Final chapter, guys! Thanks so much for coming this far.

5
Results and Conclusions

Hermione stumbled out of the fireplace in the Headmistress's office—thankfully a ways away from the main floor so her flushed and disheveled state wouldn't have an audience. Fred stepped out behind her, catching her hand just in time before she smacked into a nearby table with a dish of candies, his Cheshire cat grin intact.

"Stop looking so smug," she hissed, smoothing her hair down and looking around to make sure no one had to come to greet them.

"Then stop being so damned beautiful so I won't have to do anything that will cause me to be so smug," he countered, adjusting her violet scarf and dropping another kiss onto her lips.

Hermione could only roll her eyes and give herself one more once-over before poking her head around the corner. Though the office was essentially set up the same way as Dumbledore's, the atmosphere of the room seemingly changed to suit the person behind the desk. Dumbledore's office had been bright and cheerful, the wood of a lighter shade and the windows open and bright. McGonagall's offices still had the bright, open windows, but the woods were darker cherry, giving the room more of a warm and comfortable atmosphere—much like the Gryffindor common room.

McGonagall, who sat behind her grand desk, spotted Hermione and waved her over. "Come in, Miss Granger. Is Mr. Weasley behind you?"

Hermione blushed and nodded, stepping out as the others turned to smile or wave at her in greeting. Percy and Kingsley flanked McGonagall's desk while Harry and George stood by one of the bookcases, George leaning lackadaisically while Harry had his arms crossed over his chest pensively. He spared Hermione a warm grin, but she could tell he was once again feeling extremely burdened about something that was beyond his control. Ron sat next to Mrs. Weasley on a conjured loveseat, the former's arm slung around the back while the latter gazed up at Hermione and Fred in ecstatic joy.

"So good to see you, dear!" gushed Mrs. Weasley, her eyes twinkling and threatening to spill the tears.

"Hi, Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione softly, squeezing the hand the older woman held out to her.

"Yes, so pleased you could take the time out of your rigorous schedules to grace us with your presence," came the drawling greeting from Professor Snape in his portrait behind McGonagall.

Hermione had the decency to blush as she sat in one of the armchairs. Fred, on the other hand, ignored both decorum and the matching chair to sit on Hermione's lap. He flung his arms around her shoulders and rested his cheek on the top of her head.

"You're welcome, Professor," he said to Snape cheerily.

Snape scowled and rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath.

"Now that we're all here, we can begin," said Percy.

Fred slowly shifted from Hermione's lap to the arm of her chair so as to not cut off her circulation but clasped her hand firmly. Ron pulled his arm back as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

Percy patted a folder on the desk and took a deep breath. "Preliminary tests showed the water to be normal."

"How anticlimactic," said George, scratching his chin.

"Though not wholly unsurprising considering what we're supposed to be dealing with," said Mrs. Weasley, brows furrowed. "What did subsequent tests show?"

A few years earlier, Hermione would've been quite shocked that Molly Weasley took a keen interest in potions. Her mother-hen tendencies aside, Molly Weasley was still a formidable, intelligent witch. Her children were brilliant, and they had to have inherited it from their parents.

"We used more archaic and intensive tests, but those showed the well's waters to have the same result as any other naturally-occurring magical phenomena," answered Percy. "But it's only recently that the Glastonbury Tor has given off any magical readings. What sparked its activity is still beyond us."

"All of the samples you brought back showed nothing out of the norm," said Kingsley. "For all intents and purposes, your hypothesis was correct, Hermione. This is Ancient Magic—or at least natural magic—at work."

"So there's no way to stop it?" asked Hermione.

"Should we even tamper with that?" countered Harry worriedly, pushing off from the bookcase to slowly walk around the office. "I've functioned under the belief that there are certain things we shouldn't mess with."

"As if we probably even could anyway," said Ron. "Honestly, though, what can we do? Drop a few cauldrons' worth of animosity potions and hope it all balances out?"

Though he didn't say a word, Snape closed his eyes and began rubbing his temples.

"It was rhetorical, mate!" cried Ron indignantly. "I know better, thanks very much."

