Trouble In Paradise
 
Chapter Twelve—Evening, Morning, Night
 
 
“There are doors that open by themselves
There are sliding doors
And there are secret doors
There are doors that lock
And doors that don't
There are doors that let you in and out
But never open
And there are trapdoors
That you can't come back from...”
 
--Radiohead
 
 
In the summer, first light comes very early to the English countryside.  Though our house in Hertfordshire is situated in the midst of a very busy lane, the garden and small orchard in the back are bordered by a rolling meadow, which itself ends upon the banks of a tranquil stream.
 
The morning after Midsummer’s Night Eve, I went walking there.  Night had lasted for but a moment, drawing its starry cloak over the sky and then doffing it again almost immediately.  The meadow’s grass was thick with dew that kissed my bare ankles and toes.  I’d forgotten to cast a Repellent Charm on me before I left the house, and did not have my wand on me, but shooing away errant flies was part of the experience.
 
Beyond that stream, there is a small forest… sturdy English oak intertwining its stately limbs with imported cedars of Lebanon and wispy weeping willow, forming a leafy green canopy through which dawn’s pale light always shimmers dappled and soft.  The forest floor is covered with bracken, forming a soft bed for chipmunks to play on… and for witches to meditate on.
 
But I was not alone.  Inside of me were two tiny lives, feeding from me, breathing along with me, growing stronger and closer to emergence each day.  Had I ever hesitated, ever doubted bringing them into the world?  Already I loved them… and so did their father, who would press his ear against my stomach at night, whispering to his first sons.
 
We had already decided on names:  Ben and Marc.  Ben for a favorite uncle of Fred’s, Molly’s youngest brother who’d died opposing Voldemort during his first rise to power in the 1970s.  Marc, short for Marcus in honor of my dad, of course.
 
In the faint, rolling mist, it is very easy to believe that you are seeing ghosts.  Most of the time it is a trick, your eyes and the feeble light conspiring to conjure a mirage that will either comfort, frighten, or delight.  Other times you find that you really are having an encounter with some long-lost soul, at those times and places when the path of life intersects with the restless, tortured wandering of the undead.
 
The apparition that greeted me on my walk that dawn was neither a creature of my imagination nor a wailing wraith.  It was none other than Neville Longbottom, dressed in a rather tattered-looking Muggle rugby shirt (imprinted with the Cambridge logo--Hughes Hall) and khakis that were rolled up high enough to showcase thickly muscled calves.  His feet were bare… the way the mud near the stream’s bank squished and squawked with his approach revealed what I could not see in the tall grass.
 
At first, he didn’t notice me.  So I cleared my throat.
 
“Hello there, doc…”
 
He looked away from the stream and up at me.  “Hallo, Angelina.  Nice morning for a walk, isn’t it?”
 
“Indeed.  Too nice to stay indoors.  What brings you this way?”  I was curious about this, for Neville lived in London and to my knowledge never had been seen in our part of Hertfordshire before.  Especially not taking a shortcut through private fields.
 
He withdrew his wand from his pocket.  “Going fishing.  When Fred and I met last month, he told me all about this stream.  I expect to get at least one bite before breakfast.”
 
“Good luck with that, then,” I replied. 
 
We chatted for a few moments in the dawn about family and friends, work and leisure.  Not daring to raise our voices above a whisper, for the peace of that morning made us feel rather as if we were standing on holy ground.
 
"I asked Susan to marry me," he said abruptly.  I perked up and grinned.  I'd been there the day he asked her out at the Leaving Feast during my seventh year, just after the Scourge had passed.  It had come as quite a surprise when she blushed and accepted.
 
"And what did she say?" I prompted.  Neville looked at me incredulously.
 
"What do you think she said?"
 
"Why answer a question with a question?"
 
"Aren’t you doing the same?”  We dissolved into muted laughter, still mindful to stay as quiet as possible.  "She said yes.  I’m quite pleased, actually… we’ll be married sometime next year.  Nothing big, mind you… nothing like the huge media event that Malfoy and your sister-in-law have staged.  Traditional Venetian costume, eh?”
 
“Yes,” I groaned.  “Ginny was going back and forth between Venice and Rome for a while… she says she’ll save the togas and stolae for their silver anniversary or something like that.  Apparently she’s a huge fan of the anachronistic… which is why she convinced Ron and Hermione to do a thirteenth century wedding all those years ago when High Middle Ages fashion was in vogue.  Seeing as you and Susan are both close friends of hers, do not let her get anywhere near your plans.”
 
“Thanks for the warning,” said Neville, amused.  “Sue and I will probably have a quiet ceremony in her home village without much fuss.  I couldn’t believe that invitation that Ginny and Malfoy sent.  ‘Doublet and hose required for men.’”
 
“Well, Neville,” here my eyes dipped down to indicate his calves, “doesn’t look like you have much to worry about.”
 
He reddened and chuckled.  “Coming from you, I take that as a sincere compliment.”
 
Then idle chit-chat took a turn towards the serious.
 
“I suppose you know Hermione’s submitted her resignation to myself and the rest of the doctors at the clinic,” said Neville.
 
Would wonders never cease?  “No, I didn’t know that!  Why?”
 
Neville shrugged, then looked at me pointedly.  “I think it has something to do with her unexplained disappearance last month.  She came back, unloading all these new ideas on us, proposing a dozen new research projects… so I had a talk with her.”
 
“What did you say?” I asked, shooing away a horsefly that seemed determined to explore my right nostril.
 
“I told her that she needed to prioritize.  Our clinic is now one of the busiest in all of England… the waiting list for new patient intake is several months long.  Hermione wants to do too much.  She wants to take on a full caseload of patients, run the MMRI, and continue her work with the Muggles.  Where she’ll find the time to conduct a battery of new tests, I am not sure.  She and Simon are already running human trials for Danae this month… speaking of which, will you participate?”
 
“Fred and I have talked about it, and I…” here I swallowed the lump in my throat, “…I think I’ll wait until the treatment becomes available to all, if it is indeed successful during the trials.”
 
“Don’t want to risk your pregnancy, do you?”
 
“That’s partially it, but it is not the only reason, Neville.  The fact is, I’ve missed being able to fly ever since I lost that ability, and… I think I’d rather not participate in the tests at all if there isn’t a guarantee of success.  I’d rather not try than try and fail…”
 
He nodded.  “It’s really up to you, Angelina.  It’s as you say, the MMRI will most likely market its research to one of the major pharmacharm companies someday soon.  And when that day comes…”
 
I smirked, swallowing the lump in my throat.  In that moment it seemed as if the lofty mountains and rolling valleys of Hermione’s journey served as a grand metaphor for my own travels over hills and dales.
 
“When that day comes, Neville, everyone had better clear the flyway… for I’ll be coming at them like a lightning streak.”
 
We both laughed at that.  Only one of us because we were amused.
 
 
*********
 
Word of Ron and Hermione’s divorce did not reach the wizarding press and media outlets until the first of July.  That was the date that they filed for divorce with the Ministry of Magic’s Office of Social Affairs, submitting two separate petitions within the same hour.  I am sure that their owls must have crossed in transit.  The only difference between the two was the handwriting… the reason for dissolution of the marriage on both was listed as “irreconcilable differences”.
 
Why they did not send the documents to one of the Ministry higher-ups that they knew forever remained a mystery to the rest of us.  As it was, my colleagues had a field day with the scoop.
 
First there was general coverage of the divorce, but only conjecture regarding what the “irreconcilable differences” were.  Then thanks to Rachel Ratliff’s prying about the whole of Liverpool, a week after the first articles about the divorce appeared the truth surfaced about Maureen Ludlam, Ron’s agent-cum-mistress and their son Maury… the baby who’d appeared on the Prophet’s front page seven months before.
 
The wizarding world was outraged.  Not necessarily because of the infidelity (although there was much tutting about that), but because Ron had lied about it and Mo had helped him.  The letters to the editor were very eloquent in their opinions of the matter:
 
I walked into Cassandra’s office about two weeks into the coverage with a simple request.
 
“Cassandra, this must stop.”
 
She pointed to one of the chairs in front of her desk.  I took it gratefully, for I’d been pacing the newsroom for some time shouting at various reporter-friends for their overzealousness in reporting the Weasley scandals.  The babies were protesting at their mum’s hyperactivity and seemed to settle once I was seated.
 
“Why must it, Angelina?  Because he is your brother-in-law?”
 
“That’s not the only reason.  This newspaper is printing things that are really none of their business.  The coverage is biased... never once in these weeks have I read a direct quote from Ron, Hermione, or Maureen Ludlam…”
 
“That is because they are refusing interviews.  So if the coverage is in some way biased, that is their own fault for not cooperating.”
 
“Cassandra, their private lives being made front-page news is not their fault.  How would you like to read daily reports about all the sordid details of your relationship with Simon Branford?”
 
Cassandra’s eyes narrowed.  “That is not an adequate analogy, Angelina, and you know it…”
 
“Oh, I think I have a very valid point.”  Never had I been so bold with my imposing boss before, and I didn’t plan on stopping just then.  I was on a roll.  “Have we become another Witch Weekly, more concerned with sales volume than with our integrity as a publication?”
 
“Integrity?”  For once, Cassandra’s professional mask slipped and she let me see just how very angry she was.  “Let me tell you something about integrity.  Because of the farce that Ron Weasley and his accomplices orchestrated, this publication printed lie after lie!  I even printed a retraction of the New Year’s Eve article… something I have never done in all my years as a journalist…”
 
“That New Year’s Eve article was the lie, Cassandra!  Orla Quirke was feeding you bits of the truth laced with her own poison, for reasons of her own.  You know that now.  You were right to print that retraction.  What I fail to understand is why you are letting so many of these articles and letters about the current situation run.  You are doing nothing but hurting the reputation of one of the leading figures in our world…”
 
“He did it to himself,” said Cassandra.  “Ronald Weasley cheated on his wife, sired a child out of wedlock, then he and the witch responsible did everything in their power to cover their sin up.  Hermione isn’t even the same woman any more because of what he did to her… all of her friends know she hasn’t been happy for the longest time, and it is painful seeing a witch who you consider a friend go through that kind of pain.  So to be quite honest, Angelina, I think your brother-in-law is getting his just deserts.”
 
That seemed to be the prevailing attitude in the newsroom and across England in general.  Sympathies were with Hermione for having been hoodwinked into marrying such a cad in the first place.  Outpourings of support came from all over the country in care of the Prophet.  Many of these letters contained witches’ personal stories about their own experiences with ‘filthy lying cheating wizards’, and plenty of suggestions from opinionated magical folk of both genders for bouncing back good as new.
 
“I think Dr. Granger deserves 100% of their combined assets.  In my opinion, Ronald Weasley deserves to pay for what he did by digging into his Moke-skin wallet.  No price can be set upon a woman’s pain.”
 
