Chapter 10 – Back to School
Diana Murray-Templeton awoke at five o'clock in the morning to the sound of something a magical mother would have described as a herd of stampeding Hippogriffs. She sighed and slid out of bed carefully so as not to awaken her sleeping husband. Today was the first of September and that meant Patricia would be returning to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where she studied magic. Before work, she and Paul would take their daughter to King's Cross Station to see her off on the scarlet-and-black locomotive known as the Hogwarts Express.
It was quite evident that Patricia was already up packing her school trunk with her new textbooks, school uniforms and robes, new parchment and quills, and all manner of odd apparatus for her different classes. She'd been on pins and needles all the past week in anticipation of the start of her second year. Even though Patricia had proven herself quite proficient with them, Diana never did understand why they insisted upon the use of such archaic means of written communication—quills and parchment? Biros and white paper were much less-expensive and lasted much longer, but she had to admit that the magical world was nothing if not enigmatic.
Diana carefully looked into Patricia's room and watched as her daughter struggled to push the lid of her overstuffed trunk down so she could latch it. The string of jargon coming out of her daughter's mouth left her wondering if she should chastise her for it or not. Is my daughter cursing? She decided that if even if Patricia had been, who would know the difference? She had to stifle a giggle as her daughter wrestled with her trunk, muttering all manner of odd phrases.
"Bloody hell... By Circe's counter-curses..." Patricia sighed in frustration as she tried to secure her seemingly-obstinate luggage while continuing with her monologue. "A simple Reducio... and it would be finished in a jiffy... but no... I'm under age... and using magic would earn me a warning... from the..." In an utter tizzy, Patricia had leapt up onto the trunk and began to jump up and down on the lid. "... the Improper... Use of... Magic Office..." She screamed in frustration, finally sitting down and staring into her vanity mirror, examining her now red and sweat face, feeling defeated, still muttering to herself while her rather amused mother looked on. "Basted old Hopkirk witch... ruddy laws..."
Diana finally had to let out a giggle at her daughter's clearly more wizardly language. Patricia started and then blushed as she understood that her mum had heard her somewhat colourful phraseology.
"Good morning sweetie," Diana smirked.
"Mum... Good morning... I... have a problem here," Patricia said pointing disgustedly at the trunk.
"I can see that. What on earth have you got crammed in there?" Diana made to open the lid and inspect the contents.
"All my sets of robes, my other clothes, my cauldrons, scales, binoculars, school books, quills, parchments, owl treats... and a few other books."
"What other books," Diana asked.
"I sent Murray to Professor Hagrid the other day, requesting to take extra classes this year. He wrote back to say he'd bring it up to the headmistress, but didn't see a problem, so I packed a few books I borrowed from Hermione"
Diana looked in the trunk to see if she could help Patricia pack it better in order to allow it to close properly.
"Patricia, your father is going to suffer a hernia if he tries to lift this," Diana giggled as she rearranged the contents and finally managed to close the lid. "There are at least ten heavy books apart from the ones on the second-year list."
"I know. I've applied for the extra classes, but I don't know which ones I might be able to take, so I packed all the books."
"Patricia," Diana began. "Did it ever occur to you that we could send the books to you that you need? All you'd have to do is send Murray home with the list and we'd be sure you received them."
"Mum, that would take too long. Classes start first thing tomorrow morning," Patricia argued. "I have to take them all now. Any I don't need must go back to Hermione."
"All right, all right. Let's get some breakfast... and don't tell Dad," Diana smiled wickedly. "If nothing else, it'll give him a chance to show off his manly Royal Navy muscles!"
Patricia smiled and broke into laughter. "I can't wait. Oh, and it's my last chance to have marmite on toast. Maybe you could send me a jar with Murray," Patricia asked.
"I will," Diana promised. Perhaps I'll send a couple of jars to keep you stocked up. Honestly, Patricia Templeton, I can't imagine how you can eat that stuff!"
Thirty minutes later, the Templetons were gathered around the kitchen table. Diana had prepared all of Patricia's favourites for her farewell breakfast.
"Do you have everything packed, Pattycake," Paul asked, taking a bit of marmite-slathered toast.
"See, Mum? I get it from Dad. It's all his fault," Patricia giggled.
"What's my fault," Paul asked, perplexed.
"Marmite," Diana said, cringing into her tea. "She gets her love for that horrid stuff from you."
"Hey, marmite's good for the soul, right pumpkin," Paul asked, nudging his daughter.
"Right you are, Daddy," Patricia replied, taking a bit of her own toast.
"Now…answer my question. Are you all packed?" Inwardly, Paul greatly feared the answer to that question. If he knew anything about women and girls, it was that they never travelled lightly.
"Yes," she replied and tried to restrain herself from giggling, thinking about her heavy trunk. "I'm all set. I have a few Sickles so I can buy some Chocolate Frogs off the trolley. Oh, and I can't wait to see Emma, Erica, Joseph and all the others again. I wonder who will be our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. I don't think the DA Aurors will teach us again this year."
"That must be a tough post to take up, replacing Harry Potter and his team," Paul suggested, remembering what Ron Weasley and Desmond Prewett told him about the Wizarding world and the great Harry Potter.
"Oh yes... still, we are taught basics, and there are enough competent wizards and witches who can teach at NEWT level."
Diana smiled at Patricia's sound reasoning. Patricia and Paul shared a few extra slices of toast with marmite and belched in unison when they were finished.
"Sorry... I think I understand now why that happens to Ron... even if I only had a third of what he has for breakfast."
Paul laughed. "You know, Pattycake, in Japan, to belch after a meal is a compliment to the host and hostess and the cook."
"Well, there you have it Mummy-san. You're a top chef," Patricia giggled.
"Apology accepted dear," Diana snickered, her smile evident. "Now let's clear away so we can get you to London on time." Diana and Patricia cleaned up in the kitchen as Paul climbed the stairs to Patricia's room to fetch her trunk and load it into the car.
"By all the blazing guns of Gibraltar," mother and daughter heard Paul swear. Moments later, they heard the distinct clunking and banging in the stairwell that heralded Paul's struggles with the trunk. A couple of bangs against the wall sounded like a full thunderstorm as he stumbled along on the way to the door.
Finally, he managed to drag it outside to the carport and load it into the boot. A few minutes later, a very sweaty and winded Captain Paul Templeton returned to the kitchen and dropped into his customary chair. "I hope... it's... worth it..." he grunted.
"Thank you, Dad. It is." Patricia said "I'll take Murray's cage myself... and I must bring Hermione's Chocolate Frog card. I hope I can get a new Ginny Potter card soon, too."
"I thought you already had Ginny's card, Pattycake," Paul observed. "Signed and everything."
"Dad, that's her Ginny Weasley card. She's married to Harry Potter now. It's a new series," Patricia explained as though she were explaining that the sky was blue and the grass was green. "My Ginny Weasley card is a real collector's item, though. There weren't very many made because she and Harry became engaged just after they first went into production."
"Silly me," Paul chuckled. "Well, ladies, we better climb aboard the Templeton Express and make tracks or the Hogwarts Express might leave without us!"
Soon after they were off to London, arriving at King's Cross Station some twenty minutes to eleven.
"Come on Dad. I'll fetch a trolley straightaway so you don't get a hernia," Patricia said excitedly. She skipped off, leaving her parents standing by the open boot of their car.
"A hernia," Paul asked. "What does our daughter know of hernias?"
Diana shook her head and giggled. "I told her that the weight of that trunk of hers would cause you a hernia when you lifted it. She doesn't really know what a hernia is, Paul."
"As it should be. She's too young to know about such things," he grunted, lifting it out onto the trolley Patricia had brought. Placing Murray's cage on top, the little family made their way through the magical and non-magical crowd toward Platform 9 ¾. As they were about to step through the barrier they heard someone call to them.
"Paul! Diana," Desmond Prewett called. Before they could answer, Emma and Erica launched themselves from his side Patricia in a group hug. Emma, Erica and Patricia quickly brought each other up to date on things not related in the more or less daily owls sent between the Prewetts and the Templetons.
