Disclaimers: Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

As birthday parties went, Hermione couldn't remember a more enjoyable one.

As soon as she arrived back at the Palace, as a newly inducted Acolyte of the Order of Merlin, Sally and Enola whipped her up straight up to her bedroom, forced her into a bluebell-blue dress that was far too clingy around the hips, arranged her hair so that it hung elegantly like a smoky frame to her face, then marched her back downstairs to be the lady of the hour. Even though she wasn't normally one to be the centre of attention, she gave to it this time, allowing herself to be fawned over by well wishers, as Sue and Luna pressed glasses of chilled white wine into her hands. It was good to see Sue down and amongst people, as she tended to lock herself in her tower room like a princess imprisoned in a fairytale and rarely ventured around the house.

The lure of copious amounts of alcohol was too great an inducement to resist, it would seem.

Then there was Harry and Celesca's cake which, to everyone's surprise, turned out to be quite the impressive thing. It was a three-tiered sponge with vanilla buttercream, lemon zest icing and fresh strawberries, that Celesca had spent most of the afternoon painstakingly collecting from the fruit plantations on the grounds. She told them all about how the bees kept coming to see what she was up to, and how she had to make up a song to keep them entertained. She couldn't remember all the words, or what the tune really went like, but she tried her best to sing it for them anyway, though in the end she pretty much made up a new song, as she was sure the original never had wooden pegs with stubby legs in it.

There was dancing and music and a large buffet to get through, but Hermione's favourite bit was Harry coming back from the kitchens with a clay ornament he'd made in the shape of a cupcake. Hermione couldn't stop laughing at the apron that Enola had bought for Harry to wear, as it bore the apt slogan -Why have a House-elf, when you can have a House-Husband!, which Hermione promptly decided would be next year's birthday present from her husband-to-be. But the cutest aspect of the ornament was the single candle that flickered and jumped from the middle of it.

"I've put an Everlasting Flame Charm on it," Harry whispered as he gave it to her. "So, like my love for you, this will never go out."

Hermione was sure a part of her insides melted at that. She wondered which bit it was and hoped that the effect wasn't life-threatening ... because, a few hours later, Harry gave her a hint of her life to come, one that made her even more eager to live it than ever.

For in the evening, when everyone headed up to bed, Hermione was deeply astonished to find Harry following her into her bed, where they engaged in the most passionate kissing session they had ever shared, even going as far as stripping down into just their underwear and grinding together in such a close approximation of full-on love making that Hermione ended it with a throaty, shaky, unexpected whimper that alarmed Harry a moment.

He brightened up quickly though, as Hermione explained that it was just one of the sounds she made when she had an orgasm, which she was breathtakingly astonished to discover that Harry was able to bring out in her without really doing much at all. She couldn't wrap her head around what it would be like when Harry was actually trying to achieve that. It was enough to threaten her head to fall off.

Their wedding promised much, and Harry grinned smugly to himself as he basked in this new-found talent he had discovered to give Hermione pleasure. Well, in truth, it was giving him pleasure, as making Hermione happy was the thing he liked to do the best and most often. That's why such meticulous planning had gone into the marital chamber for the wedding night, with Harry pinning his hopes on blowing Hermione's mind so much that she might finally forgive him for ever failing her, in all the other ways he was still niggled at that he had.

Harry just hoped that his mother would look away as he made love to his new wife for the first time, and as for his father ... well, he had a lot of explaining to do.

The next morning, just after dawn, Harry rose while the house was still asleep and moved into the cool of the sub-levels of the Palace. There was no sound down here, it was all as it should be. That wasn't surprising, as the magic of the Palace was more focused here than anywhere else on the property. Every time Harry opened the door he was hit with a little puff of energetically charged magical force. He always likened it to what he expected would happen when the space shuttle docked at the international space station ... a transfer of air, a sharing of light and freshness

Only this one took his breath away.

Harry closed the door and leant against the frame, absorbing the power swirling all around him. It came to him in a way it did to no-one else, almost like a pet rushing to greet its returning master. It had a similar sort of feel, somehow comforting and welcoming. Harry wondered if Hermione would feel it when she next came down here.