“I own an exclusive spa for witches in Bath… Hermione is more than welcome to take a plunge in our sulfuric waters at any time, free of charge.  We’ll soak her troubles away.”
 
“I am a professional Dutch wizard who is sole proprietor of a substantial international enterprise in fine pewter cauldrons for the discriminating sorcerer.   I have admired Hermione Granger from afar over the years.  It would be a slice of heaven to chat with her over coffee when next I Apparate into London.  Would you please be so kind as to pass on this invitation to the good doctor?”
 
“After reading all about Dr. Granger’s recent marital troubles, I have to wonder if she has ever tried therapeutic gardening?  Tending your own belladonna, hemlock, and nightshade is quite stress-relieving… not to mention dead economical.  She really ought to experience the joys of a well-tended garden firsthand.”
 
“I was always of the opinion that Hermione Granger married the wrong wizard anyway.  Ever since war’s end, Ronald Weasley has proven himself to be a self-centered, arrogant prig in every WWN interview he has given and I always wondered what such a smart girl saw in a git like that.  If she had to end up with one of her mates from wartime Hogwarts, either Neville Longbottom or Harry Potter would have been a much better choice.”


Popular opinion may have supported Hermione exclusively, but inside our circle most regarded the Ron-Hermione debacle either as an embarrassment that shouldn’t be spoken of in polite company, as such an unbelievably out of character occurrence that it defied being put into words, or as the just ending of any too-good-to-be-true fairy tale.
 
I felt rather sorry for my mother-in-law.  Although she had been so happy to see the Burrow and all her children and grandchildren back safe and sound the morning after Remembrance Day that she’d even embraced Mo like a long-lost daughter, afterwards Molly Weasley was noticeably distraught about the whole affair. 
 
I do believe that in Molly’s eyes, it wasn’t just that Ron was getting divorced when he knew what she thought of his older brother doing the same thing five years before.  It wasn’t just the fact that he’d carried on with another woman while he was still married to one of Molly’s longtime favorites.  It wasn’t just that he’d sired a child out of wedlock, something that no Weasley man had ever done in almost seven hundred fifty years of recorded family history. 
 
The thing that hurt his mother the most was that he had lied about what he had done and tried to cover it up.  That wounded Molly to the quick, and I am only guessing, but I think that she cried many a silent tear over it.
 
Arthur, being a man and knowing what men know, was somewhat less crushed by Ron’s foibles.  As always, he was the sometimes eccentric, always wise patriarch who was slow to judge and quick to seek understanding.  Often that summer he and Mo could be found in the spacious living room of the Burrow, chatting one-on-one about the state of the wizarding world, Muggle relations, and the unpredictable summer weather in Devon and the rest of the United Kingdom as Maury played in the vicinity.
 
“This English summer weather is fickle, that’s for sure,” said Mo to Arthur one day when I was passing through to pick Malinda up.  “Shine one day, rain the next.  You don’t know whether to wear your light robes or a cloak.”
 
Arthur nodded.  “Seems that way, doesn’t it?”  Then he sighed to himself, very softly.  “Seems to me that much of life is that way indeed.”
 
 
************
 
 
One week before Draco and Ginny’s wedding, I received a surprise visit in the middle of the night that changed my life forever.
 
It was my sister Diane.
 
She stood on our porch like a specter in the night, features completely obscured by her hunter green linen cloak.  It wasn’t until she stepped over the threshold and I closed the door behind her that she pulled off her hood to reveal her mask-like dark features. 
 
I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes as Fred brushed past and thundered back up the stairs, muttering asides under his breath that I could tell were the opposite of polite.  Diane ignored him as she usually did, then after removing her cloak sat down and waited until I did the same.
 
“Angelina, I am sorry to bother you at such a late hour.  I just received news from Mother that you are expecting another child…”
 
My arms encircled my belly protectively.  Sister of my flesh Diane might be, but the heart of this woman was cold and her loyalties were tied forever to a supercoven that stood for everything that I was set firmly against.  “Two children, Di.  I’m having twins.  Boys.”
 
A faint ghost of a smile tugged her painstakingly painted lips upward.  “Magnificent.  That is part of why I am here.  Brian and I have been keeping abreast of the news coverage of the Danae trials.  What is your opinion of them?”
 
I grit my teeth.  Just like Diane Johnson Riordan, wasn’t it, to constantly remind me of the one thing that I longed for most in the world… the thing that had recently fluttered towards me, then before I could grasp it, had soared away from me like a particularly colorful and rare butterfly… like hope.
 
“I’ve decided not to participate.”
 
“Why ever not?”
 
“I can’t risk it, Diane.  My babies and all.”
 
She nodded.  “That is what I had figured.  And that is why I am here.”
 
She leaned forward and the mask disappeared.  The expression on her face… one of mingled fear and pain and regret… it made my eyes fill with tears.  And I remembered that in between Diane’s moments of insufferability, there had been times when she actually felt like a big sister.
 
I wish…
 
There were times before the war when she came to the occasional Hogwarts Quidditch game and would be the only person in the Slytherin stands who would stand up and cheer whenever I scored a goal.  Once long before that she showed me how to charm a bunch of wildflowers I’d picked into a wreath.  Another time when we were even younger we’d walked in Hyde Park as she told me stories about our father, who she’d had for a much longer time than I.
 
I remember Diane’s face when she first saw me after I was Sponged and she held me, held me as she’d never held me before or since.
 
It was the same face she was wearing now.
 
I wish I could…
 
But… was she really wearing the face?  Or for once were those usually cold dark eyes truly a window into her soul?
 
“Last night I had a dream, Angelina.  It was a dream of our father.  He was sitting in that plush easy chair of Mother’s that she never let us sit on growing up… I do not know if you remember this at all, but that was always Father’s chair.  He would come home from work, plunge down into it, and put his feet up.  It is only now that I understand how dead tired he must have been… but still, he never minded me or you jumping up into his lap and chattering on about whatever nonsense was on our little minds.
 
“In my dream Father was sitting in that chair, and I sat upon his lap.  It was so strange because in the dream I had all of my faculties, all of my memories of myself as a grown woman, yet I was the size of a three year old child.  And he put his arms around me, and bent down, and whispered into my ear, ‘Diamond, why do you hate me so?’”  Diamond had been our father’s nickname for my sister.
 
“I tried to explain to him that it was not him that I hated, that I had loved him dearly, that I had taken his death so very much to heart that I made myself hate his memory in order to retain some semblance of sanity.  Anything other than deal with the pain of losing my father at the tender age of twelve.  I blamed him for dying… blamed him for being a simpleminded idealistic fool… and I always told myself I’d be damned if I made that mistake in my own life…
 
“‘And this is why you love the Dark Arts more than your own father,’ he said.  His eyes looked so sad, Angelina… as if everything I’d said cut him behind the eyes.  And indeed, he began to cry tears of dark-red blood, much as the icons of our Haitian Society brothers and sisters do on feast days and in times of great distress…”
 
She trailed off and sighed very deeply at the end.  I took the opportunity to speak.
 
“Diane, is that statement very untrue?  After all, you have made some choices that are completely against everything Dad stood for.  And you do resent the fact that he was Muggle born.”
 
“Not anymore, Angelina.”
 
I wondered what she was about.  I suppose the question was in my eyes, for Diane slid up the wispy sleeve of her gossamer summer robes and…
 
There I beheld something that looked very much like the Dark Mark.  But there was a difference in the symbol tattooed on her arm.
 
It was an androgynous human figure draped with a Lethifold.
 
I wish I could reach out…
 
“Yesterday I was Summoned for what our grandmother’s kind feel is the greatest honor of all.  Next Sunday week I will be appointed to the Cabal, Angelina… the body of witches and wizards from all over the world who oversee the Cabalistica.  The Cabalistica is…”
 
Suddenly I felt very nauseated.  “I know what it is.”
 
Diane nodded smilelessly.  “Of course you do.  Thanks to your running straight to Sirius Black and Harry Potter, I was nearly ousted from the ranks of both the Cabalistica and the Society.  You never could keep that yap of yours shut, could you?”
 
“If I’m such a blabbermouth,” I said, folding my arms, “I am surprise you decided to let me in on anything at all.”
 
Diane’s dark eyes glittered.
 
“I told you enough to save you.  No matter what you may think about me, Angelina, I will always save you if it is my power to do so.”
 
She drew back the gossamer sleeve, then folded her long hands in her lap.
 
“For most of my adult life, I believed that there was no such thing as good and evil, only power and those who chose to wield it.  I still believe the latter… no one yet has been able to convince me that power is unimportant… but my views on good and evil have changed drastically.  For the first time since I was a very young child, I do see absolutes.  Which is why I have decided upon the course I have chosen.  Even if it means risking all.”
 
“Do you mean to tell me, Diane, that you are finally going to renounce the Cabalistica, the Society, even your ties through your husband to the Death Eater remnants that are clinging to the fringes of the Ministry like so much slimy mildew?  Are you willing to give up everything?”
 
“No,” she said with a dry laugh.  “Quite the contrary.  But first, let me finish telling you about my dream, for although there is not much that remains to be told, it has been a recurring one…
 
“So as Father cried these tears of blood, I made him a promise.  Although I could not change many of the actions I had undertaken nor reverse any of the decisions that I had made in the past, I could seize the present moment and wield my influence towards a better future. 
 
“And then, just before awakening, I take my hands and dry those tears of blood on our father’s face.  Then I whisper, ‘I love you, Daddy, and I am no longer ashamed.’  He smiles and laughs… do you remember what a great laugh he had, Angelina?… and I am so amused by this, so glad that my wings spring forth and begin to flap. 
 
“But just as I reach up to kiss Father on the cheek… he disappears.  And I sit up in bed, look at Brian sleeping undisturbed next to me, and I am desolate.
 
“I have dreamed this night after night for the better part of a month, and do you know what I have realized, Angelina?  I have absolutely nothing.  Nothing, that is, worth having.  Not my craft, not my marriage, not my work with the Society, the Death Eaters, and the Cabalistica.  Whatever I have attained, whatever wealth or prestige or position, I am beginning to see it as rubbish.
 
“Within myself there is a constant war.  I am plagued by a shadow that you and Olivia escaped… a shadow that you will never know, Angelina.  You came of age during the Second War, but you cannot possibly have an idea what it was like growing up ten years before you were born, during the eleven years of the First Voldemort War.  My earliest memories were of being constantly frightened… of my caregiver telling me that the Death Eaters would come and gobble me up if I was not a good girl, until Mother found out and Father drummed her out of the house… of playmates disappearing because their parents had gone into hiding or the entire family had been killed.
 
“I remember Mother being pregnant with you and walking me to Lewisham Magical First School, tripping along in my deceptively Muggle-looking uniform, then turning down a wizarding street and seeing the Dark Mark hovering over four houses.
 