"Desmond! Heather," Paul grinned at their wizarding friends."How are you?"
"Fine, thank you, mate. We're looking at a great crop this year," Desmond said as Heather and Diana began to chatter. Desmond leaned close to Paul conspiratorially. "And I think I finally did it... I hexed that daft kitchen clock to park my hand at Up to Mischief."
"Is that good," Paul asked.
"No, but it's better that having it point there only when I'm actually up to mischief," he said letting out a troglodytic laugh.
"You're mad, Des. Ruddy barking," Paul laughed as they talked for a bit longer, keeping their eyes on the girls. "Think you could get me one of those clocks?"
"Not a problem, mate. But I'm not sure if it'd work for Muggles," he replied, scratching his head. "But it'd make a great conversation piece, I'd wager."
"Well, the novelty value alone would be worth it," Paul agreed.
"I'll see what I can do, then," Desmond promised. "Oh, look at the time! We best crack on. Girls! Ladies!"
"Fiona," George called, rapping his knuckles on her bedroom door. "Fiona, it's eight o'clock and time for you to get up! You have to be on the train an hour early to meet with security and Mum wants us to come for breakfast!"
"Shoot! That's right! I'm s'posed ta go with Ronnie, Hermione, and Harry ain't I," she called back. "Gimme about fifteen minutes so I can shower and dress." Fiona threw the covers off, waved her wand at the bed and rushed across the hall into the shower.
In a flash, she washed her strawberry locks and scrubbed her body with a flannel. She rinsed and turned off the water, toweling herself off as she muttered about forgetting to set an alarm. She cast a drying charm on her hair, dressed and rushed to the sofa to pull on the knee-high deerskin boots Jayce had given her for her birthday last year.
"Blimey, you're fast," George laughed as she struggled to pull the soft footwear over her tight jeans. "Here's your official Hogwarts Healer's robes."
"George, you didn't have to…"
"It's a going-away present. The inside is loaded with pockets and stuff," he showed her.
She took the robes and put them on, noticing a slight weight in one of the larger pockets. "What's… A stethoscope? Where'd you git this?"
"I ordered it from a Muggle medical-supply shop in London. There's some other stuff in there too, mostly from the Apothecary around the corner," he said. He pointed his wand at her trunk, shrank it and handed it to her. She shoved it into a pocket in her robes and picked up her rucksack that she'd stocked with various first-aid supplies.
"We'd best git," she said. "Aunt Molly's prob'ly fit ta be tied waitin' on us," Fiona said, becoming excited about her new job.
Fiona and George arrived at the Burrow just as Molly was about to Floo them. Ron, Hermione, and Arthur left almost an hour earlier to make it to the Ministry about the time George had hustled his cousin out of bed. "Mornin', Aunt Molly. My, somethin' smells good. Did you make biscuits 'n' gravy?"
"Right in one, dear. I made them just the way you showed me. I hope I got them right," she said, pouring her son and niece mugs of fresh coffee. "There are eggs and bangers there too. Tuck in."
Fiona broke open two biscuits, buttered them, and laid them on her plate. Then she ladled the sausage gravy over them. "It looks right," she said and took a bit. "Mmm…mmm…mmm! Aunt Molly, these are good enough to enter in the county fair! They'd even give Granny a run for her money!"
Molly sighed in relief. She's so wanted them to be right because she didn't expect anything like that to appear on the staff table at Hogwarts anytime soon. "Oh I'm so glad, Fiona!" She then served a couple of the quick rolls herself and followed Fiona's lead. "My, this is good! What do you think, George? Should biscuits and gravy become a part of the Weasley breakfast menu?"
"Without a doubt, Mum! Got any more ideas, Onie," he asked, shovelling a bit of gravy-soaked biscuit into his mouth.
"Loads," Fiona replied. "Aunt Molly, I'll write up some o' Granny's best recipes and owl 'em to ya ta try. How's that?"
"I'm looking forward to it," Molly grinned. She fully intended to try out any recipes Fiona sent her, adapt them to the British market, and then enter them into Witch Weekly's annual recipe contest. If she were to win for their region, she and Fiona could team up in All-Britain Cook-off next summer.
"Oh, and Aunt Molly, I was thinkin' the other day. Back home—in America, that is—we have a special holiday that I know y'all don't have," Fiona said, taking a swig of coffee. "I was thinkin' it might be fun ta celebrate it with the family."
"And what holiday is that, dear," Molly asked, her interest piqued.
"Well, it's on the fourth Thursday in November. It's a day we set aside to spend with family to give thanks for all our blessin's," she explained. "It's an Aint thing, but we celebrate it too. It's called Thanksgiving."
"So what do you do on Thanksgiving," George asked.
"Well, we cook up a big ol' dinner and invite our family and friends ta share it with us. We remember those who've gone, o' course, but mostly we remind each other what we got ta be thankful for."
"Ron'd love it," George said with a little snicker.
"Hush, George," Molly scolded. "Is there a traditional menu for this Thanksgiving or…"
"Traditionally, it's turkey. Y'all got turkey here," Fiona asked.
"Of course we have," Molly replied. "We should be able to order one from that butcher in the village."
"Better order two or three for our lot, Mum," George said. "We've grown a bit…and so has Ron."
"Oh, dear. You're probably right. What else," Molly asked.
"Well, after the turkey part, it's mostly family tradition. Granny'd usually make chestnut stuffin' and corn puddin', mashed pataytas 'n' gravy, cranberry sauce, biscuits 'n' sweet butter, candied sweet pataytas, 'n' pumpkin pie with vanilla ice cream for dessert." Telling Molly about the American holiday brought back many fond memories of her and her sister helping their mother and surrogate grandmother prepare a veritable harvest feast each year.
"That sounds wonderful! We should be able to find all of those things without too much trouble," Molly almost squealed. "The fourth Thursday of November, you say?"
"Yes, ma'am, but it doesn' t have to be. It can be any time, really. That's just when we do it back home is all."
"Nonsense. We're going to do this right, dear," Molly assured her. "I know you're a bit homesick and maybe we should try to incorporate new things into our lives and this traditional American Thanksgiving feast is the perfect start, yes?"
"Oh Aunt Molly! Do you mean it," Fiona asked hopefully. "I'd sure miss it this year."
"Absolutely. Now, we'll keep in touch by owl and start planning right after Halloween. We should be able to have everything we need in plenty of time," she promised.
"I'll surely help, Aunt Molly. I used to love to help Momma 'n' Granny," Fiona offered.
"Ladies, this all sounds glorious, but it's quarter of. Sorry, Love, but we've got to get you to London," George interrupted.
"Oh my! I almost forgot with all this talk about Thanksgiving dinners," Molly cried. "Fiona, take care of yourself and owl us as soon as you're settled into your quarters. We'll talk more later, all right?"
"All right, Aunt Molly," Fiona answered, tears beginning to leak from her eyes. The two witches hugged fiercely and kissed one another's cheeks. "I love you."
"I love you too, dear. Be good. George, look after her until she boards the train," Molly admonished her son.
"Mum, Harry and Ron are top Aurors. Between them and Hermione, she'll be fine," George reminded his mother, kissing her cheek. "Besides, Ron said Finnegan's security detail. We're off then, yeah?"
Fiona nodded to her cousin, took one last look at her aunt, winked, and the two of them jogged down the path to the Burrow's Apparition Point. "Don't worry, Onie. You'll be a big hit," George assured her. And with any luck, you might just meet a certain sandy-haired Auror in need of the charms of a pretty strawberry-haired witch.
George and Fiona appeared in an alley outside the station just before ten o'clock. The others hadn't arrived yet, as they hadn't planned to leave the Ministry until ten sharp. "I expect they'll pop in right about here," George told her. "It's where most who Apparate here show up."