"What do we do then?" asked Hermione, disliking the tone of the conversation. "Leave it to its ancient magical agenda and wash our hands of it?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Weasley blandly, though she didn't look very pleased about it either. "Apart from the fact that this is the will of a force greater than that of any community of magical folk, tampering with it in any way runs the risk of warping the magic."

"Molly is right," said Kingsley. "Naïve as it may be to put our trust in something this influential, the magic is benign. I'd rather we do nothing to change that."

Seeing Hermione's grimace, McGonagall offered another rationale. "Imagine us trying to cast spells or pour potions on Newgrange, Miss Granger. Or Ayer's Rock or Yellowknife."

Hermione's grimace faded with a sigh, but the idea of letting alone something that so directed affected the magical community rankled. Fred squeezed her hand knowingly.

"You've called a meeting about something that you have absolutely no control over then," said Snape. "Wonderful."

"That wasn't our only point of business, Severus," said Kingsley.

"The second issue we have to deal with is whether or not we should release this information to the general public," announced McGonagall, pulling off her spectacles and folding her hands together.

The reaction to that topic was starkly different to the first. The group fell into a tense, nervous silence, immediately catching onto the implications of both avenues.

"If we tell them, we run the risk of causing mass panic," said Kingsley gravely. "The odds of the population decreasing are high as people may choose to leave the area as a whole to escape the effects of the water."

"Even if the magic can't make people fall in love the way everyone seems to be, they'll still fear it as if it's taking away their free will," said Percy.

"And if we don't tell them, we run the risk of someone outside the Order or the Ministry figuring it out on their own and releasing it to the public themselves," said Hermione. "And we'll either be protested for withholding information and breaking our promise of transparency or stamped with sheer ineptitude for not investigating it sooner."

"Looks like we've got to pick the lesser of two evils," said Harry. "Which one will be easier for us to cope with?"

"Aye, because there'll be damage control no matter what option we choose," said Ron.

Fred exchanged grimaces with George.

"Actually," said George.

"You've failed to take into account one more aspect of telling the people or otherwise," said Fred. He nodded at Ron. "Dark wizard involvement."

"If you tell the people, you wind up telling someone who could use the well for nefarious purposes," said George.

"Then they'd have no qualms tampering it out of benignity then," sighed Percy, pulling off his spectacles to rub the bridge of his nose.

"And if we don't tell the public, that still may not stop someone with malevolent intentions from going to the Chalice Well and mucking around inside it, earning the same outcome of tampering things out of benignity," said Fred.

"We can't tell the public," said Mrs. Weasley, eyes wide in anxiety. "The risk of Dark wizards is present no matter the outcome. It's best we focus our attention on that danger without also having to worry about witches and wizards visiting Glastonbury out of sheer curiosity or a mass exodus because people can't stop and listen for a minute and a half—Kingsley, you know how the public will react."

"What if we pretend that we just now embarked on the investigation about the sudden rise of newfound love in the magical community?" offered Harry. "That way we can still uphold transparency and slowly feed the people the information so we're not suddenly dumping too much dangerous information on them that will cause a panic."

"That doesn't help on the Dark wizard front," said Ron.

"There'll be Dark wizards regardless, Ron," said Percy. "The most we can do is tell the people about the magic, but not its source. Then we hide the Chalice Well, ward it from magical folk—witch, wizard, or Squib alike."

"So far only the people in this room know about the Chalice Well, so keeping that secret won't be a problem," said McGonagall. "It may not be full transparency, but you can release a statement about the danger of exposing the source, and the people will be placated, I'm sure."

Kingsley sighed and nodded. Hermione grimaced, and Fred kissed her temple.

"What's the worst that can come out of this Matchmaker Phenomenon anyway?" sighed George.

Harry glowered at him. He'd clearly mastered the Professor's Glare. "Don't start asking those kinds of questions now."

"Honestly, though," said Ron. "The most worrying outcome is some couple spawning the new Dark Lord."

"Doubtful," said George. "Draco's gay."

Harry seemingly choked on his own spit.

"I knew it," muttered Ron, eyes narrowed. "He was extremely fixated on Harry back in the day."

