on the
bed. She had let a dribble of Harry's spend escape the corner of her
mouth because she knew it made some boys so intense, but Harry was
too exhausted to notice.
	That was a point of pride for her. He had been very loud and
very animated just moments before while she teased him at the brink
before plunging deeply on his erection and finishing him. Through it
all there had been no lack of praise for how she made him feel.
	She was proud to bring him such pleasure. She was glad he loved
her and wanted him to know how deeply she returned his love. She 
wanted him to revere her, but her intent was to make him feel every joy
and happiness she could. She was proud that she seemed to have some
particular skill in doing that for the man she loved.
	"I want..." Harry started weakly, "I want to do that for you
now."
	"In a minute, tiger," Ginny crawled up to lie next to him, "You
relax a minute until you get your strength back."
	"But I want to," Harry said.
	"And you will," Ginny said gently, "I want you to. I know how
much I enjoy pleasing you. I won't keep you from enjoying it too."
	Harry was comforted. It wasn't the place to think of motherly 
affection, but it was affection of an unconditional kind that might be
like a mother's if it didn't follow ejaculating into her mouth.
	As he heard the words, however, his doubt crept back. Ginny 
certainly did please him. He did understand how giving pleasure was
satisfying to the giver. His fear was that he wouldn't be able to
deliver the pleasure. He knew he would be short of Ginny's expertise
even if he was generally successful.
	"You'll tell me how?" Harry asked, looking into her eyes with
his worry displayed.
	"I'll teach you the best way ever- my way," Ginny assured him
with a hint of a smile, "I promise I'll tell you everything I want and
I'll tell you how to do it."
	She was only mildly prodding Harry and it was over his innocence
in admitting his ignorance. She knew he'd do fine. She was already
aquiver looking into his green eyes. It would be enough that it was
Harry. She intended to instruct him as sharply as she indicated,
however, for Harry's own good, of course.
	"Shove it in there! Stuff it in!   Wiggle the tip!"
	Ron, who had been grinning a self-satisfied grin at first, turned
troubled at the wiggle remark. Hermione looked at him and giggled.
	"What? She is ordering him about quite a lot, isn't she?" Ron
went defensive.
	"Yes, Ron dear," Hermione was patronizing, "And if you think
about what has a tip that wiggles, you might know what she's ordering
him to do."
	Hermione gave him a clear hint as she ran her tongue around her
lips seductively. Ron managed to miss her hint, distracted by carnal
thoughts induced by her tongue, but then he cottoned on.
	"She's screaming about him... down there?" Ron asked with
appropriate- or at least evocative waggles of his own tongue.
	"Quite a concept, eh?" Hermione struggled keeping her face blank,
"As if that could make a girl cry out."
	Again she had trampled on his delicate male ego. She saw Ron
knitting his brows and thrusting out his lower lip.
	"Oh grow up, I'm having you on," she sighed, "Ron dear, you are
very stimulating and quite good at all that."
	"Then why don't you scream?" Ron pouted, unwilling to give up
his wounded pride.
	"Because you quite take my breath away," Hermione said,
threatening to return to prodding him. "People are different. And in
this case, I think Ginny is prompting Harry. Better than trial and
error isn't it?"
	Now she had crossed into territory Ron recognized as dangerous.
Being Hermione, prompting came naturally. Being with Hermione, Ron took
it as natural. His experience with Lavender, which would be under the
heading of trial and error, was not a topic he wished to raise.
	He nodded automatically, finding it less irksome than it might
be. He had to admit, at least to himself, that it had been a comfort
to know he was being guided. It was like copying Hermione's homework
knowing that the answers would all be right.
	No thought of Hermione's homework was in Harry's head. He was
diligently listening to the least sigh, prepared to put into immediate
action whatever it might indicate. He was studiously following Ginny's
suggestions with a zeal that he never applied to schoolwork.
	Although, just as he thought he was getting it, Ginny became
very sparse with her help. True, indications were that she was too
overcome to continue, but that was small reassurance.
	"Go on with it! Just... Just do everything..." Ginny finally
gasped with one momentary catch of breath.
	He was rude and stiff in his insistence on executing her wishes
exactly, but she knew that would get better. Not that she could stand
much of an improvement in his technique, as her curled toes and arched
body attested. 
	He was Harry and she was never much farther than a deep kiss away
from orgasm at any time with him. Perhaps that was an exaggeration as
she thrashed on the bed to the dance of Harry's tongue. She didn't 
have to think about that. She really couldn't think at all.

	It was Hermione that finally pointed out the elephant in the
parlour. It was good taste and all to ignore it, but she had to be
certain.
	"We were just entertained by your, um, activities and it made me
realize how well sound travels in this house," Hermione started
tentatively.
	Ron dropped his scowl at her start and looked away at a suddenly
interesting spot on the wall. Ginny giggled and Harry turned red.
	"Don't be ashamed, Harry," Hermione responded to the blush, "I'm
sure you might have heard... things coming from our room as well. I
thought we should say it rather than feel uncomfortable."
	"Do you want to do something about it? A muffliato spell or
something?" Ginny asked.
	"Not necessarily," Hermione said to the surprise of the other
three, "I just felt awkward listening without telling you that I can
hear. If no one minds then I say fine. I just thought we should say
so it's not some uncomfortable thing we have to feel uneasy about."
	Again, Harry had little reference to this behavior. He couldn't
say it was new, since there had never been anyone shagging in the next
room before. However, it was true that Hermione was always troubled by
things no one else minded and not troubled at all by the things that
troubled others.
	"We're not going to discuss it or anything, are we?" Harry asked.
	Ron guffawed. "Sure. Excuse me for listening, but where was it
Ginny told you to stick your finger?"
	"I was saying we weren't going to," Ron defended himself against
a withering look from Hermione.
	"I think we can take care of it if there's something we don't
want the others to hear and otherwise don't feel bad about hearing,"
Ginny said sensibly. "I know I'm not ashamed of anything I do with
Harry."
	Harry thought that last part was aimed at Ron, who had been
surprisingly tolerant in general, but who still hadn't completely
accepted his sister's provocative behavior.
	"I don't care where he sticks his finger," Ron said a bit testily
as a confirmation of Harry's guess.
	"Well," Hermione said a bit breathily and Harry noticed there 
were spots of color rising in her cheeks. "Better to have it said than
to have it fester. I think Ginny makes a lot of sense. I suppose we
don't have to worry about it since we are all..."
	Her calm failed her for a moment and she giggled. Perhaps Harry
had taken her old determination for an new boldness after all. It 
seemed Hermione was every bit as uncomfortable about the topic as was
Harry. 
	Should he have carried on his exploration, he might have come to
the point that Hermione's modesty in this regard was like his own in
refusing to picture she and Ron together. There were things in their
affections that should not cross over into the leering realm of
speculation, on either side.

	Out of sight and out of our main character's minds at Shell 
cottage, Fleur was shrieking like the more bird-like incarnation of her
Veela heritage.	
	"Plus de! Plus de! Plus loin! Non arret!" she reverted her to
native tongue as her fingers sank like talons into Bill's heaving back.
	His ravaged face had the look of hunted prey, twisted into a mask
of effort as he used every ounce of reserve to drive his sweating body
on. She was demanding and no mistake, this one.
	"It's cumming," finally wrenched from his belabored face and he 
felt Fleur's smooth thighs clamp him like a vise.
	"Zen don't move," Fleur reverted to English, "Let me be ready."
	She was beautiful even with her face twisted in concern. More so
than she had been moments before when the fury of determination made
her frightening, certainly. Bill eased toward her. Her hips followed 
until her hands were beneath her.
	"Now you can go," she dismissed him.
	Bill gingerly withdrew his penis to not disturb her and then fell
back on the bed. Three at a go was more than any man could endure, even
with the granddaughter of a Veela. He felt the chill of his
perspiration drying and feared it would make his stiff back worse, but
he was too exhausted to move.
	It was all he could do to roll his head in Fleur's direction. It
was some kind of gratification for his hard service to see her in such
a pose. It was undignified and so unlike her to be propped with her
hips in the air and her legs hanging inelegantly over her face.
	It was heartwarming as well, since it was a sign of her
commitment to bearing his child. He didn't think it was particularly
necessary since the Weasleys had proved fertile for generations, but
she insisted on using every art, craft and old witch's tale in her
quest to conceive.
	"I theenk we 'ave done it zis time," Fleur said finally, still
maintaining her position. "I theenk I felt it after ze second time."
	Bill knew nothing of the mysteries of women. He didn't bother to
ask why the third if the second had done for her. He didn't bother with
how she might know. He hoped she was right.
	The 'task' of making love to Fleur was generally far from an
onerous duty. She was every bit of every dream he could have of what
true happiness, and pleasure, might be. But somewhere in her 
determination to become pregnant the spontaneity had succumbed to 
schedule and a rigorous program of no and then too much sex.
	He loved her and wanted a baby as much, or nearly as much as she
did. But he was feeling that she was stealing years from his life with
her requirements to be fertilized until his very sinews cried out with
the effort.
	"Ze plug, please," she called.
	More overkill. He had tried to reason with her. She agreed that
it wasn't very likely some brave sperm would find his way from a pool
around this plug if he hadn't when gravity was in his favor, but she
still insisted. She wasn't sparing even unlikely chances.
	He rolled over stiffly and groaned his way to retrieve the
stopper from the table by their bed.

	"Nothing more than a stinking pit of lewdness," Molly was fuming.
	"You can't say that, dear, it could be long days at the office,"
Arthur tried to calm her.
	"Oh piffle," she dismissed him, "I'm a woman and I know the
signs. She's... she's a vampire! Sucking him dry!"
	Arthur couldn't refute that Bill had looked haggard. He wondered
vaguely where Molly got her insight into sexually drained men, but that
wasn't something to bring up at this point. He was trying to find
somewhere else to turn her mind. That, at least, had become easier
since Molly had begun going on her rages.
	"Did Percy say when he'd be returning?" Arthur asked hopefully.
	"Another tramp!" Molly stormed. "He's dining with some tart in
the city."
	"Then it's just us, then?" Arthur said wearily.
	He was running out of diversions. With their children so
willfully pursuing their own lives, there seemed little to derail her
fury. He was beginning to suspect it was more than the empty nest that
was making Molly... act so strangely. Perhaps a Healer should be
consulted.
	Fortunately, he was not running out of patience. His capacity had
been enlarged to nearly infinite raising Fred and George, not to
mention four other lively boys and Ginerva. On the bright side, Molly 
had not found time to list his faults, yet.
	"Should we have a nice quiet night listening to the wireless
then?" he asked cautiously.
	Molly seemed no happier, but she did stop her tirade. He could
see she was still carrying on her feud with predatory witches that were
stealing her children, but at least she was doing it quietly.
	So far she had been rejecting his suggestions about work outside
the home.

	Chapter 6 - We are family

	They were cautiously optimistic. The portrait Mrs. Black had been
silent since Harry confronted it with the death of the Black line.
They hadn't made a party out of disturbing it either.
	Ron was curious what was going on. Ginny had made it sound like
a grand confrontation to rival Harry's defeating Voldemort. Ron hadn't
been there and wanted to see.
	Hermione was well pleased to let matters lay. In part it was due
to hearing that Harry had threatened Mrs. Black with her 'sorting her
out'. She had no idea what kind of charm might silence a portrait.
They were, after all, dead and beyond magic of a polite sort.
	"I suppose there might be some sort of counter-curse to a 
permanent sticking charm," she muttered to herself as Ron dragged them
to the parlour.
	Harry was as anxious as Hermione. Again, his exploits sounded
quite grand when described a certain way, but he was embarrassed and
unsure how effective he had really been. He appreciated Ginny's support
and all, but he was sure he didn't want to open the drapes and hear
Mrs. Black start screaming.
	It was somewhat of an anti-climax. Ron whipped back the drapes
and then had a pained look. Mrs. Black was as mad as ever only now 
she resembled Munch's 'Scream' more than an avenging harpy.
	"Oh my!" Hermione gasped, but could not bring herself to add
more.
	"She's gone as spare as Kreacher ever was," Ron mumbled.
	Harry felt immediate sadness. However much she might have 
deserved any number of terrible things, he still felt responsible
and an empathy for her misery. After all, one of the Blacks, the last
to truly claim the name, had left a hole in his own heart as well.
	"I didn't mean to do that," he said quietly.
	Ginny, mindful of her own role in lionizing Harry's victory,
hesitantly put her hand in his. To her great relief he gripped it
tightly.
	For once it was Harry, not Hermione, that worked it out. Ron
had put the seed in his head.
	"Kreacher," he called.
	Not sure what to say when the elf arrived, Harry squatted down
to look into the old elf's eyes.
	"Mrs. Black isn't taking it very well," he said to the unblinking
consternation of Kreacher, "If you can think of something... 
	"Try to cheer her up if you can." he ended lamely.
	They didn't wait to see what passed between the portrait and the
house elf. They fled the scene.
	"I didn't know she was like that," Ginny pleaded.
	As if he was seeing her perturbation for the first time, Harry
pulled her head to his shoulder and held her. He had been the one
screaming at her. He had only wanted quiet in his house.
	"Master?" Kreacher crept in after a while. "Harry Potter has
said I may speak to him if I wish."
	"Yes Kreacher, what is it?" Harry said politely, looking for a
distraction from his dolor.
	"Mrs. Black does not respond, Harry Potter. I did what I believe
was best but she doesn't respond," Kreacher said.
	"I'm sorry," Harry said to Kreacher's puzzled look.
	Kreacher was unsure of his meaning. It was not an order or even a
request, which was confusing enough.
	"Master?" Kreacher enquired.
	"I know she was your mistress and you were fond of her," Harry
said, "I didn't mean to make her that way. I just wanted her to be
quiet."
	Kreacher looked at him blankly.
	"He doesn't understand, Harry," Hermione spoke up, "I'm sure no
one has ever apologized to him before. Tell him something, nicely,
something to do."
	"You may talk to her whenever you wish," Harry improvised, "Maybe
it will comfort her. And thank you. Thank you for trying."
	As little as he was used to sorting out Harry's meaning, this
time in particular, Kreacher had come to understand 'thank you' from a
witch or wizard. It was much like, 'be off', but kinder, instead of 'if
you please' or 'please don't hurt me' as it would be when it was
exchanged from elf to wizard. He bowed deeply and followed orders.
	"Still makes me uneasy, that one," Ron said after his departure.
	Harry took Ginny by the hand to lead her away from the row that
was starting.