"Al-All right, Georgie," Fiona said, her voice shaky. Excited as she was to begin yet another new phase in her life, she was still apprehensive. She hadn't been alone in England since only hours after she landed at Heathrow. A jet airliner roared several thousand feet overhead, nose at a slight incline. I wonder if that one's headed for Charlotte.
"George! Fiona," Ron called from the other end of the alley. "Over here!"
"Hey, y'all," Fiona called back. "What took ya so long?"
"I had a pile of paperwork to finish before I could leave," Hermione said. "Diggory didn't tell me he was taking today off, the…"
"Easy, 'Mione," Ron murmered, wrapping his arm around her waist. "It's no big deal."
"Whatever, but we need to get Fiona to the train," Harry reminded them all. "She's supposed to be on it right now."
"Right then," George said, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Onie, take care of yourself and keep in touch, yeah?" He tried to smile, but the slight tremble around his mouth spoke volumes to her. It reminded of her of how he'd begged her to stay that day after the row with Molly.
"Always, Georgie. Always," she promised, hugging him tightly. "Send Deeds along tomorrow, all right? He gets grumpy if I leave him alone too long."
"Sure, Onie. We don't need some ruddy crazed owl flying about the shop, leaving its calling card with the customers," George snickered. "G'on, now. You're late already." He gave her another quick hug and Apparated away, leaving her with his siblings in the alley.
"Come on, then," Ron said, taking his cousin's arm. "Platform 9 ¾ this way."
Harry smiled to himself. The way Ron pointed the way to the platform reminded him of a long-ago first of September when he found himself standing alone in the hustle and bustle of King's Cross Station with a huge trunk and a caged snowy owl and not a clue how get onto that particular platform. Platform 9 ¾ this way…packed with Muggles. Molly Weasley's voice echoed in the back of his mind. Ginny was there, too. Cute little ten-year-old Ginny. His Ginny.
"Harry, you coming, mate," Ron's voice broke through his reverie.
"Right! Yeah," Harry called back. "Straightaway!" Harry hurried to catch up with the others. Ron escorted Fiona through the barrier, with Hermione right behind them. Harry brought up the rear and sucked in a deep breath. There it sat—the Hogwarts Express in all her scarlet-and-black splendour, her brass fittings gleaming and great puffs of steam billowing from her stack.
There weren't many people on the platform yet, but there soon would be. The Golden Trio once again stood together before the legendary magical train. "Well, Fiona. This is it—the Hogwarts Express," Ron said proudly, waving his hands grandly. "We had plenty of good times in that compartment down there at the end in the last car."
"We sure did," Hermione agreed. "Harry, remember that ride home from Hogwarts after fourth year when we all hexed Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle at the same time?"
Harry had to laugh. That had been a hellish year—the year Voldemort returned—but hexing those three slimy gits was almost worth it all. "Oh yeah. The three of us, Ginny, and Fred and George nailed them all at once, each with a different spell."
"Jelly-legs, Ginny's Bat bogey, the Fununculus, and something else I can't quite remember," Ron snorted. "Fiona, it was hysterical!"
Fiona found a degree of humour in their story and almost wished she had been there to see it herself. She would have been a sixth year with Fred and George then. "Were they all right?"
"Oh sure. They were fine, but they had to spend at least one night in St Mungo's to be sorted out," Hermione assured her. "It was the talk of the train. They had to ride all the back like that."
"Oi! Who's the redhead," a brogue voice said from behind Fiona.
"Seamus," Harry replied. "All's well then?"
"Aye, so far. But there aren't many about yet, are there," Seamus replied. "Ron, mate."
"Irish. This is my cousin Fiona Prewett from the States," Ron said, introducing her to the Irish Auror.
"So yer Irish Finnegan," Fiona said. "I heard tell about you from Cousin George. It seems you have a real magnetic personality."
"For certain curses," Harry snorted.
Seamus chose to ignore Harry's good-natured barb. "Yes, Miss Prewett. That'd be me. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, ma'am."
George, why didn't you tell me that this Irish Finnegan was so…hot. Wow. Fiona put on her best Virginia lilt. "Mistah Finnegan, please call me Fiona. Ma'am was my momma. Ah'm very pleased to meet you, suh."
Damn! An American and a southerner to boot. This must be me lucky day! "Miss Fiona, it is then," he said, bending to kiss her hand. "Auror Seamus Patrick Finnegan at your service." Two pairs of blue eyes met for the briefest of moments as a pleasant chill ran down their spines simultaneously.
"I think I'm going to barf," Ron said as he and Hermione looked on in utter astonishment.
"Excuse me, sir, but who are you and what have you done with Seamus Finnegan, might I ask," Hermione giggled. "And how's Lavender these days?"
"Lavender who," Seamus said dreamily, still holding Fiona's hand in his. "Oh! Lavender. Right. She's…good."
"Uh, Mistah Finnegan? Mah hand? I really must board. Ahm already late," Fiona asked Seamus.
"Oh course, Miss Fiona. Please, allow me…"
"Forget it, Irish. You're on duty, remember? Platform duty," Harry reminded his third-in-command. "You…and Susan?"
"Bloody hell," Seamus winced. "Oh, sorry, ladies. I'm off then." Seamus hurried off toward the rear of the train and disappeared across the tracks to the other side.
"I'll get Fiona settled in. You two meet me outside in the main depot. The Munchkins should be along soon.
"Right. The Munchkins," Ron repeated. "Onie, Love, good luck. You'll have a great time, I promise." Ron hugged his cousin tightly and then steered her to Hermione.
"Have fun, Fiona, and don't forget to say hello to our Munchkins for Ginny. You'll know the twins when you see them. They look sort of like you," Hermione said with a smirk. "Take care, you." Hermione gave her a sisterly hug and stepped back so she could climb aboard with Harry right behind her.
"Here we are. This compartment is right behind the driver and the Prefect's and Head's compartment is directly behind you," Harry explained. "Seamus is riding in with the train, so if there's any trouble—which I doubt—he'll be available to sort it out.
"Harry, who's Lavender," Fiona asked out of pure curiosity. At least that's what she tried to convince herself it was.
"Seamus' on-again off-again girlfriend," Harry replied with a chuckle. "I'm not sure what the score is this week."
"So…"
"I don't know, Fiona, and I can't speak for him. But just so you understand—Seamus is and always has been a bit of a ladies' man. Don't take his flirting too seriously, all right," Harry warned her. He hated to take any potential wind out of her sails. He knew she was lonely, but he didn't want her to get hurt either. "He's a good friend, but beyond that, I wouldn't get my hopes up."
"All right. Thanks, Harry. I 'preciate yer honesty," Fiona said, slightly crestfallen.
"Don't worry, Love," Harry said, putting a protective arm around his wife's cousin. "The right one will come along."
"I know," she sighed. "I hope it's pretty soon, though. You best git along to meet them kids you gotta meet."
"So long, Fiona. And good luck." Harry exited the compartment and made his way back to the steps to return to the platform. Students and their families began to mill gather, so he quickened his pace to the barrier. He stepped through just as Ron and Hermione found the Templetons and the Prewetts.
"Psst," someone hissed, and Patricia was soon off to the person whispering.
"Hermione," she cried, but was instantly hushed by her friend.
"Go and bring the others quickly. Ron and Harry are here too. Ginny really wanted to be here too, but she's still at training camp. We're trying to keep a low profile. If we're seen, we tend to be mobbed by reporters."
Patricia smiled and signed to the others to come at the same time as Ron scooped her up for a hug, attracting Paul's attention. "Ron, this is a pleasant surprise," he greeted him, extending his hand. "Hermione..."
Next to Ron stood a raven-haired young man Paul recognized from his daughter's chocolate frog cards. So this was Harry Potter.
"Blimey," Desmond said looking straight at Harry.
"Actually I prefer Harry, but I've had far worse nicknames than Blimey," Harry said with a grin. "Hmm, now let's see. Red hair matching a certain pair of twins…you must be Mr Prewett."
Heather came to her husband's rescue."Excuse my husband," she said. "He's just caught up in a bit of hero-worship."
