Fairy Tales Do Come True, Children

by Beth Weasley

Another way the story could have played out in its final installment. Definitely AU. DMHP and SSHG mentioned.

A/N- I started this more than a year ago, well before Deathly Hallows came out. Frankly, the seventh book disappointed me a bit, which is part of why I haven't posted much Harry Potter in the last several months. Anyway, this is my version of a part of seventh year, the way I had imagined it until 21 July 2007. Just a couple of notes, though: 'ophidian' means 'snake' or 'snake-like.' Two, I know I have the year mixed up for A Knight's Tale, but after what happened a few weeks ago, I wouldn't change it for the world. I love that movie, and I will certainly miss Heath Ledger in the future. At least it wasn't like Aaliyah and he finished the second Batman movie first. Thirdly, many people forget this, but Hermione turned eighteen in 1997. A student must be eleven before 1 September in order to start Hogwarts that year. JK Rowling has specified this. Therefore, Hermione is almost six months older than Ron, and ten months older than Harry. She's more mature than most of her classmates because she is older. I probably would have been better off if the US followed that rule, or at least if my state did, as my birthday is 14 September (Go Virgo! Only seven more months today...). Anyway, Hermione is most certainly over the age of consent, no matter where you live. Do any countries actually consider eighteen as below the age of consent? o.O; I hope everyone enjoys this little piece of Valentine's fluff. If you spot a spelling or grammar error, do let me know, as I don't have anyone to check my slash stories. pouts

Fairy Tales Do Come True, Children

What has gone before:

Year Seven for the Class of '98 at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry opened with what many—indeed, nearly all—of the students would forever call "a bang."

Despite the death of Albus Dumbledore at the end of the previous term, the Hogwarts Express made its usual journey on 1 September, its cars full of eager teens. Even the so-called "Golden Trio" was in a good mood that day.

As soon as Harry had reached his majority, he and his friends Ron and Hermione had left the Dursley residence in search of Voldemort's horcruxes. Surprisingly, the artefacts had not been terribly well hidden; the search was almost as simple as finding out where Tom Riddle had been most frequently during his pre-ophidian existence.

Therefore, the three friends had been able to return to the Burrow with ample time to purchase their supplies and otherwise prepare for the school year.

Two weeks into the term, Harry had been wandering the halls late at night when he spotted Severus Snape ducking into a classroom. His innate curiosity had led him to eavesdrop on the conversation held in the room, and it shattered his mental image of the man he loathed for killing Dumbledore.

If his ears weren't betraying him, the person Snape was speaking to was Dumbledore!

However, Harry was unable to confront his former professor—either one of them—until more than two weeks later.

On the 28th September, Voldemort had the utter gall to attempt to take Hogwarts during the supper hour. Every student and professor was in the Great Hall; the boom created by the doors being destroyed put attention directly on the intruding Death Eaters and their master.

A furious fight ensued, with more than four fifths of the school taking up their wands against the intruders. For five minutes, the air was filled with streams of multi-coloured light.

A loud crack announced the arrival of more combatants—for the side of the school and the so-called "Light." Albus Dumbledore, arrayed in his most nauseatingly bright purple, moon- and star-speckled robes, glared menacingly down on Voldemort from atop the High Table, surrounded by a mass of furious-looking house-elves. A collective gasp echoed around the hall, and everything seemed to stop.

Except for Harry.

After, no one would be able to remember quite what he said, which spell he used, to deal the fatal blow. A few said it sounded Celtic, but they were ignored. Who in their right mind used Celtic for spells, anyway?

Harry did. His spell had been simple, in fact. "Daflu 'n anawdd," the verb for "throw," and the adverb to give great force to the object. He'd experimented during his hunt for artefacts, and the final result was a ten-centimetre hole right through Voldemort's head.

Hey, if it works…

In the few minutes of actual battle, the casualties had been light. Some students were petrified, a few Death Eaters stunned and bound. Rather more of the latter, in fact. In the process of cleaning up and sorting through all the Death Eaters—they'd all been trapped in the Great Hall until they were neutralized in some way—quite a few interesting facts came to light.

Crabbe and Goyle—the fathers of Draco Malfoy's bodyguards—were proven to be brothers who had married a pair of sisters that were also their first cousins, garnering a great deal of distant pity for the two boys whose stupidity was now seen as the fault of their progenitors.

Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange revealed that they'd been sharing Bellatrix's and each other's affections (cough nasty! cough) for years before Rodolphus had wed Bellatrix. Popular consensus was that this particular trio was deranged long before ol' Mouldy Shorts got his hands on them.

More surprisingly, a scan of Lucius Malfoy's wand revealed the recent strengthening of the Imperius curse, cast upon both his wife and son. Further investigation showed that the man had been using the spell on his family for at least the prior six and a half years, if not longer. Due to this information, Narcissa Black Malfoy and Draco Abraxas Malfoy were cleared of any and all charges against them. In fact, Narcissa went so far as to seek out her remaining sister, Andromeda Tonks, and beg her forgiveness for all that had happened between them, in public, no less.

Albus Dumbledore later revealed the secret to his reappearance. Throughout the '96-'97 school term, any appearance he had made had actually been a simulacrum of himself, and this was what Severus Snape had destroyed on the Astronomy Tower. Snape, in turn, had been acting not only on an Unbreakable Vow to complete the task set before the young Malfoy scion, but also under another such Vow to Dumbledore himself, which stated that he would subvert Voldemort's plans in any way possible. This caused Snape to receive a full pardon as well, though some members of the community continued to scorn him openly.

Bringing us to the present and its events:

DM

He glared at the card, and then at his reflection in the washroom mirror, which giggled at him. Damn that barmy old coot. All right, so the old man's reappearance had gotten him out of quite a smash-up, and there had yet to be an official celebration of the end of the Second Voldemort War. But still… Dumbledore had scheduled a ball. It wasn't just any ball, not even a formal like the one during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. The Headmaster had insisted on a masquerade. For Valentine's Day.

As far as he could find out, everyone above third year had been taken up to Dumbledore's rather strange and cluttered office at some time since the Christmas holidays. They'd all been subjected to the Sorting Hat, though it only muttered "done" as it finished with each of its victims. The blond shuddered as he recalled his conversation with the Hat.

"Well, well, Mr. Malfoy, it's a bit of a surprise to see you again," the oddly familiar voice had whispered to him. "I'd almost thought you were going to follow in your father's footsteps, but you have not. How refreshing, to see something new happen in your family."

Malfoy tradition states that no true Malfoy grovels to anyone, serving only the welfare of the family. Obviously, Father forgot.