	"Off to the ministry, Harry?" Hermione caught him in front of
the fireplace.
	"Yeah, Dawlish said to come 'round and see about preparing for
school," Harry said.
	"That's me as well," Hermione said. "I've decided what I want
to do."
	Harry knew from her eager look that he was moments away from 
knowing what that was. He dodged a long discussion by grabbing a
handful of floo powder and saying, "Then I'll see you there."
	Hermione had never shown the least interest in being an Auror,
not even when the faux Mad-Eye had told her she might be. He had to
admit he was curious what she had decided and how it brought her to
the Ministry. Then she was spinning in the green flames and stepped
out beside him.
	"Ron helped me, really," she said.
	He thought she was going a bit far expecting him to believe that.
	"He told me I might as well pass a law about speaking rudely 
about house elves so I could lock him up," she said proudly.
	"So you're going into Magical Law enforcement to lock Ron up?"
Harry was incredulous.
	"No Harry, don't be silly. Magical Law. Don't you see? That's the
way to bring rights to the house elves, and every other group of
magical creatures that's been oppressed," Hermione was winding up,
"That way I can change the laws oppressing them and defend them from
being exploited."
	He was as dubious as ever about Hermione's causes, but he had to
admit that if house elves could be as affected as Kreacher by one small
act of kindness, there was something wrong. And he believed that if
Hermione put her mind to moving a mountain, the mountain would be
moved.
	"Well done," he said. "I know you'll be good at it."
	"Oh Harry," she was almost giggly, "You know you'll do as well.
But it is exciting, isn't it? Having a purpose."
	Harry couldn't help but be amused by the way she found her
purpose. It did make sense the way she said it, but for it to come out
of a row with Ron? He was far from wonder about the strange way things
found to work out. His life was a bloody example.

	"Just the two of us again, Molly dear?" Arthur suspiciously eyed
the place settings.
	He wasn't sure what he was apparating into on any night but this
night had a feel of danger. Most uncommonly, Molly seemed bright and
animated. He feared madness had finally set in.
	"Yes, Arthur, my love, I told Percy to take the young woman out
again. And to stay in town if he couldn't find anywhere else to go,"
she said ominously.
	As the serving dishes floated in to take their places on the
holders, Molly ignited two candles with a wave of her wand. As the dim
light flickered, the rest of the bungalow went dark.
	"Sit, sit, sit," she said airily, "And loosen your tie. Will you
serve, please."
	A most insidious madness, Arthur diagnosed. She seems too normal
in this state. After ladling out the gravy and sharing the portions of
chicken, Arthur picked up his fork cautiously.
	There was nothing wrong with the food. It was well up to Molly's
excellent standard. It was the feeling of a stocking foot sliding up
to his garters that made him choke. He looked up when he had regained
himself and saw Molly smiling at him.
	He was quite at a loss. He knew what these signs portended, of
course, but he didn't know what to make of them with Molly in her 
present... condition. He smiled back weakly.
	"I thought we could have afters in the parlour," she said as
they finished the meal.
	It all seemed so ordered. Arthur wondered when it would break.
	Afters were lady fingers of raspberry filled sponge cake and a
delightful mint tea. If she had gone 'round the twist, she had taken 
an appreciation of his favorites with her. He sat gingerly on the sofa
as Molly seductively reclined.
	"I don't recall you being this shy before," she said, "Is this
a challenge? Am I to ravish you?"
	Arthur barely managed to put a chattering teacup unsteadily on
its saucer as Molly took up the challenge. His glasses landed half in,
half out of the tea a moment later as Molly took them off and lay on
him to kiss him. It was all quite fine, really, if he was sure she
wasn't mad.
	She was Molly. He was really quite familiar after having seven
children with her, but she was attacking with a passion that had
seemed left behind somewhere around the time Percy was born. Her body,
however, was every bit as full as it had been the night before. He felt
a bit crushed in the onslaught.
	His surprise over her sudden passion faded quickly in the relief
that this was a mood he was well equipped to deal with. If it took him
unawares, then so much the better, really. He was warming to the fray
when Molly pushed herself up and smiled down at him.
	Silently grateful for the wand in his robes, Arthur held it under
Molly and only applied as much of a Hover charm as needed to sweep her
into his arms and gallantly carry her to bed. Still, he was grateful
the congestion in the house had prompted moving their bedroom to the
ground floor.
	It hadn't been like that in years. Not that they were above a
romantic cuddle when the mood struck them, or perhaps a bit too much
firewhisky, but Molly was demanding and demanding his best. It took
him back more years than he cared to count.
	He was exhausted. Happy, sated, and feeling younger than he had
in years, but exhausted. He opened his eyes to see Molly looking down
at him.
	"It's still there," she said.
	"What?" he asked.
	"The spark," she smiled.
	He pushed himself up in bold rejection of any thought that it
wasn't.
	"It always will be, Mollywobbles," he said, affectionately 
looking at the parts of her anatomy that had yielded the sobriquet, 
"Even when our flesh is too weary to prove it. It always will be."

	There was nothing for it. The others were rounded up or as
vapid a bunch of simpering fools as Lucius. They would only flock to
his banner if he could provide the grand gesture.
	Abandoning his perfect and preferred plan to make it the
announcement of the Death Eater's return, Yaxley turned his thoughts to
the elimination of Harry Potter. With that decision he had to face his
secret dread that he would have to face the boy who vanquished the Dark
Lord on his own.
	It would take planning. More planning without minions to aid him
in the cause. Fools. If they could see with his vision, they would
aid him. It was so simple. Destroy Harry Potter and you destroy hope.
	It would be a time ripe for overturning the precarious order
still settling. Wasting it as a recruiting tool wasted precious time
to let the enemy become entrenched.
	But not to dwell. He had to face the task before him or give up
now. Yaxley was not about to meekly turn himself in. At worst he would
be remembered in Wizarding history as the wizard that followed 
Voldemort into death at the boy wizard's hand.

	"Who's that?" Harry asked of a scowling photograph.
	"Yaxley," Dawlish said, "Used to work at the Ministry. Fancied
himself You-Know-Who's second in command."
	Harry found it more interesting that wizards still referred to
Voldemort by vague reference than his interest in Yaxley. Still,
Dawlish went on.
	"Did a runner after He fell. We know he's hiding out. There's
been sightings, but not enough to pin him down. Still trying to gather
the old crowd, we suspect," Dawlish said and laughed, "Not much success
I imagine. All those with backbones are dead or already apprehended in
the midst of pointless and self-defeating displays of pique."
	Harry found it strange that Dawlish was passing a Death Eater,
one of Voldemort's inner circle at that, off so easily. He decided
there was a difference in Aurors. Mad-eye would never have been 
cavalier about the least of that crew and Mad-eye was the best. 
	Harry determined to take that for a creed- that and 'constant
vigilance'. All that dependant on his passing the Auror's training,
of course.
	Most daunting was, as always, potions. That made him think of
Snape and the Half Blood Prince. The Fiendfyre that had destroyed
Ravenclaw's tiara and Crabbe had also taken Snape's legacy from the
world. He felt a bit of sadness for the loss of that refinement by
a brilliant potions master, whatever he had thought in his class.
	Then he thought of Tonks, another painful thought. But it was
eased by remembering her saying that she barely passed stealth because
she was dead clumsy. He remembered hearing her drop a dish on Privet
Drive when they came to rescue him, knocking over a mug tree when they
came to rescue him again. He thought that perhaps his potions weren't
any worse than poor, dear Tonks was at stealth.
	At the end of the day, he met with Hermione, who looked smug. No,
she hadn't spent all day enrolling in her law classes. There was no
exception for her N.E.W.T. scores.
	"Then where have you been?" Harry asked.
	"Talking to Kingsley," she said mysteriously.
	He knew by now he might as well ask. Hermione was bursting with
some secret.
	"Kingsley now, is it?" he said, smirking, "And what did you have 
to tell the Minister about his mis-governing?"
	"Oh I just had a suggestion," Hermione said, fairly bursting.
	And the she couldn't keep it in. 
	"About Dolores Umbridge," she giggled, "I told Kingsley that she
would be just perfect to replace Dirk Cresswell as Goblin liaison."
	"Hermione! She'd start a war!" Harry was shocked.
	"But not before they killed her," Hermione snickered, "And then
the Ministry could give the Goblin that did it a medal to appease them."
	"You're not serious," Harry said.
	"Do I look serious?" Hermione choked out, tears of mirth rolling
down her cheeks. "Of course not. But it is nice to think of, isn't it?"
	"Did you work that out all by yourself?" Harry asked.
	Hermione shook her head, getting her giggles under control, "We
both did. I'd start and Kingsley would add something. The point is, 
she's a joke now. No one takes her seriously. She's just a straw dog."
	"Seeing how she feels about kittens, I reckon that's about
right," Harry concurred.

	Ginny had taken to the household at 12 Grimmauld Place as if she
had been its mistress for ages. She met Harry and Hermione at the door
and kissed Harry in welcome like it was a long-standing ritual of his
daily return.
	Hermione was the slightest bit jealous that the pair fell so
easily into that familiarity and somewhat more uncomfortable to be the
unessential bit tagging along.
	"So where's Ron?" she said out of her tension.
	"He mumbled something about seeing to himself and went out,"
Ginny reported. "He didn't say where."
	Well, that said it, Hermione reacted grumpily. Harry is welcomed
home with a kiss and her Ron is out 'seeing to himself'. She didn't 
dread Ron seeking out something dodgy, but she had no faith he would be
able to avoid falling into it.
	Hermione was less joyful than at the Minstry when Harry prodded
her to repeat her humorous interlude with Minister Shacklebolt. She
knew he was trying to break her mood, and appreciated it, but her mind
was on Ron.
	"He didn't say anything?" Hermione prompted Ginny.
	"He was in a state about you and Harry going off to... What was
it? Find fame and fortune, I think," Ginny said. "But then he grumbled
and mumbled to himself for a while and said he was going out."
	Merlin's pants! Hermione blanched. Ron was out looking for work.
Her initial apprehension at the thought was softened by knowing Ron
had been spurred into action partly on her account, but her tender
feelings for this evidence of his regard didn't dispel her premonition
of doom. It was fine, even flattering, that he felt the need to be,
or at least contribute to being, the provider, but she had misgivings
what Ron would choose.
	Her gut feeling was, sadly, correct.
	"It was her idea," Ron pointed to Ginny in his defense against
the disbelieving looks of the others.
	He had, with some difficulty, seeing it was a magical entity
and largely self-sufficient, traced the terminal of the Knight Bus and
put down his name for conductor.
	"It's work innit?" He said grumpily as the others barely
suppressed laughter behind hard-pressed lips. "And it is a valuable
service to the community."
	"No one doubts that, Ron," Hermione said, adopting her teacher
face to quell the urge to make light of his confession, "But I dare
say that you do have more in you than to become the next Stan Shunpike."
	"Then I wish you'd tell me what it is," Ron reverted to a
grumble, mostly to himself.
	"You have to think of some things for yourself- Ronald," the urge
to laugh was lost in the spike of Hermione's consternation with the
same old sticking point.
	"No. Don't leave," Hermione turned on Harry and Ginny as they
eased toward the door, "This is the kind of thing that needs a family
and, like it or not, we are family now."
	Quailing at Hermione's full tyrant mode, Harry and Ginny plopped
back down in their chairs. Hermione's tendency to invoke her authority
had never quite had this force before. Harry briefly considered how
estimable she had become and what terror that boded for wrong-doers
caught in her glare when she sat on the Wizengemot.
	"We'll help you, Ron," she said, kinder now, "It took a certain
nudge from you before I realized what I wanted. But you have to help.
You have to think of something that you might fancy."
	"Does that mean we have to have a row?" Ron retorted, still not
comfortable being the focus of the group effort.
	"If we must," Hermione was firm. "But I don't plan on leaving
this table until we have come up with some idea. Some idea that makes
more sense than the Knight bus."
	"I was only joking," Ginny said weakly, feeling the heat of
Hermione's pique in her reference to the original idea.
	"Then I say we get to it," Harry put in, as much to deflect all
attention from Ron as to show solidarity with Hermione's idea. "What's
your strength, mate?"
	Hermione rolled her eyes. If there was one thing Ron didn't need
it was the chance to deny any talent or worth. She was shocked when
Harry's question elicited a quick reply.
	"I take orders well," Ron said dryly.
	It was fortunate that the place Hermione decreed as their prison
until they had come to some accord was the dining room. As they
wandered along a twisting course of this employment and that, Kreacher
served dinner with ham, a plum sauce and yams that kept them somewhat
more agreeably to the task set before them.
	"If there was a job where the requirement was eating..." Ron said
only half in jest as he wistfully hoped Hermione could supply just that
information.
	"I'm afraid glutton is a non-paying position, dear," Hermione
prodded him gently.
	They circled and kept returning to a position as civil servant.
Though he seemed resistant to the office of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts
out of long familiarity, Ron's interest did seem to center in some
branch of Magical Law enforcement.
	"I have had a bit of experience in solving mysteries," Ron said,
and then seemed surprised by the lack of resistance to his claim.
	"But hopefully not ones that promise death and destruction in
consequence," Hermione said with a tender look.
	As Hermione softened into longing looks at Ron they closed in on
the main objection to Ron's preferred course. The Ministry had no
guideline on employing wizards that dropped out of Hogwarts in their
seventh year to run off pursuing ways of eliminating Dark Wizards,
however that adventure may have turned out. Ron would have to take
the N.E.W.T.s and do acceptably well.
	"We're at the same place, then," Hermione said bracingly.
	"Except you already know everything and I know nothing," Ron
dropped a pall on her attempt at encouragement.
	They were at a point where it took a brave sacrifice.
	"All right then, Ron. I'll go with you," Ginny volunteered.
"We'll both take night classes and you won't feel so... visible."
	Ginny had no intention of taking the N.E.W.T.s but the thought
of two ginger-haired Weasleys walking the halls of Hogwarts seemed to
comfort Ron. At least he tentatively agreed it was a plan.
	"Oh, come along," Ginny said when she saw Harry's reaction to the
lost time with her, "You can be Celebrity Emeritus or something. I'm
sure they can find something for Harry Potter to do."
	But that was silly. He would have his own cares with the Auror
training. He would have to endure by assuring himself it was only for
a little while and for Ron's good as well.
	