Soon all of them were properly introduced and Patricia looked at Hermione. "I guess you won't join us on the Platform."
"No, I think it's better if we don't, Sweetie," Hermione replied. "But someone else is on the Platform you wanted to see again."
"Who," Patricia asked.
"Auror Finnegan," Hermione replied with a wink. "If memory serves, one of you is rather sweet on him, right?"
"Well…" Patricia said quietly, blushing into the pavement. "He is really handsome."
"No worries Hermione," Erica said, rescuing her friend. "I'm just so glad you came to see us off."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Harry said. "How are my princesses? Did you have a good summer holiday?"
"Oh yes, Harry. Mum, Dad, and I went to visit Emma and Erica at their house. I got to de-Gnome the garden! It was great fun," Patricia gushed. "And they have Ginny's new Harpies poster, too!"
"By the way, there will be a surprise for you. Emma and Erica, you'll understand what I mean soon enough," Ron revealed.
Time passed quickly and soon it was time to board. The girls hugged their famous friends farewell before they Apparated away.
"See you in a few weeks," Diana told Patricia as she hugged her. "For the Quidditch premier."
"Oh yes, of course," Patricia answered. "Ginny's first professional game—Holyhead Harpies vs. Puddlemere United!"
"Come on, now. Let's get through the barrier—one at a time. Desmond, you first, then Emma, Erica, and Patricia. I'll come through last," Heather urged and turned to the Templetons "We'll be right back as soon as the train pulls away. We could have a lunch if you like."
"That would be lovely." Diana said "We'll wait right here, then." The Prewetts and Patricia passed through the barrier that led to Platform 9 ¾, Diana and Paul waving to their daughter as she disappeared through the seemingly solid brick wall.
Once on the Platform, Desmond levitated all three trunks and Patricia giggled as she thought of her dad having a hard time with hers.
"What is it," Erica asked.
"Nothing, really," Patricia sighed happily. "I'm just happy I'm a witch. I feel a bit like I'm going back home today, rather than going to school."
"Well, our parents aren't Muggles, but I feel that too," Erica said.
"Joseph," Emma cried and launched herself at the boy. She noticed how Joseph had grown quite a bit during the summer.
"Emma, Love," he replied, giving her a quick hug. He looked over toward the other two girls and spotted a man who could only be the twins' father. His eyes widened and he made an audible gulp.
"Ah, you must be Emma's young man. Am I right," Desmond asked with a twinkle in his brown eyes.
"Uh…y-yes, sir. I'm Joseph Pointer, sir," the boy replied shyly. "Y-you must be…"
"Desmond Prewett. And this is the girls' mother, Heather," the man replied offering his hand and introducing his wife.
"We're so pleased to finally meet you, Joseph. Emma's told us all about you," Heather said with a wink toward her twins.
"Oh…uh…thanks. I…uh…hope it was all good, ma'am," he replied respectfully, trying to hide his nervousness.
"No, I told them you were mean and evil and beat up on us all the time," Emma giggled, slapping him on his arm. "Of course it was all good, you prat!"
A bit shy, he visited briefly with the elder Prewetts before the four second-years boarded and found an empty compartment. Soon they talking and Joseph pulled his deck of self-shuffling playing cards out for a game of Exploding Snap. They had just begun their game when they were interrupted by a fifth-year Hufflepuff tearing the door open with a jerk that caused them all to jump. The look on his face was pure meanness. Emma scooted closer to Joseph and took his hand.
"You two are Prewetts. I know what you are," he spat, pointing at Emma and Erica. "Purebloods... be warned... even if most of you lot are in Slytherin, those Gryffindor robes of yours don't fool me... and if you try anything, anything, you won't get off as easy as that relative of yours... Mafalda..."
Joseph stood up furiously. He was a head shorter than the Hufflepuff, but Joseph had his wand out so fast that he made the older student begin to question his actions.
"Don't you talk that way to my girl or 'er sister." he snarled. "I always thought of 'ufflepuffs as fair, but in your case I might 'ave to make an exception."
"Fair, yes, that we are, and I for one will make sure that justice is served," the older boy warned, backing off from Joseph's wand. "I've made myself clear, I guess."
"Here now, lads. What's goin' on then," a familiar voice said from behind the Hufflepuff. "Stiles, what're ya doin' threatenin' these fine young Gryffs?"
The four second-years breathed a very heavy sigh of relief, for their second-favourite former DADA instructor had arrived to intervene.
"Auror Finnegan! I…"
"Stiles, is it? Well, Mr Finnegan, sir, Mr Stiles 'ere just come barrelin' in uninvited, sir, and started threatenin' Em and Rica because they're Purebloods."
"Stiles, have ya learned nothin', lad? The bloody war we just fought was about this kind of thing, but in reverse," Seamus began to preach. "You goin' about threatenin' Purebloods and takin' yer anger out on 'em is just as bad as the Death Eaters threatenin' Halfbloods and Muggleborns and doin' their damage to 'em."
"My father says that Purebloods have walked on the rest of us for centuries and it's got to stop…" The boy cut off mid-sentence when the Irishman glared at him.
"I'll have ya know, young man, that I'm a Halfblood meself. Me da's a Muggle and me mam's a witch. I don't hold any ill feelin's for these young ladies or any other Pureblood who's done me or mine no harm," Seamus told him directly. "Now you just peddle yer propaganda somewhere else—better yet, go find a compartment and sit down with yer mouth shut or I'll be reportin' ya Chief Potter for disturbin' the peace! Do I make meself clear, Mr Stiles?"
"Y-yessir," the boy stammered, the sweat beading on his once-smarmy brow. "I-I'll just be going now, Auror Finnegan, sir."
"Now, that's a good boy, Mr Stiles," Seamus replied, giving the cowed Hufflepuff a mild nudge down the corridor. "Are ya's all right, then?"
"Yes, thank you, Mr Finnegan," Patricia replied, blushing furiously. "We're all right now."
"All right. I'll be movin' on then," Seamus said, turning to close the compartment door.
"M-Mr Finnegan," Patricia stuttered.
"Yes, Darlin'. What is it," he smiled, knowing very well what was coming. He'd spent many a meal at a table with these four and could sense what they were about.
"M-may I give you a hug," Patricia asked. "You really saved us from an awful fright there."
Joseph, Emma, and Erica hid their smirks behind their hands, trying not to laugh. They all knew Patricia had a crush on the Irish Auror, for they had watched her stare at him all cow-eyed in class and at mealtimes for an entire school year, except when she was deep in conversation with Hermione Granger.
"Come on then, Love," Seamus chuckled, opening his arms to the shy twelve-year-old.
Shakily, Patricia stood and stepped toward him. Finally, she launched herself into his arms and hugged him furiously, trying not to burst into tears. She had been truly frightened by the fifth-year who had threatened her friends and was so grateful for the Auror who stepped in on their behalf. "Thank you, Mr Finnegan. Thank you!" She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and he set her down on her feet.
"Yer welcome, Darlin'. All in a day's work," he said with a lazy salute. "I'll be goin' back to me patrollin' now. The Head Boy and Girl should be along soon to introduce themselves. If ya have any more trouble, just shout."
"We sure will, Auror Finnegan," Joseph answered. "Meanwhile I'll be looking after this lovely flock o' birds."
"I'll leave ' ya to it then, Mr Pointer. Good day, then," Seamus told them as he slid the compartment door closed and moved on.
"Joseph, am I really your girl," Emma cooed.
"I…uh...that is…I sure hope so," the blushing Cockney replied.
Emma kissed him on the cheek. "Yes," she whispered in his ear, giving him a pleasured shudder.
Next to Patricia, Erica started to cry. "I-I'm sorry... I can't help it... that was... horrible... not the girlfriend-part... but that Hufflepuff..."
"Don't be sorry." Patricia said. "Mr Finnegan took care of it. But still…we might want to tell the Head Boy and Girl when they come by…and maybe even the Gryffindor Prefects, whoever they are."