For this was Potter family magic … from Merlin through Godric Gryffindor right to Harry himself. And soon it would flow to Hermione, when she became Hermione Potter ... his Queen, his wife.

Harry fluttered crazily at the mere thought, from his stomach right up in to his throat. Seriously, he had to stop thrilling at this. He'd done it ... somehow, however bizarrely, he'd done it. He'd achieved the main thing he had returned from the dead to do. Hermione was really going to be his wife, and she would be that for every day for as long as he lived. Was he going to go this wildly delirious every single time he thought about it? Actually, he rather hoped that he would. If it was that easy to become so happy, who was he to fight it? He felt the urge to run and jump and cry out like an excited child. He looked around mischievously. No-one would see him if he did … not down here.

So he did. Just a little ... and it felt great to do it.

Then he fixed his mood back to where he needed it. Flicked that little switch in his mind to Royally Pissed Off. It wasn't hard. He just flirted with some of the revelations he and Narcissa had been discussing over the last few days, the confirmation of a side of Hermione that Harry had only ever cautiously hoped for, but that now seemed he had been right about all along. He wanted to be thrilled at it, to cry out in his euphoria ... but he was so angry that he hadn't been told about it right away, by the people he was certain would have known about it, that he had to check himself. They had known, and risked her by allowing her to suffer ... they had almost cost Harry his White Queen.

And if anything terminal had been inflicted on her, Harry wasn't sure he had it in him to forgive such a transgression ... not even for his parents.

Harry shook that thought off, quite literally. His body shivered unpleasantly as the possibility touched at the corners of his mind, but he didn't let it go completely. It would be useful for fuelling his intent. After all, he was down here to be cross, to hand out a serious reprimand, albeit to two people he loved so very dearly, and that would take serious ire to keep going. But he needed to do it, to get it off his mind before it festered. He needed to vent badly.

And for that, he needed to go right to the third sub-level.

Harry checked behind himself twice out of habit, as he reached the suit of armour at the end of last corridor on Sub-Level Two. It had once belonged to Godric Gryffindor and the breastplate was bedecked in the Gryffindor lion, resplendent in red and gold. Harry smoothed it fondly, remembering happier times. Then he grinned.

Happier times? When had that been? When had he been happier than now? Had he ever been happier than now? He knew instantly that he hadn't. Yeah, he had an ugly scar and lots of people were trying to kill him, but there was nothing new about that. It wasn't so bad now, not when he had his impending marriage to Hermione as a counter-balance.

She was going to be his wife ... she really, really was! It was truly the most amazing thing.

The wine cellar was next to the suit of armour and the door was open. Harry glanced inside as he passed, noting that it was only half full after the party last night. Harry smiled fondly as he remembered it, pleased with himself that his soppy cupcake ornament gift had gone down so well. That was an easy win. But he pushed all these happy thoughts aside with a slight frown. He was getting more and more of these kinds of notions ... and he wasn't sure if he liked them or not. It was dangerously close to being like normal, and that was just all kinds of weird in Harry Potter's world. But he couldn't help it. They were just suddenly there, and he couldn't stop them with any power he possessed. He pondered that as he opened the suit of armour and sealed himself inside it.

The suit span around immediately, as soon as Harry closed the clasp. It clanked to a shuddering halt a second or two later. Dizzied by the movement, Harry stepped out into the pitch darkness of a new and bitterly cold corridor. He waved his hand, magic erupted from his family ring, and flaming sconces were soon crackling merrily along the roughly hewn brackets set high into the walls. Harry let their warmth wash over him as he walked along, intermittently disappearing in and out of sight as he passed through the flickering pools of orange light cast down to the dark-tiled floor.