"Oh, I quite understand, young man. Now, let me have a bit of a look. Albus doesn't like me to take too long at this, but I really must get my facts straight with this task…" Suddenly, it had felt as though someone was rummaging through his mind and psyche rather deftly.

What the bloody hell! That's some very private shit! Get out of my head! he'd protested.

"Sorry," the voice had apologized, not sounding at all remorseful. "Obscure part of my functions. Don't worry, I wouldn't tell a soul what I've seen. I do have a sense of ethics. One last question…"

What in Cliodhna's name is this for, anyway?

"I can't tell you, it would ruin Albus' little surprise and all of his fun, the meddlesome old man. Now, do you prefer blokes or birds?"

Blokes, he'd replied, completely thrown by the question. The next thing he'd known, the Hat had been plucked from his head and he'd been shooed off to the commons so that Vince could have his turn.

Hindsight, as many said, was 20/20, and Draco now knew what the Hat had been up to: matchmaking. Dumbledore had announced the Valentine Masque a week ago, and the instructions had arrived today.

Draco hated Valentine's Day on a normal year, and he believed that this year would be worse. After all, nobody believed him to be evil any longer. He'd received a mountain of sweets when the morning post arrived, and was afraid to try any but his mother's for fear that someone would lace theirs with a love potion, like the Vane girl had done to Harry Potter the year previous. At the end of breakfast, a flock of white doves had swooped into the Great Hall, dropping little white cards for each student in year four or higher. The professors also received little white cards. It seemed, though, that each card had a different message. Draco didn't even have to glance at the card on his nightstand to remember what it said.

Brave Sir Launcelot,

You must conquer thy fear,

And tonight, go in search

Of thy queen, Guinevere.

Dumbledore had cancelled all lessons for the day and instructed the students attending the Masque to return to their dorms after luncheon and prepare. When Draco and his fellow seventh-year Slytherin mates had done so, they'd found a box on each of their beds, all varying in size. They'd ragged on each other as they unpacked the boxes to find their costumes.

Well, he thought morosely, at least I don't have to go as a girl Theo Nott wasn't as lucky. He'd been provided with a confectionary pale blue gown and glass slippers, with a simple hairpiece in a matching blue. He'd confessed that his card said he was someone called "Cinderella," though none of them knew who that could possibly be.

The young Malfoy lord had begun the task of dressing almost immediately after he'd discovered the nature of his costume. One of his obsessions as a child had been the magical suits of armour that dotted the Manor in Wiltshire, and he'd learned everything he could about them and their ilk. The polished steel plates from his box were an intricate puzzle, but Draco fitted them together deftly, adjusting buckles and setting hinge pins with ease.

Blaise Zabini managed to be the first one dressed, though he left off his intricate crown of wrought leaves and bejewelled flowers. The slim Italian wizard helped Draco with the awkward pieces of the chest plate and epaulettes, then clapped him on the back when they were done.

"Ouch! Bleeding hell!" Blaise yelped, shaking his hand. "That shite's effing hard! Are you sure you can move around on your own in it?"

"Of course," Draco retorted, demonstrating and then turning to draw out the tabard. "If a wizard means for armour to be worn, the smith makes it with a bevy of lightening and cushioning charms. Otherwise, it's only for display or for Muggles."

"Gee, I'm sorry my parents aren't such aristos that I was fed such things with the bottle," the brunet sneered in return. Draco rolled his eyes under the cover of the tabard as he pulled it over his head, then buckled on the black leather swordbelt. He eyed the heraldry on his chest thinking that it seemed familiar; a cobalt background with an elaborate crest containing water, a hand rising from the centre of the ripples and bearing a sword, all richly embroidered in pale blue and silver. Pouches worked of supple black leather covered nearly half of the right side of the belt, opposite the black scabbard with its silver trim. He drew a magnificent broadsword from the box and slid it home in the sheath before drawing out the last two items in the box.

The long velvet cloak was a deeper shade of the tabard's blue, accenting Draco's colouring as he checked his reflection in the mirror, which hummed in delight. He hoped that he could keep the ensemble, as he rather liked how it looked on him.

"Quite dashing, Drake," Theo commented. "Are you sure your card doesn't say that you're this Prince Charming?" Nott looked decidedly odd, walking around with a delicate female body and his own rugged features. He only lacked the hairpiece to complete his fancy dress.

"For the last time, yes, I'm sure. If you must know, it says I'm to be Launcelot." Theo and Blaise looked at each other in surprise, then smirked and responded with wolf-whistles.

"I wonder who the lucky lass is dressing as Guinevere tonight," Blaise remarked casually. Draco scowled. The brunet caught the expression and smirked even more broadly. "Or maybe someone in another year or house is getting a dose of what Theo's had from us, eh?"

With a glare, Draco seized his helm, careful of the flowing blue horsehair plume, and retreated to the loo. He had to get at least a moment's peace from his year-mates. Camulos, but those two are getting on my nerves today, he thought, splashing cold water on his face again and then scrubbing it dry with a towel. I'll shred that damned Hat if it stuck me with a girl after its last question.

A bit calmer, Draco slid his wand into a holster that lay along the side of the scabbard, then raised the helm. He suspected that it was the foundation of a glamour to disguise him, as was traditional for a Masque. He was ready to find out what Launcelot looked like.

The steel slipped easily over his head, feeling almost like an old friend. His features, visible under the raised faceplate, shimmered into a somewhat craggy visage with a hawk-like nose. Somehow, the nose that would have been too big on most faces fit with the square jaw and chiselled planes of Launcelot's cheeks. A fine haze of short golden stubble lined his "new" chin, matched by golden brows and a few errant locks of hair that framed his face within the helm. It wasn't the pale shade of gold he'd been born with, but one with a more yellow tone to it. Too, his skin was bronzed like that of a man who was used to being outdoors in all weathers.

In short, he was now a handsome warrior from the days when wizards fought hand-to-hand and with steel alongside their magic. It wasn't a look he would have chosen for himself, but it had an appeal all its own. He wouldn't let his real features get so sun-darkened, but that was because of his hair colour, which would have made him look washed-out if the glamour hadn't changed it.

Enough preening, I think. Time to go to the party. Oh, how he hoped he wouldn't be swarmed by the girls at the Masque.

HP

Harry half-hid behind the hangings of his four-poster, glad that his dorm-mates were focussing on Seamus so much and leaving him mostly alone. Both of them were dressed as women for the Masque, and Harry was mortified.