"Are you sure you want to go wandering about the corridors with him out there," Erica asked. "I mean, we don't know that he really obeyed Mr Finnegan."
"Not to worry, Erica," Joseph said, patting her hand. "When an Auror speaks, you listen. Mr Finnegan had that Stiles bloke shaking in 'is boots, 'e did."
"Then I'll just go and see if I can find our Prefects," Patricia said. "And if anything bad happens, I'll scream for Auror Finnegan and he'll come. All right?"
"Al-All right, Pats," Erica sniffled. "Just be careful."
"I will," Patricia promised.
"Meanwhile, I'll be here lookin' after you," Joseph said tucking his wand away. "Do any of you know that bloke, by the way?"
They all shook their heads. "Pats, if you don't find a Prefect, find Dennis Creevey. He's in Dumbledore's Army, and won't tolerate things like this," Emma suggested.
"All right. Let me see if I can find any of them." She slid the compartment door open and stepped out into the corridor, closing it behind her.
Fifteen minutes later, the compartment door slid open admitting a very-relieved Patricia.
"So, Pats, Love. What did you find out," Joseph asked. The others looked at her expectantly.
"I found Dennis. He's Quidditch Captain by the way. He was sitting with Jessica Spinnet, Demelza Robbins and Jimmy Peakes."
"... of course, the remaining members of Ginny's team..." Erica sniffed, her tears subsiding.
"Yes, and Jessica's a Prefect, so I told her what happened. She'll report this to Professor Hagrid and Professor Sprout once we arrive, if Mr Finnegan doesn't beat them to it," Patricia reported. "They asked his name and I told them. Jessica knows him, but says he's always been a nice boy. His name's Ryan."
"Thank you, Pats, but he sure didn't seem too nice to me," Erica said, still dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief.
"Me either," Emma said, further cosying up to Joseph's side. "I thought he was going to curse us where we sat!"
"Aw now there, Love. I wouldn't let you be 'urt by the likes of 'im," Joseph assured her. "But I don't think 'e'll be any more trouble. Auror Finnegan put the fear o' Merlin into 'im, 'e did." Soon their mood improved and despite the unpleasant incident, the rest of the journey proved enjoyable as they resumed their game of Exploding Snap.
As they disembarked at Hogsmeade Station, the noticed Jessica talking to Hagrid before he got too busy with gathering the first-years together to board the boats for the initiatory ride across the Black Lake to the castle.
"She really did mean first thing, didn't she," Joseph grinned as he helped the girls into a carriage and took a seat next to Emma. It was a windy evening, which afforded Emma and Joseph an excuse, as if one were needed, to sit really tight together, his arm around her shoulders. They entered the castle and followed the rest of the student body into the Great Hall.
"It's wonderful to be in the castle again and to be allowed to do magic, and be back in our dorm..." Emma said with a contented sigh.
"... all the food at the feast." Joseph added.
"Quidditch..." Erica added.
"And all the wonderous things we'll learn in class..." Patricia beamed.
"You had to remind us of that, didn't you," Joseph moaned.
"I've applied for extra classes," Patricia proudly revealed.
"You're joking, right," Joseph asked.
"No, I'm not, and I'm very curious about my schedule," Patricia retorted with a very Hermione-esque sniff.
They entered the Great Hall and looked with great interest toward the staff table. All the familiar professors were there, and three new people of whom they recognized one. "Look, that's Neville Longbottom," Patricia said launching into a pretty convincing lecture mode, also worthy of Hermione Granger. "I have his Chocolate Frog card. He's a really good friend of Harry's and Ginny's, but he was in France last year assisting the Herbology Professor at Beauxbatons Academy."
As soon as they were seated, she quickly found Neville's card in her alphabetically-arranged collection. Hermione would have been proud.
"Lemme have a look," Joseph asked, reaching for the card. Neville smiled shyly back at him and then winked his left eye.
Neville Longbottom, OMSC
Neville Longbottom is a highly-gifted Herbologist and decorated veteran of the Second Wizarding War. Neville was an original member of Dumbledore's Army, trained by Harry Potter. During the final year of the Second Wizarding War, Neville, along with his ally Ginny (Weasley) Potter, led a remnant of that army. Despite severe punishment and cruelty, he and Ginny protected fellow students from harm at the hands of Death Eaters Amycus and Alecto Carrow.
Mr Longbottom is credited with having destroyed Tom Riddle's (Lord Voldemort) giant pet viper, Nagini, by decapitating her with the legendary Sword of Gryffindor, following a vicious personal attack from the Dark Lord himself.
Neville was awarded the Order of Merlin, Second Class for bravery, which also includes his heroic part in the Battle of Hogwarts. After the war, Neville wed his longtime friend, Hannah (Abbott) Longbottom and is currently working as an Herbologist.
"Quite impressive, but what's his position here," Erica asked. "Professor Sprout is still here... I saw her with the first years."
"I guess Professor McGonagall will tell us soon enough," Emma said.
Soon the first years were led in by Deputy Headmistress Pomona Sprout, to be sorted into their Houses. Each of the new students looked as frightened and uncertain as the four of them one year ago this very night.
"I'm glad I'm not a first year," Emma whispered to Patricia.
"You mean being a Prewett," Patricia asked.
"Yes, somehow, this soon after Mafalda's trial, I don't think I would feel comfortable being called up...considering that Hufflepuff..."
"Maybe you're right," Patricia agreed. "But it's not your fault that Mafalda did all that horrible stuff. Are you even related to her?"
"Probably. Like we told you before—all the Prewetts are related somehow," she reminded her friend. "Now hush. They're starting."
The sorting began and the first years were welcomed by their new Housemates with cheers and applause. This year, the Slytherin table was noticeably more crowded. It seemed as though quite a number of the Slytherins who had not attended last year had chosen to return this term.
"That's what that Hufflepuff meant by most of our lot being in Slytherin," Erica said, pointing to the Slytherin table where the ratio of Purebloods to non-Purebloods was by far the greatest.
Once the sorting ceremony concluded, the headmistress stood up to give her opening speech.
"Welcome, new and returning students, to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A few announcements: First, please welcome our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Rupert D. Watson."
The man stood and grinned at the assembly, waving his hand to them. The students all applauded politely. Professor Watson looked to be in his mid-thirties, and because of his blue robes with bronze embroidery, Patricia guessed he'd been a Ravenclaw as a Hogwarts student. He seemed to be very observant and gave the impression that he was determined, yet friendly.
"Have you ever heard of 'im," Joseph asked Patricia. "'e looks like a good sort."
"Never," she replied. "And yes, he does look like he's very nice. I just hope he knows what he's doing."
As the applause faded out, Professor McGonagall continued. "Professor Watson has vast experience as a Curse-breaker and led a resistance group in Essex during the war." She nodded toward the new teacher and turned to Neville. "Second, please welcome our new Gardener and Associate Professor of Herbology, Neville Longbottom. The war left the greenhouses in a rather bad shape, and despite Professor Sprout's excellent care, she still has trouble keeping up with both classes and restoring and caring for the greenhouses. Mr Longbottom returned to England after one year as an Associate Professor of Herbology at Beauxbatons Academy."
The Gryffindors jumped to their feet with cheers and applause, and soon the other houses fell in, even several Slytherins. "Way to go, Professor Longbottom," Dennis called. Neville blushed, but grinned at the Gryffindors with pride, acknowledging their accolades.
"Our last addition to our staff is a Healer-in-training, who comes to us from the American south, where she had been raised and trained as a folk-healer in the Appalachian Mountains. She has returned to the land of her birth and shall be apprenticed to Madame Pomfrey in the hospital wing. Please welcome Miss Fiona Prewett."
The Great Hall fell silent when Professor McGonagall finished.
"Prewett, is she a relative of yours," Patricia asked the twins.
"I suppose so. I've never heard of a Prewett who isn't a relative some way or the other," Emma answered.
"She must be the surprise Ron told us about," Emma whispered to her sister. "I really want to meet her. An American! Wow!"