	We are family now. A contented Harry ignored the numbness in his
arm where it lay pinned under the sleeping Ginny and thought about
Hermione's words. He had know it all along, known it before it was
true, he guessed, but it had struck him hard when she said it.
	He had felt a kinship with Ron from the first meeting on the
Hogwarts Express. Hermione took a bit longer, but quickly grew to be
as much to him, and he to her, as anyone of shared blood. They had
been his family much more so than the Dursleys.
	Ron might feel less sentimental, coming from a large family, 
but they had fought and made up like brothers. And Ginny. Ginny was
the exception because his feelings for her were far from brotherly.
She was the chosen. She was, he allowed himself the hyperbole on her
behalf, the prophesied.
	And they were a family. Though Ginny would become a Potter, she
would always be a Weasley and Hermione would become a Weasley. 
Hermione Weasley, Harry paused for a moment to snicker. It didn't have
the ring to Harry's ear of Ginny Potter, but that was Hermione's
choice. And it meant that they were a family, really, officially, in
a way that merely confirmed the bond they held in each other's hearts.
	Harry eased his aching arm from beneath his love and tried to
find a place for the dead weight that would leave her sleeping
peacefully on his chest with her hair spreading out and sending him
the scent of spring and happiness. Whatever came, he felt ready. It
might seem brief to others, but Harry felt the past months had filled
an emptiness in him and given him all the content he needed.
	They were family. In its own way that was enough.

	Chapter 7 - The Very Nice Wizard

	"Arthur!" Molly said sharply, "You aren't visiting Perkins, are
you? Why did you drag me down here?"
	"Now, Molly, dear, I didn't think it could hurt to pop in for
a little look," Arthur said apologetically.
	"You mean look at me?" she was indignant, and growing louder.
	"You know, the past few weeks, months, would take something
out of anyone," he soothed, "I'm just concerned that you might be a
bit run down. A tonic or something."
	Looking like she was more likely to run him over, Molly allowed
herself to be escorted into the examination room. It took the Healer
two minutes to diagnose her complaint, but he spared her fifteen to
let her complain.
	"Mood swings are to be expected in menopausal women. I suspect
your wife suffers more because she is naturally more spirited than
average," the healer confided to Arthur. "Perhaps a potion, mostly
herbs, to settle the irregularities of hormones."
	It was one of those mysteries of womankind that Arthur was happy
to remain ignorant about. It had something to do with plumbing, the
wizarding sort, he believed. He took the scrap of parchment explaining
the potion recommended by the Healer and stuffed it in his pocket.

	Verity saw him with a trained eye. She thought he was a 
shoplifter. He seemed edgy, uncomfortable, and he lurked at the rear
of the store by the door to the street. She walked straight up to him.
	"Can I help you find something?" she asked a bit sharply, to let
him know she was on to him.
	"It was you I came in for, actually," he said.
	She knew what THAT was about, although it was still disarming.
She looked closer. He was a handsome wizard, about her age. His face
was a bit sharp, but he was expensively and impeccably dressed. And
talking to her seemed to relieve his earlier agitation.
	"I've seen you through the window and I can't seem to take my
eyes off of you," he said. "I came in, in hopes of getting to know
you better."
	She was tempted. Of course, her natural skepticism was not
breached. A typical line, however politely expressed, was not going
to shake all the sense out of her head. She knew her course. She was
a career witch and not out to flaunt herself as bait for some man to
come along and collect her.
	"And how did you hope to do that?" she asked, still sharp. 
	"I thought dinner," Draco said, "There's a bistro that just 
opened in the basement of a shop down the street. If you would be
so kind."
	It was more tempting. She had heard customers twittering about
that place. It was in the basement of Florean Fortescue's former
ice cream shop. It was said to be expensive and an courant.
	"I don't know," Verity said more normally, "Why don't you come
back tomorrow and ask again. I'll have an answer then."
	He did not rise to the bait of smug confidence nor sneering
dismissal that would have unmasked him for the seducer or 
over-confident lout she suspected him to be. In her steely resolve to
reject all distractions, he was threatening to creep in through the
minute crack she had left open in the door to romance. 
	"Until tomorrow," he said with a slight bow of his head and then
turned and left the shop.
	He had done nothing to hurt his chances. Verity began to wonder
what it would hurt to let a very nice wizard buy her a meal for the
pleasure of her company. She was very tempted indeed.

	He had not been planning a month. It was only that the Polyjuice
Potion had so many uses, particularly for a wizard seeking concealment,
that he had begun to brew a batch as soon as he had the means and
supplies.
	It was by accident that the long process nudged his general
dissatisfaction to decrying his former master's plots. Yes, Polyjuice,
the key ingredient in the fail-safe plan to kill Harry Potter.
	Except that Voldemort could not prevent the boy's escape and
Dumbledore had interfered in Barty Crouch finishing the job. That was
a fine plan indeed.
	And Lucius, brave, powerful Lucius, who had failed to deliver
even the prophecy the Dark Lord sought, let alone the boy. It had 
landed the lot of them in Azkaban for his incompetence.
	Yes, Lucius, he railed particularly against his host who had
disappointed his hopes for a conspirator. Lucius, who had already set
free Voldemort's memory in an egotistical war of wills with blood
traitor Arthur Weasley. 
	And then he struck on it. 
	What did Voldemort say would be Potter's downfall? Love. The
same power that Dumbledore claimed as the boy's strength, Voldemort
would turn to his destruction. But for Malfoy's incompetence and
Dumbledore's interference, he might have done.
	And what lured Potter into the chamber with the basilisk? A
girl. Yaxley was uniquely qualified to put these things together. 
Hadn't he heard Potter's howls of passion with his 'love'? Didn't he
know every wall and skirting board of that house with the scurrying
knowledge of a fugitive forced to creep about like vermin?
	It came together so brilliantly. Use the girl to lure Potter
to his death. Be the girl and laugh at his dismay as the object of
his affection killed him.
	It had the genius of simplicity and a simplicity that left
nothing to chance. It had the added bonus of eliminating Potter
without a confrontation and laughing as he did so.
	Yet there was much to plan before this simple sequence of
events could be put in motion to its inevitable, and Potter's, end.

	Harry saw nothing wrong with accompanying Ginny and Ron to
Hogwarts for the first night at least. He intended to spend most of it
with Hagrid, whom it had been an age since he'd seen.
	Worse luck, although hardly bad since he had been able to kiss
Ginny good-bye under the quivering nose of Argus Filch, who was near
 to bursting over his inability to punish them for it, Hagrid was
absent from his hut. Harry sat with Fang, who greeted Harry with a
drooling welcome.
	Probably with Grawp, Harry surmized, although not of a mind to
try to find them in the forest. He didn't expect Hagrid to sit and 
pine for him. In fact it was good that Hagrid had family to visit.
It made Harry feel less guilty about how seldom he had thought of 
Hagrid in the past months.
	It was well past dark and nearing time to go collect the Weasleys
when Harry heard the tramp of large feet. He popped up to the window
to see Hagrid and was met with a glare. For the first time, because he
had been at such a distance on the night Umbridge attempted to expel
Hagrid from Hogwarts, Harry saw how Hagrid could be mistaken for a
monster.
	That flash left a chill even as Hagrid's face went child-like in
recognition. Rather than disturb Harry, the revelation made him realize
how estimable a protector he had in his youth without really knowing it.
	"And what can I do for you, Mr. Potter? It's summat you want
that'd be bringing you around, innit?" Hagrid feigned gruffness.
	"I wanted to see an old friend and I want to know where you keep
him," Harry answered in kind, "His name's Hagrid."
	It was as much as they could manage before Harry found himself
gripping Hagrid somewhere around the waist and was engulfed in Hagrid's
dustbin lid sized hands.
	"It's good to see you, Hagrid. How's Grawp?" Harry asked when he
escaped the muffling cover of Hagrid's moleskin cloak.
	"Become a right little gentleman," Hagrid said and Harry 
suspected as much exaggeration as calling Grawp little.
	Harry went through the familiar ritual of hiding Hagrid's rock
cakes in his robes as they had tea and exchanged news. Hagrid was
excited about the Weasley's extra classes until Harry explained that
he would not be coming with them every night.
	"How's Hermione then?" Hagrid wanted to know.
	Harry found himself shying away from the juicy bits, even some
tame anecdotes about Ron and Hermione as he told his half-giant friend
about Hermione's professed aims and intentions. It was as if he felt
that might sadden Hagrid somehow, though he didn't know why.
	"Well, she'll be a cracking good 'un," Hagrid said of Hermione's
law study, "I always knew our little Hermione would be the best at
whatever she put her mind ter. An' you tell her tha'."
	Their shared appreciation and awe of Hermione was bringing their
time to an end. Ron and Ginny would be walking to the castle door any
minute and Harry had to meet them.
	"Don't be a stranger," Hagrid called out as Harry walked on,
"Don't forget your old friend."
	That could hardly be likely. But then Harry remembered he had
forgotten to tell Hagrid the greatest news, that he and Ginny were to
marry. He paused, thinking to turn and run back, but he was already 
late and Ron would be impatient to be away.