In grammar school one year, Harry's class had attended a production of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, and Harry had been entranced. Afterwards, his teacher had allowed him to borrow some of the Bard's plays to read. Because of this experience, Harry knew that Seamus was portraying Queen Titania of the fairy folk.

As for himself, what true child of Britain didn't know of Guinevere? Rather, wizarding children knew far more about the Age of Camelot than their Muggle peers. Harry had purchased his own copy of the library's detailed accounting of the period, and it told so much more about the legendary queen than the bits that the Muggles knew.

She had been neither a victim nor a traitor, in truth. Harry smiled as he recalled. Guinevere had been a Brythonic warrior-queen, her marriage to Arthur Pendragon a political union with nothing else binding them. They had had no desire to merge their bloodlines, and it had not been necessary to the binding of their kingdoms.

A Compleat Historie of Britain, Roman Retreat to Norman Invasion recorded that Guinevere had travelled to the region where Portsmouth had later been built as an envoy of both her own kingdom and Arthur's to meet the knight sent by the lords of Brittany. During the journey back to Camelot, she'd spoken a great deal with Launcelot and they'd discovered what the book called a "soul-bonded love." Harry didn't know the details of the phrase's meaning, but it had sounded wonderful—right up until Mordred ruined everything.

He would give a great deal for the blessing of that sort of relationship with someone. Now the Sorting Hat was poking fun, or maybe tempting him, having chosen him to portray a member of the historical couple he most admired. Had it really found someone in the school who would be the Launcelot to his Guinevere?

He glanced at his alarm and winced. Supper was scheduled for seven, and it was just now half past five. He couldn't go down yet. There wasn't much he could say to anyone about himself that wouldn't reveal his identity, and that was one thing he was terrified would happen tonight. Anyone who knew who he really was would make assumptions, and tag him with the labels the wizarding world had bestowed upon him.

"Chin up, Harry!" Ron crowed suddenly, bouncing on the brunet's bed. "It can't be too bad. Besides, it's just an elaborate form of fancy dress party." Harry only snorted in reply.

Unlike him, Ron had little to worry about, if anything. He was Puck tonight, flighty and tricksome, needing no permanent ties. Anyone who knew anything about Shakespeare would know that, and that any intimate relationship was bound to be casual. The young wizard moved from girl to girl these days, having come to a mutual agreement with Hermione that they made a rotten couple.

"I'll be fine, Ron," he muttered. "Go ahead and go. I'll be down before supper, I promise." The redhead grinned, squeezed Harry's shoulder, and jumped up to seize his ivy wreath from the next bed over.

"Form up, men! Forward, march!" The others followed Ron out the door. Seamus, at the rear, paused to lay a friendly hand on Harry's shoulder, but didn't say anything. After they'd left, the brunet laid back and pulled a pillow over his face.

I hate my life.

HG

Who in hell is dressing as Uther? she wondered as Winky helped tighten the laces of her corset properly. The elf knew that she wasn't aiming for something as absurd as a 45cm waist, but the garment would help her look much more feminine. At least the Hat had allowed her to suggest a design for her costume, rather than being arbitrary about it.

Hermione really hated Albus Dumbledore. He'd faked his death to get Harry to go after the Horcruxes and, at the same time, cruelly used the Order, especially Professor Snape and Draco Malfoy. Surely Malfoy had been providing some sort of information, channelled through the professor. The two Slytherins had always seemed so close, and Mrs. Malfoy had gone to Professor Snape for help when she thought her son was in danger.

She abruptly reverted to her original train of thought. God, not one of the Gryff boys, I hope. The Hat had refused to give her even the slightest clue about her partner's true identity, even this last week.

Finally, Winky tied the laces and began to gather up the rich purple velvet that lay across the divan that the Room of Requirement had provided. The small being had already dealt with her unruly cinnamon mane; it was intricately braided, beaded, and beribboned in violet and gold, the longest sections forming a fancy bun near her nape.

Sweet little Winky was obviously in her element with such tasks, and it changed some of Hermione's perspective on the house-elf situation. Perhaps they only wish for protection from tormenting owners, she mused. At least she was quiet, unlike Dobby.

She began to mutter Arithmantic equations under her breath. As the heavy under-dress settled into place, her heart slowed to a more normal pace. She had to stay calm, maintain her cool, or the night would be ruined before it even began.

"Miss Hermy must not worry," the elf scolded. "Party is for fun."

Hermione sighed. "I know some of the plan that old meddler has cooked up, Winky. I'm one of the people whose lives are being diddled with tonight, the Hat admitted it. I just don't know who it's paired me with, and that's what has me so on edge."

"Hat is not making mistakes, Miss Hermy," the house-elf replied scathingly. "Miss Hermy will enjoy party and her Master Uther." This was said with such an air of authority that the witch blinked in confusion.

While she tried to process this sudden certainty from her little friend, Hermione was being decked out with incredible speed. It seemed like no time had passed before Winky was offering her the golden circlet that would subtly change her appearance until midnight.

"Thank you." She took the crown and carefully placed it on her head. "I'll, erm, talk to you later?"

"Winky is at Miss Hermy's call." The elf bowed and popped away.

The young woman turned to the door. She would have fun tonight, even if she had to ditch Uther in the process.

SS

He tugged at his mail shirt, then the doublet over it. Neither seemed to want to sit correctly with the costume's sword hanging at his hip.

How on earth did anyone use a weapon this large, anyway? Severus wondered to himself. The thing was at least two-thirds his height. He jumped when he heard a throat being cleared behind him.

"It would work better if you strapped the claymore across your back, as it is meant to be worn." Albus wasn't at all daunted by his glare as the younger wizard unbuckled the wide belt at his waist.

"How many times have I asked you not to sneak up on me?" he growled. The old man just chuckled, toying with the circlet that had been in the box with the rest of the costume.

Once Severus found the shoulder rig wrapped around the scabbard, it only took him a minute to get it on correctly, hilt over his right shoulder and the tip just outside his left knee. Everything did lie better this way, but he wasn't about to admit it to Dumbledore. He wasn't giving the bastard a damn thing that he could use as a leash again.

He'd had more than his fill of being a dogs' body.

When Albus held out the crown, he snatched it angrily.

"I'm not going for you. I owe you nothing, old man, and I leave here at the end of June." Jamming the circlet onto his head, he stormed out of the room.

He didn't stop until he saw the last stair up to the Entrance Hall. He smoothed his doublet, adjusted the circlet, and concentrated on his mental shields.

I am Uther Pendragon, High King of the Britons. I united the tribes against the invading Saxons, and my line is remembered for centuries. I am the father of the Forever King. As his temporary persona solidified, he hid his true self behind layers of protection.