“I remember the Christmas that Father did not come home.  Mother was pregnant again, this time with Olivia… you were but a wee thing still… but I remember all of it.  Mother went absolutely mad for months afterwards, and I do not think she has ever fully recovered.  At least, she has never again been the Mother that I knew from my early childhood.  We immediately went under the Fidelius charm and were hidden with friends in Bristol… but I spent the better part of that next year believing that we would all die too. 
 
“I was only a child when I promised myself—just as I told Father in my dream—that I would never subject my family to the terror that Father’s job placed us in.  And at that time, the only way I knew to combat this sort of terror was to become part of it, to help direct it so that I could direct it away from me.  In that aim, I have succeeded…”
 
“And how,” I muttered.
 
“Yes, we Johnson girls are terribly determined souls, are we not?  You were determined to be the best at Quidditch, then later at writing… Olivia wanted her fairy-tale prince, dark and handsome, who would make up for the fact that she had no father… and I wanted to become adept at the Dark Arts so that if the occasion ever rose again, I would be able to make sure that there was an Unbreakable Shield-charm around my family.
 
“This brings me to my point.  It is time for me to say good-bye, Angelina.”
 
I wish I could reach out and capture…
 
My first thought was that she was planning to commit suicide… and I was horrified.  “Diane, no!  Please… I realize you think that this Summoning by the Cabalistica is the end of the world, but it is not worth taking your own life…”
 
“Angelina, calm down.  I am not planning to self-Kedavra any time soon.  What would that profit?  Instead I am going to rise to the occasion, despite my epiphany, and undergo the rites of initiation into the Cabal.  Once there, I will further its aims as ruthlessly as I can and rise through the ranks of its leadership.  So therefore I must purge from my life anything that is questionable… all weaknesses… every glimmer of light and absolute truth.”
 
I wish I could reach out and capture that which is dearest to my heart…


“Why on earth can’t you just tell them no?”
 
“Tell them no?”  Diane laughed so loud that I feared Fred would come charging down the stairs to Transfigure her into a giant oyster.  “Dear sister, these are not the kind of people you can say no to.  You have two choices.  You can cooperate eagerly, or you can die.  The latter inevitably happens sooner or later, for the Cabal is an entity fraught with jealousy and petty rivalries, and assassination is common.  That is how my predecessor’s place was vacated for my succession.
 
“But if I must be poured out as a drink offering, it is my desire that my sacrifice be for the glory of a worthy altar.  I do not want my life to be meaningless, Angelina.  And so, before I say good-bye to you, I want to offer one last gift.”
 
From the depths of her lightweight cloak, she extracted a crystal phial.  It was filled with some sort of liquid that was rather like lotion or cream… but it was swirled around in rainbow colors.
 
“I don’t believe you know this potion, Angelina.  That is because it is Dark Magic… very light Dark Magic chemical cookery, much like Veritaserum… but nonetheless Dark Magic.”
 
I took the phial from my sister.  “What is in it?”
 
“Akasha Potion.  Ancient Egyptian recipe… go on, take a sniff.”
 
After uncorking the phial, I inhaled delicately.  The aroma of a summer’s day, mingled with the clean scent of a gentle rain shower, wafted upwards to fill my senses.
 
“What is it used for?”
 
“Well, for many purposes… not all of them good.  In our case, I hope that you will use it so that your flight can be restored.”
 
I was now confused.  “What does this bottle have to do with Danae?”
 
“Everything.  Angelina, I have only a slight idea of what I will become after I am initiated a very short time from now.  I also know what the Cabalistica has in store for our world in the near future.  Believe me when I say my life is worth nothing… the wheels that we have set in motion are far too great for I alone to stop them.  All I can say about my involvement in it before this is that I am glad that Father is not alive to witness the woman I became.
 
“Akasha is the Ancient Egyptian term for the life-force… what the Jews and Christians and most secular Western magical peoples think of as spirit and soul.  What I do now,” she placed the bottle into my hands, “is place my life in your hands.”
 
She took my hands in which the bottle rested, and closed hers over them.  Clasping the phial in the middle of all.
 
“There is no risk to the drinker of the Akasha Potion, so you do not have to worry about yourself or your babies.  Ask Hermione Granger or Sirius Black, and they will assure you that I am telling the truth.  The risk is all mine.  If something goes wrong with your tests, and your babies’ lives are threatened, then… know that you might not get your ability to fly again, but your babies will be safe.”
 
I shook my head.  “I can’t…”
 
“You must.  For if you do not, there is a Charm equivalent that I will cast upon you the second I return home.”
 
Just then I felt as if someone had offered me the world and I didn’t quite know what to do with it.  “They may not let me test anyway.  Everyone in our circle knows that I am pregnant.”
 
“I have exchanged owls with Hermione Granger already.  You will be allowed to participate in the last group of the alpha phase of the trials.  She is one hundred percent certain that there will be no risk to your children due to the nature of the tests.  All of the tests seem successful thus far, so she was rather sorry you had decided not to participate.  She also respected that you were most concerned about your children.”


I still was not completely convinced.  “Why should I trust you?  Why should I risk your life?”
 
“I have already answered your second question, and as for the first, I am not sure how to answer it except to say that I am your sister.  Also recall that I warned you correctly months ago about some of the things that have come to pass.  I mean you no harm, Angelina… you must know that.  And I think you do know that.”
 
“You mean those I care about harm, though, Diane.”
 
“Not intentionally.  And certainly not willingly.  You are my sister, and I will always hold you in my heart.  Now, are you going to drink?”
 
The thing that tipped the balance of the scale for me was that she’d reminded me that we were sisters.  Even when I was angriest at her, deep down I always knew that she loved me.  Yet I had a feeling that at the moment she took her deathless dark oath, somehow I would know… for I would feel such loss at the passing of the woman I’d known since birth… and when that time came I would mourn.
 
So I took the potion, and poured it into a glass of goat’s milk, and drank from the cup of Diane’s offering.  Slowly at first, then with less trepidation as my body registered the fact that it was not poison, that it was nourishing and whole and good.
 
And a bit of the determined glimmer left Diane’s eyes as I drank, though her expression remained anxious.
 
I wish I could reach out and capture that which is dearest to my heart, holding it close to me…
 
“Are you all right?” she asked the second I’d drained the last drop.
 
“Shouldn’t I be?”
 
“Yes, of course.  I was just wondering… just hoping… that you perhaps felt a little more buoyant and lighthearted because of it.  Some say that happens to them.”
 
“I just feel like myself.”
 
“Well, you’re certainly lively enough as it is,” she grinned.  “Always have been.  And now, one last thing…”
 
She now extracted a rolled-up, silver capped parchment from her robes.
 
“This is my gift to your, your husband, my niece and my nephews-to-be.  My christening present, so to speak. There is a safe deposit box in Gringotts here that I want you to have.  It does not contain money, but something that I hope you will never need.  You will not be able to open it until that time of need, either…”
 
“What does it contain?”
 
“I have no idea,” she said.  “I am concluding my business in the regular wizarding world, Angelina… and as I finish each thing, Mother has been helping me Obliviate myself.  Rest assured that it contains something that will save your life if and when the time comes.  Mother will be able to help you then.”
 
“One last thing,” I said, thinking of something.  “How can the Akasha Potion be insurance for myself and my children?  That’s three souls, not one…”
 
“Easily,” she said.  “Because unbeknownst to them, I added the essence of two others to the potion.  Both our grandmother and my husband are also part of that Akasha you took.”
 
Strangely, I did not retch.  I felt just as regular as before.  So it was true, after all, that life itself was innocent and pure as springtime… it was only the deeds of the witch or the wizard that gave it purpose and meaning… or that desecrated it beyond recognition.
 
After that, there was nothing left to do save talk until the sun came up.  For it would be the last night that Diane and I ever spoke.  And just as I cannot remember which bedtime story my father told on that last Christmas Eve in 1980, just as I do not recall Katie’s last windstolen words on that spring day in 1997, I cannot remember anything that Diane and I talked of as the hours slipped by on that July night in 2009.
 
It makes me wonder what intrinsic shortcoming causes these horrid lapses that rob me of my memory of those precious last times.  Is it my apparent inability to handle grief and put it all behind me like most people do?  Is it because I have a poor memory that is worsening with age?
 
I wish I could reach out, capture that which is dearest to my heart, hold it close, and never let it go.
 
What a shame that this simple wish of mine can never come true due to one of life’s simplest, saddest, yet truest ironies.
 
We can never know when the last time comes.
 
************
 
Freshly showered, powdered, and dressed in sterile clinical robes made of bleached parchment, I kissed Fred, then stepped out of the dressing room and into the chamber prepared for the procedure.  As I walked, the parchment rustled… my hair was completely covered by a pointed parchment nightcap as well.
 
The room I walked into was completely white, from the similar parchment tunics and trousers the lab assistants wore as they bustled to and from inside the chamber, wielding their wands here and there and everywhere.  The only place where it was not was a long mirror that nearly covered one wall.  It was here that Fred and my sister Olivia would stand to witness the procedure, for I had wanted them with me.
 
A glass cylindrical bubble-like closet stood dead center.  It seemed to be the focus of the lab assistants’ attention.  They were swarming over it as if they were overgrown albino bees attempting to maintain a clear miniature hive.
 
The head lab technician was a young man by the name of Cameron Sinistra.  I knew that he was supposedly some relation to the late and revered Hogwarts professor of the same name, but could not recall the specifics of the blood tie.  I also knew that he was rumored to be a Squib, for he had trained in the sciences at Cambridge.
 
“Good morning, Mrs. Weasley,” said Cameron.  His dusty regulation cap was tilted askew.  “Shall we begin?”
 
“There’s no time like the present,” I said. 
 
He motioned for me to follow him towards the chamber.
 
“This is the Danae Chamber,” he said, motioning towards the bubble.  “It generates a ubermagical force-field that seems to repair any damage caused by Sponging.  The procedure takes about five minutes.  Don’t worry, you will be supplied with ventilation and adequate humidification throughout the entire procedure thanks to Dr. Branford’s brilliant and strategic Oxyhydro Charming… can’t have any of the energy escaping out of that chamber.  Radiation has little effect on witches and witches, but expose the un-Sponged to a dose of this field and it is quite harmful.”
 
My eyes widened as I thought of my unborn sons.  “I’m pregnant… I was told…”
 
“Yes, that is in your file.  We have checked the preliminary fetal Aura screen data that your regular obstetrician provided us with last week.  It appears that both of your babies have inherited a similar defect from you… they will not fly unaided.  Which is the reason why we were so glad that you agreed to have this procedure done.”
 
That made sense.  I’d learned long ago from Hermione and Neville that Sponging can affect the viability of your pregnancies.  I was ever grateful that Malinda was her father’s child, and a healthy magical one in every way.  The fact that my sons might have to suffer because of something that I’d always resented having happened to me made me extremely angry.
 