	It was not the usual nightmare, only the usual fear. Hermione
stirred fitfully next to Ron, whose hand was, for some reason, laying
on top of her head. It was worse than the usual nightmare.
	"Miss Know-it-all Granger. Perfect scores for every test,"
Professor Snape (who Hermione vaguely knew to be dead) was saying in
his harshest voice while holding up her exam papers, "Last year."
	She knew Snape hated her as well as Ron and Harry, but she did
not know how he had come to be in charge. No one was coming to her
aid, not Dumbledore (who she clearly knew to be dead), not Professor
McGonagall, no one.
	"This year, however, these answers net you a total naught,"
Snape went on nastily, "And that casts suspicion on every exam you've
taken at Hogwarts. How did you cheat? I suspect we will find that out
directly."
	Every exam? How could Snape have the power to wipe out tests
that had been taken, graded, recorded? And what happened to her if
he convinced everyone that she had Failed Everything?
	"But, ahhh, you had a Time-Turner in third year, did you not?"
Snape was sneering his special nasty grin at her, "Did we cotton on
to how easy it might be to peek at the exam and go back an hour or
two to find the answers? Fear not, we will uncover the answers now."
	It's a dream. It must be a dream, Hermione mouthed to herself
as she was suddenly naked in front of Snape. And not just Snape, but
Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Rita Skeeter, Millicent Bulstrode, 
Bellatrix Lestrange, Dolores Umbridge, Voldemort, Crabbe and Goyle-
and one of them was dead too. They were all leering at her and she
couldn't move her hands from her sides to cover herself.
	"There's not much to uncover there, is there, Draco?" Pansy
was simpering and trying to flaunt her skinny, formless body.
	"Let me see," Rita came forward and lifted each of Hermione's
breasts as if weighing them before sliding her hand down her belly
to grab her crotch, "Maneater Hermione Granger, having tired of toying
with Boy-Who-Lived Harry Potter, has now set her sights, her sagging,
dark-dugged breasts and yawning canyon of womanhood on luring all of
wizardkind to their doom in her draining ditch of sex, hoping to draw
off all power from all those she can draw into her infested genitalia,
writes Rita Skeeter."
	"We know the truth and you will be punished!" Umbridge says.
	Dream or no dream, Hermione recoils as the men are also suddenly
naked and sporting hard evidence of their intent. Even in a dream she
knows it will be traumatic to be gang-raped by Snape, Draco, Crabbe,
Goyle and... Voldemort, who she notices sports a stalk with a
snake's head where a penis would be.
	"No, no! Too easy. And do you want to defile yourselves with a
filthy Mudblood like this?" shrieks Bellatrix.
	Hermione is already whimpering in pain from the memory of 
writhing under Bellatrix's Cruciatus curse, but her body in the dream
stands frozen, waiting.
	Then it is like Bellatrix never spoke and Hermione is pushed to
the floor by Crabbe and Goyle.
	"After you, Professor," Draco bows graciously to Snape.
	"Spank that bottom! Spank that bottom! Spank that bottom!"
	Hermione finds herself sprawled over Umbridge's desk in the
Grand High Inquisitor's office. She is still naked but it is Ron who
is giving her a haunted, apologetic, pained look while, nevertheless,
his hand is crashing unflinchingly against her bottom in time to
Dolores' exhortations.
	"Punish her! Yes, punish her!" Umbridge is slavering, "Spank her
until you can read something cheeky on her bottom!"
	"I'm sorry, Hermione," Ron apologizes in a harsh whisper, "I have
to or she'll tell my mum."
	"I can't! I don't want to! I won't!"
	Hermione feels an even deeper terror as she hears those screams
of anguish in Harry's voice. All her attention searches for Harry
although she is still bent over the desk with Ron spanking her.
	Then she sees Harry's anguish and cold chills her entire body.
She is placed on the desk, her legs somehow frozen waist high and
spread wide. Harry is being wrestled unwilling toward her, his erection
rampant despite his struggle to escape.
	"I'll kill you for this. He's mine," she hears Ginny, also
restrained, threaten.
	"But we don't want to. We can't help it," she pleads as Harry is
pushed forward and she feels his penis sink into her.

	"Oh please, No! it's not right!" Hermione screamed.
	"All right, all right," Ron sounded injured and suddenly the
penis was withdrawn. "I just thought... I didn't think you'd mind."
	Hermione shivered and tried to think what to tell him. First
she had to think what she thought herself. It was a strange dream,
parts familiar, parts disturbing. She decided to put it out of her mind.
	"It was just a dream, that's all," Hermione said after the pause
to clear her head. "Come on if you want to. I think I might like a 
good shag."
	A dutchess on the dance floor, a bawd in the boudoir, Ron
thought, in his own terms, of course. But he liked it that she was
only dirty for him. It was like having a secret Hermione who was his
alone.
	He was going to give her that good shag for being so dirty with
him. And it didn't hurt that he'd be getting a good shag as well.

	It was an easy prophecy. Hermione passed all the N.E.W.T.s with
ease. Somehow Harry couldn't bring himself to wish that it was a bit
off just to rob Ron of his opportunity to claim himself right and
bemoan his fate. Still, he wished something would.
	Hermione had applied herself with double the anxiety she had
shown preparing for her O.W.L.s. Ron didn't understand what it cost her
in worry. He thought it was needless concern and didn't trouble himself
with the toll it was taking.
	Granting it was none of his business, Harry still felt Ron could
set aside his feeling of being hard done by and be a bit more
supportive. Hermione's anxiety was silly after so many repetitions had
shown it to be baseless, but Harry felt Ron could find a better way to
convey that to Hermione.
	"Of course, he doesn't have an angel as I have," Harry said to
Ginny.
	"I already love you, Harry. No need to turn my head," Ginny
deflected the praise. "But I think it's his studies. They aren't going
as well as they might."
	That made sense in twisted Ron logic. Hermione's triumphant
N.E.W.T.s would make his own difficulties seem larger. Harry wished he
could take Ron and shake him sometimes.
	Clearly, in Ron logic, poor ickle Wonny was hopeless, lower than
dirt, and should break away from Hermione before he pulled her down 
like a millstone. Harry could see how that would gnaw at Ron's insides,
but Ron's hang-dog attempts to resign as keeper were fresher in his
memory.
	He had seen how Hermione gutted Ron in her fury over this trait
and decided it would be kinder if the reminder came from him. His 
problem was that a solution worked better than bracing words that could
be ignored and he didn't know the solution.
	"What is he having trouble with? Can I help?" Harry cast around
for an idea.
	"It's more everything," Ginny said. "And it isn't that he can't 
do the work. It's just Ron. He's distracted by being old, being out of
place and isn't applying himself."
	And had no Hermione to clean up the bits he was too distracted
to finish, Harry supplied. He had forgotten how he and Ron, but Ron
more, depended on Hermione to get them through.
	Then that was the answer, Harry thought, little knowing what he
wrought. Hermione could tutor Ron.
	"Now that will go well," Ginny warned, seeing more clearly than
Harry the dynamic it would provoke.

	"You said you were good at taking orders," Harry reminded Ron.
	"But I didn't say that I fancied it," Ron protested.
	It didn't help that they were gathered around the table and 
Ginny as well as Hermione could hear. It didn't restrain Ron, but
Hermione's patience was tested.
	"You don't seem to fancy applying yourself to your work either,"
Hermione said hotly.
	"Excuse me if I'm not Hermione Granger and can pass my exams
without so much as a class," Ron retorted.
	Too late, Harry was seeing how it was going to go. He had
succeeded in separating the two he hoped to bring together into two
armed camps.
	"I knew you'd be like this," Ginny said suddenly, "Harry said
no, you had gained too much maturity, but I didn't think so."
	Hermione looked at Ginny as if she had expressed an admiration
for Voldemort. Harry stared without judgment, but as much surprise.
Ron sulked without paying her heed.
	"Yes, Hermione, you are smarter, you are gifted, it does come
easier for you. So what if you pile an obsessive need to apply yourself
on top of that? It doesn't mean it would yield the same results for
normal, stupid people like us."
	Hermione was shocked speechless by the attack, but Ginny had
chosen her as the starting point with a purpose. Ron perked up and was
now intent on the proceedings.
	"And you. Old, I'm rubbish, and that's my excuse every time
everything doesn't go just my way the first time," she rounded on the
now attentive Ron, "Grow up! I've listened to you pout the same old
tired tune all my life. Be a man. Don't whine that no one lets you.
A man doesn't let that stop them. He does it in spite."
	Harry was able to look at Ginny objectively since she hadn't
turned on him, yet. For the force of her words, her face was eerily
matter-of-fact. He suspected a prepared speech. That helped when she
did turn on him.
	"And you, dear, sweet, Harry with the urge to fix things," she
said, "Sometimes people won't ever muddle to their own solutions if
you help them along. Your trusting people you care for unconditionally
is a trait so like Dumbledore's that I won't call you to task for it,
but if you remember, he did that aware of and willing to take the risk,
and you see what that got him. It may be selfish, but I don't want
you taking that risk or ending up like him."
	"And me?" she completed the circle, "I'm a downright bitch
sometimes. I say what I think when I'm roused. I haven't been much a 
part of your struggles because I've been too happy to marvel at my
every hope, wish and desire coming true. I'm luckier than all of you
and you should resent me for it."
	"Except you, Harry," she turned to him, her first hint of emotion
a smile, "You should love me."
	That aside aside, Ginny looked around at the collection of 
scowls, consternation and confusion and started anew. This time with a
serious look on her face.
	"The only problem with Harry's naively optimistic plan is you,"
she addressed them as a whole, "For all the quirks I have so
unforgivingly pointed out we would all, each one of us, die to save the
others without a thought. Obviously, Harry already has."
	"Why can't you, Miss Know-it-all, find some patience and use, I
don't know, maybe the same bait that had made my brother into the
somewhat less objectionable lout he has become under your influence?"
Ginny started in on Hermione again, but this time the tone of her
gentle mocking was soothing rather than infuriating.
	"And you, Dumb-as-rocks, you were eager to let Hermione do your
work for you at Hogwarts. Don't you think you could at least watch her
do it if it means you won't have to scour bedpans at St. Mungo's the
rest of your life?" Ginny asked Ron with a bit more point.
	"Me?" Harry asked as she seemed to wind down.
	"I did you for balance," Ginny said. "You were trying to help. I
just didn't think it was fair to let loose at them and not say 
something about you."
	"My playing the hero got Sirius killed," Harry said somberly, "As
Hermione has had the kindness to never mention. I think it's good if I
get reminded if I'm doing that sort of thing again."
	"Well, I'm all for clearing the air," Hermione said in a pinched
voice that suggested it was only barely, "But Ron will have to 
cooperate."
	"As long as you don't stand over me like old McGonagall," Ron
agreed with resignation.
	"That's odd. I would have thought that would be just the sort of
thing that might... invigorate you. Given the proper costume," Ginny
said waspishly with a naughty smile.

	The smile on Draco's face was so genuine that the others would
be hard put to recognize him when Verity accepted his invitation. It
was not lost on her.
	Her resolve had returned over the intervening night, but she
saw the smile as a sign she had not made a grievous error. It was only
dinner, after all. And he seemed pleasant enough. It could be a fine
evening of conversation and food.
	It didn't mean anything. She never had to see him again. He had 
not let any other motive slip. He might well be the very nice wizard
he seemed.

	Chapter 8 - Vagina Dentata (Namazu)

	Hermione was trying to will away the last of her ire at Ginny.
She knew why Ginny did it, of course. She knew why Harry allowed it.
She was even a bit pleased at some of the things Ginny said.
	It was a bit of fortune, really, she tried to be modest about
her high scores on the N.E.W.T.s. The school of Magical Law wasn't
interested in trash like Divination, or even the admittedly useful
Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was Arithmancy and Runes and History,
the hard sciences of Magic, that they looked at.
	She had been fortunate indeed, almost as if her calling had been
foretold, to be drawn to those subjects. Still, she clung to the idea
that Ron and Harry could have done better if they applied themselves.
A bit of discipline, that was all it took.
	Freed by her tirade, or Ron's resolve, or some other happy factor
resulting from the new direction, Ginny had stopped accompanying her
brother to night school. This was greeted by a mixture of relief at
lessening the extra work for the professors that deigned to devote the
time and wishes that she was the Weasley that remained.
	At 12 Grimmauld Place the change was viewed with unalloyed 
happiness. Harry was grateful that his sacrifice of hours spent with
Ginny had been so short. Ginny was pleased to minister to Harry's mind
and spirit and particularly body when he returned from a day of
training.
	For one who had fancied himself almost an Auror already (what had
he ever done that wasn't an Auror's job?), Harry was finding there was
much in the category that Lupin had once referred to as magic he had
never encountered or dreamed of. That this was split unevenly into
brief examinations of techniques and strategies to be tested and long,
hard testing on the Auror's version of an obstacle course, showed
Harry, often painfully, how much there was still to learn.
	That he was also praised for his quick application of lessons and
his even quicker reflexes did little to distract Harry from knowing
that a real obstacle course with real penalties for error would do him
in. It didn't do anything to soothe the hurts from the exercise-level
spells either. For that he was grateful to have Ginny ready with
soothing magic and her even more soothing touch.

	Harry was thinking of that soothing touch as he approached a
door he was certain held a trap. Feel it, the instructor had said.
Magic leaves its traces where ever it has been and more strongly where
it still is. Harry remembered Dumbledore using much the same words, but
with the same lack of clarity as his instructor. 
	It may be a smell or the feeling of hair rising on the neck. You
may fancy you sense a glow or a waver in the air around an object. It
is different, sometimes to the same person in different instances, as
the magic alerts the magic that runs in you, the wizard.
	It was just the kind of non-specific and non-helpful thing that
Snape might say, although Harry didn't have the comfort of thinking his
instructor was purposefully trying to mislead him.