Harry quested for the door at the far end of the corridor. He resisted the urge to peek into his money vault, which was next to it. Sometimes, he just liked to stare at all the piles of his gold ... of what he would happily soon be able to call his and Hermione's gold. He couldn't wait for her to start enjoying it. She'd been so energised, so excited at the prospect of owning all the Welsh castles, that Harry couldn't imagine what she would do with the possibilities that being so rich would throw up for her, for all the good causes she could pursue with it … he just wanted to indulge her passions as soon as he could. He literally felt there was nothing he'd not do, no amount he'd not spend - if that's what it took - if his reward would just be to see her happy. He was ashamed of his own take on the cash. He was just content to horde it, watch it all pile up.

And the pile was significant now.

When he'd been feeling delinquently indulgent one time, Harry had even tried swimming in it. But it had proved to be rather impractical. Which was a pity, as he'd put on a bathing costume and a snorkel and everything. Rhian had given him some very peculiar looks when she'd caught him coming out of the vault dressed like that…

Harry laughed to himself at the memory. He might as well just give in... he was happy today. What was the point in pretending otherwise? He didn't want to be just now, not for what he had to do, but Hermione just had this special magic about her. It was one of the most potent forces ever discovered by humankind. Maybe she could write a textbook about it, petition for it to be added to the curriculum at Hogwarts once everything was back to normal ... for it was a sort of sorcery worth studying in Harry's view.

For it was the magic to make Harry Potter smile. Even with a half a mouth, a mouth usually twisted into a permanent sneer by Tom Riddle's last curse on him, it worked ... even when the witch, herself, wasn't around him to make it happen. What sort of defence could anyone hope to have against that sort of power?

Harry allowed his grin to remain plastered to his face as he entered the last room on the floor. The space was a perfect circle, much smaller than the Ritual Room directly above it, and much calmer in energy. For this was for a purpose far more intimate than ritual of that sort. The room was brightly lit from a point high in the ceiling. Harry had never found the source of the light ... it was just … there. It shone down brilliantly onto a large bluestone standing stone at the centre of the circle, drenching it in a beam of the fiercest white glow. It had been there by placed by Merlin himself, to allow him to commune with the other wizards and his giants, when they were building his great ritual circle at Stonehenge ... the single most powerful monolithic stone circle for ritual magic ever built anywhere in the known world or beyond.

And now, Harry Potter used it to commune with his deceased parents.

Harry touched his hand to the cool stone and closed his eyes. "I know you're there, Dad ... so there's no point in hiding."

James Potter stepped into full view, as calmly and easily as if he had just followed Harry through the door from the corridor outside. Harry didn't catch quite from where he had come from. He might have come from inside the stone for all Harry was aware. It didn't much matter ... Harry was there with his father, and that was all that counted.

"How did you know?" asked James, grinning widely. "I thought I was getting very good at being invisible. Sirius has been giving me some pointers."

Harry narrowed his eyes at his father. Every time he saw him, he was bizarrely a little glad of his scar to tell the truth ... for it was like looking at himself in the future, older and greyer, like some sort of reverse echo. It was very odd.

"Is Sirius here?" asked Harry.

"No, he's off womanising somewhere," James smirked. "There are a lot of pretty spirit ladies in the afterlife, you know ... and all the time in eternity to try and charm your way into their favour. Your mother will be along in a minute though. She's rather hoping she might get to have a girly natter with her future daughter-in-law …"

James looked over Harry's head, as though expecting to see Hermione shrouded behind him somehow. Harry let himself thrill at the thought of their impending union again a moment, before turning on his father with an angry frown. There was the old him. Finally …

"No, my future wife wont be coming today," said Harry, his fury flickering. "A White Queen needs to prepare for her wedding, after all …"

"Ahh," said James, sheepishly. "So that's what you've come to see me about …"

"Yes, God dammit!" Harry thundered, all his anger erupting in one go, causing the walls to shake violently a moment. "You knew! You knew what Hermione was to me all along! And you didn't tell me!"

"Harry … son …"

"Don't try and pacify me with your pathetic excuse!" Harry roared furiously, cutting his father off. "All that preparation, all that ritual, all that bullshit allegory! And you knew about her all the time. Why, Dad? Just give me one decent reason why you didn't me everything?"

