Wizard Wheezes 'Noise-Autotype-Gramophone' (N.A.G.)
By Tom Kristal
Standard Disclaimer: All creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s) and are in no way connected with J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, Bloomsbury Publishing or Warner Bros. The author of the following FanFiction does not in any way profit from the story and it is written solely for entertainment purposes only. Associated names, characters, places, items, and descriptions used in the following FanFiction are the copyrights and/or trademarks of the rightful owners. Rights to characters and their settings is neither claimed nor implied.
Plot Summary: (Post DH) After a long night, Fleur and Hermione discover together with an unexpected intruder that sometimes: ignorance is bliss. [HP/GW R/HG FD/BW]
Wizard Wheezes 'Noise-Autotype-Gramophone' (N.A.G.)
Outskirts of Tinsworth, Cornwall
Some ungodly time in the morning, 4th March, 2002
Along the rugged coastline of Cornwell, the constant ebb and flow of the sea could be heard as the water rhythmically crashed upon the cliff nearby. On top of this cliff, with its walls embedded with shells and sandstone, stood the serene homestead of Bill and Fleur Weasley: Shell Cottage.
The cottage itself was on the outskirts of an old Wizarding community that was rumored to be the birthplace of the legendary muggle king, King Arthur. The ruins of Tintagel Castle, the original home of said king, was said to be only a small distance away. Knowing this, Shell Cottage was unique in its ordinance amongst the Wizarding community.
Unlike other such magical buildings that often needed magic to help stabilize their sub-standard construction, Shell cottage was sturdy as well as cozy in its design. Surrounded by sand and mismatched gardens, the tiny cottage had a steep thatched roof that was almost cathedral-like in appearance. The brown brickwork was made from the local quarry of the area, appearing uneven and jaded. Even with its two thin chimneys that protruded on either side of the structure, it appears to slant slightly. The cathedral-like roof however, took advantage of its view and had several French windows that opened up its tiny interior with light and the smell of the Tazman Sea. It was a cozy house indeed; perfect for a young couple preparing to start a new family.
Yet ironically, it was not for this reason that the once newly married couple bought this house. Nor was this cottage (which they now loved) ever their first choice. Bought during the height of the second 'Pure-Blood-War', its location and function held a more strategic purpose for the poor couple. Safeguarded with a myriad of well placed wards and various protections, its location was heavily guarded for two main purposes. Purpose one, for most obvious reasons, was as a safe haven for various members and allies of the Order of the Phoenix. Considering the infiltration of past safe houses such as GrimmauldPlace and Hogwarts, Shell cottage was considered the least well known location amongst the Death Eaters, and was therefore deemed the most secure site possible. Acting a refuge, it was important to remain as inconspicuous as possible. And with its ordinary (by wizard standards) construction and by maintaining a low profile, it did exactly what was intended. It was an unfortunate strain on the young couple, considering the constant horrors that seemed to permeate through the walls from the outside world, but in the end the couple held through during those terrible times and now they grew to love their home.
Its second lesser known reason was one of desperation. Although technically positioned on the opposite side of the island, the location of Cornwall was still within reach to the borders of France by water. Having insider knowledge of Britain's magical borders, it was secretly discovered that the Ministry, by an act of negligence, failed to reinforce the wards that incidentally entrapped the whole of magical Britain. Coincidentally, one such minuscule gap lay along the coastline of Cornwall. It was agreed on by several Order members that if worse came to worse; this would be their point of escape. If the hopeless rebellion against Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters became too great, the remainder of the Order and whoever they could find would escape Britain inside a magical boat once hidden near their home at the base of their cliff. Fleur, being the daughter of an influential French bureaucrat, would ensure the safe immigration of whoever chose to leave their homes, and act as the final stop to freedom. It was a horrible thought that still, even today, sent shivers through Fleur Weasley's spine whenever she thought on the subject.
Considering this, it was a great relief for one Fleur Weasley on this particular night, as her sister-in-law's (Ginny Weasley, soon to be Potter) Hens Party was soon drawing to a close. With all the men away to celebrate in their own fashion, Fleur was delighted to have a much needed girls' night in. Not that she didn't love her Bill or the other Weasley compatriots. She was quite content with her brave and handsome Bill, thank you very much. But sometimes, six boys were simply too much to handle. And with little Victoire finally passing those terrible two's, the need for more female companionship was ever present in her mind.
By all accounts, the party was a smashing hit, by British standards at least. Although Fleur was by no accounts a snob, being once accustomed to the French customs of celebration, she couldn't help but wince at the remains of the enjoyable chaos that surrounded her. Looking around, she should not have been surprised at all at the unexpected randiness of the group comprised of herself, Ginny, Molly, Andromeda, Hermione, the other Weasley spouses, her now teenaged Gabrielle, numerous other female friends, and the majority of the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team. Likely it was exacerbated by the large quantities of Wizarding drinks, champagne bottles, and chocolate wrappings which now lay scattered and empty on her pure white carpeting (thank heavens for spot removal charms). And to think it all started all so well...
It seemed from the moment the champagne touched the lips of the seemingly innocent group in toast to honor the future bride-to-be on her catch, the seemingly simple cocktail / slumber party quickly turned into something only adequately described as 'an evening of debauchery'.