If all else failed, and he was forced to leave the Wizarding World, Muggles would pay him for his acting skills. He wouldn't need wizards for a damned thing, if that came to pass.

Calmly, Uther strode up the final staircase and through the open doors of the Great Hall. There was already a crowd, but conversations were subdued in volume, allowing him to hear the music played by the ghostly orchestra stationed near the Head Table's usual location. All the customary tables were gone, replaced by a scattering of round tables in various sizes.

"Would milord king care for a drink?" a voice asked from the vicinity of his elbow. It belonged to an androgynous winged youngster in a white peplos.

"Perhaps a juice, Eros. Plain juice" Uther eyed the youth's quiver warily. He only hoped that the bow and arrows in it were for show. The child darted off, soon lost amid the revellers.

He'd scanned half the room, idly identifying characters, when 'Eros' returned with a goblet full of a clear red liquid. A discreet sniff proved it to be a berry cordial, which was, upon tasting, rather well-made. He'd had it before, he thought; the house-elves acquired it from somewhere in southern England.

The old goat has high hopes tonight, or he would have left this in the cellars aging. He would definitely take advantage of such optimism.

"Dobby, please divert three casks of the berry cordial to my personal wine room," he murmured. A tingling sensation at the base of his spine told him that the headstrong elf would do as he'd asked.

Uther resumed his visual survey of the Hall. Before long, his sharp hearing picked up fragments of impressed comments surging through the crowd.

"High Queen…"

"…Arthur's mum…"

He smirked. His erstwhile wife had arrived. If the mutters were any indication, she was making quite the splash, too.

HG

It didn't take her long to spot Uther. He was probably the tallest man in attendance, and the claymore he wore was causing others to give him a bit of clear space. He almost looked as though he had forgotten about the blade's presence; it exerted no visible pull on the broad shoulders that were likely unaccustomed to the weight. She knew that wizards had largely left swordplay behind in the last two centuries, much as the Muggles had.

Ygraine studied the High King carefully. Because of the number of glamours in use tonight, most of them would be minimal, just enough to mask one's identity. The strongest spells would have gone to those who were crossing the gender line with their costumes.

Dark eyes, black hair, prominent nose… Good move, Hat. A man, one whom I respect, with enough between his ears to match wits with me, and he's not that much older than I am, either. Her inner fears subsided, and she walked up to Uther confidently.

"Good eventide, my lord king and husband." Her curtsey was greeted with a slight bow.

"My queen. Would you care for refreshment?" He motioned with his goblet. "An excellent berry cordial is being offered this evening." Out of nowhere, a cupid appeared, looking from Uther to her expectantly.

"The cordial seems a good choice to me," she replied, and the cupid darted off. "I must remember to thank the Hat at my next opportunity."

Uther raised one eyebrow and leaned towards her. "You prefer me over the assortment of younger wizards in the student body?" He sounded almost shocked.

"Of course, my lord. What intelligent woman would not prefer a mature man over a gaggle of silly boys? I rather enjoy matching wits with you, but there isn't a single student, not even in Ravenclaw, that would last five minutes against me… sir."

Uther snorted. "Too true, Miss…" He cleared his throat pointedly. "Tell me. The young man by the punchbowl—who in the world is he supposed to be?" She concentrated for a moment, peering at the wizard in question, then laughed as she recalled seeing the movie over the summer.

"William Fletcher posing as Wilhelm von Lichtenstein. A Knight's Tale was quite popular last summer, and he is the main character. A rather amusing movie." Harry especially had needed the laugh brought by the combination of a funny movie and Ron's reactions to common Muggle things. Uther, on the other hand, was patently confused, as he'd likely never heard of the film, and so she changed the subject.

"That article in the last issue of Potions Monthly, the one on side effects of fertility draughts…"

DM

The knight tipped his goblet up to hide his silent snarl. There was only twenty minutes left before dinner, and Guinevere had yet to show. Oh, there were plenty of women wearing crowns in the room; he'd spotted a tall and lanky version of Uther Pendragon deep in conversation with a petite Ygraine, who was most recognizable for her golden circlet. He knew who Uther really was, as glamours couldn't really change one's height. None of the students who were that tall had dark hair, so it had to be his Uncle Severus. He looked like he was enjoying himself for a change.

Despite being lost in thought, Draco noticed when one of the massive doors to the Entrance Hall crept open slightly. Through the narrow opening, a young woman slipped into the chattering crowd. No one could possibly miss her shining silver tiara.

Draco continued to watch her for several moments before making his move. She was elegantly but simply dressed in a cream-coloured chemise and a pale green tabard, belted about her tiny waist by linked palm-sized silver disks. It was a deceptively plain costume until one looked up to her face.

Guinevere's skin was porcelain-pale, contrasting sharply with her long, dark curls and vivid green eyes. The crown she wore rested lightly upon her brow, with delicate metalwork creating a tiny winter forest against the black hair.

She was hugging the wall, seeming to shrink away from the larger clumps of people. Was she shy, perhaps, or just not one for crowds? Regardless, it was clearly time for him to come to his queen's rescue.

"Your Majesty," he said softly, bowing. "Might I have the pleasure of your company this evening?" Despite the gentle tone he used, she jumped, quickly settling herself as she turned and curtseyed.

"Thank you, good Sieur du Lac. Verily, I sought you just now, but saw naught until you spoke."

Damn. Someone obviously adores Camelot. The syntax and usage are period-perfect. He offered his arm, which was taken gladly. Draco placed himself between Guinevere and the rest of the crowd, smiling when this caused her to relax a hair. He then began a slow progress toward the beverage table.

"I very nearly decided not to attend," the small brunette confessed a moment later. "I truly detest spectacle."

"Et moi aussi," the blond replied. "It has, unfortunately, always been a part of my life, but living ever in the public eye is a trial on the best of days."

"Too true. Dealing with the so-called journalists who are but glorified rumour-mongers."

"The nay-sayers who will put a person down just to be contrary or advance themselves."

"The fawning masses that would take and take until one dies, and sometimes even after."

"Being known for something over which one has no control." At this, they groaned in unison, then began to laugh quietly when their eyes met.

Guinevere deftly snagged a goblet as they passed the table, and Draco began to angle for a quiet little corner table. The tiny tables for two filled the majority of the hall. As he began to seat his partner of the evening, the hushed background music ceased.

"Please find your way to a table. Dinner will commence momentarily." The blond smiled to himself. Most of the costumed students were now scrambling to either find a small table to share with their designated companion or to find a seat near someone they'd been speaking to, and it was creating quite a hullabaloo.

