Chapter 66

Saturday 22 March 2003: AM

"As the proud Elfish Representative of the Townhouse of Granger-Malfoy, Macdolas officially welcomes the venerated and honourable guests gracing us with their esteemed presence at this informal bruncheon: Macdolas thusly acknowledges the invaluable contribution of his darlingest Ruibby in organizing and preparing the bountiful repast you see here before you." He puffs his chest as everyone enthusiastically claps and cheers.

"Special mention must be given to Elder Master Kreacher and Signorina Gelsomina for their supportive preparatory contributions! To the Wirey, Macdolas gives thanks that his undignified state of self-induced stupor kept the Wirey from getting underfoot this morning. Regrettably, Master Macdolas provides scant notice to his conscientious and sedulous elven staff, and yet they rise to the occasion to present to you – without further ado – the following delectable dishes…"

Macdolas hitches at his brown leather belt, clearly in his element as he stands at the head of the far table. Hermione shakes her head minutely, pre-empting Draco's verbal objection to the 'scant notice' dig.

"Malfoy, you did deserve that, after baiting him with your 'get a wriggle on' quip," she murmurs quietly. "Let Mac have his moment in the sun."

"He was vaccinated with a gramophone needle, I swear it," Draco ungraciously grumbles. "Cheeky twerp."

"…Arabian buttered eggs, soft-poached on lightly toasted Turkish bread, garnished with mint and lemon; roasted pumpkin and feta tartlets, stuffed with ricotta, olives, pine nuts, and chopped thyme; wild mushroom bruschetta, infused with fried garlic, eschalots, and mixed herbs; warm corn and coriander fritters, garnished with grilled cherry tomatoes and fresh chopped avocado; peach and goat's curd mini pizzas, scattered with crushed macadamia nuts and drizzled with maple syrup; banana muffins with passionfruit glacé icing– " Mac breaks off, wheezing for breath; sitting catty-corner to him, Harry thumps the over-excited elf lightly on the back as he turns an alarming shade of puce.

"Ruibby continues in Macdolas's stead whilst her domestic warrior beau sips water and recovers his equilibrium!" At the other end of the table, Ruibby lays a dainty hand on Theo's as he assists her in standing atop her own chair. "Ruibby thanks Master Nott most kindly," she flits her blonde lashes at him.

"Damnation – I thought we'd been granted a reprieve," Draco mutters, at the change in orators.

Speaking in a high, clear voice (with surprisingly excellent projection) Ruibby seamlessly resumes the menu listing.

"Other tasty options include: apple pancakes with whipped cream; French toast with cinnamon sugar pangrattato, rhubarb compote and mascarpone; cherry, chocolate, and pistachio friands; individual berry muesli bowls, Sneakers croissants– "

"Snickers! Snickers croissants, très cher Ruibby," Macdolas croaks. "Puff pastry crescents stuffed with portions of Snickers bars, slivered almonds, and caramel syrup topping."

"Snickers croissants; and a six-cheese platter with quince paste and chutneys," Ruibby finishes with a little sniff. "Refreshing beverages include water, coffee, tea, hot chocolate, Virgin Pina Colada, Virgin Bloody Mary, Peach Sparkler, Blackberry Lemon Mocktail, Honey-Sweetened Limeade with Strawberries and Basil, plus a selection of plain juices."

"Macdolas advises that a fine assortment of cakes comprise the dessert course! New York baked cheesecake topped with fresh raspberries; chocolate coconut; lemon yoghurt with syrup; vanilla cupcakes; hummingbird; and coffee cake with walnuts." Macdolas gulps in a huge lungful of air, as Ruibby glares at him.

"Ruibby asks Macdolas why he asks Ruibby to recite the foodstuffs when Macdolas constantly interrupts her? Ruibby herself makes most of the cakes; Macdolas promises credit be given for efforts expended!" she squeaks unhappily.

"Herr Wireceaster asks, where is der Strudel?" Wirey has meandered out into the garden party unnoticed; he hovers by Macdolas's chair, looking dour (albeit clean).

Scrambling off his seat, Macdolas almost bumps chests with his German counterpart. He growls, "Macdolas advises the Wirey to shove his precious strudel in his– "

Hermione is about to intervene when Draco hastily booms, "In his mouth, of course! Please don't wait on ceremony, everyone – dig in, we'll be eating leftovers until May, at this rate. Thank you kindly, Ruibby, Macdolas. Here, Wireceaster – allow me to escort you to your seat," he hooks a finger into the nape of Wirey's suit collar to firmly direct him to the vacant chair at the end of table two.

