A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Calimocho, with much gratitude for her kind reviews and unswerving support. Thank you!

xoxo VJ

Chapter 94

Saturday 05 April 2003: PM

"Oh, Mac, you really don't have to keep thanking us, dearest. We love and appreciate you very much, we just wanted to do something to show you that," Hermione has little success peeling off the grateful, wildly emotional elf from her person, much to Draco's diversion.

He frowns as he belatedly realizes which costume MacRu have chosen. "Bingley and Jane costumes again? But we're the Pride and Prejudice couple tonight, Granger!".

Ruibby shoots him a dirty look, while Macdolas finally releases Hermione from his strangling embrace to upbraid, "The Illustrious Authoress Miss Austen wrote more than one attractive pairing in the superlative novel, Master Malfoy. Besides, Ruibby chose our glorious attire, and Macdolas will not countenance a word of criticism levelled at his darlingest girlfriend," his tears are forgotten as he throws out the veiled warning.

"Cool your jets, you fiery rascal. You and Ruibby make a lovely Regency couple," Draco placates. "You've monopolized Hermione long enough; look, I think Minerva wants to have a word with you." He ushers Macdolas in the Headmistress's direction, waiting until MacRu are out of earshot before speaking again.

"You're welcome, ma petite," he teases Hermione, who merely shakes her head at him. "The birthday boy still appears a tad dazed, but at least we won't require the sal volatile."

"Are you truly cross that our costumes are thematically linked?" Hermione earnestly asks, gathering both his hands in hers. "I thought it was cute… and a sweet 'homage', as Mac would say."

"No, darling, I was just being precious," Draco hastens to assure. "Macdolas does look like a weeny Charles Bingley, with that shock of red hair and goofy expression– I mean, lovestruck look," he grins. "Don't be surprised if the shrimpet doesn't sleep for the next forty-eight hours, though. I've never seen him this excited, and that's saying something."

"I'm simply relieved he didn't faint from shock," Hermione confides. She turns her head as the Floo sounds. "Come, we should greet Kreacher and Boadie, Draco."

Draco reminds himself not to giggle at the arresting vision of the former House of Black elf dressed as Salazar Slytherin, wearing dark grey and silver robes and a broad brown belt. Boadie the kitten is strapped into an adapted baby carrier on his chest. The black furball is 'dressed' in a tiny tiger-striped jacket; she bats at Kreacher's (temporary) flowing silvered beard as they approach.

"We save our claws for battle, Little One," Kreacher gently chides. "Good evening, Mistress Hermione and Master Malfoy; Kreacher and Boadicea thank you most kindly for your hospitality," he solemnly bows, one gnarly hand ensuring the cat stays safely confined within her sling.

"We're delighted you could join us, Kreacher," Hermione risks a light pat to his stooped shoulder. "Harry said you'd be a little late due to some difficulties fitting Boadie's costume."

"Little Boadie did not initially care for the jacket, but Mistress Pansy orders it especially – Kreacher persists," he explains. "Kreacher apologizes profusely for his tardiness, but he wishes to honour Mistress Pansy's thoughtfulness." He peers past them, his beady eyes infinitesimally softening as he picks Harry and Pansy out of the boisterous crowd.

"Please do circulate, Kreacher; and I think Mum and Narcissa are nearly ready to begin relocating everyone to the outside marquee. Of course, you needn't feel obliged to join in; but we've lots of fun games planned, plus refreshments galore, a sit-down supper, music, dancing… and jumping castles," Hermione excitedly informs.

Kreacher's austere brow furrows as he attempts to puzzle out Hermione's meaning. "The castles… jump? Kreacher cannot fathom how such a feat be possible, Mistress Hermione."

"Oh, they're inflatable castles, Kreacher – and you jump in them, you see. We hired two, one for little people and one for bigger creatures…" Hermione launches into a detailed clarification, warming to the topic. Kreacher merely blinks at her as though she's talking in tongues.

"Hermione, perhaps you could escort Kreacher outside to see for himself what you mean," Draco diplomatically intervenes. "I'm going to have a quick word with our fathers, then I'll join you in the marquee, sweetheart."

Before he departs, he kisses Hermione tenderly on the lips and mentions to the manservant, "Also, there is a specific 'Time Out Zone' set aside in the main library, should you feel the need of a breather, Kreacher."

"Master Malfoy is most kind." Kreacher bows again, allowing Hermione to lead him through the great hall.