“The beauty of the treatment,” Cameron was saying, “is that you will benefit, your sons will benefit, and you will not have to pay ridiculous prices once Mr. Malfoy begins to market these to mediwizarding clinics and hospitals all over the world.”
 
“What a shame,” I said under my breath, “that he plans to make money from others’ misery and suffering.”
 
“Oh, that’s not true at all,” said Cameron.  “It’s not that the cost of Chamber itself is prohibitive.  Rather, the upkeep is.  It takes a good dozen and a half of us to run one of these… and it is quite draining of a job, as we must expend a lot of our own wizardpower to keep it going.”
 
“Merlin,” was all I could manage to say.  “Tell me, how have the previous trials gone?”
 
“Well, I’m not really allowed to divulge details, but…” here his voice lowered almost conspiratorially, “…the results have been so superb that a few dozen ambassadors from all over the world, as well as half the Confed’s World Health Orchestrators have been to the Emerald City over the past few weeks.  There’s even been whispers from the Confed about the possibility of the principal investigators being awarded the Cedric Diggory International Olive Branch Prize.  Which is huge.”
 
Yes, it was.  Only the world’s top philanthropists and humanitarians win the Diggory.  Although Hermione had won it at the tender age of seventeen, I was sure that Simon Branford would be overjoyed if their team even was nominated.
 
After a pause for effect, Cameron said, “Right… shall we begin, then?”
 
As we moved towards the chamber, we were stopped by someone who’d just walked into the door.  It was Hermione.
 
“Angelina!  How are you, dear?” Hermione pecked my cheek, then pat my right shoulder.  Even in my nervous state, I noticed the fabulous ring on her left ring finger.  It was a heart-shaped pink lemonade diamond nestled in dazzling gold.
 
For a wild second, I wondered.  Her soon-to-be ex-husband had someone waiting on the wings.  Despite her cold parting in the Place of Echoes two and a half months before, had Hermione… and… after all, why not?  Stranger things had certainly happened over the past eight months.
 
Hermione followed my eyes and must have felt my question, for she quickly said, “Oh, I purchased that for myself,” she said.  “I’m so used to wearing something there that I felt utterly conspicuous without it.  It’s also dead excellent for fending off sleazy wizards with bad lines.”
 
“Ah… I had wondered…” I murmured.  For some strange reason, I was a little disappointed. 
 
She shrugged and dismissed any foolish ideas I may have had with a wave of her hand.  “It was time for Hermione to do something for herself.  And I’ve only just begun.”  She then turned to Cameron.  “Cameron, be a dear and fetch me some scrubs.  I’d like to oversee this procedure myself.”
 
“Surely,” began Cameron, not bothering to hide his displeasure at this idea, “you are far too busy…”
 
“I’m never too busy for a sister,” she said.  I realized that she didn’t use the “in-law” suffix, and most likely never would again.  “Cameron, go on… I’d like those scrubs as soon as possible.”
 
After a brief stalemate during which Cameron glared and Hermione folded her arms, the young lab assistant stormed off in the direction of the dressing areas.
 
Less than five minutes later, Hermione was suited up.  Less than five minutes after that, I was secured in the Chamber.
 
At first, nothing happened.  All I heard was the sound of very small bells ringing from somewhere above.  I was disappointed until a soft golden light permeated the chamber.
 
Then I felt a dusting of heat.   A shower of finely powdered golden sparks cascaded over me.  It was not an uncomfortable sensation.  Quite the contrary.  It felt like a very gentle sun-kissed baking, much like the feeling one would get basking on the warm sands of Negril, Ibiza, or Ipanema.
 
That heat was accompanied by a feather-light stroking.  It felt as if I was being treated to a stress massage done by a thousand expert yet minute therapists, their fingers and hands as delicate as a butterfly’s wing.
 
If that wasn’t enough, all of a sudden along with the caressing warmth there was the feeling of being tickled by another set of tiny fingers, tickling even as the incredible warmth flooded every single cell of my being…
 
I swooned.
 
When I came to, I was no longer secured in the glass chamber, but had been moved to a comfortable room done all in muted pastels.  The floating furniture that I was half-seated, half-reclining on resembled a cross between a hammock and a regulation hospital cot. 
 
There were voices then, coming to me as if through a barrier like water.
 
“And just why can’t I go in there, Hermione?”
 
“Fred, I’ve told you, she needs her rest right now…”
 
“Yeah, but what you didn’t tell me is that she would collapse into a heap halfway through the procedure!”
 
“All very normal, Fred… she’s stabilized now… she wasn’t hurt in any way, I told you it was perfectly safe for her and the babies…”
 
“Fred,” came Olivia’s voice.  Usually it was calm as our mother’s.  Now it was excited.  “Look!  Look at her!”
 
For just then I’d managed to sit fully up.  I still felt rather groggy, though… what was wrong with me?  Were the babies all right?  How could I have been so very selfish?  An icicle of fear traced its way up my spine… my spine…
 
That icicle became a white-hot poker.  The pain in my back became unbearable, especially between my shoulderblades.  Indeed, both my shoulderblades and my collarbone felt as if they were going up in flames. 
 
“Angel!”  shouted Fred.  My mouth was wide open, and I must have been screaming, but for some strange reason I did not hear it.  All I knew was that my upper back felt as if it was going to explode, for the acute pain there had crescendoed so strongly that it nearly reminded me of childbirth… pain so all-encompassing that it dips down deep into the very core of you, every fiber of your being is centered upon it… pain that becomes your master… nothing but pain…
 
And then I heard parchment ripping… Hermione exclaiming “Great wizards!”, something she very rarely did… doors shutting and opening… Fred and Olivia running towards the bed…
 
But the pain was over now.
 
It had given birth to something wonderful.
 
For I was now surrounded by feathers.  Feathers of dark gold, tipped in blood-red splendor.  Two seraphic wings completely covered my back and curved around to form a modest barrier around me, although I’d crossed my arms over my chest instinctively. 


Tears ran down my face, which I buried in my hands.  I took a deep breath, and as easily as I would lift a finger or take a step, my wings spread to full span and began to slowly flap, stirring the thin parchment curtains of the floating cot, the documents on Hermione’s and her assistants’ clipboards, and the hair of everyone in the room.
 
With not even a thought, I ceased and brought my wings back to my sides.
 
I was still crying.  My children were fine… I could tell, because within me they seemed to dance.  And I had to marvel at this dichotomy of situation that had allowed this to happen for me, that incredibly advanced light magitech and the darkness that was my heritage had met and mated within the chamber to gift me with the one thing that I’d longed for my entire life.
 
I thought of Diane.  Was she well?  Had the procedure harmed her in any way?  What would she think about all this?
 
Most importantly, did she still have her wings? 
 
Then it dawned on me that the woman I had known as my sister was no more.  She’d taken her oath the day before, and there was no way I could contact her now. 
 
So it came to pass that at what should have been one of the happiest moments of my life, I felt nothing but grief so intense that I could barely breathe… for I now knew what Diane had sacrificed for me and my children in her last breath of humanity.
 
It was the finest gift anyone had ever given me.
 
Fred came to me.  Slowly, hesitantly he touched one of my feathers, then with more confidence the side of my face.
 
“I always said that you were my Angel.”
 
 
*************
 
The summer of 2009 was the hottest ever recorded in the United Kingdom.  The first of August was the climax of a torturesome wave of excruciating heat, day after day of stifling temperatures slipping lazily one after another like pearls on a chain, then culminating in a sun-drenched jewel of a day during which the thermometer topped one hundred degrees.
 
August first was also the date for the wedding no one thought would ever happen.
 
The fact that it was positively boiling did not bother anyone invited to the Torcello Terrace Resort and Hotel on that particular day.  That was because the wedding was to take place well after the sun went down, at half past nine, under a full August moon and a comet-streaked, star-studded sky, as any proper Lammastide wedding should be.
 
The concession that Ginny made in order to get Draco in doublet and hose was that their day would not be overrun with Weasleys, as all of her brothers’ weddings had been.  As a result, none of us save the children, Arthur, and Molly were asked to be in the wedding, to help with any of the details, or to do very much at all.
 
Since none of the family had wedding responsibilities, most of us were glad to spend the day at the Burrow in an attempt to stay as cool as possible.  We had an excellent time, as we did little else beside eat various barbequed items that had been flambéed to a crisp by Arthur and gulp down shameful amounts of wine and pumpkin juice and mint ice cream.  After we were stuffed full, we lolled about lazily in the heat wherever we could, either in the garden or around the house.  The liberal number of Cooling Charms being cast about had little effect. 
 
Because they would all be up until a shameful hour that night, we implored our children to take naps.  Malinda nearly drove me wild by sweating out all the ribbon curls I’d so carefully charmed into her hair due to a madcap broomstick race in the garden involving Percy and Penelope’s twins, Mary, and Mary’s dearest friend Phil who was staying the summer with their family.  Malinda won, but got a nasty nose bleed from racing about in the heat and a rare talking-to from Fred as a reward.  Then she dozed off without further protest in her usual fashion, hand tucked under her chin, using her father’s knees as a pillow.
 
As for me, I sat in the shade of the orchard for a while, listening to the faint stately bells that chimed from the Muggle cathedral in the next village over.
 
Abide with me; fast falls the eventide…
The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide.
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.
 
Around five o’ clock, Molly grew frantic because Ginny had not got back from her day in the spa yet.  Hermione had taken her to Bath at the crack of dawn and no one had seen hide nor hair of them since.
 
“Molly, I’m sure they’ll be back in plenty of time,” said Liz.  “No cause for worry.”
 
“I’m not worried,” said Molly, shaking the children awake.  “I know Hermione will have that giddy girl back in time, even if they have to skip the march and Apparate directly to the officiant.  Of all my daughters by marriage, Hermione… well, not that she’s… not anymore… it’s just that… oh, never mind.”  She trailed off with a sigh.
 
But just then Hermione had come in the back door, closely followed by Ginny.
 
“Oh, no.  You can’t get rid of Hermione that easily, Mum,” Ginny said with a twinkle and a grin that reminded me eerily of Ron.  “I didn’t have to marry Harry to make him your seventh son, did I?”
 
“Harry’s mum is dead, dear,” said Molly to Ginny, but looking at expressionless Hermione.  “Hermione has her own mum… I never wanted to seem… I know I can get rather defensive of your brothers at times… even when it’s undeserved… and I’ve often been so…”
 
Hermione stopped our mother-in-law’s halting, red-faced stammerings with a tight, impulsive hug.
 
“You’ve mothered me ever since the first time I came into your home as a girl, Molly.  While I do love my own mum to bits, there are parts of my life that she just can’t understand because she is a Muggle… while you, Molly… oh, everybody knows you’re an authority on absolutely everything practical!  And you’re some witch indeed.”
 