Menu cards appeared, but Guinevere kept her hands in her lap and her head down when the knight lifted his.

"Is something wrong, milady?" he enquired. The only answer was a tiny shake of the queen's head. With a gentle touch under her chin, Draco urged those haunting green eyes to meet his own.

"My queen, I am sworn to defend you from all who would hurt you, and to avenge any wrong which has been done unto you. Would you have my oath be as naught for want of a few words?"

"Nay, lord knight. How, though, dost one extract repayment for the food wilfully denied to a hungry child, or the loss of all caring touch?"

He had to pour litres of self-control on the urge to kill whoever had done this to Guinevere. "I should see to thy welfare and happiness above aught else, milady. Verily, thy plight striketh close to mine own heart. Fathers are meant to protect and nurture, not to use and consume their offspring." He relaxed, seeing a glimmer of understanding in the emerald depths.

They soon ordered, and, as they ate, began to speak of themselves in vague terms; neither Launcelot nor Guinevere gave specific details that the other might recognize, yet the exchange drew them closer.

By the time the Masque was winding down, they were both incredibly comfortable in the other's presence. They swayed gently to the music of the ghostly orchestra, still conversing in hushed tones.

"I… I hope I haven't been leading you on, Launcelot, but this getup is rather deceiving," Guinevere began, sounding almost frightened.

"I was hoping that was the case, after the Hat had the utter gall to ask me which gender I prefer," the knight replied. "Mine isn't nearly so bad, though a bit more… sturdy, perhaps, than reality." A relieved grin lit the 'queen's' face.

"I'm glad it even took that sort of thing into consideration. Girls confuse me."

"This coming from the person whose very best friend is a girl?"

"She's really not girlish most of the time, though! More of a swot, but in a good way. I've lost count of how many times her knowledge has gotten me out of a tight spot."

Their conversation was eventually interrupted by a loud chiming which caused everyone in attendance to turn to the High Table, where Dumbledore—dressed as a rather unconvincing Merlin—stood.

"Students and staff members," he intoned, "I thank you for sharing this delightful evening with me. Once the school clock has rung midnight, you may remove your glamours, if you wish. If you would rather not, many of you might find something for your companion in a pocket. I hope everyone enjoys their weekend." The old wizard sat down, and the knight turned to his queen.

Guinevere's eyes were locked on the floor again.

"Chère reine, you do not have to dispel the magic if you do not wish to do so," Launcelot began. Green eyes beginning to fill with tears stopped him in his tracks.

"I have nothing with which to gift you," Guinevere said, lifting samite-draped arms. "No pockets."

"Then I shall gift you, my queen." The knight reached into a pouch on his belt, withdrawing a finely-worked silver chain and a thumbnail-sized emerald pendant. He carefully opened the magicked clasp and held it for Guinevere, who gathered her waving mane away from her neck. As he restored the clasp's enchantment, he realized it was a modified anti-theft charm; only the person who had closed the circle would be able to open it again. A moment later, the stone rested at the hollow of the queen's throat.

"I must give you something, though," she said as he reluctantly turned to leave. With her hands cupped before her, Guinevere closed her eyes and began to whisper to herself so that he could only see her lips move. There was a slight shimmer in the air above them, then a mass of silver fell into her hands. Now paler than ever, the queen pressed her gift upon Launcelot and fled through the small gap in the doors to the Entrance Hall. By the time he managed to get through the crowd and beyond the doors, the knight could see no trace of his lady, save for the heavy mass of silver beads she'd given him.

HP

Harry staggered and nearly collapsed as he left the Entrance Hall for the stairs. He'd been hiding the extent of his nervousness from Launcelot all night, and the effort he'd expended to create the Egyptian pectoral had brought him dangerously close to collapse. He had intended to simply find a hidden alcove and rest there until he had the energy to make the climb up to Gryffindor Tower.

"Harry, you all right, mate?" a familiar voice whispered over his shoulder. The brunet turned to see a feminized Seamus at his elbow and nearly fell. Seamus quickly moved to support his weight.

"Exhausted m'self," the younger Gryffindor tried to explain. "Shouldn't of conjured anything. Stupid." He was half babbling to himself.

"D'you mean you conjured up something to give your date? Must have really taken the mickey outta ya. C'mon, let's get you up to th' dorms, huh?"

Harry barely registered the seven flights of stairs or whatever might have been going on in the common room. Once his head hit a pillow, he knew nothing more.

SS

When Dumbledore made the evening's final announcement, Severus scowled. He'd long given up the Uther charade, as his companion had obviously seen right through the glamour. He wasn't terribly disappointed; Hermione Granger had only gotten sharper since her sixth year.

"I wish he'd just go bugger a goat already," the witch grumbled. Severus fought down the urge to smirk.

"He refuses to do something Aberforth's already done; it's the only reason he hasn't."

"Then I vote we anonymously send him a sheep. Or a pig." He couldn't resist the chuckle this time. 'Ygraine' grinned at him, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

"Shall we retire, milady? There are places far more conducive to continuing our chat than a draughty old hall." If anything, the gleam became more wicked.

"Why, yes, milord. Lead the way."

Tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, Severus slipped through a side door and down a narrow stair, the young witch pressing herself firmly against his side. On the first landing, he stopped and looked at her, willing the gravity of the situation to become more clear.

"Miss Gr-"

"Hermione, please. I'm not strictly your student any longer."

"This… situation must be discreet. I intend to resign at the end of the term, but I do not wish to involve anyone in any sort of scandal."

"I understand all too well. No one will hear a peep from me. I don't kiss and tell."

He felt the tension drain from his body then, and smiled.

"Then, please, call me Severus." They started down the next stair.

HP

He woke with a start as dawn filtered through the gaps between the bed curtains. His arm automatically reached for the nightstand, found his glasses, and placed them on his nose. The seventh-year Gryffindor boys' dorm became clear around him, and Harry sighed in relief.

Thank the Morrigan. I actually made it back to the dorm. And someone—probably Seamus—got me out of that dress. At least it was only the very end of the night that was confused. The brunet felt at his neck and quickly found the emerald pendant.

Is Launcelot going to wear the pectoral I created? he wondered. After all, it was a rather large and ostentatious piece of jewellery. He wouldn't blame the other wizard if he chose not to wear it.

"Morning, Harry." Ron was sitting on the edge of his own bed, concern writ large on his face. "Did you enjoy yourself at the Masque?"

"Actually, yeah," the younger man replied. "Launcelot… he was nice." He didn't know how to explain the way he'd felt around the blond; it had been, quite simply, exquisite.