Moving swiftly toward Bernard and Lucius, Draco mulls over whether the oddball couple need another reminder about their promise to behave tonight. Surely they've wreaked enough havoc for one day? I can't help but feel as though the father/son dynamic has been grossly distorted – and flipped – of late… and somehow I have two naughty children to monitor at this party. Lucky me.

"…No, no, neither of us had the slightest idea what the other was planning," Bernard is proudly proclaiming to the gaggle of fascinated elves and humans gathered around the pair. "Great minds think alike, right, Luce?" he robustly elbows his 'twin', almost sending Lucius flying.

"More like, 'fools never differ'," Draco murmurs, clapping a hand on each man's shoulder and muscling in to stand between them. "Remember our pact, gentlemen." He stares meaningfully from side-to-side, only dropping his glare after each miscreant has replied with a curt nod.

"Alright everybody: if I could ask you to follow me through to the back gardens, please?" Draco rallies the troops.

"The party marquee awaits!".

I wonder if Narcissa adopted my suggestion about breaking up everyone into random teams for the games… I might just have a quick look at the run sheet…

Hermione is discreetly reaching for the clipboard stashed on the table in the corner of the massive multi-chambered tent when Pansy sneaks up and slaps away her hand.

"Oi! You're here to have fun, not to micro-manage," the 'Pirate Wench' rebukes, shaking her head in mock sadness. "Naughty, Pollyanna – your mum and Narcissa are running this shindig like a military operation, anyway. Isn't it just fantastic?" Pansy spontaneously hugs Hermione, careful not to crush her elegant long gown or pearl-embellished hairstyle.

"I was just going to have a quick look at the revised schedule, you big bully," Hermione's amused grouch is partly muffled by Pansy's voluminous black peasant blouse. "OK, fiiiiine: I promise not to touch that clipboard for the rest of the night. Happy?".

"Happy as a Doxy gorging on a nest of Billywigs," Pansy quips. "Gods, I feel like I haven't seen you in forever! Are you really alright, Hermione? You've had a rough start to your teaching careers, hmmm?" she sympathetically clucks her tongue.

Gratefully squeezing Pansy's hand, Hermione tries to downplay the drama of the last sennight. "I certainly would have preferred skipping Draco being near-fatally poisoned, and Mac accidentally slicing off his toenail; but as Dad reckons, as long as you're still standing once the dust has settled, you'll live to fight another day. Ooh, have you tried the mini masala sausage rolls? They're freaking addictive, I swear." Hermione smiles at their elfin server as she pops a couple off the platter and into her mouth.

Pansy's emerald eyes round as she witnesses her friend's involuntary burp, and subsequent abashed swipe at the flaky crumbs of pastry decorating her chin.

"Whoops – sorry, I'm a bit h-hungry," Hermione giggles as another burp punctuates her sentence. "I'm positive even Lizzie Bennett snuck in some tasty victuals at the Netherfield Ball, regardless of how fancily she was dressed."

"Well, you might want to pace yourself, Pollyanna: speaking of martial ops, there's literally enough chow in here to feed an army," Pansy points out, nimbly loading a small plate with a selection of bacon-wrapped chestnuts, artichoke wonton wrappers, antipasto kabobs, roasted parmesan garlic shrimp, and haloumi and corn fritters with creamy avocado dip. She wordlessly hands the plate to Hermione, before assembling another for herself.

"Hermione, what are these colourful star thingies?" Pansy dubiously enquires. "I recognize the fruit wands, of course."

"Oh, Mum made the fairy bread stars – it's buttered bread with rainbow hundreds and thousands sprinkled all over it, she used a cookie cutter for the star shapes. Don't look so dubious, Pansy, it's really yummy. Mum picked it up from when they lived in Australia…" Hermione looks away, fingers tensing on the rim of her plate.

"So it's not actually made of crushed fairies, then?" Pansy teases. "Just as well, I'm sure Luna would hit the roof if it were."

Grateful for Pansy's tactful subject change, Hermione nods and smiles. "It's mostly a kids' party staple, Down Under – but Mum thought the elves would enjoy trying some. In moderation, of course; Narcissa explained about their heightened susceptibility to sugar."

"I guess I'll try a piece," Pansy gamely chomps into a rainbow star. "Yep – I definitely recommend rationing these sweet little bad boys!".

Laughing along with her, Hermione is just about to ask after Pansy's week when Harry returns from the juice bar.

"Here's your Hibiscus Strawberry Soda, Pansy," Harry hands Pansy the bright red drink, freeing his hands to slide around her waist. He nibbles at the shell of her ear, winking mischievously at Hermione.