The name Prewett was certainly not the most popular name in Britain for the time being. Neville started to applaud after a few seconds and the Prewett twins soon joined him, and with them the rest of Gryffindor House. The other tables were not as loud this time, but joined in politely.
"North America... she must be that cousin of the Weasleys Hermione told me about in one of her letters," Patricia recalled.
A freshly-sorted first-year girl sitting next to her heard what she said. "Weasley, as in Ron and Hermione as in Granger... writing to you... not jolly likely," she huffed.
"I don't intend to show you the letters Hermione has written to me, but I can show you my Chocolate Frog card with her signature on it."
"Oh, here we go," Dennis snickered. "Watch this, you lot." Jessica, Jimmy, and Demelza looked on in amusement as Patricia proceeded to put the little brat in his place.
She showed her the signed cards of Hermione, Ron, Harry and Ginny. "Blimey, it's a signed Ginny Weasley! That'll be worth a Skrewtload of Galleons... how did you get that?"
Patricia related how she and the twins had shared a compartment with Harry, Ginny and Hermione a year ago and become friends with them. She told him about Harry's and Ginny's wedding and how she got to dance with Harry once. She decided not to reveal that her owl was on the limited list of approved owls permitted to deliver letters directly to the famous four, nor did she mention that she and her three friends were invited to sit in the top box with Harry's and Ginny's family and closest friends for the Quidditch League opening match against Puddlemere United and Ginny's first match as professional Chaser.
"Lucky you," the first year said in awe. "Mrs Potter was so beautiful and Mr Potter so very handsome in the wedding pictures. I begged mum to buy that issue of The Quibbler the day it was released. I have it in my trunk." The girl blushed because she harboured a secret crush on the raven-haired Saviour of the Wizarding world.
Patricia smiled. While they talked, Professor McGonagall reminded everyone of Mr Filch's ridiculous list of banned items nobody paid any attention to, and after that she clapped her hands to begin the Start-of-Term Feast.
After the feast, the four second-years, affectionately known as The Munchkins, were just about to get up when a Hufflepuff Prefect approached them. "You are Emma and Erica Prewett, aren't you," she asked.
The twins nodded. Joseph's hand slipped quietly under the table, his fingers wrapping firmly around his wand.
"Professor Sprout told us what Spinnet and Auror Finnegan told her about what happened on the train with Ryan. Please let me extend an apology to you from the Hufflepuff House. I want you to know that this incident has been taken very seriously and twenty House points were taken from Hufflepuff," she said sadly. "Professor Sprout was furious and stated that she will take him in hand quite severely-something about Fanged Geraniums. Anyway, again, on behalf of Hufflepuff House, I'm truly sorry."
Emma and Erica sat gobsmacked, but the very harsh reaction from the normally gentle Professor Sprout restored their trust in the fairness that had always been characteristic of Hufflepuff House. Emma and Erica were just about to join their friends when Miss Prewett called to them. "'scuse me, but did I hear right? Are y'all the Prewett twins?"
"Yes, Miss Prewett, we are," Emma replied.
Fiona looked at Joseph and Patricia standing two steps behind the twins and smiled brightly, her sky-blue eyes twinkling. "And y'all must be the infamous Munchkins Ron, Harry, Hermione 'n' Ginny kept remindin' me to look up and say hello to. The four of them'll come for a visit once I' all settled in right and proper. They asked me to let y'all know when."
"That would be great. Thank you Miss Prewett."
"Please. I prefer Miss Fiona, but when nobody's lookin', jus' call me Onie, okay," she whispered conspiratorially. "Accordin' ta my Aunt Molly—Ron's momma—we're prob'ly related anyway. Now git on before ya miss curfew!'
"Bye…" the Munchkins looked around. Seeing no one, they finished their farewell. "…Onie."
The four friends mounted the great stone staircase that would take them to the next level on their way to Gryffindor Tower. It had been a long and eventful day and they wanted nothing more than to collapse on their four-posters and sleep.
In the second-year girls' dorm, Patricia, Emma, and Erica had a quick chat about the twins' newfound relative. "Did you hear how she talks," Emma commented. "She has such a cool accent."
"She's from the American south, Em," Patricia reminded her. "That's how they sound. I wonder which state she's from, though. Each one has a different accent. In fact, there are several different dialects and accents throughout the United States."
"England has different ones too," Erica interjected. "What's so special about that?"
"Erica, considering the sheer size of the United States, it's pretty special. Do you realise that the United States, from New York, New York to Los Angeles, California—that's east coast to west coast—is approximately three-thousand miles? And that doesn't include the largest state, Alaska, and the most remote state, Hawaii."
"Pats, how do you know this stuff," Emma asked, flabbergasted.
"My father's a Captain in the Royal Navy, remember? He brings me books and things from all over the world," she explained. "But the United States is the most fascinating! It's so big and there's so much to do and see there—mountains, canyons, swamps, lakes, forests, oceans, even tropics. Yellowstone National Park has a geyser they call Old Faithful. It shoots gallons of scalding-hot water more than 160 feet into the air every 65 or so minutes, depending on the length of the previous eruption."
"That's amazing, Pats, but…um…what's a geyser," Erica asked shyly, embarrassed by her ignorance.
"Nevermind, Erica. It's late. I'll send Murray home tomorrow for my book about it," Patricia sighed. "Let's get some sleep."
"Now you're talking," Erica replied with a yawn. "Goodnight."
"Night," the other two answered, as they call closed their bed curtains and snuggled under the covers. Gryffindor Tower stood in silence as its inhabitants dreamed of the wonders they'd learn about magic this term.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the train station and Apparated into Diagon Alley from the alley behind King's Cross. "So…lunch," Ron said brightly. "Leaky? The Dragon? What?"
"The Leaky's probably packed right now. Why don't we hit the Black Dragon," Harry suggested. "I really don't want to deal with that lot at the Leaky."
"Is that all right with you, Love," Ron asked Hermione.
"Of course it is, Ronald. I like Chinese as much as the next witch," she smiled. "But we'd better make it snappy because I have to be back in Paradise at half-twelve."
"This is true," Harry replied. "And I need to scrounge round the Ministry library for some books on magical soul bonds."
"What for," Ron asked as they walked toward the Chinese restaurant. "Didn't Hermione already do that at Hogwarts?"
"Yeah, but there's more to it now, mate," Harry said, stealing sidelong glances at his companions. "Ginny and I were talking about it when Hermione…"
"What, Harry? What were you talking about," Hermione asked. "Is it something bad?"
"Well, I don't know, Hermione. Ginny's worried about something and I need to have a look to see if I can find any documented proof…"
"Harry, I already told you that the only documented case of a bond like this happened centuries ago," she reminded him. "I really don't think you're going to find anything."
"It doesn't hurt to look, though, Love, does it," Ron intervened. He didn't want this discussion to turn into an argument between his brother-in-law and his fiancée.
"Of course not," she said defensively. "I…I just don't want Harry to get his hopes up, that's all. Harry, your bond is so rare and so special that you'd be better served to keep a journal and then publish a book yourself one day."
"I appreciate your concern, Hermione, but I'm going to have a look anyway. I promise not to brood if I don't find anything, all right? And I promise we'll tell you about our early-morning chat when Ginny gets home," Harry assured her.
"Besides, there's too many people with big ears lurking about Diagon Alley to discuss something like that," Ron almost whispered. "It's a really private thing between Harry and Ginny and shouldn't be bantered about in public."
"You're right, my love. I'm sorry, Harry. I guess I got carried away," Hermione apologised.
"Hey, no problem, Hermione. No worries, Love, yeah?" Harry kissed his surrogate sister's head. "Here we are." He opened the door, admitting Hermione first, then Ron held it for Harry.
"Ah, our favourite customers," Sam Chang greeted them with a bow. The trio bowed in response, asking for "their" table if it was available.
"Yes, best table available for Golden Trio. This way, please," he smiled, leading them to the quietest corner in the restaurant. "You wish the usual or a menu?"