"Well, he was seen being disgustingly lovey-dovey with Blaise Zabini," said Fred. "I suppose it detracts from their insufferable Slytherin-ness—them being so in love and all."

"And yet sadly the same cannot be said for you and Miss Granger," said Snape, sneering.

"I have no qualms snogging her in front of you, professor," said Fred, his good-natured tone surprisingly not offsetting his threat.

"I was not drawn with proper vomit-catching apparatus, Weasley, restrain yourself."

"Ah! It looks like I've arrived just in time," said Dumbledore, walking into his portrait and resting an elbow on the back of his chair as he grinned down at everyone. "Hello, all."

"Perfect timing, professor," said George. "Have you come to avail us of our woes with a brilliant plant that will set the world on course to a utopian future?"

Dumbledore's eyes crinkled in amusement, and his shoulders shook with soft chuckles. "I've only come to fetch a book I'm lending to Professor Zuberlitt—Fred, Hermione, you remember him?"

Eyebrows shot up at the couple, but Hermione steadfastly maintained eye contact with Dumbledore while Fred simply smiled cheerfully.

"Besides," said Dumbledore, crouching down to pick up the book that had rested on the floor next to the leg of the chair, "I daresay you've all done a much better job than I ever will. Now if you'll excuse me."

He tipped his head, winked at Snape (who rolled his eyes once more), and walked out of his painting.

"Well, there goes the plan," sighed George.

"What plan?" asked Hermione.

"We held the meeting here just in case Professor Dumbledore offered some of his most-solicited unsolicited advice," said Percy, grimacing.

"Valiant effort, mate," said Harry, "but we really should've expected that."

Kingsley uncrossed his arms from his chest to clasp his hands behind his back. "So are we in relative accord about the situation?"

"I suppose," said Mrs. Weasley, exchanging nods with McGonagall.

"I assume this is as good as it gets," said Harry, ruffling his hair and rubbing his eyes behind his glasses.

"That's all we can ever ask for," said Percy, picking up his folders.

Kingsley turned to Hermione, whose frown had yet to abate. "There's not much we can do even if we should."

"I know," sighed Hermione, leaning back in the chair and crossing one leg over the other. "Let's hope everyone's still too infatuated with each other to protest much then."

"It's all right, darling," said Fred, kissing her knuckles and tugging her to her feet. "Those love bugs' bites are much worse than their buzz."

Hermione groaned as she straightened up, knowing what was about to come. "Please don't start this again, Fred."

"And those waters ran deep, so you know there's a whole well of love for everyone to sip from."

Hermione rubbed her forehead with her free hand as he tugged her along. "Fred."

He kissed Mrs. Weasley's cheek and thumped George on the back before whacking Harry and Ron upside their heads. "Oh, Hermione, don't worry, I'm not going to descend into my previous tangent. I'm just going with the flow of the situation."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake."

Fred grinned and released her hand to sling his arm around Hermione's shoulder and tug her closer. "Every time I breathe, I take you in, and my heart beats again—"

Hermione ducked out from his arm and tried to run to the Floo.

"—baby, I can't help it; keep me drowning in your love—"

Fred easily managed to catch up with her behind the corner, picking her up 'round the waist and twirling her around before grabbing a handful of Floo powder.

"—and every time I try to rise above, I'm swept away by love."

"Bye, Freddie! Bye, Hermie!" called George cheerfully.

"George Weasley, don't you get started on that foolishness too!"

"—baby, I can't help it. Keep me drowning in your love."

The fireplace whooshed, the green light illuminating Fred's incandescent grin and the way Hermione tried to hide her amusement behind a longsuffering look before they disappeared in a swirl of flames.

"Disgusting," muttered Snape as the rest of the present Order members began to depart as well.

"Oi, at least you're not exposed to that all the time," said Ron.

"That's certainly not the worst case scenario, Mr. Weasley," said Snape blandly. He cocked an eyebrow. "That nightmare would be you and Mr. Potter giving into your unrequited love for one another."

"And that is where I will take my leave," said Kingsley, striding to the fireplace with Percy.

While George nearly choked trying to stifle his laughter, Harry and Ron exchanged glances, grimaced, gagged, and then glared at Snape before marching off in opposite directions—Harry out the office door and Ron to the Floo.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" asked McGonagall.