"You looked like you were having fun." The redhead smiled gently. "The Hat might have chosen your costumes on purpose, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"Launcelot and Guinevere were bound so closely that not even death could part them," Ron explained. "Merlin himself buried them, though no one has ever found their grave. Some of the legends say that they'll be back, ushering in Arthur's return to rule Britain."

"And his second reign will never end. Yeah, I remember that part." Harry sighed wistfully. A return to Camelot and more civilized ways would be, for him, a dream come true.

"Play me for a game of chess?" He blinked, then nodded. He'd be trounced, but spending time with his best friends was well worth it.

DM

Though Guinevere's abrupt departure had worried Draco, something told him that the erstwhile queen had made it to her—or rather, his—dorm safely. He'd sat up for something like two hours trying to figure out who she actually was. There were any number of dark-haired wizards in the school, but the beautiful green eyes were the kicker. The only person he could think of at all with eyes like that was Harry Potter, and he was straight… wasn't he?

No, Potter can't possibly be my Guinevere.

He'd thoroughly examined the pectoral, too. It was more elaborate than he'd first thought, a tightly woven net of beads and wire, all in silver. In fact, it almost looked as though someone had drained all the colour from the traditional Egyptian royal pectoral, leaving the patterns of differently-shaped beads behind.

"That's an impressive piece, Drake," Blaise commented, startling the blond. The brunet leaned casually against a bedpost, peering over Draco's shoulder. "Isn't it rather large to fit in a pocket, though?"

"For some odd reason, there weren't any pockets in Guinevere's getup. She—he conjured this, insisting that he had to give me something." The Italian stared at him in silence, and he glared after a moment. "Yes, he's obviously far more powerful than I am, but he's needed it. Whoever it was that raised him was beastly. It's a wonder he's turned out to be the gentle person I saw last night."

"You've got it bad, mate. Hate to break it to you, but you have to find out who he is before you can even start planning punishment for his guardians."

"I know," Draco groaned. "All I have to go on is that his eyes were this incredible green, and his hair is dark, black almost." Blaise blinked, then smirked.

"What about Potter?"

"Can't be. Potter's straight." The other wizard's grin widened. "Forget you. I'll just keep an eye out at breakfast. He might be wearing my gift." Draco settled the pectoral about his throat and shoulders before pulling on a green silk top which allowed just a sliver of the intricate metalwork to be visible.

HP

"Um… Harry, do you see Hermione?" Ron asked as they entered the Great Hall. The younger wizard searched the array of students who had chosen to get a head start on their Saturday.

"No, I don't. Maybe she decided to have a lie-in?" The two boys looked at each other, suppressing grins.

"Nah, not Hermione," they chorused.

"I don't think she would have stayed with her date the whole night," the brunet continued. Ron rolled his eyes. "Library, maybe, or the Room of Requirement. She's probably back to studying for her NEWTs again."

"Are you going to let anyone see that rock you got last night?" his friend asked as they sat down. "Or don't' you want to find your knight in shining armour?" If the younger wizard's eyes had really been Killing-Curse-green, his best mate would currently be a cooling corpse.

"Fine," Harry conceded with a huff. He ran his fingers just beneath the collar of his tee and lifted the emerald from where he'd tucked it out of sight earlier. Gasps rippled away from him along the table as others noticed. "Happy now?" Ron grinned wickedly.

"With the way the rumour mill around here works, he'll have heard by dinner, if not as early as lunch. I'm good for the moment." That said, Weasley dove into his breakfast with his usual gusto. Harry frowned and served himself; he'd try finding Hermione after they'd eaten.

DM

Draco didn't' believe the whispers the first two times he heard them. Still, when a third independent source gave him the same information, he listened. What had really gotten to him was that Blaise had been right: Potter was wearing the necklace he'd put on Guinevere.

He knew the enchantment on the clasp, and had felt enough power in it that anyone, other than Draco himself, who tried to take the necklace off would get a nasty shock, save for the wearer, who would simply be unable to take it off. Unless Guinevere had broken the charm—an unlikely event, even given his abilities—that would mean that Potter was Guinevere. That thought sent his mind reeling.

"I told you so," Blaise gloated when they passed each other in the corridors shortly after lunch. The Italian was sure to be unbearably smug until Draco chose to do something about the situation. Spending a night in the same room as the prat when he was in that kind of mood was sheer torture, as the blond knew all too well, and he simply wasn't going to put up with it.

Donning his heavy winter cloak—it was cold out, even for the middle of February—Draco left the castle in search of Harry Potter. Just as he'd suspected, the younger wizard was on the Quidditch Pitch, his Firebolt describing lazy figures in the air. Rather than interrupt, he leaned against the locker rooms, near the entrance, and just watched.

He'd spent a lot of time in past years doing this, despite the Imperius Curse that Lucius had used to control him. He'd been able to rationalize it then as spying on the enemy, since the curse had gotten just loose enough with distance for him to have a little wiggle room. He hadn't been free of it by any means, just… able to twist the orders a bit once in a while. That was how he knew that, though Potter seemed a bit awkward on the ground, he was poetry in motion in the air. Too, his flying could give clues to what Potter was feeling; now, for instance, his slow and sloppy manoeuvres indicated that he was flying just to be up in the air, trying to sort something out in his own head.

Before long, Harry was descending and nearing the wide doorway that led to the lockers. When he was close, Draco stepped into clear view, his identity hidden by the hood that shadowed his face. The smaller wizard looked over, eyes wide, and the blond sank gracefully to one knee and saluted in the style once used by the Knights of the Round Table, his fist over his heart.

"L- Sir Launcelot?" Despite the slight shock in the voice and its marginally deeper pitch, he knew he had the right wizard.

"A votre service, ma reine," he replied formally. A flicker of his eyes let him see that Harry was on the verge of tears, as he had been more than once the night before. Without thinking about it, the blond stood, stepped forward, and gently laid a palm against Harry's cheek. "What is it?" he asked softly.

The other turned away, trembling like a leaf. "Some Gryffindor I turned out to be. Can't face Voldemort in honourable combat, and now—"

"Honourable and Voldemort don't belong in the same sentence. If you'd challenged him to a formal duel, he would have cheated just so he could kill you." Draco turned Harry gently until they were facing each other again. "It would have been suicide. You were brave, and noble, standing up and casting an unknown spell the way you did." When he tried to evade again, the blond realized what the real problem was.

"Did I care who you were last night?" Harry murmured a vague denial. "Then why would it matter to me now? It makes no difference that you're the Boy-Who-Lived. I care about Harry, the normal wizard beneath the hype and fame."