	The magic running through Hermione did not have time to sense the
red bolt that struck her between the shoulder blades and dropped her,
senseless, on her face. 
	It was the Mudblood companion, quite famous in her own way among
the Death Eaters. She would be a consolation prize, an additional draw
to his banner, but still insignificant against the waste of the grand
gesture of killing Potter, Yaxley thought. She was quite still, quite
stunned, he found as he stooped to touch her.
	His hand paused only an instant with evil intent and then jerked
back with the reminder that she was unclean, unworthy even for that.
His attention was drawn to a movement above him.
	"What are you doing?" Ginny screamed shrilly even as the ropes
flew out of his wand to bind her.
	There was his prize. And so easily done, Yaxley congratulated
himself on the swift subduing of the two unsuspecting witches without
wands. Now he was halfway to his goal.
	He jogged up the stair to throw the struggling parcel over his 
shoulder. As he tromped unsteadily down under the weight, he pointed
his wand at Hermione's still form and she rose in the air, hanging 
by one heel.
	If he could not bring himself to touch her, he was amused by her
hanging, knickers topmost, as he sent her before him like a banner.
They were turning into the hall when Kreacher confronted them.
	"No, Kreacher. Tell Harry!" Ginny screamed as Yaxley spun the
elf out of her sight turning around.
	His concentration lost, Hermione hit the ground with the thump
of a melon as Yaxley turned his wand on Kreacher. For a moment he and
Kreacher glared at each other with renewed animosity.
	"What are you doing with Master Harry's... Mistress," Kreacher
croaked with the confusion of naming one he had little reason to
identify by title before.
	"Leave off, or I'll kill them," Yaxley threatened, his wand still
fixed on Kreacher.
	"Find Harry. Tell him," Ginny pleaded, blindly trusting since she
could no longer see the confrontation.
	Kreacher hesitated. He was not Dobby, already chafing at the 
enslavement and ready to act when released. He was aware, even proud 
of the requirement to serve his Master and uncertain about attacking a
wizard. 
	Before, their confrontation had been with a trespasser, like
the wretched Mundungus. Even then he had been unable to sustain his
attack on Yaxley as the wizard boasted that he had been brought to the
step by Kreacher's master, who had deserted Kreacher and left the 
elf at the Death Eater's mercy.
	More than suiting many years of conditioning to see Harry and his
like as undesirable, Yaxley's words had hit upon Kreacher's inability
to question what he was told. Kreacher did not think the wizard who
had given him Regulus's locket would turn against him, but the problem,
and Yaxley's rescue came because Kreacher didn't know what to think.
	The old elf was once again caught in that state of indecision,
this time in weighing the threat to Master Harry's friends against his
dislike of the intruder.
	It was enough for Yaxley to scoop up Hermione and scuttle to the
door to disapparate on the top step. Yaxely chose his destination
hastily, recalling his impact against the wall of 12 Grimmauld Place
before his wit found the elf's weak spot and he talked his way out
of further damage after he had followed the trio by clinging to
Hermione's cloak as the three fled from the Ministry.
	It was the sight of Hermione dangling that brought it to mind.
He turned into the darkness to emerge where Death Eaters had last made
sport of dangling muggles with their knickers exposed- the wood where
the Quidditch Cup was held. He stumbled under the weight as he
apparated at the edge of the wood. Hermione fell with another thump
and he shrugged off Ginny.
	Hermione remained still. Ginny struggled but looked like some
kind of worm in her bonds. Yaxley straightened and drew a breath of
relief. It had not gone quite as planned but he had managed to work
out the difficulties.
	"Tell Harry. Tell Harry to save me," he mocked Ginny in a
falsetto, and added smugly, "That is precisely my intention, you silly
girl."
	He reached down to pull hair from Ginny's head and held the
red strands up for her to see.
	"But he will save me. And I will kill him for it," Yaxley smiled
evilly, "And his last thought will be of your betrayal."
	It seemed the heat of her anger should set the ropes binding her
alight, but it did not. She watched helplessly as Yaxley added the
hairs and the potion turned the sea-green of shallow waters in the cove
of a deserted tropical island. She struggled pointlessly, the horror of
Yaxley's words growing as her strength waned.

	George had wanted a word. Ron knew what word that was. He was
wondering if his mother's heat had cooled over time or if it was 
waiting to ignite again when Ron came to visit.
	He was weighing past actions of his mum against her frightening
unpredictability as he walked up Diagon Alley toward Weasley's 
Wizard Wheezes. He was in no way prepared for who he saw standing by
the door.
	"Malfoy!" Ron snarled like hurling a curse word, "What are you
doing here?"
	Ron didn't see, or at most disregarded, Verity standing at the
door. Draco glared at Ron with his customary expression that he was
seeing something vulgar and improper.
	"That's none of your business, Weasley," Draco replied. "The
question is why you aren't with St. Potter. Sensing danger and looking
for a place to hide?"
	"Like you're any danger to Harry," Ron scoffed.
	"No, not me," Draco said with a tinge of regret at making the
admission and its truth, "Or you'd be running into danger rather than
fleeing it, wouldn't you? I meant the Death Eaters."
	"Oh," Ron snorted, "Old boogey men that are all gone and
forgotten, you mean."
	"Not all of them," Draco said provocatively.
	"Then just say it," Ron challenged, "What are you on about?"
	"I've heard one, Yaxley. Gone quite mad and begun talking to 
the furniture. Going on about killing Potter with love," Draco said.
	"And why would you tell me this?" Ron asked suspiciously.
	That was more complex than Draco could answer with a taunt. He
hated Harry and Harry hated him. Yet, at a time when Draco would have
turned with a malicious unconcern, Potter had risked himself and his
friends to rescue him. Though he had never heard Dumbledore say it, he
was feeling the truth of his words. Owing your life to a person formed
a certain bond.
	"Don't believe me," Draco said instead, "Just remember I told you
when Potter's dead."
	If anything could make Ron uneasy, it was Draco giving up so
quickly. He forgot his meeting with George and turned away. Draco
turned to the forgotten Verity.
	"Thank you for an enjoyable time. Perhaps we can do it again,"
he said briefly before turning on his heel and striding off.
	Verity watched as Ron remembered himself and disapparated and
Draco walked away. She had no way of knowing there was such animosity
between the very nice wizard and Mr. George's younger brother. She was
left confused.
	Draco hadn't even tried to kiss her.

	"Ginny! Hermione! Where's Harry?" Ron called out as he stormed
in the door of 12 Grimmauld Place.
	He wanted desperately to give the news and have it sorted out.
The silence that greeted him was ominous. Already on edge, Ron had his
wand out and pointed at the noise as Kreacher slunk into the room.
	"I am to tell Master Harry," he croaked, "The one Master Harry
said to call Ginny told me to tell him."
	Kreacher had evidently worked out a new designation for Ginny.
He had also been punishing himself in despair as ugly bruises around
his eyes and head attested.
	"Where is Ginny?" Ron asked.
	"He took her. The one before. The one when you did not come 
home," Kreacher said.
	It took a bit of trouble to untangle Kreacher's twisted
identification of Yaxley. When Ron did, he was seized by the dire
implication. Not only was there truth in Draco's claim, the plan,
whatever it was, was in motion.
	Kill Potter with love? With Ginny missing it was easy for Ron
to deduce the rest. She was being held as bait to draw Harry to where
he could be killed. He breathed deeply to quell his rising panic.
	They had faced worse danger before. He had to gather Hermione
and Harry and together they would stop Yaxley. They were quite good
at it, he thought to brace himself.
	"Where is Hermione?" he asked.
	"He took the other as well," Kreacher croaked.
	Ron felt all his resolve and bravado drain away. Hermione! His
thoughts would not settle. Hermione! He had to take action, but what
to do? Harry had to be warned. Hermione had to be saved. Which and who
was to come first?
	"Where did he take them? Do you know where they are? Can you
find them?" tumbled out of Ron's mouth in a rush.
	"Kreacher might," Kreacher said.
	Not thinking how weak Kreacher's avowal sounded, Ron decided.
He felt in his heart that his mission was to Harry. When he pictured
finding Harry, he saw them shoulder to shoulder, saving the girls.
When he pictured a rescue alone, he saw himself trapped, waiting with
the other two with hope of Harry's rescue.
	"I know I'm not Harry, but my sister is almost your Mistress,"
Ron said beseechingly, "Can't you go and find her, keep her safe? I'll
tell Harry for you."
	"Kreacher can try," Kreacher said.
	Kreacher didn't know how to tell Ron about the vagaries of that.
Ron wasn't listening anyway. Ginny was perhaps his Mistress. In that
case it didn't matter that Ron was not his Master. There would be
something, something in the enchantment that could take him to her,
as he could apparate at Harry's side when his name was spoken.
	Ron scrunched up his face as much to rid himself of doubt as to
brace for the apparation. It wasn't a familiar target and he wasn't
confident.
	It was familiar enough. He found himself in his dad's old office
and un-splinched. He interrupted his moment of wonder to wrench open
the door of the Office of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts and speed down the
hall to the Auror's office. Dawlish was there reviewing reports.
	"Where's Harry?" Ron asked excitedly.
	"You're Arthur Weasley's boy. Ron is it?" Dawlish didn't respond
to Ron's urgency.
	"Yes, but I need Harry," Ron said impatiently and then saw the
display of Yaxley's photos and pointed, "He's got them. He's got my
sister and my... friend and he's after Harry."
	Ron had been using his urgency seeking Harry to stave off
thoughts of Ginny and Hermione. With his admission they came flooding
back.
	"Yaxley?" Dawlish dropped the reports he was holding, his hand
instinctively going to his wand, "Then we must find them. Harry went
off with... hold on, did you say he took your sister?"
	"But she came to collect Harry directly after training," Dawlish
said after Ron's nod. "That's odd."
	"Did they mention where they were going?" Ron ignored the Auror's
confusion.
	"No, but the young lady did seem quite... amorous," Dawlish
said delicately, "But they just went off."
	"Then you can't come," Ron said, "Whatever has happened to Ginny,
I don't think it will be good to have a stranger pop up. Harry might
kill you himself if he thinks she's threatened. Grimmauld Place- meet
us at Grimmauld Place."
	Ron used Dawlish's moment of consternation to escape. He darted 
out of sight and disapparated with no thought but escape. It was little
surprise that he found himself on the path outside the Burrow.
	He was at a loss. Too many thoughts were vying for a place in
his head. He had set off on a mad chase after Harry, forsaking his
sister and the woman he loved. He had no idea where Harry might be 
nor any idea how to find out. Every admonition to himself to think
brought more confusion.
	He was in front of the Burrow. Thoughts of Ginny interfered. His
little sister all grown up. Changed from the giggling, silly,
mischievous... 
	Amorous? And Dawlish seemed to be holding back with that
description. But what a fool, of course she wouldn't act like herself.
She had to be under the Imperius Curse. How could Harry not know?
	The line of thinking seemed to be leading him farther from his
quest to find Harry, but for the first time it was going somewhere.
Where would she lure him? It would have to be somewhere familiar,
somewhere that would not alert Harry by its strangeness.
	Where would he go even if Hermione was acting strange? Well,
anywhere, but that was him. Where would he go without minding that
she was odd? 
	Where did he go when she was the oddest yet? The drawing room
of 12 Grimmauld Place when Harry was watching the Ministry. They were
facing danger and it could be THAT danger and it would be a shame, now
that they felt the way they did, to die without ever...
	Ron shook off the memory before he got too involved. So where
had Harry and Ginny decided to do what he interrupted in her room on
Harry's birthday? It had to be after his first with Hermione- though
not so much after as you would notice, he thought ruefully of his
absence and then Hermione's coldness when he retuned.
	It had to be the lake. Harry was not near Ginny and not alone
until they had gone off when it was all over. Over, he snorted. As if
it was ever over.
	He tried not to think how thin a thread he had spun as he
concentrated on the lake and prepared to turn into oblivion.