A fascinated Bernard Granger cranes his neck to watch as Draco murmurs something stern to the downcast Teutonic sprite. Wirey nods miserably; Gelsy's black hair ribbon bobs, tied as it now is around one of his large ears.

"I say, Little Wendy – your house elves are feisty little critters, aren't they? How much d'you reckon I'd need to shell out to hire one for our Christmas shindig this year?" Bernard asks, in apparent sincerity.

"Dad – please don't refer to them as 'critters' – that's a bad example of speciesism," Hermione rebukes. "You can't just hire house elves like a clown at a children's party; and you couldn't afford one, anyway."

"Barney, listen to your daughter, please: did you not absorb any of those S.P.E.W. speeches Hermione used to practise on us during school vacation?" Jane chips. "Elves are a special race of magical beings with unique powers and a tragic history of enslavement and abuse, and we support them fully in their relatively recent emancipation," she finishes, smiling proudly at Hermione.

"Thanks, Mum," Hermione replies, mollified by her mother's input. Draco returns to the table, having detoured to deliver an equally strict lecture to Macdolas.

"Everything OK?" she asks her beau. The busy sound of crockery and cutlery being accessed and shared mutes her question; Draco leans in slightly, kissing her temple tenderly.

"All is well, sweetheart; I've advised Wirey and Macdolas to grant each other a wide berth for the rest of the day, since they apparently can't refrain from baiting one another. Oh, and I confiscated these from Macdolas," Draco pulls a thick stack of Polaroids from his jeans pocket. He teasingly holds them aloft as Hermione reaches for them.

"Patience, ma petite – these are too good to be smeared by sticky fingers," he grins. "Besides, I want to ensure they have the maximum comedic effect… I'm not cross in the slightest that our elven rascals used up half of our film stock last night. These are absolutely HILARIOUS," he snickers. "Pass the mushroom bruschetta, please?".

"Here you are, Hermione dear," Narcissa waves her beautifully manicured hand, Accio'ing the requested dish along the table. "I'm afraid Draco takes after his father in the 'aggravating man' stakes," she chuckles.

She carefully settles her right hand over Hermione's left. "How are you, dear girl? I cannot imagine how terrifying last night must have been, for you and Pansy. I am simply in awe of how strong, smart, and powerful you are… as is Lucius. He sends his best wishes, by the way." Narcissa pats her hand gently, her indigo eyes crinkling as she smiles affectionately.

That's a turn-up for the books, as Dad likes to say.

"Oh… um, thank you. And I hope Lucy – I mean Lucius – is well? Draco mentioned he is consulting with a Healer?" Hermione responds, genuinely interested.

"Don't talk about that!" Draco sticks his head forward, clearly alarmed. "I'll be forced to switch seats if you take another stroll down that rocky road, Mother."

"Hush, mon fils: Hermione isn't half the prude you are, Draco. And darling, feel free to continue calling my husband 'Lucy' – I do enjoy seeing him thwarted in such an easy fashion," Narcissa decrees. "I'm thrilled that he's finally accepting assistance and support; though he has a long road to full recovery, admitting he needs help is a huge step forward for him."

"I'm glad, Narcissa." Hermione is surprised at the truthfulness of that statement. Lucius has been a terrible person… and an extremely problematic father… but I'm beginning to comprehend why Narcissa loves him so fiercely. I'm still going to call him Lucy, and revel in his displeased little mouth-twist every time he hears me say it, Hermione smiles inwardly.

"Now, Hermione," Narcissa lowers her voice a little, "What are we thinking, for Macdolas's birthday extravaganza? Before I leave, I'd like us to consult with Ruibby, too; she's bound to have some astute ideas, particularly regarding the menu."

"As long as Ruibby doesn't jump out of an over-sized cake wearing a bikini, let her do whatever she wants," Draco inserts himself back into the conversation. "You've no idea what I've inadvertently witnessed the two fey lovebirds doing under this roof, Mother… no idea," he shudders exaggeratedly.

"Draco! Ruibby would never countenance being involved in such an outrageous spectacle!" Narcissa reproaches.