Molly closed her eyes tight, murmuring into Hermione’s hair, “Cheers, love,” and then pecked Ginny’s cheek.
 
After that saccharine moment (the twins caught the tail end of it and had a chortle over the maudlin sentiment of it all), the house went from the pace of a lazy summer day to the frantic activity of a ABFN broomstick hub during rush hour.
 
Ginny’s adult attendants, Sonia and Madeleine, arrived soon after Hermione had bustled Ginny up to her room… Malinda and Raven were to be the little bridesmaids.  My fingers raced to re-charm my daughter’s hair into sleek brown ringlets just before Penelope, Liz, and I fed all of the young children, festooned in their frilly and creased special-occasion undergarments, waiting for the last possible minute to change them all so that they didn’t ruin their fine clothing.
 
By the time the sun finally dipped below the western horizon in a fiery splash of color, everyone was glad for the respite from the incredible heat.  Leaving Hermione, Ginny, Sonia, Christina, and Madeleine behind at the house with Arthur, we rounded up all of the children, dressed them… Penelope just had to give them all a lecture about the importance of keeping themselves clean, for all the good it would do… and then we were off.
 
Draco had hired the Hogwarts carriages to transport everyone at the Burrow to the front gates of the Terrace, which was high on a Dover cliff overlooking the sea.  The carriages were quite comfortable and one barely had the sensation of moving before they arrived at the destination specified. 
 
Once we’d got to the Terrace, we had to walk across the lawns and around back, where a series of canals snaked around the vast properties.  The house-elf gondoliers knew their craft, too… they glided those boats across the surface of those canals as if the boats were skates and the canals were ice.  
 
It was a quite pleasant journey indeed.  We circled about an amateur Quidditch pitch, flowed into and past several ponds and fountains, wound around a labyrinthine terraced garden and on to the far spot on the property where the wedding was to take place.
 
Above us, the full moon glowed softly… and every star in the sky seemed to twinkle.
 
“Mummy,” said Malinda, tilting her head back so far that I thought it’d go bobbing off her neck, “do you think the stars are really winking at us on purpose like Daddy says?”
 
“Of course they are, dear.”
 
“Well, what are they winking for, Aunt Angelina?” asked Mary with a giggle.  “Do you suppose they know some secret that we don’t?”
 
I smiled.  “Perhaps.”
 
Everything was torchlight and roses and harpists’ serenades when we arrived a bit before the first guests.  All the fairies in England must have been invited… they shimmered and sparkled and for the most part kept their bites to themselves.
 
Ginny had asked me to attend the bridal register, and I jumped at the chance to do this.  Partly because it allowed me to feel useful seven months into my pregnancy.  An ostrich-feather quill, a registry book with silver-dusted pages bound in the best Italian kid-leather dyed royal purple and a plushy high-backed stool stationed near the rose-trellised entrance to the part of the Terrace where the ceremony would be held were all I needed to perform my duties.
 
One quarter of an hour before the wedding was to begin, the registry already had quite a few names, mostly those who’d simply been overjoyed to get an invitation.  I enjoyed noticing all the splendid clothing everyone was wearing as they alighted from the gondolas.
 
Among the first to arrive were Niki Karras and Vicky Riterny, dressed in unique orange and lilac period costumes respectively.  Although I wasn’t acquainted with their dates, both women were up-and-coming young designers at Gladrags… their designs for casual and sport attire were quite popular with the younger set.
 
Mr. and Mrs. Starr, both employees of Gladrags rival Madame Malkin’s, were richly attired indeed.  Anne really outdid herself… she was decked out in a fantastic sage gown with a pale gold motif, slit to reveal a creamy white chemise underneath.  A long gold choker and gold lacing up the sleeves completed her outfit. 
 
The Starrs’ good friend Vedesca Lazuli, appeared in a similar dress in blue, the long full sleeves slashed showing the silver silk of the chemise.  The dress featured a tight bodice and a wide sweeping skirt with a silver brocaded underskirt.  She was as smartly dressed as a senior editor for Dust & Mildewe could possibly get.
 
Victoria Jenkins, the ultraliberal feminist editor-in-chief of the Prophet’s main rival, The Evening Augurer, had long been a critic of Cassandra Claire’s and the Prophet’s ties with the upper eschelon of postwar wizarding society worldwide.  In fact, the former Ravenclaw been so critical of Ron immediately following the war that Hermione had ended her friendship with her and joined her then-sweetheart as yet another target for Miss Jenkins’ notoriously sharp quill. 
 
Yet Victoria was a close friend of Draco’s, who liked her acrid style, and a colleague that I loved to banter with.  As she pecked my cheek, she noted that both she and I had selected royal purple brocade to wear.  The only difference was that her sleeves were slashed in silver and mine were slashed in gold.
 
“You have good taste, Angelina,” she said, pecking my cheek right after she’d scribbled her name across the page.
 
Of the guests, Purnima Gaddam perhaps was wearing one of the best costumes of all.  The manager of Fred and George’s Diagon Alley store, Purnima was wearing the most fabulous period robes made up of a very thin, slippery, shiny sort of cloth that was blue in some lights and green in others.  When I asked, she told me that the fabric was Benares silk.
 
After Purnima, the glitterati arrived, fashionably late as always.  There were all the usual crowd… everyone who’d been at the Snitch this year and at Bill’s party and at the engagement.
 
Whatever could be said about the rich and famous, all of Draco and Ginny’s closest friends and associates had done something that was done at all Renaissance weddings… they brought along cakes since the fancy tiered wedding concoctions many of us had on  our own days was a Muggle invention dating from the Victorian era.  Hermione had sent owls to everyone on the A-list requesting that they purchase individual almond cakes dipped in confectioner’s sugar from a certain fine pastry shop in Diagon Alley…
 
“Let them eat cake,” snarled Victoria Jenkins, who’d dipped out for a quick trip to the loo as they began to arrive.
 
Dean Thomas cut a fine figure in all white, but he couldn’t have held a candle to his fiancée Eleanor or her friend and fellow model Amber.  Her dark violet floor-length Dasgupta original was a showstopper indeed.  Amber and her escort were closely followed by a solo Aurora Malone, executive assistant to Minister of Magic Lucy Goosey, was striking in midnight blue formal robes that complemented her tanned golden skin and veiled silver-blonde knee-length hair.
 
Seamus and Lavender showed up, sans their four month old daughter.  Lavender was wearing emerald green cotehardie while Seamus showed his Irish roots by wearing a traditional saffron yellow tunic and no shoes at all.  With Lavender was someone who was a stranger, but looked oddly familiar.
 
“This is Darice Lewisham,” said Lavender to me.  “Hermi’s cousin, visiting her from Boston to help with… well, you know what with.”
 
Darice whipped out her MagiCard, eyes full of awe and wonder at the sights she was seeing and anticipating.  She had the same bushy brown hair as Hermione, and around the face there was a slight resemblance.  “Just arrived yesterday.  I  was afraid that I wouldn’t be allowed to come.  I cannot believe the world you guys live in.  It’s amazing!”
 
Then it seemed as if everyone else arrived in the space of five minutes… Alicia and Lee… Neville and Susan, whose ring finger was gleaming greenly as she talked with her hands on purpose… Sirius and Carole… Dr. Susan Borowski… Simon and Cassandra… the Prophet crowd all together in one merry boat, consisting of Jeralyn and her husband, Mwalimu, Colin and Presh holding hands and smiling, and my dear friend Tirzah…. Remus and his newest lady love, Amy Zefferelli… many faces so familiar that they barely needed mentioning entered as well.
 
A tiny, giggling, running streak weaved underneath the skirts of three Latin American Quidditch players.  Andrea Bonfanti and Rosa Andujar, who’d come along with Gregory and Frances Fripple in Flanders period costume.  Monica Starling and her husband Gareth were wearing burgundy brocade.  All of the women were members of the team that had won the All-Star Match.
 
“Oi!” exclaimed Andrea, drawing back her orange robes to see what pest had attacked her. 
 
A small red head peeked out from underneath the lovely Miss Andujar’s Eva Luna original robe of dupioni silk.  The shimmering burgundy color nicely complemented Rosa’s milk chocolate skin.
 
“Maury Weasley, you come back here this very minute,” said Mo, stepping out of the gondola, then grabbing her son’s hand and apologizing to the Quidditch stars at the same time.  Unlike most of the women who’d selected jewel tones in keeping with Draco and Ginny’s chosen wedding colors of emerald, amethyst, and sapphire, she was wearing a rose-pink frock that matched the ribbon she’d braided into her hair and that was encrusted with peach-colored jewels cut into several distinctive shapes.   One had to marvel at her ability to always stand out in a crowd
 
On her ring finger she wore an opal that was set in what looked like a braided triple band of yellow gold, white gold, and red gold.  It was not an ostentatious jewel at all, but it was still quite a bit more than modest.
 
As she signed the register (Anya insisted on taking Maury along with her because she found him charming), I stared at what Mo was writing… she’d signed it Ludlam, but…
 
I looked up at her, the question in my eyes.  She came to stand next to me, ignoring the occasional look of disdain from the arriving guests.
 
“We’re going to be married in a private civil ceremony once his divorce is finalized,” she whispered.  “I know people will always see me in a certain light, but… I really do love Ron.  I’m just so sorry that it had to happen this way, even if it doesn’t seem like I…”
 
In response, I pecked her cheek.
 
“Welcome to the family, Mo.  No worries.”
 
Ron, who’d just got off the next boat, grabbed Mo around the waist and turned her around to face him.
 
“You know you have to catch the bouquet, right?”
 
“What for?  I’ve already caught my wizard, and I don’t plan on dropping him any time soon.”
 
And they kissed right there underneath the trellis, even though several passers-by showed their displeasure by hissing and whispering nasty things as they walked inside together.  I thought it was cute, though.
 
Harry came in the next gondola, escorting a very pretty French witch who looked familiar.  It wasn’t until she signed in that I realized she was Gabrielle Delacour, sister to Bill’s ex-wife Fleur.  They cut a fine figure in green, purple, and black brocade with platinum accents… he was dark and she was fair, so it worked very well.  The one thing that I noticed was that she did giggle a lot, but then, so did Parvati.
 
Almost all of the guests were seated now, and as there was no bride’s side or groom’s side at the wedding (the seating was in the round), everyone pretty much sat where they liked. 
 
Five minutes after the appointed time (weddings, in my experience, never start exactly when they should) it was time for the mother of the bride to be seated.  Bill escorted Molly down the aisle to be seated upon the marble bench that formed the first row as he’d done four times before.  She was wearing purple and cream and looked marvelous.
 
The surprise of the evening came seconds later, when Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood came up out of a gondola bearing a litter.  They set the litter down upon the mosaic floor at the entrance where I was stationed… and out of it stepped a very frail witch, aging but still quite lovely.  Her hair was so very platinum that any gray that she might have had was effectively camouflaged.
 