"You know why," James tried. "That isn't how it ..."

"To fuck with how it works!" Harry shrieked, stepping right up into his father's personal space. "She could have been killed, Dad! You don't fuck around with that … not with her … not with her fucking life ... not for any of this crap!"

"Watch your language, Harry, your mother is listening," said James, sternly.

"Fuck you, Dad! Fuck Mum, too, if she knew about this as well," Harry spat. He pushed aside a jolt of gut-churning guilt at his own outburst, and continued on. "You should have told me. I should have known from the very start ... and I don't care what you have to say about it."

"Could you have protected her, if we'd told you right away? Could you have found her? Did you have the strength to keep her safe?" James returned, evenly. Harry paused, riling as much against the truth as he was against his father now. "Harry … you totally accepted that you were in love with Hermione, as soon as your mother pointed out that little fact to you. It was like awakening a truth that you had always known and you were frantic to find Hermione, to make her yours just to make up for lost time for that reason alone. It was only because you were so wounded that you weren't able to charge right out into the world to find her right away.

"But can you imagine how much worse you would have been, if we'd told you everything else we suspected about her? Harry, we had only just become sure about you ... and yes, we heavily suspected that Hermione was destined to be your White Queen, but neither of you were quite at that stage yet. And do you think you were in any state to find her, to tell her everything, and fulfil the many destinies that you share together? You remember what you were like for those first few months … after you woke up."

Harry huffed and rested against the standing stone in defeat. "Yeah. I was complete trainwreck."

"Exactly, and one of undirected rage to boot," James corrected. "Harry, you couldn't have helped her back then, no matter how angry you are about it. In that state, you were as likely to hurt Hermione as you were to help her."

"She was hurt enough," said Harry, darkly.

"That wasn't your fault," said James, consolingly. "None of us suspected the way that the Weasleys would descend into such ugliness. But, in any case, we didn't tell you that you were a Red King until we thought you were ready. Hermione wasn't have been ready to be your Queen then, either. She has had to develop into the role for herself."

"I don't think getting raped and battered counts as development!" Harry yelled, fresh anger bursting free from him in a spear of unrestrained magic. James caught it with a lazy hand and let it dissipate into the stone, which shone green as it absorbed Harry's rabid emotion.

"That wasn't what I meant, and you know it," said James, patiently.

"Then explain what you did mean, Dad!" Harry hissed, his rage still flaring. "Because to me it sounds like you're saying you let me leave Hermione, the love of my life, my soul mate, to the twisted whims of Ronald fucking Weasley … for her own good."

"I didn't mean that," James argued. "We all have to live with the horrific knowledge of what has happened to your wonderful witch, even those of us that are already dead. Maybe we'll never forgive ourselves for what happened to her, and maybe we shouldn't be allowed to. But … Hermione survived, she became infinitely stronger. I don't know if you've noticed, Harry, but she's tough as treated dragonhide. She's more than a match for you."

"No, you're wrong," Harry volleyed back. "She's the perfect match for me … and it's the rest of the world that doesn't measure up … to us."

James chanced a warm smile. "Well, at least on that we can all agree."

Harry grinned back, then roared in his frustration at being so easily stilled and began to pace restlessly.

"All I meant, son," James persisted again. "Is that Hermione has had to endure, as you did. Stepping into the roles you have requires a bit of that. Merlin, had it not had to be so horrific! But they are the times we are in. And look at the reward … for the both of you. I mean, have you seen how deliriously happy Hermione is now? All that joy, son … that's all down to you. And you have a lifetime of that to share now ... and more after that."

Harry's heart leapt to life, racing fast, his breath catching in his lungs as James' words rang poignantly in his ears. Harry calmed himself ... wasn't going to cry, not in front of his Dad.

Which was just singularly dumb … because James was tearing up, himself.

"Sometimes - and this is a tough lesson, Harry - but you've got to lose every now and then … just so you can know how to win."