	"What, Harry? Shy?" Ginny was teasing him.
	It was not so unlike her, Harry considered as she teased him to
undress for her. She was ever the lively influence for his somewhat
more dour temperament.
	He confessed himself shocked that she was so bold in front of
Dawlish. She had always teased him with rewards to escape to privacy
rather than declare her intentions so openly, and so directly.
	He put that to the turn of their fortunes. He had years to go
before his training would be complete, as did Hermione, but they were
begun. Ron was sorted and Ginny herself was freed to pursue her
pursuit of him. He could see it might make her giddy.
	He saw even her encouraging him to boldness as positive. She
was, after all, as open with him when they were together. Perhaps it
was time for him to stop being the one that marveled and to actively
participate.
	He'd stripped off quite happily, if with more nerves than he
had betrayed, when joining the others. And it was liberating, somehow,
embracing them with that kind of honesty as they embraced him in
return.
	It was so obvious to return to where she had become his first 
and only lover. If this was to be, as she said, the most important
night of his life, it should take place where the afternoon it replaced
in that regard occurred. She had left no doubt that the activity would
be much the same.
	Then it was more like the averted consummation in her room.
	"Oi! Get away from her!" Ron bellowed on the heels of the
crack of his apparating.
	"That's not him! It's an imposter!" Ginny screamed out, "Stop
him Harry! He means to hurt us!"
	Harry could barely process Ron's interruption, let alone Ginny's
unlikely reply. Whatever, whichever, it was clear something was wrong.
	"What are you doing here, Ron?" Harry rounded on the intruder.
	"It's not Ginny!" Ron said, "Or not her, really. She's
Imperiused or something."
	"Are you going to listen to that wild tale?" Ginny was a bit
shrill, "He's the wrong one. Stop him, Harry."
	"I'm telling you," Ron was growing more animated, "Malfoy said
Yaxley was planning something and Kreacher said he took them!"
	"He does know names of people you know," Ginny turned slyer,
"I suppose that makes his wild tale mean something. I think he must
be Yaxley. Yes, Yaxley using Polyjuice Potion. Kill him."
	That she would think of Polyjuice Potion so quickly interested
Harry. That she had so easily changed from Stop him to Kill him was
chilling. Then he knew quite what to do. Lupin's caution had left a 
deep impression on Harry.
	"What kind of sandwiches did I bring on the train the day we
first met?" Harry asked Ron.
	"Are you mental?" Ron asked.
	"See- he doesn't know! Get rid of him," Ginny said desperately.
	"You didn't bring anything. You bought the cart and we both
stuffed ourselves," Ron said. "If you want to know, they were corned
beef and they were mine."
	"What did you say to me the last time we were here, on that day?"
Harry turned his question to Ginny- or the appearance of Ginny.
	He had let it go too long. He should have pulled his wand when
they arrived, or at least when the dratted boy appeared. But neither
of them was holding a wand and he still had the element of surprise.
	"Avada..."
	Yaxley could not judge the reflexes of a Seeker any more than the
pigeon is physically capable of sensing the speeding hawk that swoops
to kill it. Before he could sputter out the curse, his wand was 
spinning, sending deadly green sparks like a comet's tail, at Harry's
disarming spell, so familiar that it came effortlessly, nonverbally as
he pointed his wand at the image of his love.
	Yaxley had barely noticed that the wand had left his hand when
Ron's slightly more tardy bellow of "Stupefy" sent a red bolt direct
into the chest of the female form he was inhabiting. Then he noticed
nothing.
	"It's odd..." Ron said, his voice trembling.
	"That I was a minute from stripping off and dying and now it's
over?" Harry asked.
	"No. Stunning Ginny," Ron said. "If it was her, I don't think
I would have had a chance."
	Harry declined to point out that this person in Ginny's form was
busy trying to kill him and, in any case, no longer had a wand when Ron
sent his spell at her. Ropes flew from Harry's wand to encase the form
of his lover.
	"Now I guess we have to take him in," Harry said.
	They had progressed from Ron's guess that it was Ginny under
enchantment to Yaxley using Polyjuice largely by feel. The fact the
one that attacked them brought it up was one thing. That he didn't
know the answer to Harry's question was another.
	Even though he instinctively followed the same reasoning, Ron
was not calmed by it. Because Yaxley was in their control did not mean
other Death Eaters did not hold Hermione and Ginny hostage.
	"He took Ginny and Hermione," he said anxiously, "I don't know
where they are. We have to find them."
	Harry looked down at Yaxley. How long had it been since he had
taken the potion? He could rouse him and question him, torture him if
need be. But Yaxley would take pleasure in resisting and the idea he
had even thought of it sickened Harry.
	"Where do we start?" Harry asked.
	"I don't know. Kreacher thought he might be able to find them,
though," Ron said.
	Harry's mouth opened and then closed. Again he was ignorant of
the ways and powers of house elves. He would have to get Kreacher to
explain them to him. He wasn't sure if it was wise to summon Kreacher.
	"Then back to my house," Harry said more decisively than he felt.
	He shouldered the bound, still form of his love and they
disapparated back to apparate in the square outside of 12 Grummauld
Place.

	"Potter!" Harry heard the voice when Ron had run up the steps,
tapped the door with his wand, and the locks were clicking back.
	He turned, wand at the ready, to face Dawlish.
	"He ran off. I didn't have a chance to follow," Dawlish said
quickly at wandpoint and then noticed the form of Ginny over Harry's
shoulder. 
	"Did it not go well?" he asked in confusion.
	"This is Yaxley," Harry said, "I think. Anyway, whoever it is
attacked me."
	Now Dawlish had his wand out and Harry lowered his own. Ron had
run back at the confrontation and stood next to Harry.
	"We might as well go in," Harry said.
	"Where?" Dawlish asked.
	"Never mind then," Harry said quickly, without thinking why, "Can
you take... this? I suspect you will see who it is in an hour. I think
they have taken Polyjuice Potion to seem to be Ginny."
	"I believe I can handle one wizard, stunned and bound," Dawlish
said with a hint of irony.
	"What was that then?" Ron asked when Dawlish and the transformed
Yaxley had gone.
	"I think the Fidelius Charm is still working," Harry said. "I'm
not sure why I didn't tell Dawlish the address."
	Ron wasn't interested. His concern was that Kreacher had found
the others. He rushed into the house to search. Harry paused only a
moment to consider having a secret abode before he followed.

	Ginny, the real Ginny, found that all she could do was roll next
to Hermione. The fingers she had freed from the ropes could only tug 
on Hermione's robes and she got no response.
	She laid her head on the still form and found that Hermione was
breathing. The relief flowed through her and made her relax with each
of Hermione's slow breaths.
	She did not have her wand to release herself, nor, she found 
after a tricky and difficult search, did Hermione have her wand. There
was little she could do. She resigned herself to waiting. Harry would
find her. She let no doubt interfere with that thought.
	The crack startled her. In her search for a wand, she had pushed
under Hermione to prise her over and then, wormlike, crawled over the
unmoving body to feel for a wand. She was lying in an unseemly position
with her face stuck in Hermione's bushy hair and could not see who had
arrived.
	"Harry?" she asked tentatively.
	"Not Harry Potter," croaked Kreacher's bullfrog voice. "Miss...
was thinking of him."
	"Kreacher?" Ginny identified the voice.
	It wasn't Harry, but it was his elf. She felt rescued. Then a
dark thought chilled her.
	"What's happened to Harry? Why didn't he come himself?" she asked
with fear making her breath short.
	"Kreacher does not know," Kreacher said. "He was sent to find his
Mistress because the boy said Harry Potter wanted him to go."
	"Then you must find Harry!" Ginny said in her panic.
	"If Master needs Kreacher he will call," Kreacher said
obstinately.
	"Can you get me out of these ropes?" Ginny moved to the next
question.
	With more precision than Hermione's Diffindo charm, Kreacher
swept his hand over Ginny and the confining ropes parted. Even freed,
Ginny found that movement was slow to return. She had been bound
tightly and with her exertions she had been left stiff and cramped.
	She lifted her face out of Hermione's hair with difficulty and
looked at the ugly little elf. He was regarding her with curiosity.
	"Can you do something for her?" she asked, nodding at Hermione.
	"Kreacher has no wand," he said simply.
	"Can you take us home then?" she asked.
	Kreacher nodded. They both reached out to grip Hermione and Ginny
took Kreacher's hand.

	Ron was upstairs, running from room to room, calling for
Hermione. Harry had slouched down on the sofa in the sitting room to
think. He felt like joining Ron's pointless search, but he knew the
girls would answer if they were there. He wanted to find them as well,
but he didn't think running around the house was the answer.
	Ron had sent Kreacher to find them. He marveled at the quick
thinking without knowing of Ron's desperate confusion. It did come to
him that Ron had set out to find him, Harry, rather than seek the
girls. 
	It gratified him, but he did feel a small bit of irritation that
Ron had not sought Ginny first. He wondered what he would do faced with
a similar dilemma. Then he knew he could not make such decisions. He
would have to be in the situation before he would know what felt right.
	He was returning to his gratitude when Ron came solemnly down the
stairs holding a wand.
	"They're not here!" he confirmed what Harry already knew. "I
found this. It's Hermione's."
	Ron took that as a dire sign. Harry thought it was obvious that
Hermione was unable to resist. Otherwise she would not have been taken.
	"She must have dropped it," Harry said.
	Ron looked up with haunted eyes. To stop him voicing his fears,
Harry went on.
	"Did Kreacher say how he would find them?" Harry asked.
	"I don't know," Ron blustered, "I had a lot on my mind, you know."
	"Like whether to go for them or go for me?" Harry prompted.
	"Well, yeah," Ron said as if questioning his choice, "It was a
big decision."
	Harry was spared explaining his indecision about Ron's actions
by a loud crack and a flash of light. He jumped up and Ron spun, wands
out to face the intruder.
	"Ginny!" Harry shouted with relief.
	"NO!" Ron howled and rushed to fall on Hermione.
	"She's just stunned. I think. At least she's breathing," Ginny
said to soothe her sobbing brother as he hugged Hermione's still
form.
	"Then if he'll stand away, I'll do something about that," Harry
said seriously.
	He felt the urge to laugh, but not at Ron's despair. It was a
laugh of relief, perhaps with a bit of a reminder how Ron once had
quarreled so bitterly with the woman he was now draped over in grief.
	"Ennervate," he said as he pointed his wand at Hermione's form.
	She stirred slowly and then her eyes opened in wonder to see
Ron's teary eyes so close to her face and her clasped in his arms.
	"What has happened and why are you crying?" she asked crossly.
	Ginny sidled toward Harry at the touching scene, but Harry's
sharp eye caught another movement.
	"Kreacher. Come here," he said sharply.
	The elf came timidly forward.
	"Don't go off," he scolded, "You did this. See how glad they are?
You were brilliant. You made them, us, all of us, very happy. Thank
you. But you should stay as you're owed thanks from all of us."
	Kreacher pulled his head out of his neck a bit at that but kept
his look of uncertainty. He was uncomfortable witnessing what he would
have been surely banished from before.
	"Yes, thank you, Kreacher," Ginny added, "Thank you for saving
me, us."
	"How ever did you do it?" Hermione asked, her voice muffled by
Ron's continuing attempts to snog her in relief.
	"She was thinking of you, Master," Kreacher addressed himself to
Harry. "I am bound to you so that made her easy to find."
	"That I would rescue you?" Harry asked Ginny.
	"You always rescue me, Harry," Ginny said, "I was just thinking
about you."
	Kreacher used the interlude to escape. He was uncertain what
questions might come next and of the answers. He was also vaguely
unsettled at being included in such doings between witches and wizards.
Kreacher had become comfortable with his new master and even his 
strange assortment of friends, but he still felt more comfortable with
them in his long-accustomed role as servant.  
	He wasn't missed. Now Harry and Ginny were in an embrace like
Ron and Hermione without the struggle that Hermione was putting up.
	"No, Ron, not now," she said crossly. "I want to know what
happened."
	Harry and Ginny broke their merging at the mouth and sat down
to piece the story together.
	"Ron! That's brilliant!" Hermione praised as Ron gave his,
somewhat edited, version of thinking where Harry might be.
	"Well you were bang on about that," Harry admitted. "Ginny was
being very tarty. She said it should be very special, the most special
place I could think of."
	"And that's what you thought of?" Ginny said, sighing after her
first reaction had been to jolt Harry for calling her 'tarty'.
	"What's more special than that?" Harry asked, sure it was
obvious.
	"And I slept through it all," Hermione decried as they put
together the last bits of unmasking the imposter and the girls' rescue.
"I suppose it serves me right for not being more vigilant."
	"Yeah. And I thought you were dead. Don't do that to me again,"
Ron said as if it was somehow her fault.