Hermione attempted at first to entertain the group with a list of activities that she apparently borrowed from a muggle book about such occasions. I hindsight, it goes to show how much at times how incompatible muggle and Wizarding traditions are when the group started off with the 'Purse' game. The Purse game itself was relatively simple... at first glance... The goal of the game was for every member to empty their purse and reward the girl with the wackiest purse contents. Little did everyone realize, that magical expansion charms had become quite popular over the past few years, which ensured that no self respecting witch would ever be without that much needed mascara or tissue in dire times of need. Or anything else in fact. So what originally started out as a simple icebreaker began to cover the contents of Fleur's living room floor with objects ranging from the superfluous to downright bizarre. Even Hermione herself was guilty of this oversight as she pulled out enough books to start a small library, two rolls of toilet paper, a packet of raspberry flavored lips gloss, a Wizarding tent, as well as a magical portrait from her seemingly innocuous purse.
After calling that particular game off, Angelina suggested the simple drinking game 'I Never', which was when things started to go crazy. A group member would ask in turn to confess an 'I Never' to the group, which only if the others had failed these parameters would they be obligated to drink. Soon each confession became more and more outrageous as the alcohol began to flow, and it soon deteriorated into shocking discoveries, gasps, and of course, more drinking. Who knew her mother-in-law had been the reckless wild-child in her youth; shudder to think, considering recent years. She was half afraid to confess to Bill that his mother of assuming high moral caliber had birthed him three months out of wedlock.
As the bottles kept on rolling, most decided joyfully to party how they partied best: into unconsciousness. And after a while, that's exactly what they did.
Thankfully no male strippers were involved, but the same couldn't be said for the drunken debauchery. Prying Gabrielle away from her wand posing as a microphone while trying to sing the lyrics to 'La Vie en Rose' had been one highlight. Though, seeing Gwenog Jones, Ginny's Quidditch team captain, trying to make the moves on the unassuming Andromeda Tonks was a sight to behold as well. Overall, being the only mostly sober one there minus Hermione (who was co-hosting the party), it was a challenge within itself to keep them all confined to the boundaries of the cottage in order to avoid them from causing too much destruction elsewhere. Fortunately, the multitude of incriminating photos would suffice as blackmail material for years to come.
By and large, Fleur took everything in good humor. After all, since the main idea of this party was to give the bride-to-be a good time, it was all worth the trouble in the end. And to be honest, she was flattered and relieved when she and Hermione were both offered to co-host this night. Even though she was now remarkably closer to the Weasley matriarch these days, there had always been a hint of tension between the youngest female Weasley and herself. Although she knew nowadays that Molly had accepted her (or at least accepted that she gave birth to her first grandchild) Ginny had never seemed to completely warn up to her, even with Harry's encouragement. Being offered to co-host was a jubilant conformation that she was truly accepted as a close part of the family. Or simply had an adequate location to get drunk. Close enough.
By the end of the night only herself and Hermione were sober enough to assist in the cleanup that followed. Covering up the last drunken girl in conjured blankets, she took a look around her once pristine home. Surrounding them was a disarray of legs and open arms that were poking haphazardly along the floor from the numerous magical beds floating about. Whilst settling in her 'guests', Hermione assisted where she could, casting a Scourgify charm wherever she could see to remove the confetti and liquor from floor, walls, and her Venetian curtains.
As per usual, Hermione was prattling on about some vague piece of information she learned about recently, while Fleur was noncommittally listening in. "…Though the practice of giving a party to honor the bride-to-be goes back for centuries, in its modern form, the Bachelorette party was still pretty uncommon until at least the mid-1980s…"
"Uh-hum," Fleur replied absentmindedly, whilst she vanished the last considerable pile of rubbish away.
"Oh yes," she continued, "even the term 'Hen-Party', notably the wording of 'Hen' has its humble beginnings."
"Uh-hum."
"Well, I read somewhere that 'Hen' originates from a henna plant which was used during wedding traditions in many parts of the ancient world; notably Africa, parts of China and the Middle East."
"Really?" she mumbled distractedly. God help me, she thought. It was not as if she didn't like the bushy haired woman that was currently helping her. Quite to the contrary, compared to most of her husband's side of the family, she felt that she got on well with Hermione. Hermione at least could speak a touch of French. Plus, being one of the only outsider females informally adopted by the Weasley matriarch (even without nuptials), it was often comforting to have someone else there to exchange woes and concerns with. But then again, it was too early in the morning to be reciting some ancient muggle novel. Even if perhaps it would have been interesting to know later that morning when fatigue and weariness wasn't plaguing her mind...
"And that's not all," Hermione continued, unaware of the detrimental effect her words where having on Fleur's nerves. After all it was fascinating. "In these traditions, henna tattoos are applied to the bride's hands on the night before the wedding to protect and purify her from the 'evil eye' or agents of evil, apparently."
"Demons?" Fleur asked, seemingly interested.
"That and dirty old men most likely."
"Or dirty young men."
They both looked at one another in silent reverie and giggled.
Little did the giggling pair know was that their long night had just suddenly just turned longer.
To be continued…
Author's Notes: Hi all. Welcome to another story written by… well… me. I started this story several months ago at 3 o'clock in the morning, trying to pass the time before my night-shift ended. I completed perhaps 90% of this story in a darkened room with a handheld PDA. What people do to keep themselves amused. Never the less, the story is finally finished.
Special consideration and thanks to ''Nytd' who has taken the time to Beta this story for me – to make up for my deplorable grammar skills. Trust me, it is bad.
I did allot of research into this story. Simple things like the description of 'Shell Cottage' is from the movie; Tintagel Castle does actually does exist as does the legends of King Author; Hermione's little diatribe about the history and culture of a 'Hen's Night' comes almost directly from Wikipedia; I researched potential party games for the occasion; I even Googled England so I could find out where Cornwell was in distance to France. It was very pedantic.
Regardless, I hope you enjoy the future chapters. Please review.