"Ignore him, Narcissa – it's a stereotypically sexist Muggle thing seen in a bunch of B-grade movies," Hermione explains. "Draco's flexing his dubious humour muscles again," she teases.

"Hey, I'm funny," Draco defends, setting down the platter of apple pancakes to slide his arm around her waist and drop a light kiss to her lips. "I'll show you some more interesting aspects of my physique later, if you like," he whispers seductively in her ear.

"It's a deal," Hermione softly purrs, casually scraping her short nails over the length of Draco's seated thigh, loving the way he instantly stills at her touch. Like a white tiger scenting prey. "Behave for now… and perhaps we can be naughty, tonight."

Removing her hand and pinning a demure expression to her face, Hermione returns her attention to Lady Malfoy.

"I'm all ears, Narcissa."


Blaise watches in delight as Kreacher scrupulously passes custody of his little black kitten to Tavi; the little girl's brown eyes are massive as she swings her attention between the twin marvels of the elderly house elf seated beside her, and the tiny feline in his hands.

"Thank you very much, Mister Kreacher!" Tavi breathes, as Boadie settles on her lap beneath the table. "She's so sweet and cuddly! I promise I won't drop her, I'll be super careful." Her joyful mien fades a little as she confesses, "Sometimes I lose control of my muscles all of a sudden… that's why I try to use both hands, in case one of them acts up."

"Kreacher tells Little Miss Tavi she is most welcome, and shouldn't worry; all cats land on their feet. Little Miss need not call Kreacher 'Mister', Kreacher is merely Kreacher," the elf amends placidly. "Boadie likes Little Miss, yes she does," he nods in satisfaction as the kitten extends her tiny claws into Tavi's jeans and begins kneading in contentment.

Across the table, Harry disgruntledly comments, "Kreacher wouldn't let me hold her – claimed he had no confidence that my hands were clean enough to handle a cat."

"Aww… no need to be bitter about it, Harry; you're cute, but you're not half as adorable as Boadie or Tavi," Pansy razzes, smiling to take the sting from her jest.

"You think I'm cute, Pansy?" Harry abandons all interest in the moggy, gazing deeply into Pansy's suddenly shy green eyes.

To his left, Blaise glimpses Gus rolling her eyes at the cutesy by-play.

Pitching his tone lower so only she can hear him, Blaise queries, "You don't approve of the newest Slytherdor couple, Gus? Harry's bowled clean over, by the looks of him," he tips his chin towards Potter as the Auror solicitously fusses over the food selections on Pansy's plate.

Gus gives him a long, level look. "I don't approve nor disapprove; Auror Potter's love life is entirely his concern."

"Tavi said you don't believe in fairy tales: does that hold true for love?" Blaise immediately regrets opening his fat mouth as Gus's eyes narrow. Why did I have to go and say that? She was already suspicious of my intentions. Be cool, man.

"I love my sister… and I loved my parents," Gus slowly answers. "Tell me, Blaise… do you believe in fairy tales? And… 'true love'?". Her topaz eyes never leave his, as she sips from her glass of limeade.

"I– I do, yes," Blaise stammers. "Well – not so much fairy tales… but love? It's all around us, Gussie. Familial love, friendship love, companionship love–" he nods at the kitten curled up on Tavi's legs – "Romantic love." His dark eyes wander back to Harry and Pansy, somehow still clumsily holding hands as Harry keeps piling more tempting morsels onto Pansy's plate.

"Have you been 'in love' before?" Gus fires back.

"Before–" Blaise stops himself from saying 'you?' just in time. So much for playing it cool. I'm being ridiculous, in any case.

He tries again. "Before I answer that – have you? Been in love, Gussie? Romantic, heady, heart-goes-thumpity-thump love?" he deflects, vaguely aware of Macdolas's inquisitive green eyes intently tracking their discussion.

"No. Not even close. I don't have the time for 'heart-goes-thumpity-thump' affairs, much less the inclination," Gus baldly states. "And don't think I didn't hear you calling me Gussie again… Blaisey," she snips.

Macdolas pauses his energetic consumption of everything within reach to listen for Blaise's rebuttal.

I really could do without the nosy, big-eared onlooker. An impervious Macdolas cocks his head, grinning as Blaise glares at him.

"What are you looking for, though? In a romantic partner? Indulge my curiosity, if you would," Blaise entreats Gus, in his most charming tones.