"Uh…well, let's have a menu, Sam. We can always change our minds," Harry chuckled.
"Of course, Harry," Mr Chang said, bowing again. "Tea?"
"That would be lovely, Sam, thank you," Hermione replied. When Sam hurried away, Hermione sighed and removed her cloak. "He's such a sweet man."
Ron smiled wickedly. "I can't wait to see his face when we tell him we want him to cater our wedding!"
"You want Chinese food at your wedding? Ron, does Molly know about this," Harry asked in amused alarm.
"Well…not yet, mate," Ron admitted.
"Oh! That reminds me—Molly wants to invite my parents to the Burrow for tea on Saturday afternoon to finalise wedding plans," Hermione gasped.
"No can do, Love…"
Ron was cut off when Sam returned with the tea and menus. "Take time, Golden Trio. Take time. You look at menu and decide."
"Thanks, Sam," Harry replied, nodding and accepting a menu.
"What do you mean no can do, Ronald," Hermione whispered, agitated.
"I'm on duty until six," Ron told her. "Ask Harry."
"It's true, Hermione. I've got duty on Sunday," he said, backing up his friend. "We rotate weekends now and this one's ours. When our weekend comes up in rotation again, I'll take Saturday duty while Ron takes Sunday."
"But…shouldn't one of you be on duty every weekend," Hermione asked, perusing her menu. "Oh bother, let's just order the usual and have done with it!"
"No arguments here. Harry," Ron asked, already knowing the answer.
"Dinner For Six it is," Harry snickered. He looked toward Sam and signalled that they were ready to order.
"The usual, yes," Sam affirmed with a grin. "Never change. It's okay. Dinner For Six."
"And an order of eggrolls and Rangoon," Ron added before the man could scurry away.
"Very good. Eggroll and Rangoon very good today," he promised.
"I swear that man's pidgin is a put-on," Hermione observed. "The Changs have been in Britain for years."
"Cho certainly doesn't talk like that," Harry chuckled. "Can you imagine her?" The three of them burst into gales of laughter, tears rolling down their cheeks as they tried to temper their mirth. The last thing they wanted to do was insult Sam Chang's family, and Cho in particular.
"Anyway, how about inviting your parents for supper that night? We can talk then," Ron suggested.
"Great. I'll tell your mum and then we'll stop by my parents' after work," Hermione suggested in return. "They close the practice at two on Saturdays. And by the way, Harry—it's a success. Most of their clients are friends and relatives of their former ones."
"That's great, Hermione. I'm glad it's working out for them," Harry replied. He'd almost forgotten how he and Ginny had helped the Grangers establish their new dental practice in London after the war.
"They're so grateful to you for believing in them, Harry," Hermione said, sipping her tea.
Harry didn't answer. This sort of thing embarrassed him. Having all that gold embarrassed him. It was odd to him to feel that way, since his childhood had been filled with want and need. He never really had a farthing to his name until his first Hogwarts letter came and he had his first visit to Gringotts with Hagrid. His vault had been stacked with gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and Bronze knuts, but the real surprise came after the war. In addition to his school vault, he inherited the Potter Family estate from his parents and the Black Family estate from Sirius, making him one of the wealthiest wizards in Britain.
"Harry. Harry? Chief Potter," Ron almost shouted.
"What? Sorry, mate. I guess I got lost in my thoughts, there," Harry said, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. "Hermione, just tell your parents hello for me, yeah?"
"Of course," Hermione replied, helping herself to steamed rice.
"Food's here, bro. Eat up," Ron announced, gesturing to the many dishes on the table. "Try one of these Rangoons, mate. They're excellent!" Ron handed one of the fried wontons stuffed with crab and cream cheese across the table. "Eggroll?"
"No thanks, Ron. I'm good with the Rangoon and this feast before me," Harry assured him, digging into the Mu Shu Pork. "Hey, have you actually set a date for the wedding?"
"December eighteenth, Ron replied, stuffing an eggroll into his mouth. He'd just finished swallowing it when he realised he hadn't officially asked Harry to stand up for him. "Merlin's nightgown!"
"Ron, what is it," Hermione asked. "Is something wrong with the eggroll?"
"No! Blimey, Harry, I forgot!" Ron smacked himself on the forehead. "I'm such an idiot!"
"Ron, what the bloody hell is wrong," Harry asked. "You're going to give yourself a concussion if you keep that up."
"Bloody hell, mate. I forgot to ask you to be my Best Man," Ron exclaimed, his food temporarily forgotten.
"I was beginning to wonder," Harry smirked. "So…"
"Harry, would you please be my Best Man? Gods, I'm such a stupid git," he said, shaking his shaggy red head.
"Well, I don't know about stupid, but you are a git," Harry teased. "You know I will, mate. You only had to ask."
Hermione listened to the exchange with a rather dubious look on her face. "Um…boys? I have a confession to make."
"What, Love," Ron asked not a little concerned. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing's wrong except…well…I've sort of forgotten to…um…talk to Ginny," she admitted.
"Oh great. Now I don't feel so bad. Honestly, 'Mione, if our heads weren't attached, we'd forget them too," Ron snickered. "I suggest you either owl her yesterday or sooner."
The three of them shared their second round of laughter of the day, while they finished their meal. They called Sam over, asking for the check, which Harry paid, not allowing any argument from either Ron or Hermione, and asked for their leftovers to be packaged so they could be banished to the Burrow for safekeeping.
They left the restaurant and Disapparated, reappearing at the Apparition Point of the Ministry with only ten minutes to spare before Hermione would be late clocking back in at RCMC. Harry left Ron and Hermione at the lifts, as the Ministry library could be found on Level Eight, the Atrium level.
"Hermione, dear," Selma greeted her. "Did you see the children off all right? Ron, about your cousin?"
"Yes, Selma. Without a hitch," Hermione assured her, waving her wand over a black box to clock in.
"And Fiona's safely on her way to Hogwarts as well, even as we speak," Ron added. He escorted Hermione to her cubicle and took her in his arms. "And Hermione's safely in my arms even as we speak, eh Love?"
"And I can't think of a safer place to be," she replied, rising up on her tip-toes to kiss him. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, pulling her closer to him. She melted into him and almost allowed herself to be carried away in the deepening kiss when she returned to herself. "Ron, my love, I need to get back to work. Interns, you know."
Ron groaned, his face screwed up in the pleasure-pain countenance that told Hermione where his mind was. "I need you so much, 'Mione. I love you."
"Tonight, my ginger god. I promise," she whispered, kissing him again. "I'll see you at six, all right? Then I'm all yours."
"I'm going to hold you to that, you little minx," Ron smiled, running the back of his index finger along her jawbone.
"I'm counting on it, but I'd rather you held me to…" She grinned evilly and glanced down at the obvious bulge in his black uniform trousers. Ron rarely buttoned up his Aurors' robes unless there was some official reason.
"You have my word, Love," Ron chuckled, giving her one last kiss. "I'd better be off or we might wind up giving Selma a show."
"I'm sure she'd be thrilled," Hermione giggled.
"I'm sure I would," Selma's voice whispered from behind Ron. "But be that as it may, dears, Amos is on his way up. I just got a heads-up from Charlie Weasley. Ron, you'd better vamoose in very short order."
"Consider me vamoosed," Ron said. "Thanks for the warning, Selma, Love. I'll see you in a few hours, Hermione. I'm off." Ron backed out of the cubicle and rushed out of the office, maroon and gold robes billowing behind him, reminiscent of Severus Snape. He decided to take the stairs, knowing Diggory would use the lifts. Ron didn't want to risk getting Hermione into trouble should the old sod catch him on Level Four ten minutes after the hour.
Harry walked into the library and up to the librarian's desk. When she turned around to face him, he almost jumped out of his boots. "Auror Potter. What can we do for you this afternoon," she asked. Do all librarians look like Irma Pince?
"Well, I…I was wondering if there might be any material about…er…soul-bonds and…stuff," Harry told her. "Also, would there be something about casting the Wedding Charm?"