With a trembling hand, she signed the register.
 
Narcissa D. Malfoy.
 
Then she got back into the litter and was carried by her bearers all the way down the aisle… and when they placed her on the bench, the guests all gave her a standing ovation that she accepted with a wave of her hand and a gracious look of genuine appreciation from her smoky grey eyes.
 
I didn’t have much time to gape at this, for now the wedding party had arrived.  Sonia, Christina, and Madeleine were dressed in fantastic frocks of purple and green and blue respectively that defied description and were well complemented by the black doublets of their escorts Dante Rosetti, Nick Riordan, and Blaise Zabini. 
 
Hermione climbed out of the next boat hurriedly, waving away the helping hand that fellow brainiac and best man Bill Gates offered.  She and Bill’s costumes were even more elaborate than those of the attendants and their escorts, if that were possible… Bill Gates’s shoes were as silver as the frames of his new glasses and curled at the tips… Hermione’s slippers were silver, but her dress was embroidered all over with a fleur-de-lis pattern in golden thread and even had a very slight train.  She must have used a strategic amount of Sleekeasy this time, for instead of straight or bushy hair underneath her headdress her tresses were in lots of springy curls.
 
“Where is Heidi?” she asked me.
 
“She said she would be in the reception area looking after things until the ceremony began,” I said.
 
Hermione turned to the rest of the wedding party.
 
“You do realize that this is not where you are supposed to be?  Girls, you ought to be at the archway around the corner to your left… Blaise, you and Dante and Nick are on the other side.  Or did you remember anything from rehearsal?”
 
“Not a single thing, carissima,” said Dante with a lopsided grin.  “I am, how do you say, recovering from that stag night to end all stag nights.” 
 
Blaise and Nick guffawed.  “And what a night it was,” said Nick.  Christina glared at him.
 
“Never mind that, it’s over now,” Hermione sniffed.  “Besides, you don’t want to know about the strapping centaurs we had dancing for Gin at her hen party… or the gorgeous male veela that came jumping out of the cake… Christina, how many Galleons did you drop into that strange cup thing that Gregor veela had attached to his…”
 
“Hermione!” said Christina.  A bit too loudly, for doorman Bill Weasley poked his head around the trellis and held a finger to his lips.  As for Nick, he looked horrified.
 
“Well, go on, then… get in place while I wait here for the children.”  There was that doctor’s voice again.  “I don’t know what I was thinking… I should have let Heidi borrow my Time-Turner so that she could be here arranging things and at the reception as well…”  Everyone went without further protest, and Hermione began to pace.
 
She didn’t have long to wait.  The children were in the next boat.  I was relieved to see that Malinda’s pristine white tunic was not mussed at all, but then, with Penelope and her proper girl Maggie keeping an eye on the children, it wouldn’t have been.  Only once they were all on the mosaic floor did Penelope attach their imitation angel’s wings to the back of their clothing with an Adhesive Charm.
 
“My mummy doesn’t need stick-on wings anymore,” said Malinda.  “She has real ones…”
 
I smiled, but we all shushed her.  For the bride and her father had arrived, floating up to the entrance in the longest gondola of all.
 
Ginny was the most beautiful bride I’d ever seen, but then, I say that every time I attend a wedding.  Something about a bride just makes her utterly lovely.  She was one of those who didn’t even need Hera’s Blessing to make her pretty, though… it just enhanced what she had.
 
She’d wanted to wear a white dress at first, but then realized that it wouldn’t have suited the occasion.  Brides did not begin wearing white dresses in the Muggle world until Victorian era, and English witches have only worn white at weddings for two generations... in our grandmothers’ day it was considered very unlucky.  What she chose instead was the most creative wedding gown I’d ever seen.
 
Ginny’s wedding gown was made in the style favored by European royals all over the Continent and England during the height of the Italian Renaissance.  The court gown was cartridge-pleated and side-laced… and thanks to Mo’s tips about Streeler dye, the rich brocade changed colors every few minutes… from regal amethyst to ice-cold sapphire to warmest emerald.  Her cape-like train was rich ruby jacquard edged in white ermine and embroidered with both runic and heraldic symbols… it had to be at least thirty feet long and required two liveried volunteers to carry it. 
 
Her “veil” was made of similar yet unadorned material that only partially covered her splendid unbound red hair that cascaded down her back like a waterfall of fire.  It was held in place by a pristine white half-cap and a circlet of pearls that matched those looped around her neck to emphasize her low neckline, circling her wrists, and dangling from her ears… one very large teardrop-shaped pearl hanging from a flashy diamond emphasized the V of her headdress. 
 
As for Arthur, in his draped cape, cap, doublet and hose he looked very much like the courtly pictures I had seen in the past from the reign of Henry VIII… during a time when we were still very much known to the Muggles.
 
I doubt very much that Draco saw Arthur at all that night.  Standing upon the platform, resplendent in a black embroidered velvet doublet with a draped cape that played with color as much as his bride’s gown did, black hose and cap, codpiece and all, the only person in the world he seemed to have any sort of awareness of was her.  In that moment, I do believe that she was his world… his torment, his delight, his comfort…
 
His salvation.
 
The ceremony went by quickly and smoothly.  Every last detail. 
 
The traditional vows. 
 
I take thee, Draco, as my lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part, for as long as we both shall live, and thereto I plight thee my troth.
 
The rings. 
 
With this ring, Virginia, I thee wed, and say to the world that this is my wife, the one whom I cherish above all others.
 
And finally the officiant, Minister of Magic Lucy Goosey, pronounced them husband and wife.  She was going to say something about kissing after that, but Draco and Ginny were way ahead of her.  
 
Some called what happened next a coincidence.  I never thought so.  I had been so enraptured by the ceremony that at first I didn’t realize that the people around me had begun to gasp.
 
A minute after Draco and Ginny had begun their first kiss as a married couple, a Jobberknoll flew through the great cloud of witnesses.  It perched itself on the very pinnacle of the gazebo where the ceremony was taking place, and began to sound its death knell.
 
Draco and Ginny stopped kissing for a moment and waited.  So did the guests.  Nearly five hundred wizards and witches waited in silence for the little bluebird to complete its sad song.
 
And then it died… but it never quite reached the ground, because as it fell from its perch Harry Summoned it quickly and disappeared out of one of the arches on the side.  Ginny sent a fleeting glance of gratitude in his direction.
 
 Just before Draco and Ginny turned to begin the recessional over the jubilant strains of "Greensleeves", Lucy Goosey told us quietly,  "Remember this day forever, good people, because Fortune has sent us an omen...  but not one of ill tidings.  Know that love is as strong as death and its jealousy is as cruel as the grave.  It is not unlucky for the Jobberknoll, a symbol of memory and truth throughout the ages, to gift us with its last song upon this occasion.
 
“For in truth, if love does not involve a dying of the self, it is not love but infatuation.  Infatuation cannot endure the storms of life and the foibles of humanity.  But love can.  But love does.  Love always will… because it never fails.”
 
And with those words, Draco and Ginny walked down the aisle and into their new life as husband and wife.
 
 
************
 
The reception was exquisite.  After the wedding party had left the ceremony area, everyone took up flaming torches and piled back into the gondolas that floated to the terraced garden where the reception would be held.
 
I’d heard before that Heidi earned every penny of the fees she charged the wealthiest in our world for her event planning expertise.  They were right… the reception area dazzled the senses.
 
Since they were trying to remain as authentic to the period as possible, Draco and Ginny had not opted for a lot of extra flowers.  Instead they used gigantic ice sculptures and individual table fountains that looked suspiciously like copies of the ones at my grandmother’s resort.  The cut flora they used were blooms and plants that were especially fragrant at night… roses and orchids and mint and trailing ivy were ringed around each table’s individual fountain.
 
At each place was a small porcelain bowl filled with rosewater and the daintiest drying cloths.  On top of the salad plates there were half-masks for the dancing… from what I could see no two were alike.  They were all shapes and colors, and all sorts of materials were used.
 
There were also little ribbon-tied lace bags filled with marzipan fruits specially commissioned by Draco from the Bertie Botts’ Every Flavor Bean Company, a particular favorite candy of Ginny’s.  While this might have amused the bride, it was not fun to bite into a harmless-looking miniature banana candy and instead get a bitter mouthful of unsweetened cranberry.
 
Then the main meal arrived… and there were so many choices that it made one’s head spin.  Tiny menus appeared on our plates, much as they did at any other wizarding  formal event.  I looked it over.
 

Steamed Asparagus
Miniature sausages and meatballs
Roast grey partridge and sauce
Whole calves' heads, gilded and silvered
Capons and pigeons, accompanied by sausages, hams and wild boar,
plus delicate 'potages'
Whole roast sheep in sour cherry sauce
Choice roast birds - turtledoves, partridges, pheasants, quail, figpeckers – olives optional
Chicken with sugar and rosewater
Whole roast suckling pig, with an accompanying 'brouet' Roast peacock, with various accompaniments
Salviata
Quinces cooked with sugar, cinnamon, pine nuts, and artichokes
Torte--all varieties
Coffee and Tea
Terrace House Wines--white, blush, or red

 
On the back of the menus were scrolling Petrarchan sonnets.
 
“However do you choose from all this?”  I asked my husband.  It was overwhelming even for a pregnant woman with strange cravings.
 
“By default, love,” Fred muttered back.  “Process of elimination… I don’t think my life will be incomplete if I don’t sample ‘whole calves’ head’ tonight, do you?”
 
After dinner was finished, it was time for the dancing. 
 
The most interesting thing about the music was that no one was playing the majority of the instruments.  Although there were live percussionists and Heidi had hired one very famous organist, Johanna Saher, the lute, mandolin, harp, flute, viol, horns, and virginal were all charmed to play.
 
There was also a charming Greek harpist with a voice that was exquisite.  As Draco took his new wife’s hand and led her to the middle of the mosaic dance floor, Leontes sang the lyrics to an unfamiliar old song.
 
My true-love hath my heart and I have his,
By just exchange one for the other given:
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;
There never was a bargain better driven.
His heart in me keeps me and him in one;
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:
He loves my heart, for once it was his own;
I cherish his because in me it bides.
His heart his wound received from my sight;
My heart was wounded with his wounded heart;
For as from me on him his hurt did light,
So still, methought, in me his hurt did smart:
Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss,
My true love hath my heart and I have his.
 
Draco and Ginny then donned the elaborate feathered silver and gold masks and led the wedding party in the pavan, which was the traditional processional dance of the Renaissance courts.  After a lively galliard, during which Arthur danced with Ginny and Draco danced with his mother who was aided by a floating cushion, everyone put on their masks and returned to the dance floor to perform the various court dances.
 
I might not have known the name of the dance that we were performing when it happened, but I knew very well how to do the dance.  It was a processional much like the pavan, where two lines of singles step back and forth in a stately fashion, partners who are facing each other meet in the middle, touching outstretched palms, then rotating so that they are on opposite sides.  Partners formed from these opposing singles then proceed down the middle of the two lines in a stately fashion.
 