"A man who knows how to mind his own business." Gus leans into Blaise slightly; his pulse accelerates… until he realizes she is moving closer simply to address her sister.

"Tavi, please focus on feeding yourself, and not that kitten. Have you sampled one of the Snickers croissants?"

Luna proffers the platter of crescent-shaped golden pastries. "Do try one, Tavi – they're scrumptious. All the food is, really. And don't worry about Boadie, Kreacher fed her a proper cat's breakfast not long ago," she assures.

"Kreacher thanks Mistress Lovegood most gratefully for taking the trouble to check over Master Potter's little Boadicea," he avers, his mouth working oddly. Blaise barely restrains his surprised chortle when he realizes it is Kreacher's attempt at a smile. Yikes.

"Kreacher, I'm afraid I don't have the time to look after Boadie; you'll have to take full responsibility for her," Harry declares. "We've still got a ton of work to do before Operation Acromantula winds up, and I've no time to house train a kitten."

The slightly scary smile on Kreacher's leathery dial widens. "Kreacher promises to care for little Boadie most diligently, Master Potter. She will be a fine asset to the household; Kreacher gives his word."

"Very good," Harry nods. He mutters beneath his breath, "I doubt that kitten's feet will touch the ground until she she's too fat to carry; have you seen the crafty sling he's knotted to keep her close?".

"Master Kreacher needs someone to love, too," Macdolas murmurs, staring beadily at Blaise. "Everyone does." He flicks his cabbage-green peepers to Gus, as Blaise fidgets.

Uncanny little bastard. Thank goodness Gelsy has never been anything but a paragon of exemplary behaviour. Blaise peers at the far end of the other table, his complacency about Gelsomina's sterling deportment shaken by the sight of his house elf ruthlessly yanking at the black ribbon tied about Wirey's ear. What the…

"The Wirey loses to Signorina Gelsy at strip poker and the Challenge of the Peach Schnapps last night, Master Zabini," Macdolas blithely chirps. "The Wirey's punishment is a heavy hangover and wearing the hair ribbon for a day."

Gus's hearty laugh is rich, deep, and infectious; a thrilling awareness of the witch's unstudied allure zips up Blaise's spine and zings along his nerve endings. He grabs for his tumbler of apple juice, mostly to fill his hands and stop his traitorous mouth from blabbing out his increasing fascination with Gus.

Why did I start spouting that sappy rubbish about true love? She doubtless still believes me to be some sort of desperate Lothario… and probably views my enquiries to be a gambit to 'romance' her into bed. His mouth droops as he ponders how best to assure the thorny young blonde of his honest intentions.

I do want to be her friend… I guess I'd best hold to that, and not go pushing for more than Gus is willing to give.

Sensing his eyes upon her, Gus throws him a sharp glance; Blaise bequeaths her a wide, slow-forming, radiant smile. Her parted lips, dilating pupils and the red flush creeping up her elegant neck give him hope that his attraction is not completely one-sided. His smile deepens.

He turns to his right as a little hand tweaks the sleeve of his raisin-purple shirt. "Yes, Miss Octavia?".

"Mr Blaise… thank you very much for inviting us here, and for convincing Gus to let us come. She likes you, you know," the child discloses solemnly. "She won't tell you so, herself… but I see her looking at you on the sly." The child pauses to untangle Boadie's minute claw from her sleeve.

"Don't give up on her, please – no matter how grouchy she is. Mrs Green says Gus is secretly 'clamming for a purely belta gadgie', but she's too stubborn to admit she's lonely… That means she's yearning for an excellent adult man," Tavi correctly interprets Blaise's utter incomprehension at the Geordie slang.

The little girl smiles artlessly at him, her small hands delicately buried in the sable kitten's silky fur. "Just remember, Mr Blaise: Mrs Green said that if any man hurts either of us, he'll have to answer to her… Mrs Green worked in a pharmacy most of her life, and she knows which poisons are practically undetectable."

"But don't worry, because I'm sure you're an excellent adult man, Mr Blaise."


Theo desultorily nibbles at his peach and goat's curd mini pizza, enjoying the alternate burst of sweet and salty flavours. His eyes drift around the table, quietly noting all the different little dynamics at play.

Ruibby is at his left, merrily chewing off Kreacher's pendulous ear about the best ways to remove bloodstains from silk; Kreacher is nodding dutifully at appropriate intervals, though the geriatric elf's true attention is raptly centred on Tavi and Boadie.