	Relief ruled confrontation. Hermione ignored a potential
flashpoint in her memory of Ron's anguished face over her when she
revived. It made her feel tender toward him rather than angry.
	She was the one that renewed the snogging, briefly. Then it was
clear it wasn't enough to express their emotions and she dragged Ron
upstairs to their room.
	"And how special was it with me?" Ginny asked Harry when they
were alone.
	"It wasn't," Harry blurted out. "Not this time. We didn't have
a chance... We didn't have to. I didn't even take off my clothes."
	"Well, you might have to now," Ginny said, prodding him, but with
a release of tension.
	How could she hold him responsible when the other looked like and
talked like and pretended to be her? Harry couldn't know, couldn't be
blamed, but all the same she was relieved in the knowledge that he
hadn't.
	It wasn't enough to stop her preying on Harry's guilt at the
same thoughts of almost. After all, it was clever even if it did issue
from a twisted, vengeful mind. Why shouldn't she be the one to sit and
watch as Harry gave her something to lust after for a change?
	Mostly it was disconcerting to hear the sounds as if struggle
from the room below as Harry stripped off. They tempted to fill Harry's
head with images that he had shaken off before. For his part, he felt
slightly silly, but otherwise comfortable.
	This was the real Ginny after all. He knew that in a way that
was troublingly absent with the copy. She was gently mocking him, but
with delight and Harry felt no shame delighting her however improper
it might feel at the moment.
	"Go, boy, go!" Ginny chortled as he bent down to remove his
underpants.
	Then he was there, naked Harry Potter, ready to fulfill Ginny's
next desire. She flicked her wand to produce a Galleon in mid-air and
tried to balance it on his erection. It dropped slightly as his penis
sagged with the weight and then was thrown off as it sprang back.
	The giggling was gone. Before the Galleon struck the floor with
a ringing sound, Ginny's mood had changed. Here was Harry Potter, ever
her hero, and showing his unmistakable devotion and desire for her.
Her eyes burned with the fire of her own desire.
	Harry found it was quite nice. Whatever his display had cost him
in pride was repaid many times over in the thrill of unwrapping her.
It was different somehow, an intimacy before intimacy, to uncover her
and touch her as her clothes came away.
	Ginny let him experience it without interference, either of
aiding him or touching him intimately in return. They had time. There
was less urgency to meet in the union of flesh. They would have that,
soon and many times, she hoped. For now she could feel his love in
the adoring way he caressed her and the wonder that he expressed and
she shared just being close.
	Ron and Hermione were beyond or ahead of them in that. The echoes
of their closeness reverberated rhythmically amid mixed cries of angels
and baser sounds of animals in rut. This time there was no temptation
to picture them. Harry was distractedly amused by the contrast between
their volume and the near silence of gentle sighs as he lay Ginny,
now naked, back on the bed and began to touch her anew.
	"Oh Ron! Bloody hell!"
	Ginny snickered as the cry pierced the distance and the
intervening floors like they were air. Harry allowed her amusement at
Hermione's orgasmic cry without pausing. He too found it in some way
odd, unlike either of his friends, but he was at the moment of entering
Ginny and lost in his personal adventure.
	"Should I cry out too?" she asked as Harry moved inside her, "I
could, you know. I feel quite like it just having you."
	Harry silenced her with a kiss. He knew her impulse issued from
a desire to please him and came out jumbled between her natural
playfulness and a silly insecurity. He felt the same, as much or more,
she had no worries there.
	And she had been as loud, on occasion, as anyone could wish,
perhaps bear. That thought warmed him and brought an urgency to his
movements. He had his Ginny there. Yaxley was foolish to think that
there was anything he could offer in his devious ploy of manufactured
lust that could surpass that simple fact.
	It was about... It was about Ginny clinging to him, pulling at
him, needing him and making him need her more. It was about them both
feeling the fortunate one and... Then it was about holding and 
thrusting and feeling her response without thought. It was about 
bodies and flesh and skin and joy and the overspreading wings of love
that sheltered from all else but their shared sojourn in realms too
lofty to linger long.
	"Harry?" Ginny said softly, between her deep, slowing breaths.
	"Hmmm?"
	"I'm glad you're safe," she said, unsure she had made that clear,
"I never think of it really, except all the time. I just believe that
you'll always be there. I couldn't go on otherwise."
	"I always will be," he said, ignoring the absurdity in his desire
to soothe her fears, "I couldn't stand it if I weren't."

	Chapter 9 - A Normal Life

	For once Molly opened the door to discover Fleur and Bill without
rancor. Instead, she felt the chill of fear from her sense of the
portent surrounding them.
	"Hullo, Mum. Dad home?" Bill asked simply.
	"What's wrong?" she asked, searching their faces.
	Bill's was set and she was yet to read the torn, scarred face as
she had when it was intact. Fleur was smiling mysteriously, almost
proudly in her cool inscrutability. Molly felt shut out even more
completely than she usually felt with her haughty daughter-in-law.
	"Nothing. We just want to tell you both," Bill said.
	Molly stepped aside for them to come in.
	"Well, Bill... and Fleur," Mr. Weasley greeted them as he saw the
worried look on his wife's face, "What is this about?"
	"Nothing really," Bill said with a straight face, "We just wanted
to come and see you... grandpa."
	Arthur's stunned take was ample time for Molly to react with
shock and then squeeze her eyes against the tears as she turned to
squeeze her daughter-in-law, who was bouncing slightly now the news
had been released. Then Arthur reacted and jumped up to grab Bill's
hand and pound him on the back.
	"Well done, well done," Arthur said gleefully, "And when may we
expect this happy event?"
	"We just waited until we knew for sure," Bill said, "And we just
have done. We're expecting our sweet little girl in the spring."
	Molly made a noise like a startled chicken and said, "You didn't
have to tell. Half the fun is planning for a boy and planning for a
girl until you find out."
	"Did you do zis?" Fleur asked, "I would zink you would expect
boys after zo many."
	Molly shrugged off Fleur's lack of understanding and didn't give
up her hold. She didn't know how to explain that she loved her boys
but was so glad to finally have Ginerva- particularly in front of Bill
and Arthur.
	"The Healer asked if we wanted to know and we thought we'd know
eventually, so why not," Bill said.
	"Then I guess you're not so far along that we can't have a
toast," Mr. Weasley said.
	"No, no," Fleur shrank away almost superstitiously, "I will not,
even now. If I am to make a baby, I wish to make zee perfect one."
	"She's talking of squatting in herb gardens and playing the flute
to make sure our daughter is serene, musical and sweet-tempered,"
Bill said lightly.
	"Sweet-tempered would be nice," Molly said without obvious
inflection.
	"Zere iz nozing wrong with zis!" Fleur maintained. "Zese methods
'ave been used for many generations to bring forth beautiful
daughters!"
	"And I tell you that's giving it too much credit when the mother
is so beautiful herself," Bill said.
	It seemed a matter of contention but could hardly be taken that
way as Fleur pulled herself out of Molly's grasp to grab her husband
and wiggle happily against him. Even Mr. Weasley was struck by the way
Fleur's coolly appreciative regard seemed to be replaced by the
bewitched stare he had seen on Bill's face contemplating her.
	"But I will have that drink, dad, seeing how my work's done,"
Bill said happily.
	"Now don't you talk that way, William Weasley," Molly scolded
and Bill braced for a lecture on his crudity, "There is plenty of work
ahead and I didn't raise a boy who won't put his hand in and do his
share."
	Arthur filled three glasses and Molly found some pumpkin juice 
for Fleur and they had their toast. They broke naturally into the
pair of men and the pair of women. Arthur took advantage of the moment
to confide to Bill.
	"Your mother noticed something. Drained, she said you were,"
Arthur abdicated his own suspicions.
	"She wants to be the best mother," Bill started slowly, then
added with a grin, "She applied that to becoming a mother as well."
	"Well, congratulations! Congratulations to the lot of you,"
Arthur said merrily, "And congratulations on presenting us a grandchild
before Ginny managed it."
	A rather stormy look passed over Molly's face, but she was
quickly caught up in the merry mood again and said nothing. Charlie
didn't seem likely and Percy, with his particular ways, might be ages
taking a wife, but to jump to Ginny. Poor Arthur just couldn't adjust
to the fact that she was grown up now.

	It was a strange thing for anyone to visit, much less Mr. 
Weasley. After navigating the top stair and letting himself in the
door, he paused and called out as if he might disturb some activity
he didn't wish to see.
	"Come in, Daddy," Ginny rushed to meet him and his smile was all
for her.
	"Harry will be here soon and Ron and Hermione as well," she said.
"Come in the kitchen and Kreacher will get you some tea."
	Arthur found he could not pity himself as he watched his daughter
move about the house, ask Kreacher for tea and seem so content. She
belonged here and she would always be his little girl. He did not miss
the deference paid her by the house elf.
	She was Harry's too. Somehow he couldn't be sad when his little
girl was so happy.
	"Why have you come?" Ginny asked.
	"I think that ought to wait until everyone's here," Arthur said.
"And how are you?"
	Ginny gave him a look like he was a gnome in tights. She was
rescued from reminding her father that she was with the boy, now man,
that she had idolized since she was 10, by Ron's thumping entrance.
	"Oi! Who's home?" he called out.
	"Just me and Dad," Ginny called back.
	A less boisterous Ron joined them and shortly all four occupants
and Mr. Weasley were gathered around the table.
	"Now we're all here. What are you going to tell us?" Ginny asked
gaily.
	She and Hermione seemed to share a private joke as Mr. Weasley
told them of the baby.
	"How's Mum taking it?" Ron asked.
	"Quite happy," Mr. Weasley said, "It seems to be taking her mind
off all of you deserting her."
	Neither Hermione nor Ginny would explain themselves until Ginny
took pity on Harry in private.
	"We just know, Harry," she said, "It's like a happy feeling we
just get. And with her and Bill constantly at it, it was bound to be
soon."
	It did make sense when she said it, the Bill and Fleur at it part.
It explained their attitudes, but Harry didn't see why Ginny knew it
then. He was glad to have Ginny to explain it. Hermione seemed happy to
keep Ron asking.

	"You said that what I might want would be inventive," Ginny
reminded Harry.
	"But I just don't understand," Harry said meekly, "How is this
supposed to better for me?
	"Who said it was for you?" Ginny said slyly, "Maybe a girl wants
to let her inner bitch out every once in a while."
	She had been very seductive in her approach. Harry felt unfairly
distracted by his desire for her as she strapped him into his present
predicament. Not that he was reneging on his faith in her. It was just
that he felt the vulnerability so sharply and had no inkling of the
pleasure.
	"You trust me don't you?" Ginny said as he shrank from her touch.
	"Of course I trust you. Should I?" Harry suddenly remembered how
much Ginny was like Fred and George.
	"I don't know," Ginny said mysteriously, "And you won't either
until you do."
	There wasn't a lot of trust involved, Harry thought inwardly.
She had him more helpless than he liked to admit. His arms stretched
above his head and he was like a large naked "X" where Ginny had
captured him by wrists and ankles.
	But to make sport of him? Misgivings in place, Harry didn't think
that was her motive. That didn't stop him from being nervous about what
her motive might be.
	He changed his mind. He had nothing but trust. He couldn't do
anything about whatever her intentions might be. He had to trust her.
	"Now don't get too relaxed," Ginny prodded him when he resigned
himself to his fate.
	Harry had no idea what was going on. She punctuated her words
with a finger that dug into his belly just above his navel. She had 
changed into a costume that perfectly fit his mixed sense of excitement
and trepidation.
	Her long legs were encased in boots of leather or dragon hide 
that came well above her knee. Other than that she was naked but for
a cage of straps that fit where a bra might be but framed and presented
her breasts rather than cover them. He was aroused by it but troubled
by the strangeness.
	"Now that's better," Ginny said, seeing the confusion in his
eyes. "Be ready for anything."
	Harry's imagination didn't stretch to 'anything' in this 
department. He held that thought as long as it took for Ginny to slide
down, almost out of sight, and he felt the wet tickle on a tongue on
his penis. He would have been more confused if the sensation didn't
drive it straight out of his head.
	"Ginny, please!" Harry begged as her tongue was too good, too
brief, too long in returning.
	"Please stop this silliness and get to it?" Ginny asked sweetly
and Harry jerked in surprise when her hand cracked down on his buttock.
	"No- do what you were doing," Harry revised, taking the spank
on his bottom for censure.
	"I will do what I please," Ginny said with unusual force, "But 
this is what it pleases me to do just now."
	The exquisite torture of needing to feel her tongue was never
relieved by the darting swipes and tickling wriggles she gave him at
achingly long intervals. Harry began to feel his entire being was in
the erect organ, straining out for the elusive touch of her tongue.
Certainly his whole being was inflamed by the desire and need she
was invoking.
	It seemed like unceasing evil, but he could not stop his craving.
He wanted desperately to tear down the straps that held him and take
her, but he still surged pointlessly for her pity since he couldn't
free himself and do as he wished. He wanted her so badly. He wanted
the mere touch of her tongue nearly as much.
	"There now," she said, standing up to his whine of agony. "I
suspect you're ready."
	He wasn't. He would never be. Her hand struck his bottom like
a pail of cold water on mating dogs. If his libido had a neck to break,
it would have snapped as he shifted from needy yearning to stunned
apprehension at the sudden pain.
	"There. You like that," Ginny informed him as his apprehension 
was answered by a slap across his other buttock, "You like it when a
woman puts you in your place."
	"No. It hurts!" Harry complained.
	"And you can't do anything but take it, can you," Ginny teased.
	As he set out to wonder what this could have to do with pleasure,
Harry was detoured by her words. It was quite the strange place to find
himself. Harry couldn't stop her, couldn't wish revenge. It was very
odd, but he felt as if he was learning as he suffered blow after blow.
He pondered the paradox of punishment of love.
	There was no coyness in the contact of her hand yet it was
something altogether else being her hand. There was something of
his yielding and her control. It was hard to endure at the same time
he felt the connection between them most strongly.
	"Hasn't hurt your ardor, I see," Ginny said when she relented.
	It was strangely, oddly, marvelously true. Although Ginny had
not spared him and his bottom stung and radiated heat, his erection
was as hard, perhaps harder than ever. Her fingers were still
maddeningly feathery as she investigated. Harry found himself straining
toward her treatment again.
	She pulled a small stool in front of him and then he thought his
aching was ended as she bent and took his penis in her mouth. It seemed
like heaven after the long wait and he let out an agonized cry as she
pulled back after so brief a time.
	She gave a short laugh at that and Harry looked at her
beseechingly to see what hatred she had for him to treat him thus. He
was answered when she stepped forward to trap his erection between her
thighs and put one foot on the stool.
	Lifting herself on that foot, she fit him to her sex and 
settled down. Harry forgave her everything at the blessed wonder of
her warm reception. Her eyes blazed into his as they merged soundlessly
except for the occasional escaped sigh. It was grandly, wonderfully,
beautiful and he realized from the moisture surrounding him that 
Ginny was quiet as excited as he.
	Her hips canted, rotated, tipped and twisted as she lifted onto
the stool and let herself down. Her hands gripped his shoulders to 
pull herself closer, to grind hard against him in her ardor. Harry was
taken by the feeling that, as much as it pleased him, he was a captive
sentenced to give Ginny pleasure, or at least stand ready as she
pleased herself upon him.
	He was at once servant and served in this strange coupling. He
didn't guess the rest until Ginny became frantic, irrhythmic and 
fevered in her attack. Then her hands closed on the muscles of his
shoulders and he felt nails pierce his flesh.
	It was like a sparking prelude to the launching of the barrage
of the main display. It was as if Ginny had sent out a preliminary
pittance as she tamped the barrels tight and lit the fuse. He knew the
explosion was at the edge and he would erupt in magnificent fireworks
as soon as that spark reached the powder.
	He was too busy lighting his metaphorical sky with a gala of
pyrotechnics to consider more for a time. When it was finished and he
hung in his bonds, glad of the support, he understood it better.
	"It wasn't too crazy, was it Harry?" Ginny showed her first 
concern.
	"Far too crazy, but somehow I don't feel like complaining,"
Harry answered.
	Even the rude spanking had been part of it, he had discovered.
And it was good he was secured or he wouldn't have been able to stand
being twisted so tightly for the release to be so devastating. She had
raised him beyond wanting with her tricks and then let it all come out
in an emptying flight that soared above the ordinary perfection.
	"I was afraid you'd make up your mind to fight me and it would
be horrible," Ginny said.
	Harry hadn't considered that possible, although he did recall
moments of sticking when he had naturally embraced confusion rather
than anger.
	"I guess I trusted you," Harry said. "If you let me down I'll
kiss you properly to show you how I feel."
	"You know it wasn't just for you," Ginny said shyly as she let
his arms down from the cords. "It really was a game for me to play."
	"Did you like being in charge then?" Harry began to understand.
	"I'm always in charge, you just don't know it," Ginny smiled
slyly, "But it is nice to have all the trappings."
	"So you're saying it was all for you?" Harry asked, ready to
dispute that.
	She showed the truth of her control by deflecting his question.
Her hands gently stroked the claw marks on his shoulders.
	"You don't think I just decided, hey, now let's claw Harry 
bloody, do you?" she asked, "I couldn't help it. I got carried away.
I wasn't really in control and I just did it."
	"It was brilliant," Harry said earnestly, "Like it made
everything bigger or something."
	"Well," Ginny put on her sly smile, "If there wasn't anything
in it for you, I'd have a job getting you to do it again, wouldn't I?"
	"When do I get to do it to you?" Harry responded to the idea
of a repeat engagement.
	"You can do anything you want," Ginny said softly, "I told you.
I'm always ready for a bit of fun."
	Harry didn't expect her to recoil in horror. He hoped to provoke
some resistance, however teasing. Faced with the idea, Harry knew he'd 
have to think about it before he was ready. However effective her
methods might be, Harry wasn't sure he was ready to be cruel to be
kind just yet.