And Harry's tears came against his will. For he had won. The whole story could stop right now, and Harry would have claimed victory against life, and the powers that, for so long, seemed to have ranged against him. And against Hermione, too. Dumb, stupid bastards ... he would have his brutal day against the whole twatting lot of them.

And the universe, itself, would rue the day it made enemies out of Harry and Hermione Potter.

"I just don't understand why you had to make it so hard … for her," Harry protested lowly, drying his eye with his shawl. "Put me through the trauma, fine … but not her. There's no way you can make that right."

"There are a few people who made it all so horrendous," said James. "Tom Riddle for targeting you and killing your mother and I, Albus Dumbledore for going senile at the wrong time, Ron Weasley … for being the country's worst ever ginger ... take your pick."

"I pick them all," Harry stabbed, his tone dangerously vicious. "And I intend to pick them off … one at a time. But you could have given me a hint, a clue, anything. It took three years for me to learn what she was suffering under. You must have known about it. You could have pointed me in the direction sooner, that's what I'm most mad about. You could have let me poison Ron, have him killed by a rogue assassin. I have lots of contacts, lots of ways, you know that. I just don't understand why you didn't."

"You will," said James gently, taking a step towards Harry's riling form. "I couldn't tell you, and neither could your mother. We are your parents, but you are also our Alchemy Adept. Telling you straight up isn't how it works. You'll know one day, you'll understand … when you and Hermione do this for a son of your own …"

Harry stilled in spite of himself, breathing hard. His father's words hung weighty between them ... that statement wasn't vague or ephemeral … it was like he knew.

"W-what are you talking about?" Harry stuttered out.

James smiled at him. "I'm talking about my grandson, Harry. I'm not going to tell you when, I'm not going to tell you how … well, I assume you know how … you certainly have a firm idea abouthow … that's some wedding night plan you have in the works …"

Harry blushed. "Thanks. But I hope you don't intend to watch that ... do you?"

"That's a rather disturbing idea," James grimaced. "No, we won't watch. They lock you up for that kind of thing, even in the afterlife. But we will probably feel it. I wonder how much of the Palace will be left after you're done?"

Harry grinned, nervously. "I'm still working on reinforcing the weaker areas of the stonework. That old chapel under the kitchen might not stand up to vigorous shaking!"

"I'll teach you some proper wards for that sort of stuff later," said James offhandedly. "Yours look a little bit pathetic, to be honest. The ones me and your mum had to put up at Hogwarts …"

"Dad."

"What you really need is some yew bark," James ploughed on, thoughtfully. "There are some trees on the grounds somewhere, if I remember rightly. Yew deflects magic back, rather than trying to absorb it, making it a great defensive material against average-level spellwork. Sirius built your Mum and I a sort of palisade wall that we could concertina down and carry around with us. I'll get him to send you the schematics. Very handy for camping, or if you just fancy a roll around at the side of a motorway or something. Your Mum was big into powerful Muggle cars … Hermione is Muggleborn, maybe it's a kinky thing for Muggle girls or something, you'll have to ask her … long-distance driving with your Mum was often an interesting experience …"

"Dad. Enough, please."

"And this one time, at Lily's parent's house, we snuck into the attic at Christmas. There was this thing your Mum liked to do, see, where she'd hang me upside down from the trapdoor and -"

"Dad, stop, seriously!" Harry pleaded. "Before you scar me with something worse than what I've already got! Something that can never be fixed!"

"Oh, right. Yeah ... sorry," said James, grinning wickedly. "I'm sorry, Harry. I suppose I'm just in an excitable mood. My son is getting married! I'm just letting off steam in my happiness!"

Harry huffed. He was trying so hard to be cross ... but every single mention of Hermione, or of their marriage, was likely to render him inert.

"It's fine, Dad," said Harry. "I'm excited, too. Even more so now. So … a son … you were saying?"

"And that was far more than he should have said. Now come here and give me a hug."

Harry span, and found himself face-to-face with his mother, striding across the room to meet him. He closed the gap between them, then closed his arms around her, squeezing her tight. Harry never quite knew how to describe his parents in this form. They were dead, so they were spirits, but they were also solid. Harry could hug them and touch them and things. It was bizarre but, just like the source of the light in the room, he just accepted it without question. It just was.