"Hey, mind the hoop earrings, Duckie," Pansy warns, relaxing into his embrace. "Thank you, Harry."

"You're most welcome, love." Harry gazes at his girlfriend with undisguised tenderness and affection, his lightly bearded face fairly shining with contentment.

Hermione fumbles for yet another hankie as Pansy returns his regard with equal intensity. Goodness gracious… what's that German idiom, about being 'built close to the water'? 'Nah am Wasser gebaut'? I'll have to ask Theo or Wirey if that's correct. I'm weeping like a willow of late. But dammit, they're just so darned cute together…

"You OK there, Hermione?" asks Harry, watching her shrewdly. "Are you still worried about Draco? Pritchard-Hawes assured me on Thursday night that they've definitely got Mulciber in their sights, love."

"I'm fine, Harry, just – you know – emotional, about stuff," Hermione blathers, embarrassed by her less-than-lucid reply. "It's a big night, OK?" she defensively adds.

"Of course, of course," Harry soothes. Over the top of Pansy's head, he mouths, 'Meet me for a chat later?'.

Nodding, Hermione's attention is suddenly riveted across the 'room'. Her shrill squeal leaves Harry wincing.

"Pansy, look– Blaise just folded down Gus's hood to kiss her neck – AND SHE'S CUT HER HAIR! Come on!". Grabbing Pansy's hand, Hermione gallops them toward the tall blonde Auror, shouting over her shoulder, "Sorry, Harry – but we have to hear all about it– I just know there's a story behind such a radical change…!".

"I guess I'll just wait here, then, " Harry ruefully mutters, collecting Pansy's hastily-blown kiss with his right hand. "No one fusses over me when I get a haircut… it's just hair..."

Shrugging, he smiles as he sees Hermione and Pansy aren't the only females descending upon poor Gus; Luna and Ginny are also flocking around his bemused colleague with similar expressions of fascinated excitement.

Turning back to assess the rest of the gathering, Harry notices Neville on his left, looking a bit lost and lonely. Deciding he's well overdue for a catch-up with his old buddy, he heads in that direction.

Gus squawks in protest as Blaise is all but shoved away from her as the group of agog females crowd closer. "Blaisey! Don't abandon me now – they're descending like buzzards on fresh roadkill!" she hisses out of the side of her mouth, amber eyes wide with alarm. I'd rather face down a tribe of trolls than this berserker mob.

"It's too late, Gussie – try to stay calm, and just go with the flow," he calls, before he is actually pushed to the side by Pansy.

"Beat it, Zabini, or I'll run ye through with me short sabre," Pirate Pansy snarls, prodding him with the rubber 'blade' for good measure. "Gus – you look FABULOUS! Who cut your hair?! Deets, woman – we need them, stat!"

"You look like a model!" Hermione joins in. "What made you decide to cut it?! Are you happy with it? Duh– of course you are!"

"Was it for a pagan cleansing ritual?" Luna cocks her head, her blue eyes summer-bright as she closely inspects the ends of Gus's choppy bob. "Hmm… I can't quite discern if an athame was used…"

"I bet Blaise was absolutely gobsmacked when he first saw you – yep, he loves the new style, if those overlapping love bites along your collarbone are any indication," Ginny smirks.

"Cripes, guys, it's only hair," Gus defensively hunches, deeply regretting allowing Blaise to fold down her dark cowl.

"Oh, darling, it's so much more than that: this is just so you," Pansy clucks. "Strong, stylish, efficient– and utterly gorgeous. No, don't shake your head in denial, you're stunning," the brunette witch nods in satisfaction. "Cutting it to this length really accentuates your cheekbones and eyes, Gus. And your queenly neck! No wonder Blaise has been eagerly worshipping it with his mouth."

"Leave it out– uh, I mean, thanks," Gus weakly grins, deciding to get this over with as quickly as possible. "Sol– Soledad, my new partner, she cut it for me after we had some trouble with an arrest in Amsterdam…" she quickly summarizes the incident with Ainbertach and Loughty.

"So you see, it was a practical decision, not an aesthetic one," she concludes. "And Blaise seems– uh– well, he said he likes it." Do not colour up, Augusta. Your friends don't need to hear just how much your boyfriend demonstrated (by word and deed) his approval of your new hairstyle… nope.

Her self-remonstrations prove useless as the other four witches squeal, "Ooooh!" in high-pitched unison.

Gus claps her hands to her flaming cheeks, groaning as the gang shift to peppering her with questions about her newly-fledged romantic relationship.