Luna on his right, chatting with Macdolas about her experiments with combinations of friand ingredients. Theo idly wonders what the unholy union of peanuts, liquorice, and gorgonzola cheese turned out like, before deciding he'd rather not know.

Further down the table, Pansy and Harry have progressed to feeding one another selected bites from the multitude of delicious dishes available; a pang of pure longing washes over him as he absorbs the refracted energy of their mutual attraction.

I'm tired of being alone – no, I'm tired of being lonely, he corrects. I don't want someone to love me… well, I do… but mostly, I want someone to love. Someone I can fuss over, and feed titbits of banana muffin at brunch, and rub her shoulders when she's had a hard day at work, and run her a warm bath with plenty of frothy bubbles… Someone who wakes me as she whimpers from a bad dream, and I'll sleepily roll over and spoon her and mumble that she's alright, she'll be alright, and that I'm here.

I just want to be someone's 'here', Theo sadly summarizes. Gods, what a poor fish I'm becoming! Envious of my friends' happiness… even a bit jealous of Kreacher and his little kitten. He huffs a faint self-deprecating laugh at his sudden melancholy, jolting as Luna laces her fingers with his.

The petite blonde witch steadily holds his gaze as she imparts, "I understand… I get lonely too, Theo. It was nice last night, wasn't it? Us all talking together, and falling asleep to the sound of each other's slow breathing? Everything feels a little less scary, and the dark not so deep, when you have people around you that you trust and love… and you know they love and trust you, too."

"Yes… you're right, Luna. As always," Theo returns her gentle smile. They both look across the table as Gus laughs warmly in reaction to Blaise trying to balance his muesli spoon on his long nose. Blaise's cross-eyed grin (as he magically affixes it in place instead) is positively blinding.

There's another heating romance… though Gus Gilmont would likely saw off Blaise's thumbs with her butter knife if he tried to hand feed her anything, Theo observes. He frowns as he notes Tavi looking up fondly at Zabini, who in turn is staring worshipfully at Gus.

"Luna? Do you think… do you think Blaise knows what he's doing? With the Gilmonts, I mean." Theo motions to the scenario in play.

"Oh no, not at all," Luna immediately answers. "Are you worried for him, or Gus and Tavi, Theo?".

"I'm concerned for all of them, actually," Theo slowly replies. "Do me a favour, Luna? Ask the girls to sit at the other table, for a bit, please? I think we might need to have a chat with Blaise… make sure he understands exactly what he's about."

"Blaise has a good heart, Theo: he'd never purposefully hurt them," Luna points out. "I'm happy to help, if you think it necessary."

"I do. Thanks, Luna." He steeples his hands before his chin as Luna pops up from her seat, managing to gather everyone's attention without raising her melodious voice.

"Would everyone mind changing tables for a little while, please? Males on this one, and females on the other? And perhaps our lovely elves might like to show Tavi and Boadie some clever elfish magic, by the bird bath?" Luna indicates the far corner of the back garden. "Theo has some secret special men's business to discuss."

A throng of curious eyes of many sizes, shapes, and hues swing his way. Thanks, Luna. Theo fights the impulse to hunch below the table.

"Right. Um – it's about… a project I'm working on," he weakly improvises.

"If it's a cubbyhouse up a tree with a sign on the door stating, 'No Girls Allowed' – we've already built one, Theo," Draco twits. "It might even still be there, if you want to check it out at the Manor, later."

Bloody smart-mouthed Malfoy. Theo flips him the bird behind his back, careful not to let Tavi see. The little girl eagerly scrambles from her seat, cradling the kitten as Ruibby holds her free hand. They move with the other elves to sit in a circle on the thick grass.

A few puzzled shrugs, before everyone begins rising and moving about. Bernard Granger is the first to jump ship, after bending his wife Jane over his arm and dipping her low, planting a rollicking kiss on her smiling lips (that rivals even Draco and Hermione's constant PDAs for intensity).

Barney rubs together his big paws excitedly. "Are we planning to roast Draco? You know, like one of those comedy specials where all of his friends and family sit at a fancy dinner and thoroughly humiliate and ridicule him? I'm in," his bass voice rumbles.

"Thanks, Bernard," Draco sardonically remarks. "I hate to disappoint you, but I doubt Theo is planning a roast."