"Congratulations, darling," said Lily, hugging Harry close. "I'm so happy for you ... for the both of you. Oh, I just knew how it would be! I know you're angry with us ... and you have every right to be ... but you should have brought Hermione with you. I really wanted to see her. When we apologise for this, I want her to be with you, so we can beg for forgiveness from Mrs Potter, as well as you."

"I'll let you do that, Mum, I promise," said Harry, stepping free from Lily's death grip on him. "But after the wedding would be best. Hermione is bathing now, resting. It's been a long few days for her and she needs to recover her strength before we jump into the alchemical ritual. That will take a load out of us both. Besides, she doesn't know about this place yet ... and I'm worried, when she does, that she'll think she can contact any spirit down here right away, once she sees you two."

Lily looked at Harry with sad eyes. "Yes, you're probably right about that. But, in about a year or so, Hermione's parents should be strong enough to come along with us."

"How … how are they?" Harry asked tentatively.

James sighed. "It's a slow recovery, son. It's going to take a hell of lot of effort and energy to repair the damage to them. It was a new form of magical torture they endured, so the treatment needs to be new, too. Just give it time … and for Merlin's sake stop blaming yourself for it. Hermione has such a job on her hands with you. I don't envy the girl."

"Hermione will be furious about this when she finally finds out," said Harry, ruefully. "I can't even begin to imagine how cross she'll be with me, for not telling her. It'll be worse than I am with you pair. I'm still not going to, though ... she has enough hate for the Weasleys as it is."

"You're a braver man than me, son," James chuckled. "Your Hermione is a lovely witch but, wow … she has a hell of a temper on her when she gets going!"

"It's not just that, Dad, it's the creativity," Harry laughed. "It's bloody frightening. She said she's going to create a tartan beret out of Ron's scalp, once she flays it off, as a sort of memorial to Minerva McGonagall! I fell in love with her a little more when she said that!"

Lily joined in with their laughter. "Merlin knows what she'll do with the rest of him, then, once she finds out what he and Ginny did to David and Catrin's souls."

Just then, a disembodied head popped out of the standing stone. A long grey, beard trailed to the ground, just below the most mischievous smile Harry thought existed.

"I do know ... and I could tell you, if you like," said the head, cheerfully.

"Fuck off, Merlin, this is parent and child time," James chided.

"Don't forget, you are all my children," said Merlin, his eyes twinkling. "Considering I sired the bloody lot of you. Morning, Harry!"

"'Lo, Merlin," said Harry, rolling his eye. He was the worst eavesdropper of all his ancestors and dead relatives, not to mention the most playful rascal of all of the family line.

"When are you going to bring that delightful witch of yours to meet me?" asked Merlin, stepping fully into the room now, dropping all pretence that he ever intended to do anything else. "She will be the most powerful new witch to join the family in centuries. I have a bet with Godric that she will eventually replace Rowena as my personal favourite."

Harry chuckled. "Have you told Rowena that?"

"Oh … well, me no!" Merlin chortled. "Who am I supposed to swear to, anyway? All day long all I hear Merlin this and Merlin that … hmm. Anyway, back to Rowena. She'd roast me for even suggesting it, young Harry. We have yet to have a death in the afterlife in, ooh, the entire of history recorded and unrecorded. I'm sure Rowena would find a way, though. She's very clever."

"Tell her to work at it," Harry grinned. "I'll be sending you what I leave intact of Tom Riddle very soon. I don't intent to spend my own afterlife finding a way to make him extinct."

"I shall pass on the message," said Merlin, chuckling. "She always did like a challenge."

"Well, she did marry Godric in life," said Harry, fairly. "She'd be tested for latent insanity for that sort of decision in this day and age. Remember when he tried challenging Yahweh to be the God of Christianity through a series of contests?"