"No, but it got them away from me, didn't it?"

"If you're going to act like that, you cannot lord your prediction over me anymore," said McGonagall, waving goodbye to Mrs. Weasley as she followed Kingsley and Percy. "You can't complain about the very thing you gloat over."

"I do not gloat," said Snape. "I merely predicted that Miss Granger would inevitably choose someone who could make her laugh away her infuriation. I didn't wish her to procreate with that particular Weasley."

McGonagall physically turned in her chair to grimace at Snape in disgust.

He only raised an eyebrow again. "Merlin knows what kind of havoc their children will wreak upon you, Minerva."

McGonagall blanched, winced, and then turned back, tapping her finger. "What are the odds I'll still be alive by that time?"

Snape smirked.

Needless to say, there was still some mild panic when Kingsley released the news of the investigation, but then many went right back to snogging, so it wasn't too big of an issue. Granted, that didn't account for those who genuinely worried about the moral implications of having ancient earth magic meddling in their love lives, but after various studies were released, the general public were reassured that magic could in no way make anyone fall in true love with someone else. (The fact that they had to reaffirm such a thing made Snape bemoan the ignorance and intellectual decrease of groupthink.)

So George had been right—it was anticlimactic. But it seemed to follow a nice trend of peace that continued in the Wizarding world. Of course, it still had its fair share of political controversies and upheavals of social paradigms, but for the most part, things were quiet.

Which was quite good for Fred and Hermione, who had long-since settled into their relationship and now, for all the world, looked like they'd been together for years.

Hermione had introduced Fred to her parents, who'd decided to remain in Australia. By the third visit—Fred's third and George's second—J.R. and Helen Granger had easily come to consider the boys family. Hermione's father even went as far as to give them nicknames:

"Fred! George! Hello!"

"Evening, Dr. Mrs. Granger."

"Hello, Nitrate. Glycerine."

"Evening, Dr. Mr. Granger."

It was really quite disturbing how quickly they all fell into roles that should have taken at least six months to get accustomed, but following on the same vein as the start of their relationship, everything went smoothly.

Hermione had her own qualms about how that may bode for later in their relationship—the later years making up for the lack of conflict early on—but the devotion Fred showed her and the depth of her love for him negated much of her worries on that front.

Honestly, her biggest concerns were exactly how Fred was going to propose. He'd taken her out on dates, but they were not exactly like the dates he'd told her about. He'd taken her out to a diner in Muggle London—highly informative but steeped in Muggle culture—whereupon he made her laugh so hard that patrons of the diner began to laugh too, whether at her or with her, it didn't really matter. When the rain started, he dragged her out onto the street where he tugged her into a slow waltz, humming Tchaikovsky against her cheek.

He'd stayed true to the fundamental point of certain dates, but the fact that he managed to seamlessly cram them all into one outing gave Hermione cause for concern.

So when Christmas rolled around, and Order Members were invited to join the festivities of the Yule Ball at Hogwarts, Hermione took deep, steadying breaths to brace herself to the fact that Fred may just propose to her that very night.

She dressed in a deep red robes to complement Fred's own emerald ones. Their festive entrance to the Great Hall was well-received. Decorated in sparkling, temperature-regulated magic ice, tinsel, pine, and House-colored baubles, Hogwarts was a magnificent sight. The Yule Ball of the Triwizard Tournament paled in comparison, but the atmosphere wasn't the same. It was a lighthearted event, but there was still a heaviness in the air. No matter how beautifully decorated the castle could be, it didn't erase the ghosts.

For all intents and purposes, really, the presence of the Order of the Phoenix members was less about their own celebrations and more for the well-being of the children—many of whom had slowly begun to trickle back to enroll in the spring semester.

The Order and several other Aurors took turns patrolling the halls and the grounds, as the Minister of Magic himself as well as other Ministry officials and high-ranking professionals were in attendance. It was a chance for the old and the young to mingle. The students did a fantastic job comporting themselves in a formal setting, and the officials were more than happy to answer questions, give advice, reassure, and to apologize—with sincerity that leaked from their eyes.