"If it is a lump on the testicles you vish to discuss – go straight to the Healer," Viktor worriedly advises. "I haff teammate on Vratsa Vipers who ignore until it is size of apricot – he almost lose the acorn."

"It's 'nut', Viktor – and my testicles are healthy, thanks!" Theo belatedly casts a hasty 'Muffliato' around their table as the girls look over, laughing fit to kill at his exasperated declaration. He curses his easily-blushing cheeks.

"Seriously, mate – don't be ashamed of talking about testicular wellness," Harry chimes in. "Cancer of the testes is more prevalent in younger men than older ones, you know."

Salazar's sweet strawberry shortcake! "Stop. Talking. About. My. Balls," Theo snaps, teeth gritted. "I want to have a word with Blaise – about the Gilmonts."

Blaise's amused expression instantly disappears, replaced by wariness. "A word about what, exactly?"

"How about how you've fallen for them both like a troll stepping into a bog, Blaise the Praised?" Draco throws his hat in the ring. "You're gaga for Gus – and you're acting like Tavi's big brother already."

"What are you hoping for in the long run, Blaise? You have to understand, Gus isn't like your usual witches," Theo speaks earnestly. "I don't know her history, but it's clear that she's parenting Tavi – and on her own, I'm guessing."

"It's not my place to tell you what happened to them – and it's not your place to take me to task for befriending their family, OK?" Blaise sullenly retorts. "You're all acting like I have some overarching, nefarious scheme in mind – thanks a lot, guys. I'm simply trying to be a good friend to them."

"Listen, Zucchini – I don't know you, but I do know that you can't shoplift the Pootie from a single mother," Bernard admonishes, spreading his hands wide as everyone bar Harry reacts with bemusement.

"Come on – 'show me the money!'," Barney shakes his head in wonderment. "'Jerry Maguire' – it's a modern classic!".

"It's 'Zabini', not 'Zucchini', and I've no idea to what you're referring, Mr Granger," Blaise clips out, jumping up from his seat. "I do know I don't care for the sound of that 'Pootie' idiom," he growls, morphing from tame tabby to angry leopard in a microsecond.

"Easy, big guy," Bernard takes a prudent step in reverse. "All it means is – you have to act with pure intent when it comes to single mums and their kids; you can't toy with children's affections – especially not when they're starving for role models."

"I don't toy with anyone's affections! I don't… do I?!" Blaise's volume drops; he is visibly shocked by the idea.

"Blaise… I know you're upfront with the witches you date – about not wanting anything serious – but often, they catch feelings for you," Theo tries to convey his point as gently as possible. "And when they do… you're not always as… sensitive about the situation, as you could be."

"What the hell does that mean? I send them a nice bunch of flowers and a pretty piece of jewellery and wish them well – what's wrong with that?" Blaise argues.

"They're disposable and interchangeable, that's the problem," Draco states. "You can't treat Gus like that – and you especially can't insert yourself into Tavi's life, only to disappear in a puff of smoke when shit gets too real."

"Oh, and what the fuck would you know about it, Draco? You did a fine job of vanishing on us when your 'shit got too real'," Blaise counters, his black eyes furious and agitated.

"Yeah – and I regret that immensely – which is why I'm trying to help you out here, mate," Draco calmly replies. "Settle the fuck down and remember that we all care about you; well, Bernard, Harry, and Viktor might not, but Theo and I do… and we don't want to see you get hurt, either."

"I care – Blaise is my friend," Viktor nods.

"And mine," Harry firmly avers.

"Us blokes should stick together, Zu– Zabini," Bernard maintains. "We're all agreed that our women are much smarter and stronger than us – which is why we need to go hive-mind sometimes, to make sure we can keep up with them."

Not entirely certain what Hermione's oddball dad is on about… but OK. Theo presses his case one final time.

"Blaise, you've a heart as big as the sun – but you have to be careful with that little girl, alright? You can't send her a pretty posy and a diamond brooch if it all goes pear-shaped with Gus… and you can break a child's heart so easily. Just… just remember that, please."

A beat of silence; Blaise gives a fulminating look to the table at large, before stalking over to sit with Tavi and the elves. Macdolas immediately zooms a bright, magicked butterfly to perch atop Zabini's close-cropped head. Tavi giggles vivaciously at the risible sight; Blaise's brooding expression clears as he smiles down at the happy child. He pulls a series of comical faces as he pretends to be terrified of butterflies.