"Ah yes," Merlin, grinned, his eyes alight. "Godric lost at Cludeo, snakes 'n' ladders and Bucakroo ... but it wasn't until Yahweh built hotels on all his squares in Monoploy that he finally gave it up as a hopeless quest!"

"See? Absolute loony!" Harry laughed. "What was Rowena thinking, marrying him?"

Merlin stroked his beard as he pondered it. "Who could say? But perhaps that explains all the time she's spending with Mr Freud this last decade or so. I did wonder."

"Right, that's enough," said Lily, crossly. "Merlin … fuck off."

"Well said, dear," James nodded approvingly. "Can we just have some time with our son?"

Merlin sighed. "Harry is a son belonging to all of us. But, I shall leave his biological parents to him for now. Are we still up for game night, later? I understand Minerva has found a date for Couples Twister."

Harry rolled his eye again. Bloody dead people ... they loved their toys.

Merlin disappeared back through the standing stone, throwing Harry a cheery wave over his shoulder as he went.

"Where the hell were we?" asked James. "Bloody Merlin. You have all the joys of this to come, son."

Harry chortled. "You were saying about Hermione's Mum and Dad."

"Ah yes," said Lily. "It's going to be a while before they have strength enough to meet her again. They are very poorly."

"A year or so, you said?" asked Harry. Lily nodded. "Okay. But there's no use Hermione knowing that. She'll be counting the days."

"Or she'll make a little chart," James quipped, perching on a low bench that had suddenly appeared next to him. "She seems to have charts for everything. Speaking of which … when are you going to tell her about yours?"

"Not now, Dad," Harry snapped. "Today is about your secrets, not mine."

"You can't keep this from her, Harry," said Lily gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "She'll find out one way or another."

"And if you think she'll be cross with you for not telling her about Ron, Ginny and her parents … just think about how she'll respond knowing about that," James added.

Harry huffed. "The Alchemy Link will tell her, won't it ... when we forge it? That's what you're telling me? Seriously, you should have told me about this. I could have prepared in a totally different way."

"Prepared for what, son?" James quipped, lightly. "You are being spectacularly dim about all of this."

"When you complete your alchemical Opus with your marriage, you will be joining with Hermione in the most complete way ... in mind, body and soul," Lily reminded him. "And it will be the most fundamentally beautiful thing when it happens. There isn't anything that you wont share after that."

"I still don't think it's fair ... that she will be able to hear my thoughts," Harry huffed. "But I wont be able to hear hers. Seems a little one sided, if you ask me."

"It's because she is the Mind aspect of this union, son," James explained. "And, to begin with at least, she will be more adept at those sorts of abilities. Hermione's thoughts will be in your head somewhere once your chemical wedding is complete ... but good luck finding them in that collision of chaos that you pass for a mind!"

Harry guffawed. "Can I be fixed in that way, then? Will I be able to keep little secrets from her ... or do I just have to go around thinking about books at Christmas, when in fact I've bought her a big fat diamond?"

Lily laughed at that one. "You will be able feel Hermione, being the Heart Aspect as you are," Lily replied. "And, in many ways, that will give you greater insight than mere thought."

"What do mean 'I'll feel her'?" Harry queried. "I suppose you aren't talking about something physical here?"

Lily shook her head. "No, Harry, this is feeling ... not touching. You will sense Hermione's feelings, along with your own … you will feel her intent and emotions inside your own body. That's what your joining will give to you."

"Oh yeah, I can definitely live with that," Harry grinned. "But it wont be nearly as accurate, will it? I mean, if I thought things, she could recite them, couldn't she? Even if I went random as hell and thought nonsense sentences ... like nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak, that sort of thing ... she'd be able to get it spot on. I might be able to feel her, but it wont be anything like as precise."

"Perhaps, but practically impossible to fake," Lily pointed out with a smile. "You can think what you like, and Hermione will read it. But she can't pretend to feel something for you that she doesn't. Personally, I'd prefer your side of it. But I'm just a bit of an old romantic like that."

Harry grinned to himself. He hadn't thought of it like that ... the idea warmed his chest as it settled on him.