"Well, Auror Potter…"
"Harry, please. And you are…"
"Magdalena Pince. Yes, I'm related to Irma. She's my older sister—my much older sister," the librarian explained before Harry could ask. "I love my books, Harry, but I'm not in love with them." The stern-looking librarian's face broke into a mischievous smile, which Harry returned.
"So…can you help me then," he asked, releasing the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.
"I honestly doubt you'll find anything about soul-bonds. It's such an obscure realm of magic, but the guide for casting the Wedding Charm is on that back wall there next to that tall lamp. Do you see it?" The librarian pointed toward a rather odd-looking floor lamp standing next to a tall shelf clearly labeled, Marriage & Family Law.
"Thank you, Madame Pince," Harry said automatically.
"Just Maggie, Harry," she said. "Happy reading."
"Um…thanks, Maggie." Harry walked between two rows of books toward the target bookcase, trying to keep his heavy boots from making too much noise on the hardwood floor. He began to peruse the titles, running his fingers down the spines as he searched. He found the book containing the instructions and diagrams for casting the Wedding Charm, but nothing on bonds beyond the one created by the Wedding Charm.
Flipping through one, he discovered that divorce is discouraged in the Wizarding world because it's very painful for the couple to have the Charm lifted and can be deadly for a wife guilty of adultery. But the husband can have as many mistresses and concubines as he can afford. Lovely. Millons of Galleons or no, Ginny'd castrate me if I were to do anything like that…not that I would. He shuddered briefly and quickly returned that cheerful gem to its place on the shelf.
Two hours had passed before Harry realised how long he'd been there. He carried the book about casting the Wedding Charm to Maggie's desk to check it out. "What do I need to do to check this out, Maggie," he asked.
"Very simple. Just promise me your firstborn," she winked. "Just having you on. All you do is wave your wand over the book and then I wave mine to release it." Harry drew his wand and did as Maggie suggested. There was a faint purple glow as she waved hers over it. "You're all set. Just be sure to return it in a fortnight."
"Fair enough. Thanks, Maggie," Harry smiled and left the library to run the stairs to Level Two. Lately, he and Ron had taken to using the stairs instead of the lifts throughout the day to keep in shape, and they encouraged the other Aurors to do the same when possible. The only one they knew of who took up the challenge was Seamus.
Harry stepped into the office he shared with Ron to find his second-in-command sorting through yesterday's shift reports. "Anything new and exciting?"
"Nah, just the same old stuff," Ron replied. "A few shoplifting cases—teenagers on a dare, mostly—but other than that… Oh here's one! Some old dear reported a very unkempt ginger-haired gentleman skulking about her shed."
"No way! Not Dung? He disappeared not too long after we nabbed him for the locket," Harry crowed. "Nobody's seen—or smelled—that old thief in nearly two years!"
"According to Mrs…Humphries, the intruder had been trying to break into her shed where she'd been drying herbs for potions and a few jars of preserves—red currant, to be exact," Ron read from the report. "I dare say Dung sniffed our more than that if he was trying to break into it."
"So…do we have the old duffer in custody," Harry asked.
"Nope. The old lady chased him off with her wand in one hand and an old Beater's club in the other," Ron laughed out loud. "I can see it all now—Dung hopping about while some old biddy's beating him about the head and shoulders with the club, hexing the living daylights out of him!"
"It's jolly good luck for him that Kreacher wasn't about. He'd have taken a cast-iron skillet to him," Harry added, the memory of the grizzled House elf standing over Mundungus Fletcher with Hell in his oversized eyes over the theft of Master Regulus' locket filling his mind.
"I remember that—at Grimmauld, right? Dung had stolen the locket and sold it to old Toadface. I thought Kreacher was going to kill the filthy git," Ron recalled, sobering a little. "But Kreacher sure changed his tune when you gave him the fake one, didn't he?"
"Yeah…he did. He's been loyal to me and a good friend ever since," Harry said quietly. "Sometimes, I don't know what I'd do without him."
"Yeah, and Mum sure likes him. She wouldn't shut up about how helpful he was at your wedding. It sure took a load off her," Ron sighed. "She'll probably want him for ours, you know."
"She knows all she has to do is call for him and he'll come to her, Ron," Harry replied. "He even calls her Madame Weasley. Dobby would have called her Madame Weezy…" Harry's voice trailed off as his thoughts turned once again to the intrepid little House elf who saved all their lives that night at Malfoy Manor. "He was a good Elf."
"Of course Kreacher's a good Elf, Harry," Ron agreed, flipping through another shift report.
"Oh, sorry. I was actually thinking about Dobby again," Harry mused. "I miss the little fellow."
"Yeah, I do too. He could be annoying as Hell, but when it really counted, that tenacious little Elf was there." Ron's own thoughts turned to Malfoy Manor and Hermione's screams of agony as Bellatrix struck her again and again with the Cruciatus curse. If it hadn't been for Dobby's bravery, Hermione might have… No, he wouldn't think about that. Voldemort was dead, Bellatrix was dead, Greybeck was dead, and Lucius Malfoy sat stewing in Azkaban. Hermione was alive, he was alive, Harry was alive, Ginny was alive—alive and living life to the fullest, never looking back…
"Ron, you in there, mate," Harry asked. Ron's eyes had glazed over and the reports he'd been examining had fallen from his hands to the floor. "Ron!"
"Sorry, Harry. I guess it was my turn to zone out for a bit," he admitted, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. "What time is it anyway?"
"Just past four," Harry told him, looking at his watch. "We're off in an hour, but Hermione has to stay until six, right?"
"Yeah."
"I know you're going to wait for her," Harry prompted. "Do you want me to wait with you?"
"No, no. You go ahead to the Burrow with Dad. Hermione wants to drop in on her parents to invite them to supper on Saturday. Wedding stuff," Ron said, waving his hand. "Just tell Mum not to wait supper for us tonight. We'll either eat with the Grangers or grab something on the way home."
"Unless a horde of rampaging Mongols invades the Burrow and raids the cool cabinet, there's a load of leftovers from lunch waiting for you," Harry reminded him with a snicker.
"Are you kidding? Mum would sit them down and prepare a home-cooked meal for them, force-feed it to them, and then send them on their way with the leftovers," Ron snorted. The two of them fell on the floor clutching their sides as they formed a mental picture of a wild-eyed, screeching Molly Weasley beating Ghengis Khan's marauders into submission and stuffing them with steak and kidney and shepherd's pies, roast chicken and vegetables, and treacle tart and then chasing them out of her house at wandpoint.
Once they'd contained themselves, they filed the shift reports, wrote their own, copied them, and whisked the copies off to Arthur and Kingsley. At five, Harry bade Ron goodnight and left the office. Ron leaned back in his chair and propped his huge feet on his desk for a nap while he waited for Hermione to get off work.
It seemed he'd no sooner than dozed off when there was a rap on the office door before it opened. "R-Ron?"
The sound of Hermione's voice jerked him out of a very nice dream involving her and a jar of chocolate sauce on a bed covered with rubber sheets. "'Mione? Is it that time already?"
"It's six-ten," she replied. "Are you ready to go?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," he grunted, dropping his feet from the desk and stretching in his chair. He planted his feet on the floor and stood up, stretching again. "Shall we?"
"Not yet. I need one of your kisses," she said shyly. "Do you happen to have any lying about?"
"Fresh crop just in this afternoon and each one has your name on it, my beauty." He leaned down and took her face in his calloused hands. "How many do you need, Love?"
"As many as you can spare," she giggled.
"In that case…" Her lips were warm and soft and welcoming. Her lips had already parted in anticipation of his sweet tongue. "Mmm, thanks. I needed that."
"There are more where that came from, 'Mione. All you have to do is ask," he crooned. "Shall we?" Hermione took Ron's proffered arm and they left the office, closing the door behind them. He cast the customary security wards Hermione had developed for them before they walked away toward the lifts.