When the new dance began and the lines formed, Hermione ended up opposite Ron, who had been dancing with Mo and was now standing next to her.  The fact that their faces were obscured by the masks didn’t make much difference.  Even if their heads had been covered with sacks I daresay Ron and Hermione would have known each other.  The frowns curling their lips underneath the masks showed their obvious displeasure at this potential pairing.  It would have been extremely awkward for either to change positions without messing up the rest of our steps, though… so there was no help for it.
 
Grudgingly, tentatively their palms touched.  They rotated around more slowly than the rest of us… we’d already begun to step up and down the line by the time they were in the opposite places.  The second time they had to do it, they turned even more slowly than that.
 
The third time they froze… and all of the rest of us stopped.
 
Ron bowed gallantly.
 
Hermione sank into a deep curtsy, then lifted her hand slowly.
 
Ron took it.
 
The rest of us stepped back as the musicians changed the tune and the harper began another song.  It would not have been appropriate for a contemporary wedding, but apparently our ancestors were not as foolish as we.
 
I read of old what hath been told
Full truly, full truly,
Of ladies long ago,
Whose pitiful hearts have played their parts
As duly, as duly,
As ever good will could show;
And you therefore that know my case,
Refuse me not but grant me grace
That I may say and hold me nigh
To one triumph and truth,
Even as it has been told me,
So my good lady doth:
So shall you win the victory,
With honour for your courtesy.
 
That every brawl may turn to bliss,
To joy with all that joyful is,
I will not boast the victory,
But yield me to your courtesy.
 
They spun and they twirled.  Ron lifted her, elaborate attendant gown and all, by the waist easily.  Double forward… double backward…  four times to single sides then double forward and double backward once again…
As the tempo slowed, Ron pulled her in a bit closer.  And they danced for the last time as husband and wife.
 
Greensleeves was all my joy
Greensleeves was my delight
Greensleeves was my heart of gold
And who but my Lady Greensleeves.
 
And as they danced, for most of it they shut their eyes tight.  I could only speculate, but I didn’t think that Ron was thinking much of Mo just then.  Neither did I believe that Hermione was thinking of whoever she was dreaming of in those days.  Ron’s red brows were creased together and Hermione’s face was wet.
 
Greensleeves, now farewell! adieu!
God I pray to prosper thee;
For I am still thy lover true
Come once again and love me.
 
It was a sad dance, yet one full of hope and renewal… much like the song.  There was a definite message in it all.  Perhaps someday Ron and Hermione would find each other again.  Perhaps all their twirling and turning had served to wrap the winding sheets about their marriage, acknowledging its end, but those same wrappings could eventually become bandages on their wounded friendship…
 
Perhaps.
 
Hermione had been artfully guiding Ron over to where Mo stood watching.  Waiting.  She stepped back away from Ron, turned to the other woman, and curtsied.  Mo did the same.
 
She took another step back, looked at her husband and his mistress standing there together, from one to the other. 
 
Then she said something that stunned everyone in the reception.  Even before her words faded upon the moist night air, she turned and walked out of the pavilion and into the night.  I noticed that several pairs of eyes followed her as she went.  Some much more intensely than others.
 
“What a publicity stunt,” said Victoria Jenkins at my elbow.  “I don’t think that was sincere at all… Hermione Granger is getting colder by the hour, isn’t she?”
 
I turned to face Victoria.  Acquaintance she might be, and I respected her, but in this she was wrong.
 
“As I can’t presume to get inside of Hermione’s head, Victoria, I can’t be sure how genuine she was being.  But I’d like to point out a single woman in here would have stood in her shoes and done what she just did.  If I had been in her position, I would not have done it.  So don’t be so quick to condemn her.”
 
Victoria reddened and stormed away.  Fred saw her in passing and commented.
 
“What’s with her?  Had a slice of that calves’ head, eh?”
 
I shrugged.  “No, Victoria was being womanish just now.  Women have a frightening tendency to be hard on one another, I think.”
 
“Ah.  Knew that was going to ruffle a few feathers.  It’ll give the gossips something to talk about.  Well, I think Hermione’s getting soft in her old age.”
 
“Well, as I always say, the strongest women have the softest sides.”  I laughed as he put his arms around me, thinking of what Hermione said. 
 
Take care of yourselves and each other.
 
 What a valediction.
 
 
*********
 
The rest of the reception commenced without further incident.  There was more dancing and merrimaking.  The wine and the butterbeer flowed freely as well, and everyone was having a very good time.  The almond cakes were passed around after Draco and Ginny fed each other and pronounced the confections ambrosia fit for the gods.
 
At half past midnight, minstrels and jesters began to entertain the mellow crowds.  I went to look for my daughter.  We would be staying the night at the Terrace, and I wanted to put her into bed.
 
I found her seated in the middle of a glowing fairy ring next to one of the canals where the main terraced garden ended.  She was with her same-age cousins, listening to the end of a fairy tale.  Hermione was reading to them… only Hermione would have a book anywhere near a wedding reception or any other sort of a party.  Anya was sitting with them quietly, obviously wanting a break from the revelry.
 
So that was where she’d got off to after stirring things up so.  Oblivious to the ruin of her elegant dress, she sat with the children reading with an animated voice.  It wasn’t Dickens or Austen, either.
 
“My great great grandmother’s portrait by Leonardo da Vinci hung up in the university until the revolution. By then the truth of their romance had been reduced to a simple fairy tale. While Cinderella and her Prince did live happily ever after, the point gentlemen is that they did live.”
 
Hermione closed the book.
 
“Oh, I love that story so much, Aunt Hermione,” said Mary, yawning and nudging Phil in the ribs, who had dozed off with his chin on her shoulder.  “Wish stories like that could come true in real life… but they don’t, not really.”  She indicated a groggy Phil, who’d slobbered on her white dress and had a rather disoriented look on his face.
 
“Yes, they do!” Malinda said, fully awake.  “It was in the book!  Aunt Hermione read it to us!”
 
“Oh, you’re just a baby, Malinda.  You don’t know anything at all.”
 
“I know plenty!  Mum…”
 
“All right, girls, settle down….” said Hermione.  “You’ll get sent inside if you keep this up, and you don’t want to miss the fireworks, do you?”
 
Anya spoke then.  “Of course they don’t.  And Mary, Malinda’s more right than you know…”  She chuckled to herself.  “Come on, girls, I hear there’s some ice cream inside…”
 
“Then it’s fireworks and bed for you, Malinda Weasley,” I said.  “I want you back out here the minute that…”
 
But before any of us could move, there was a great commotion and a noise from the pavilion, as the guests streamed out, cheering, shooting sparks of all colors and varieties from their wands that rivaled the nighttime sky for their spangle and splendor.  The fairies, dimwitted as they are, seemed to delight in the excitement, and flitted to and fro, casting their glow onto the stream like ornamented orbs.
 
Then Draco and Ginny came floating out of the reception area on a fantastic Persian qali that had been a wedding gift from their friend and Draco’s business associate Ali Bashir.  Despite all their finery, they managed to get as close as possible.  They hadn’t stopped kissing since the ceremony… all of the clinking of silver against glasses didn’t encourage restraint either.
 
Heidi herself Accioed a couple of glasses of champagne up to the happy couple, and soon all of us found ourselves with glasses in our hands. Bill Gates began the toasts with a very simple yet profound one.
 
“Hatred paralyzes life… love releases it.  Hatred confuses life… love harmonizes it.  Hatred darkens life… love illuminates it,” he said.  When we began to murmur over his ingenuity, he said quickly, “Really, that’s not mine… a peace-loving Muggle by the name of Martin Luther King, Jr. said it first.  But it’s still true.  Over the past twelve years that I’ve known you, Draco, I’ve seen you grow from a kid who hated everything and everyone around you to a man who has come into your own.  And the reason for that change is sitting next to you right now as your lovely bride.  Here’s to you, Virginia.  I charge you to always love her, Draco... and it is my hope that both of you will always love one another as much as you do on this day.”  Gates’ wife Melinda put a hand on his shoulder.  “To the bride and groom.”
 
Next came Hermione’s toast.  “Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it.  It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for.  Never be afraid to take those risks… never be afraid of how much you mean to one another… never neglect each other, because love is much like a garden that must be tended lest the weeds overtake it.   In truth, Draco, Ginny, love is all there is, so always love one another.  Everyone, please join me in the raising your glasses in honor of the happy couple.”
 
Draco’s toast to his bride was a bit more poetic.  He looked into her eyes and said:
 
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:
       So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
       So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
 
Ginny, not to be outdone, replied in kind.


How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
 My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose,
 I shall but love thee better after death.
 
After they kissed, Draco whispered something in her ear.  Ginny blushed and said, “I think we had better get going now… it’s a long flight to Mauritius from here…”
 
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find something to occupy your time between now and then, won’t you, Malfoy?” Nick called out.  Draco laughed and Ginny blushed again. 
 
After a moment more of lighthearted teasing and laughter, the couple soared upwards.  And we were treated to a fabulous display of fireworks, rockets emerging from the depths of the canal and exploding in midair.  Forming a riot of color against the velvety, jeweled sky… the children, sleepy as they were, exclaimed and “oohed” over each new starburst.
 
The fabulous magic carpet and the couple perched upon it were now quite a distance away, off over the coast and towards the stars.  But all of the single women stood near the edge of the canal, waiting… waiting…


When they saw it, they mounted miniature rugs similar to the qali and dashed up, up, up into the air to catch Ginny’s bouquet.  It was quite a sight, seeing all the women in their fine dresses playing the Chaser amid the pyrotechnical display. 
 
I wasn’t all that interested in the outcome of the bouquet brawl, actually.  Instead I walked along the banks of the canal, then over the imitation Bridge of Sighs that spanned it.  Thinking of absolutely nothing at all.  I wanted the moment to collect my thoughts before I rejoined my family and called it a night.
 
It was during this walk that I encountered Hermione in a hedge labyrinth set at the edge of the terraced gardens.  She was alone, and that fact was made even more obvious by the number of schnoogling couples strolling about the maze built in the back gardens.  But she didn’t look all that lonely.  I watched her watch the rest from her perch on a marble bench as they laughed low and whispered sweet secrets in each other’s ears. 
 
She was the first to break the silence. 
 
“They all seem so happy,” Hermione murmured, more to herself than me.  I saw that her warm brown eyes had fallen upon Simon and Cassandra, who was complaining about how hot the fabric of her bodice was… there was a slim gold band on Cassandra’s ring finger that matched the one on Simon’s.  Just like them, I thought, to turn their romantic vacation into an elopement.
 