"Okay. I like that. But what about the rest of me … can I be fixed when all this is completed? I thought you said, once Hermione and I were married, that we'd have a special new magic ..."

"We can't tell you all the answers, that isn't how it works," James reminded him again, slicing him off abruptly. "Being an Alchemical Adept is to embark upon a journey to knowledge and enlightenment ... and now you have a perfect partner to take it with. The journey could take you your entire life and you still might not reach the ultimate end. If there are answers to your questions, you and Hermione will find them together."

"How far does that go, though?" asked Harry, frowning crossly. "It sounds either too vague or too evasive, like most alchemical language, to be honest."

Lily smiled at him. "Harry, you are a Red King ... Hermione, your White Queen. Yours will be the most complete and pure wedded ordination that nature can provide. There isn't any question that you wont be able to answer or problem you could not solve. If you set your heart to it, and she puts her mind to it, the solution to any issue will come to you eventually. And if fixing all your scars is what you choose to tackle, you will find a way to overcome it."

"Or if we need to know how to defeat Riddle," said Harry, thoughtfully.

"Harry, you already know how to do that," said James, dismissively. "But you need to tell Hermione about it, confirm your suspicions about these Horcrux protections and bring her in to help you work out the fine details. You have to let her help ... trust us, it'll make the whole thing ten times easier and faster."

"And Harry," said Lily, coming forward and taking Harry's hand, looking at him seriously. "Let Hermione do the things that you can't ... especially where your extended family is concerned. Just hand her the responsibility and accept the concession. She's proven that she can handle the moral ambiguities of this fight. She'll do whatever it takes … if it will keep you safe."

"Riddle has made another fundamental mistake here," said James, standing and taking over. "You know it, Hermione knows it on some level, too - though she doesn't want it to be true - and you have a real shot at making it Riddle's last screw-up. Don't let him get away this time … not now that you have him where you want him."

Harry sighed heavily. "Okay. It won't be easy for me, you know that. You could have made this all so much easier, if you'd just told me from the start."

"And where would have been the fun in that?" James teased on reflex. Harry scowled at him. He didn't think exposing Hermione to four years of solid abuse and threats to her life on a daily basis was any idea of fun. Not in the slightest. He didn't need words to tell his father that, as James looked back at him in morbid horror. "Sorry, Harry ... I really am."

"You can tell Hermione that," said Harry, grimly. "You can explain everything to her ... and if she doesn't forgive you, neither will I. I will leave the choice to my wife."

"That's fair enough," said Lily, her voice anxious and shaky. "But, Harry, in all seriousness … keep an eye on Hermione with little Celesca Lovegood, wont you? I'm not sure if some of these wild thoughts she has concerning the girl are all that speculative!"

Harry chuckled at that. "I'll try. So, I suppose there is only one thing left to do ...

Harry dropped to one knee and placed his wand to his chest.

"As a Red King of Alchemy, I formally ask you ... my parents, and Alchemical Mentors ... for your permission to marry my White Queen, Hermione. Do I have your blessing?"

Lily smiled down tearily at her son, as she and James placed hands on Harry's shoulders. "We give it with all our hearts!"

Harry felt the warmth of the oath flood into his system. It was heady, powerful stuff, and he was thankful for the hands on his back to hold him upright. After a protracted minute, Harry mastered himself and stood, accepting hugs from each of his parents in turn.

"Thank you, Mum, and you Dad," Harry grinned widely at them both. "Right, I'd better be going ... lots to do, you know ... free the world, have a bath, plan a wedding to my princess. It's all go in my life these days! Oh ... is there anyone you don't want to be sat with at the ceremony? I assume you'll be there."

"Of course we will," James beamed. "Just stick us far away from Merlin, I don't think I can stand listening to him babble on about how he created alchemy, or his other assorted embellishments!"

"Okay, a seat next to Merlin it is!" Harry funned. "It's the least you deserve. I'll give you a heads-up when we set a date ... and tell Sirius to find a respectable date or he wont be invited at all!"

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