"Well, we tried," Bernard comments, scratching at his gingery beard. "I hope – for that darling little girl's sake – that he listens.'

"Now – are we one hundred percent positive Draco doesn't deserve a solid roasting? I'd be delighted to emcee, I've had quite a bit of community theatre experience. In fact, my characterization of Captain Hook in last year's 'A Christmas Peter Pan' was widely lauded as 'peculiarly boisterous'," Bernard brags. "It's all in the hook work – you figure that out quickly, let me tell you." He makes a few wild waving gestures with an imaginary curved prong, narrowly missing socking Harry in the nose.

"I haff an interest in attending this roast," Viktor contributes. "I could help you with the joke-making, Mr Bernard?".

"Just Bernard – and that's the spirit, Viktor," Barney clamps an approving hand onto Krum's broad shoulder. "Good gracious – what do you snack on, lad? Roofing screws?".

Theo tunes out the good-natured banter as the other men exchange mild insults and propositions of ridicule.

I hope we didn't overdo our caution; Blaise was as steamed as I've ever seen him, once he realized what we were trying to tell him.

He doesn't understand, though… he's in just as much danger of having his generous heart broken… which isn't something he'll be able to play the clown about, Theo frets.

And that's the last thing I want, for my friend… for any of my friends, he vows.


Luna looks on with a small smile playing around her lips as Pansy starts to wind up. She needs this group more than ever… after what happened last night.

"Soooo… Ginny-evra… how was it? Spill the beans, we're all buddies here," Pansy prompts, before chomping into a cheese-loaded cracker. "How many times did the Krum train pass through Central Station, huh? I'm guessing three or four circuits, at least – judging by your general air of smug satisfaction, and the glowing sex flush."

"Pansy! Little pitchers have big ears," Hermione reproves, jerking her head towards the elf coterie in the corner.

"Chillax, Pollyanna – I used a euphemism, didn't I? Besides, the kid wouldn't notice if I screamed out 'Is Viktor's dick as long as his wand?', in any case – she's utterly besotted with the puckish pack," Pansy coolly replies.

"I invoked a 'Muffliato' when I sat down, I thought we'd likely start conversing about genitals and sex," Luna imparts. "No need to blush, Hermione: the Sacred Feminine is strong, within our circle."

"Don't worry about discussing intercourse in front of me, dear; I'm well aware my son is a sexual being," Narcissa assures. "He takes after his father in many respects."

"That's– that's more than I wanted to know, Narcissa," Hermione sputters, as Jane bursts into mirth. "Can we focus back on Ginny and Viktor, please?".

"Weeeeell… I'm not one to kiss-and-tell," Ginny rolls an apple pancake into a tight cylinder, before daubing a large splotch of whipped cream on one end. She holds it up for critical inspection, grinning mischievously. "Let's just say: the wand chooses the witch… and the witch is very, very pleased with the fit," she bites into the pancake with a quick gnash of white teeth, smearing cream all over her mouth.

Pansy almost chokes on her cheesy cracker as she shrieks with laughter; even Gus is chuckling helplessly at the blue joke.

"You guys are filthy," Gus snickers, as Ginny brazenly dips the remaining pancake roll back into the cream dish. "Nella would love – never mind," she breaks off.

"Is Nella Mrs Green, Gus?" Luna serenely enquires. "Tavi mentioned her when I was checking over Boadie; she told me Mrs Green would love to have a cat; but it's not allowed, where you live."

"Yeah… Mrs Green is our neighbour, she looks after Tavi for me – well, she's our family, now," Gus reveals. "Our parents – they died. Five years ago." Suddenly conscious of her audience, the Auror busies herself with selecting a roast pumpkin and feta tartlet.

"Will Tavi start at Hogwarts this September, Gus?" Hermione asks. "She's extremely intelligent, and eager to learn; you've done a wonderful job raising her," she praises sincerely.

"I think– I hope, she'll get her letter this year… Tavi has mild cerebral palsy, and I don't know if Hogwarts will consider it an insurmountable boundary to her magical education," Gus tells the group, laying down her uneaten pastry. Her knuckles whiten on the tabletop as she expounds, "Being overlooked will just about destroy her… all Tavi's ever wanted is to be a fully-qualified witch."

"Have you spoken to Professor McGonagall about it?" Hermione queries, shifting straight into Very Important Lawyer Mode (as Luna likes to think of her friend's sharply professional attitude).