"Why should you? I'm just a worthless freak." Somehow, he very much doubted that he was supposed to have heard that last sentence at all.

"Bull shit." Green eyes snapped upwards to peer into the darkness under his hood. "I'd kill your guardians for making you feel that way, really I would. You deserve so much more than just my caring for you. And I do, Harry, I care for you more than I thought possible." Finally, Harry relaxed, and he wrapped his arms around the brunet as though he could shut out the rest of the world with the gesture.

"You don't really want me to know who you are, do you?" the smaller wizard asked after a moment.

"To be honest, I'm a little afraid of how you might react."

"Don't be? I don't care about a face, or a name. It did before, but… You're right. Whatever the packaging, you're still Launcelot, the person I really liked spending time with last night." The blond blinked at finding his own logic turned back on him. He braced himself mentally, then pushed his hood back to dispel the shadows.

Draco didn't even realize that he'd screwed his eyes shut until he heard the gasp and felt the arms that had moved around him tighten. "I'm sorry," he began, but he was cut off.

"For what? You were under the worst of the Unforgiveables, unable to control the actions of your body. Lucius did all those things, not you." He breathed a sigh of relief, opening his eyes to find messy black hair just below his chin and Harry trying to squeeze the life out of him.

HP

He returned to Gryffindor Tower nearly an hour later than he'd intended, unable to wipe the silly grin off his face. He wondered if Ron had found Hermione while he was gone, but it was doubtful. The older boy didn't really have the persistence to keep looking for long on his own.

"Now where…" Ron started to say as Harry entered the common room, only to trail off in the middle of the question. "Launcelot found you and snogged you to within an inch of your life, from the way you look. Did you enjoy yourself?" When the brunet nodded, he continued. "I'm guessing that he told you who he is, then."

"Showed me, actually, but yeah." Harry sounded a bit dazed, even to himself. A tiny part of his mind had begun yammering on about danger and betrayal when Draco had revealed himself, but Harry had ignored it, as it was the same part that kept insisting that Dumbledore could be trusted with anything and everything.

Still half out of it, Harry fetched his Potions homework from the dormitory and began working on the essay that was due Tuesday. Snape's class wasn't nearly as bad as it used to be; the man still had his knickers in a bunch about lab etiquette, but at least he wasn't breathing down people's necks anymore.

He didn't even notice Seamus returning—not until Ron spoke up.

"Bloody hell, Seam, not you too?! You look like Harry did twenty minutes ago." It was rather evident that the Irish teen had been kissing someone; he was a bit flushed, lips swollen just a bit, and hair out of its usual neat style. Not to mention the fact that he was unconsciously straightening his clothing when it was just fine.

"Well…" Seamus didn't seem to know quite how to respond to the redhead's statement. His eyes flickered to Harry, suddenly brightening. "His Majesty King Oberon sends his regards to his lovely cousin Guinevere and wishes her much luck with Sir Launcelot."

"How many people know who I was last night?" said 'queen' asked resignedly.

"Um, just s from the dorm, Oberon, and I'm guessing Launcelot," was the reply. "Why?" Harry shook his head as he gathered his papers. Unfortunately, Ron spoiled his retreat by following him up the stairs.

"You know that about a quarter of wizarding marriages are same-gender couples, right?" his friend asked after closing the door behind him. Harry could feel his eyes widen as he looked up. "Yes, they are; I mean, hello, Charlie's gay. Don't worry about it."

"But… what about kids? Adopting would be fine with me, but we're each the last of our line." And Draco had two bloodlines to think of, due to Sirius' death.

"You get a surrogate, of course." Ron paused, peering at him oddly until his eyebrows shot up under his fringe. "No one's ever talked to you about the snidgets and the billywigs, have they?" Harry shook his head in confusion.

"I remember what was covered at my Muggle primary the last year I was there, but… it was only the very basics. What bits actually make a baby, that sort of thing."

"Oh, Merlin." The redhead's voice was full of embarrassment. As he talked, though, Harry felt his face heat and understood all too well.

"Now, with surrogates, a squib carries the baby, which is a mix of the two wizards. She gets a boost to her magical core, and the wizards get their child."

"Well, why couldn't someone have a witch or a Muggle as the surrogate mum?" the brunet asked.

"The witch's magic would push out one of the wizards', erm, material, and replace it with hers, defeating the whole purpose. And Muggles, well, they have problems just getting through a magical pregnancy," Ron responded. "See? You don't have to worry about having your own little sprogs. Now spill. Who is Launcelot?"

"Promise you won't go ballistic on me?" Harry pleaded. The nod he received wasn't terribly reassuring. "He's Draco Malfoy." Surprisingly, his friend took a moment to think before he said anything.

"That would explain why Lucius felt that he needed to Imperius a first-year, his son or not." The maturity of the statement struck Harry, who found himself wondering when Ron had grown up.

"Thanks, mate," he said softly. The tall wizard gave him an awkward hug.

"What are friends for? Now… where the hell is Hermione?" Harry dug in his trunk for the Marauders' Map. It was a wasted effort, though; the Muggleborn girl didn't show up anywhere on the enchanted parchment.

DM

Draco ignored the nagging feeling that he was grinning like a loon. Harry liked him! He could hardly wait to tell his godfather.

It was quite the surprise when, upon reaching Severus' quarters, he found the portrait guardian absent, every single ward up, and a note Spello-taped to the frame.

"'Do not disturb on pain of death.' Damn, Uncle Sev." Frowning momentarily, he debated going in anyway, but discarded the idea. Godson or not, the Potions Master would have his head for interrupting when he'd gone so far as to post a note. The blond would have to settle for sending a brief letter via the dungeon mail tubes.

There were a few scattered couples and several larger groups chatting in the Slytherin common room when he reached it. One cosy corner was occupied by Theo and— He paused. Is that Millicent? Odd. I suppose she'd be the one in charge, then, if she was that Prince Charming character last night. It wasn't impossible. The two of them had barely spoken a dozen words to each other since they had a huge row in first year. At least that would be over. Draco shrugged and headed up to the dorm.

Blaise showed up some time later, a smug grin on his face. Obviously he'd been spending time with Titania, whoever that was. The Italian wizard sprawled across his own bed and eyed the blond.

"Yes, I talked to Harry," Draco said, anticipating his friend's question.

"And?" He scowled at the nosy brunet.

"And everything's fine. Beyond that, it's none of your affair." A smirk grew as he thought of something. "What about you and 'Titania?' Who was behind that glamour?"

"Seamus." Draco had to blink for a moment.