	Fleur was absorbing it all serenely. Mrs. Weasley carried on
the conversation, indeed an argument, with herself in a happy, excited
torrent.
	"It's so lucky Ginny was the youngest. We still have so many of
her things... But of course, that was 17 years ago. You'll want to 
have new things for your baby. And Bill is employed, so you can afford
things... But we're always ready to help in any way we can..."
	"Nice to see them get along," Bill said to his father.
	"Nice to see your mother back to normal," Arthur added, "She
hasn't been focused on one thing this long since... Well, for quite
some time now."
	"Well the nest isn't empty now, is it?" Bill said sagely, "And
I suspect it will be nicer to be the grandma bird than the mother
bird. Less worry if you see what I mean."
	"But Fleur?" Arthur didn't dare go further with his question.
	"I'm sure there will be times," Bill granted, "But look at them.
Have you ever seen them so in accord before? Anyway, it will be a
relief if they bicker over something other than me."
	Arthur nodded. It would be a relief for him as well to know
what commotion he would face on returning home. He had had many years
of it. It would be settling to do without the uncertainty.

	Ginny seemed amused rather than curious at the commotion. Harry
was sure he could hear Hermione swearing in the room she shared with
Ron. Hermione did swear rather more than she had done at school, but
it seemed odd that she was doing so without Ron about.
	"You don't think she might be in trouble, do you?" Ginny seemed
teasing.
	"I'm sure she'd call out. She's knows we're right here," Harry
replied.
	Then there was a thump and a loud curse and Harry startled. It
sounded more like grumbling than distress that followed and Harry sat
back uneasily.
	"You could knock on the door and inquire, if it worries you,"
Ginny said and Harry felt baited.
	"It just seems like she's having trouble and that's odd. Hermione
never has trouble with anything," Harry said.
	"Maybe she's trying something a bit beyond her experience,"
Ginny said smugly, "There are some things she doesn't know, you know."
	Wary as he had been of the trapped door in Auror's exercise,
Harry felt prodded to proceed. Ginny was clearly tempting him. At the
same time she was hinting it was something private that he would be
embarrassed to discover.
	"Then I guess we have to put it out of our minds unless she
cries out," Harry shrank from the challenge.
	Then there was a shriek.
	"Sounded like she was crying out," Ginny said impishly.

	Still sure it was a trap or a joke, Harry hesitated at the 
door.
	"All right in there?" he called out.
	"Fine! Just fine!" Hermione answered in a voice both startled
and strained.
	Harry was on the verge of turning, thinking what Ginny was up
to, teasing him into looking in, when Hermione swore again.
	"Shite!"
	It was so unlike her as to constitute danger. Harry found himself
twisting the knob and pushing the door open before he had a chance to
consider his actions. He regretted it instantly.
	Hermione had lost her grip on her wand. It had dropped from her
hand and there was no way for her to retrieve it. It was impossible
because Hermione hung suspended, hands high and spread above her head,
ankles likewise spread and held up at a level just below her hips.
She was completely naked and helpless.
	It was intensely awkward, or would have been if Harry didn't
see the humor. He still pulled back immediately to go, but Hermione
had turned her head and seen him.
	"I imagine this is quite a laugh for you. Go on, laugh," Hermione
dared him.
	"I, ah... no!" Harry refuted her claim.
	He was more taken by the calm he felt seeing more of Hermione 
than he had any right, or indeed hope, of seeing. He was taking it
rather well. Rather better than Hermione, in fact.
	"Now that you've seen, perhaps you might help?" Hermione was
growing shriller.
	"Are you sure?" Harry asked with actual concern, "You seem to be
waiting for someone."
	"Oh, Harry..." she stopped and broke down, "Could you turn around,
please?"
	He was rather enjoying his loss of uneasiness in this uneasy
situation and was willing to explore it, but he quickly yielded to
Hermione's plea and turned his back on the interesting display. It
was quite a thing that he had surpassed Hermione in obtaining a
reasonable attitude, he thought.
	He did have to grant that his part might be easier than the one
hanging naked like a (un)dressed fowl.
	"I know it's not so much... really. I thought you'd laugh. But
when you didn't...," she said.
	Harry didn't know what to say. Fortunately, the pause was short
and he realized Hermione was gathering herself before he tried.
	"I know I said I was going to be bold and all, but it's different
with you. It just is," she seemed to be circling something. "I love you
Harry James Potter. And not just like a sister."
	It seemed her words hit the floor like the unbearable lead weight
had dropped into Harry's stomach. What could he say to that? He felt
himself tremble.
	"I love you too, Hermione...," he started.
	"Don't!" her voice cracked, "Don't tell me you love Ginny. I 
know that. And I don't love you the way I love Ron."
	And there she completely broke, "I... I... I... love you more...
just not that way. And part of me wants you that way and most of me
knows that's not what I want, but I don't know what I want."
	"Can I turn around?" Harry asked.
	He heard her noise of assent and turned, not knowing why he 
wanted to, beyond a vague idea that he needed to face her.
	"Forget you're... like that," Harry said, as much polling his own
heart as groping for words, "Listen to me."
	He found it was not difficult to ignore her position or her
exposure. He only wanted to look into her eyes and it was the only
place he did look.
	"I'm as mixed up as well," he started. "I know how you feel. I've
felt it. I've felt you care for me. I've felt an ache of longing when
I've held you. It's all mixed up. You're like a mother. You're like a
lover. But in the end, I always feel that it's more. You don't fit.
You're not any of them. Perhaps that's better. I know, somehow know,
that it will never change."
	His thoughts had run dry. The words that had tumbled out, almost
without his knowing the next before it came from his mouth, had
stopped.
	Like that flow of words, he moved toward Hermione without 
understanding why. He looked into frightened eyes as he bent to her and
kissed her. It wasn't the familiar peck. It was a lover's kiss and yet
more. All the longing and unspoken emotions that they didn't understand
went into the kiss. He threw himself into it and Hermione met his
ardor and returned it. Returned it while powerful feelings of belonging
and yet searching for some perfect contentment raged within them. 
	Then it was over.
	"Well, then," Hermione said with the air of someone finding 
themselves on the floor after a sharp blow to the head. "That's it
then."
	"I guess," Harry said, struck by how normal things so suddenly
seemed. "Maybe it just had to come out."
	"And you're not randy or something?" Hermione asked cautiously.
	"No. Confused," Harry said.
	"I guess that's good," she said, as confused.
	"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I don't think that would make anything
any clearer. Only... more disturbing."
	Hermione took no offence at his choice of words. It was vaguely
obscene to feel the way she did and the way Harry said he did. There
was something almost ghoulish in the way Harry was dear to her, as if 
it stretched beyond body, mind and spirit into a need to clutch his
soul.
	"You better go before Ron comes," she said with mundane
practicality, "He wouldn't understand."
	Harry snorted with the absurdity, "Nor do I."
	It was the way it must be, perhaps should be, Harry mused as he
closed the door on the unnerving scene. It was a mystery that he would
carry forever and probably never understand.

	"So, was it shocking?" Ginny asked lightly as Harry returned to
their room.
	"Ron wasn't there. Hermione was in a bit of... distress," Harry
said carefully, not wanting to evade Ginny, nor reveal too much either.
	"Oh my, quite the shock for both of you then," Ginny said
knowingly.
	He studied Ginny's face for a sign of pain, scorn or hatred.
Hermione had her spooky way of knowing things she had no evident way
of knowing. He knew Ginny shared that in part.
	"What do you know about it?" he asked simply.
	"Hermione did ask some questions after we made that commotion
before," Ginny was grinning, "She admitted most of her ideas."
	Harry was sure that didn't include the idea that most concerned 
him. He teetered a moment on the edge of blurting out a confession, 
but his need for honesty was opposed by his unspoken pledge to 
Hermione. Ginny relieved his tension by continuing her observances.
	"I didn't understand the part about her being the bottom, 
though," Ginny said. "Hermione Granger? I love her, but the fountain of 
good advice and pedantic deportment turning herself over to Ron? I
don't get that at all."
	Harry didn't get either, but it was the last thing on his mind.
Another matter had swelled up in him and burst forth.
	"Ginny, when are you going to marry me?" Harry was shocked 
himself by the force with which that came out. He pulled back to say,
"I'm tired of you leading me on. I want to get to the bit where you
can give yourself fully to me."
	His attempt to soften his sudden ambush had little effect on
Ginny's stunned disbelief. She had a frightened look not unlike the
one she wore when he first proposed.
	"Harry, you're not having me on, are you?" she asked meekly.
	"No Ginny," Harry was calmer now. "I just don't see the point 
in waiting. You're not going to stop loving me, are you?"
	"No, Harry, never," she said, tears forming.
	"Nor I," Harry said with all the conviction in his body. "Then
I say we start planning today."
	"At least we won't drive Mum completely mad now," Ginny said.
"I'm not as sure about Dad."
	He hardly thought of his confrontation with Hermione. He didn't
think at all that it might have freed him or sent him fleeing a demon
that made him see the sense of marriage now.
	He thought of his last confrontation with death. He thought how
his desire to escape excitement hadn't prevented excitement from 
chasing him. He thought most desperately of what he could have lost.
	He could do it. It was a, almost ugly, fact that he was
privileged. He could support them while he trained, through Hermione's
studies and Ron's education, without waiting. It seemed like an
arrogant pride that made him feel the need to prove himself, to make
his way on his own, while he dared a loss that would make it all
meaningless.
	He intended to bind Ginny to him in every way he was able against
the vagaries of the world. He knew more surely than he had known
anything before that it was the right thing to do. 
	"I suppose a celebration will be in order," Harry said dryly.
	###

	P.S. Harry an Auror? After all that wanting an eventless life?
What about that all-important Deathstick? Relax. He's only in training.
If Charlie might have played Seeker for England, certainly Harry could.
Our glimpse of the future only rules out DADA teacher, since Harry
would be waiting for his sons at Hogwarts rather than sending him off.
	Is there more? Only 18 years more if you accept this offering.
If J.K. wants to abandon Harry (like most of the wizarding world, I'd
be betting) after his usefulness has ended and return to her oh-so-
important 'real life', then take up the torch and show the boy wizard
that he is not forgotten. The Boy-Who-Lived can only live while there
are still those that are loyal to him.