The portraits of the former headmasters lined the back wall of the Hall, looking upon their pride and joy. Dumbledore, especially, engaged as many students as he could, focusing his attention on those who were particularly shy or uncomfortable. Snape had visited Dumbledore briefly, sitting in a chair in the back and sipping from a pint, choosing not to participate in the parade with his own portrait. It was for the best, as many students had remembered him and—at Professor Potter's behest—pointedly refused to even look at him, not wishing to spoil the happiness of the younger students by acknowledging him.

Fred and Hermione had taken the earlier rounds, so they had the opportunity to enjoy the end of the night, when most of the students had begged off at the late hour and the graduates had begun to drift to tables with warm drinks and warmer conversations.

Harry and Ginny, Ron and Luna, and Fred and Hermione remained on the dance floor, swaying to the soft lullaby—from whence the music came, no one could guess; it was McGonagall's happy, well-kept secret.

Hermione rested her head on Fred's shoulder, tired from the long day, though still pleased at the outcome. It wasn't until the music had faded that she realized Fred had gone and danced her right out of the Great Hall and down the hallway.

"Fred?"

"I think you may have fallen asleep on me there, love," he said, rubbing her back. "And on your feet no less."

"Why are we out here?" she asked, going along with it as he continued to box-step her along.

Fred shrugged and spun her out slowly, taking care not to hit a nearby potted plant. "Because this hall has better music."

And with that, two suits of armor stepped right off their pedestals and began to waltz together, spinning around in such a way that the awkwardness of the metal forms blurred into beautiful grace. A slow piano medley began to play, ricocheting along the hall.

"Your charm," breathed Hermione, grinning.

Fred preened. "I love it when you like something I made."

She directed her grin at him and reached up to kiss him softly. He continued to lead her in a slow circle as the suits of armor continued to twirl and swish around them.

"There's a love that's divine, and it's yours and it's mine…"

Hermione rested her head on Fred's shoulder again, breathing deeply and smiling softly—knowing full well she could console herself to spending the rest of her life with this surprisingly romantic buffoon.

"…fill my heart with gladness, take away my sadness. Ease my troubles, that's what you do."

The suits of armor ended their dance with a slow dip before bowing to Fred and Hermione and returning to their posts.

It was only then that Hermione noticed something warm and hard on her left hand—on the ring finger of her left hand, to be exact. She didn't even look up. She just kept her hand and head on his shoulder, their dance slowing down to them swaying back and forth in spite of the silence.

"Fred?"

"Hm?"

"You're not even going to ask?"

She felt his grin against her forehead. "Do you like the ring, Hermione Granger?"

"I love it, Fred Weasley."

Meanwhile, just around the corner was a huddled group of witches and wizards who were whispering and exchanging Galleons with various levels of smugness and disappointment.

Neville lost forty Galleons, as he'd been convinced that Fred would seize the opportunity to "start the New Year on the right side of the bed," which he reckoned Fred would mean Hermione's bed. He'd bet on the proposal happening on New Year's Eve, right before midnight to seal the deal and welcome the new year.

Shacklebolt lost his own forty Galleons, having claimed Valentine's Day—which many knew was entirely too far off for Fred. Harry won fifty Galleons on his Christmas proposal prediction, as well as McGonagall—though her twenty-five Galleon prediction of it happening when they were trapped under enchanted mistletoe was a miss. Ron lost thirty, though his own prediction was only several hours too late; he'd predicted Christmas Day.

The rest of the Weasleys had done very well. George pocketed a hundred Galleons for his Christmas Eve prediction; Ginny won fifty Galleons on a musical proposal. Bill claimed sixty Galleons for knowing Fred would go for an untraditional proposal.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, however, were the true winners of the betting. Mr. Weasley was two hundred Galleons richer, knowing Fred wouldn't make a spectacle in order to keep from thoroughly embarrassing Hermione. Mrs. Weasley smugly accepted a three hundred Galleons on a Hogwarts proposal as well as the utmost pleasure of Hermione as a legal part of her family and with a man, who was surprisingly good for her, as well as the inevitable grandbabies.

The End