Gus shakes her head choppily. "No – I've been too bloody chicken to ask."

"I'm certain Minerva will be sympathetic to Tavi's special needs – she's a meticulously fair person, and a wonderfully inclusive educator. I'll make an appointment for us to speak with her about it, if you'll allow me to act on your behalf," Hermione continues.

"Look, I wasn't begging for help or anything – it's fine, I can deal with it," Gus protests uneasily.

"Of course you're not begging – but we're your friends now; and friends help each other out," Hermione brooks no argument. "I'll owl Minerva first thing Monday, to set up an appointment. It's the least I can do, after everything you've done for us."

Luna has to reach up quite a bit to reassuringly squeeze Gus's upper arm, such is the height difference between the two Ravenclaws. "There's little use opposing Hermione once she has a bee in her bonnet, Gus – you'd best 'jus' let her have her head and see where she runs ter', as Hagrid likes to say. We're on your side; you and Tavi will be fine, you'll see."

"I don't know what to say," Gus whispers. "Why are you being so nice to us? I don't understand," she mumbles.

Poor thing… she's clearly unused to the simplest human kindnesses. Luna pats Gus's arm the same way she would calm a restless Thestral. "We've bonded with you, Gus; you and Tavi are family, now. Your problems are our problems, you see."

Forestalling Gus's objection, Luna waves a languid hand at Tavi, who is helping to carefully put the now-sleeping kitten into Kreacher's thickly-lined knotted sling. As they watch, Kreacher produces a Galleon from behind the child's ear, presenting it to her with a small flourish and a singular smile.

"Look – Kreacher used to despise Harry, and all Muggle-borns… but after being shown a little kindness and empathy, he's shucked aside the bigotry of a lifetime and refashioned a happier life for himself, Gus. See how he's treating your little sister with the utmost care and attention? Should you deprive yourselves of the special connections that friendship brings, because you're so used to being independent?" Luna hopes her words have done enough to penetrate Gus's protective shell.

"I… um… I guess you're right, Luna. Thank you… thank you all." Gus bites into the set-aside tart and chews determinedly.

Probably so she doesn't have to say anything else, Luna concludes. Or to stave off any emotional crying… though I reckon Gus Gilmont hasn't allowed herself the luxury of a good cry in a very long time.

"Hermione, is someone knocking at the front door?" Luna lifts the silencing charm, having sensed a faint rhythmic thud. "No, don't get up – I'd like to stretch my legs. I'll see to it. Gus can come with me," she leads away the taller witch.

"I guessed you might like to escape being the centre of attention for a few minutes," Luna communicates to Gus, in a low whisper. "I'm used to people staring at me, but I think you don't care for it overmuch."

"You can say that again, sister," Gus replies, with feeling. "I'd rather shovel a mountain of Hippogriff crap than be in the spotlight, that's for sure."

Reaching the door, Luna swings it open; she starts in surprise at the visitor standing nervously on the stoop.

"Hello, Luna… erm, may I speak with Hermione, please? Or– or Harry, or Pansy? If – if they're here, I mean."

"Hullo, Ron. Are they expecting you?" Luna tranquilly enquires. He looks as though he hasn't slept a wink since the Gala… his anguish is nearly palpable. The poor egg.

"No– no, not at all. I went around to ask your dad for Malfoy's address… he told me you were coming to brunch, so I figured I'd try my luck. I'm not here to cause any trouble – I promise, Luna. I had to tell your dad why I wanted the address so badly– he wouldn't give it to me, otherwise." Ron hugs his arms to his chest, his shoulders sagging.

"Never mind– I don't want to bother them, or ruin your get-together… I'll write some letters, and maybe try again another day," he begins to turn away dejectedly.

"I believe you, Ronald. Please come in; I can't speak for the others, but I'm willing to hear whatever you've come to say." Slipping her hand into Ron's clammy one, she leads him into the hallway.

"Would you mind waiting here, with Gus? She won't bother you – she's taking a short breather from the chaotic good energy of the party," Luna grins.

"I'll go fetch Hermione… and don't worry, Ron. Everyone makes mistakes, you know. It's learning, and growing from them… that's what counts, in the end."

"Thanks, Luna."

She senses Ron's sad eyes following her, as she swiftly patters back to the rear garden.

I do hope he can find some peace… for everyone's sake.