“I imagine they are,” I replied, trying to hold back a laugh, as Simon’s lips covered Cassandra’s in a passionate kiss just before they disappeared around a corner of the maze.  No doubt they would soon find a place with more privacy and the last thing on Cassandra’s mind would be the comfort or lack thereof of her bodice.
 
Hermione’s eyes left the newlyweds and she averted her gaze upwards at the stars.  Somehow, in that moment, she reminded me of a centaur:  patient and philosophical, but frustrated and veiled.  “You know, Ginny is only seven months younger than I am.  But she always seemed so much younger to me.”  She sighed, absently brushing a lock of brown hair out of her eyes.  “Whereas I think I've been a thousand and one years old since I was born.” She paused and looked over at me with what was almost a forced smile.  “I hope they all stay happy.”
 
“Oh, I'm sure they will,” I replied as we walked into another entrance of the maze.
 
“Will they?” Hermione asked.  She sighed and leaned against the hedge, fairy lights illuminating her soft, pretty features.  “When we're young and innocent, we believe in all sorts of absolutes.  We use words like ‘always’, ‘forever’, ‘happily ever after’, ‘eternally’.  We toss them around and expect that our hearts and our minds will cement the things we say.  But I guess life is not really like that, is it?”
 
I frowned.  I knew Hermione wouldn’t be the same after the broken Covenant and all the revealed secrets, but her hard cynicism surprised me nonetheless.  But I knew that what she was saying was true.  I had used those very same words once… when I was ready to throw what I had with Fred away.
 
“It’s funny,” Hermione said thoughtfully.  “Just when we think we’ve got life all figured out…”
 
“…the bottom of our world falls out, and we learn the very earth beneath our feet is but a mirage.”  I nodded.  “Yes, Hermione, I know.”
 
Hermione looked at me sideways with surprise.  “You do understand.  The jester's wife unlocks the idiosyncrasies of life... who would have thought?” Her eyes returned to the sky.  “I wasn’t going to say anything about this, but you might as well know.  When Darice and I finish packing up the house in Chelsea, I’ll be going on sabbatical.”
 
I nodded.  This was to be expected.  “Yes, Neville told me… so you’re going on holiday, then?”
 
“No, this is more of a permanent move.  I’m leaving the wizarding world completely, Angelina.  I’ve set all my affairs in order here, and to be quite honest, I am looking forward to moving on and starting a new life.”
 
I shook my head slowly.  “Hermione, you’re not a Muggle…”
 
“I’m Muggle-born…”
 
“That means absolutely nothing.  Who your parents are means nothing.  You’re a witch, Hermione.  How long do you think you’ll be happy in their world?”
 
“Well, I’m certainly not having a picnic in this one, am I?” she said, calm breaking so that I could see the depths of sadness underneath.  “Angelina, it’s not the end of everything.  I have a challenging job waiting on me where I’m going… and I have family friends and colleagues nearby, all Muggles.  I won’t be alone.
 
“I want to live, Angelina.  I’ve got where I don't even know who I am anymore.  I find myself faced with the daunting task of rebuilding my world... and I haven't the foggiest notion of how to begin.” She shook her head slowly, a woman lost.
 
“Of course you do, Hermione!  You begin with your dreams.”  I placed a hand on her forearm and smiled.  “I dreamed about flying again… you’ve helped that dream come true for me, just as you and Simon’s work have restored the dreams of so many others.  Surely you…”
 
This time, Hermione didn’t even let me finish.  “I'm done with dreaming.  Dreams, just like fairy tales, are for children and fools.”
 
Well, that was certainly the last straw.
 
“Oh, stop the nonsense.  You're neither a child nor a fool, Hermione, but I do know this.  Anyone who loses all their foolish hopes and childlike expectation is better off dead.  Do you have any unfulfilled dreams, Hermione?  I know I do...”
 
“As do I,” a voice said behind us.  We turned quickly to see Harry standing behind us, hands tucked into his pockets.  Once I’d caught my breath, I looked over to Hermione.  When she saw my knowing smile, she flushed a bit, then frowned and cleared her throat.
 
“Nothing is as real as a dream,” said Harry, looking straight as Hermione.  “The world can change around you, but your dream will not…”
 
He might have gone on, but Malinda and Percy’s twins appeared around a corner bouncing with the energy of half-starved Nifflers, effectively interrupted him. 
 
“There you are, Aunt Hermione!” Malinda chirped, always the little ringleader of mischief.  “Uncle Harry was looking all over for you at the fireworks… he told us to find you…”  Her eyes fell upon the uncle in question and she let out a relieved breath.  “Oh, there you are, Uncle Harry…”
 
I sensed this was a good time to leave Harry and Hermione alone.  “Yes, there he is, dear... let's go find Dad and your Uncle Percy.  Come Malinda, Gryff, Rave... let's see if they can use our help getting all those fountains down.”  They ran off ahead of me and I started after them quite a bit slower, one hand over my abdomen.  All the energy I’d exerted was getting to me.
 
“Wait, Angelina, I'll come and help too...” Hermione said nervously, starting after me.  My eyes darted to Harry, who laid a hand on her shoulder.
 
“Hermione?  Can we talk?”  he asked, voice rough yet imploring.
 
Hermione spun around quickly, warm brown eyes turning hard and locking with his sparkling green ones.  “What could you possibly have to say to me?”
 
“I’d tell you, but since I guess you’re making a point not to speak to me, I haven’t had the chance.  So… could I have a word with you?”
 
“Of course you can, Harry...”I cut in, a lame attempt to play mediator.
 
“No, he cannot, Hermione insisted.  “We don't have anything to say to one another.  I thought I knew him better than anyone else in the world.  But he's a stranger to me.” She gave him one last sad look, then turned away, counting the fairy lights along the hedges under her breath.
 
Harry glanced over at me, mouth slightly open.  He looked stricken. 
 
This was hopeless.  Time to take matters into my own hands.
 
“Then don’t be a stranger, Harry!” I whispered, nudging him towards her.  He cleared his throat nervously and sidestepped into her path.
 
“Good even, kind mistress.”  He bowed as gallantly as Ron had earlier.  “Allow me to introduce myself.  My name is Sir Harry James Potter, but my friends call me Harry.  Or, if they're pressed for time, ‘Hey, you!’ usually suffices,” he said in an oddly formal voice that was comical, offering his hand.
 
Hermione, for once, was at a loss for words, but a smile was creeping up on her.  “What on earth are you playing at, Harry?”
 
“Just go along with it… and hey, you’re not supposed to know who I am.”  He cleared his throat.  “Now, let me see... where was I…”
 
“Introductions,” I said, biting my lip so that I wouldn’t laugh out loud.
 
“Oh, yes…”  He resumed speaking in that funny mock-aristocratic voice.  “Please mistress, a name, I beseech thee…”  I’d never seen him look so determined.  I knew it would probably help him if I left, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave.
 
She shook her head slowly and then his offered hand.  As he raised that hand to his lips, she burst into laughter in spite of herself. 
 
“All right then, sir, since you insist… I am Lady Hermione Granger.  No jokes about my unusual first name allowed, and mind that you pronounce it correctly.  What do you do for a living, Sir Harry Potter?”
 
“Harry.  Just Harry.”
 
“Harry, then.  Again, what do you do?”
 
Harry tried not to look too pleased with himself as he replied, “I'm the co-founder of an anti-terrorist watch organization, the Black and Potter Foundation.  We also run a school for gifted young witches and wizards from around the world.  How about you?”
 
I began to back away slowly, smiling.
 
“I'm a doctor and a mediwitch.  Do you like defending the defenseless?”
 
“Wouldn't know what else to do with my life.  It's my purpose, my r'aison de etre.  Do you… do you like being a doctor?”
 
“Oh, I love it so much!  But... I might be looking into a major change of scenery soon.”
 
Harry frowned at this.  I sensed that it was my cue to leave.  I backed out of sight, knowing that neither of them would miss me very much.  Still I just had to peek around the corner, watching as he quickly closed the distance between them. 
 
He held her then, in every way that a woman could possibly be held.  And I'm sure he knew this.
 
“Hermione...” he began. 
 
"Yes?" came her choked whisper.
 
If Harry Potter had ever appeared sure of any words he spoke, it was these.
 
“Let's begin again.”
 
Their eyes locked.  I saw Hermione’s face soften and her lips quiver.  And in that moment, I saw what he must have seen… not the mediwitch extraordinaire or the female leader of our social set… but a phantom of the girl that had sat in the Gryffindor common room, eleven years old, friendless and alone save the heavy copy of Hogwarts, A History perched in her lap.
 
This is why I think Harry did not try to kiss her just then, no matter what he might have wanted deep down in his heart and soul.  For Hermione Granger didn’t need a lover on that night.
 
She needed a friend.
 
So instead of the kiss of lovers, they held each other in the tight embrace of friendship, eyes shut tightly.  If I ever believed that the breaking of the Covenant was the death knell of that friendship, those thoughts were wiped away at the image of two people holding each other so closely that not even death itself could separate them.
 
I continued watching from my little hiding spot, ignoring the little voice in my head that told me I shouldn’t be viewing this.  As usual, I ignored it.  He took her hand and led her out of the maze and towards one of the gondolas.  She laughed heartily at something he said as she took his hand (“What, you’re an only child too?  I can’t believe it… what a coincidence… so am I!”) and allowed herself to be helped into the boat.
 
Before I could say anything more, I felt a tap on my shoulder and spun around quickly.  I turned to see my husband, broom in hand.  He had a smirk on his face to show me that he’d been watching me watch them.
 
“And just who were you spying on this time?" he asked, drawing his arms around me and kissing my ear.
 
“No one,” I replied quickly.  Fred’s smile broadened at my obvious embarrassment of being discovered.  Before he could open his mouth with another reply, I kissed him.  He seemed to lose interest in taunting me then. 
 
As I felt his hands warm upon my back, I remembered the first time he’d touched me.  He’d been behind me in the Charms corridor during our first week at Hogwarts and I’d dropped my quill.  He had tapped me on the shoulder and looked up at me with those big blue eyes of his and asked if it was mine.
 
Twenty years later, I felt the same jolt, the same thrill at his touch.
 
“Malinda’s invited to tea at Percy and Penelope’s tomorrow.  Will you go flying with me then?” he was asking.
 
“Fred, I look like I’ve recently swallowed a Quaffle.  Isn’t that unsafe?”
 
“Not when it’s you… you’re probably safer in the air than you are on a broomstick.  Although you really ought to slow down.  It’s not safe for a woman your age to zip through the air as you do.”
 
I poked him in the ribs with a playful finger.  “Then you really ought to keep up, old man,” I teased, just before we kissed again.
 
Eight months before, I’d thought there was no better time to be a Weasley than at Christmas, when there was snow on the ground and children running about and holiday cheer in the air.  But in the warmth of that late summer night, I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be or any other person I’d rather be with.
 
For the most wonderful time to be a Weasley is always.


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