"Finnegan? The Mad Irishman?" Blaise's expression grew even more insufferably smug.

"He did clear up some confusion for me," the brunet commented. "Like Theo's costume, for example. The Muggles have a whole story for that, one of what they call 'fairy tales,' apparently."

Interested despite himself, Draco rolled onto his stomach to listen to his best friend tell stories.

HP

No one saw Hermione Granger until late Sunday evening, when she calmly walked into the Gryffindor common room as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Harry personally called it excellent timing; he had just finished his Potions essay and needed her to proofread it.

"Where have you been?" Ron asked in a loud voice as the witch unrolled Harry's parchment. She glared at the redhead and arched a brow before replying.

"Wouldn't you like to know? I'm six months older than you are, Ronald. I don't need a minder." Unruffled, she turned her attention to the essay and visibly tuned him out. The smaller wizard had to stifle a chuckle.

Later, once most of the House had gone to bed, the three of them lounged in front of the fireplace, soaking up heat. The witch had been evasive whenever the boys asked about her weekend, but now that they were essentially alone, she was opening up a bit.

"Come on, 'Mione, spill already!" Ron urged. Harry turned pleading eyes on his best female friend, and she sighed heavily.

"First off, I'm not saying who, and I'm not giving any hints, either. You both know I don't kiss and tell. However… Because the headmaster was getting my help in organizing the whole thing, I had several opportunities to speak with the Hat. I was able to get it to tell me who I was going to be, as well as what Dumbledore's main objective was; he was playing match-maker. That used to be a common function of the Hat during the term, helping the staff steer certain students into couples as they got older. Dumbledore decided he was going to manipulate relationships on a much larger scale.

"The Hat wasn't really happy with that much meddling in people's lives, so it chose to be finicky with how many true matches it gave out. It admitted to me that perhaps two dozen couples from Friday night were going to be lasting ones."

"But which ones?" Harry asked with quite a bit of worry. Ron nudged him gently, looking like he wanted to cheer him up a bit.

"Two pairs from Camelot, and a couple of Muggle fairy tales, as far as I know. Those are the only ones I was able to get it to specify. I did get it to let me decide what I wanted to wear. I'm fairly sure that I was in one of the Camelot couples; I was Ygraine."

"Oh, great," Harry groaned. "My best friend was my mother-in-law for a night." Hermione's eye shot to his face.

"Guinevere?" He nodded. "Then… Well, if you enjoyed yourself, and you like Launcelot, go for it. The Hat wouldn't have cast them without a very good reason. What about you, Ron?"

"No worries. I was Puck, and Harry has already explained the reference to me."

"I do have a question, though," the green-eyed young man interjected. "I don't know if either of you will be able to answer, but… What does a 'soul-bonded love' entail?"

"It's the deepest true-bond in existence," the redhead began in a nearly reverent tone. "Basically, those two souls, whoever they happen to be, will always be living at the same time, and their paths will always cross at some point in each life. If one is born, the other comes soon after."

"They always bond in some fashion, too," the witch added. The youngest of them sighed, finally feeling himself relax. "Why do you ask?"

"I ran across the term in reference to Launcelot and Guinevere." The ebon-haired wizard promptly clammed up, and Hermione soon yawned.

"Bedtime," she declared. "Tomorrow is going to be a long day, so go get some sleep."

What follows after:

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy purchased a flat after graduation and moved in together. Shortly thereafter, Harry accepted an offer to apprentice to one of the greatest Spell Crafters in Europe. Draco, too, apprenticed, receiving his Potions Mastery as the second youngest to ever earn the honour. His godfather had been nearly a year younger when he had achieved his Silver Cauldron.

In April of 1999, Severus Snape wed Hermione Granger in a small, private ceremony. They allowed the Daily Prophet to run a brief announcement the day after, and there was barely any ripple in the community at the news. No rumours about the relationship ever reached their ears.

Albus Dumbledore remained headmaster at Hogwarts for five more years. Each year, he attempted to persuade Harry and Draco to take up staff positions, Harry in Defence and Draco in Potions, but both young men cheerfully deflected each attempt. The old wizard suffered from an aneurysm in May 2003, effectively ending his tenure at the school. Minerva McGonagall stepped up as Headmistress and reorganised several aspects of the curriculum, resulting in a rapid growth in the student body as more parents decided that Hogwarts was the best option for their children.

Harry and Draco eventually had three children—two girls and a boy—and adopted two more who were orphaned during the Second Voldemort War. Hermione and Severus became the proud parents of four little prodigies: two sets of identical twins, to their bemusement. Seamus and Blaise remained on-again-off-again for years while still managing to agree enough that they raised two boys of their own. Ron never did settle down with anyone; he was heard to comment that "there are enough Weasleys without me adding to it. Otherwise, half the wizarding world would be cousins within seventy-five years." His mother was later seen chasing him through Ottery St. Catchpole with her broom.

"So you see, little ones, fairy tales do come true," said the wizened wizard. At least thirty youngsters, ranging in age from three to seventeen, sat in an arc before his special sofa, where he had been joined during the story by his husband of nearly a hundred and forty years. One of the mothers peered into the room, smiled, and announced that dinner was almost ready and everyone should wash up. As the audience fled, the previously silent man drew the smaller one close.

"You love telling them that story, don't you, my dear?"

"Of course I do, Draco," he replied, green eyes smiling. "And I know that if I didn't tell it at least once a year, you would, and you're not nearly as good as I am." They both chuckled.

"Grampa Harry?" a small voice piped. A tiny girl with black hair, no more than five years old, edged back into the room. She gripped her plushie tiger firmly about its middle before cautiously climbing onto the sofa to cuddle. Her green eyes shone with hope as she looked at her great-great-grandfathers. "Did that really happen?"

"Yes, it did, Elizabeth," Harry Potter assured her. "Just the way I told it."

"Then… did King Arthur really come back?"

"He did," Draco Malfoy replied. "He doesn't show up a lot—only when he's really needed these days—but he's been keeping everyone safe for a long time now, and he doesn't show any sign that he's going to stop."

"There you are, Ellie," said a matronly woman as she looked into the room. "Go grab a seat before they're all gone, love, that's a good girl." The child scampered out with a quiet "Yes, Grandmama." Then she helped Harry to his feet, Draco on his other side. "The boys have your chairs all set up in the dining room, Grampa, Granddad. Thank you so much for keeping the children occupied while we cooked."

"It's our pleasure, Molly." They enjoyed telling the story; for a time, it returned them to times long past and the days of their youth.

The days when Camelot had begun to reappear to magical and Muggle folk alike.