"No– we're not living with him, who told you that?! Well, OK, we all have our own rooms, but that's for the sake of convenience; yes, the Villa does have an amazing indoor pool and spa… Sorry, I can't make head nor tails of the conversation when you all chatter at once," Gus pretends she doesn't hear Pansy remorselessly querying why she's reddening again. "Ah– I'd best check on Tavi, make sure she's alright on the jumping castle– bye!" Gus flees to the nearest exit and hides behind a thick hedge.

She snorts to herself, both amused and mildly ashamed at being so chicken-livered. I'm really not used to being involved in such a tight-knit friendship pack… they're a bit much all at once, but truly lovely women. Well, I guess I never had much in the way of female friends before; Tavi and Mrs Green are family, and Kolt was pretty much it – and he's proven not to be the person I thought he was, unfortunately. Never mind.

Peeking cautiously around the high shrubbery, Gus decides it's safe to traipse around to the inflatable castles and look in on Tavi, Gelsy, and Mrs Green.

The coast is clear of shrieking, inquisitive, won't-take-no-for-an-answer witches – I need to make the most of it!

"Would anyone like an Italian sub pinwheel?" Draco offers, pushing the tray of hors d'oeuvres closer. "Or perhaps a walnut- and blue cheese-stuffed portobello mushroom? Go on, Neville, they're delicious."

"Sounds good – thanks, Draco," Neville smiles, carefully selecting a couple of each appetiser. He chews diligently, making appreciative noises. "They're fantastic! You should try them, Harry."

"Don't mind if I do," Harry easily complies. "I didn't realize you two were friendly?" he curiously asks, once he's swallowed his first mouthful.

"We're friends, actually," Draco quickly amends, grinning as both Gryffindors' eyes widen. "Neville's advice and generous help has been invaluable, this past week. You're a good egg, mate." He lightly punches Neville's shoulder, inadvertently flattening one of the purple 'grapes'. "Oops – sorry, Neville."

Neville glumly adjusts the padded plum bubble. "Don't worry about it, Draco. I reckon I'm going to be tweaking this costume all night. I look bloody ridiculous, don't I? Like a walking cluster of external haemorrhoids? You can laugh, it's alright."

Harry recovers first. "No, Neville, you look fine… but, er, what inspired this outfit?" he diplomatically enquires.

Looking about furtively, Neville whispers, "It was Luna's idea: I forgot all about it being a fancy dress party, and only remembered this morning. I panicked and asked Luna to please help me find something to wear. She ratted through my wardrobe and found a motley old dark purple set of dress robes my Gran sent me, years ago – Luna decided to Transfigure them into a bunch of grapes, 'to reflect my horticultural roots', she said."

He swallows uncomfortably. "And she went off on a bit of a tangent about how many of the ancient mythologies regarded the grapevine as sacred, and how the symbolic meaning of grapes represents abundance, transformation and… and, um, fertility. I don't know, I think I'd have been less embarrassed wearing the mouldering magenta dress robes… but Luna's a dear, and I didn't want to hurt her feelings." Neville chews on another pinwheel, dropping his chagrined gaze.

Poor Neville – he's a bit of a dear, too. Draco can't risk looking over at Harry, lest his mirth bubble aloud. "Ah, understood," he finally manages. "Neville, do you think Luna is interested in you? If you don't mind me asking," he hurriedly tacks on.

"Nah, not like that – we're great friends, Luna just wants me to be happy. I don't really, you know, date, and Luna tries to gently chivvy me into 'putting myself out there', every so often. Not in a pushy way, it's because she knows how much I'd like to have a– a family." Clearly mortified by how much he's revealed, Neville exclaims with relief, "Hi, Blaise!".

"Hallo Neville, Harry, Jakey-boy," Blaise ambles over, deftly relieving Draco of the half-full platter of finger food. "What's up, fellas? I've been banished from that bevy of babbling beauties," he jerks his spare thumb over to the chattering flock of ladies cooing and cawing over Gus. "Apparently my girlfriend's glorious new hairstyle has to be explained and dissected ad infinitum," he puffs out his chest, unable to wipe the ear-to-ear grin off his handsome mug.

Theo shoulders in to tease, "Listen to this fallen sap – 'my girlfriend' – have you published the banns yet, Zabini? Picked out a ring? Decided between traditional fruit or a rich buttercream for the wedding cake? You are so absolutely gone on Gus Gilmont, bud."

"Get knotted, Nott," Blaise chirpily retorts. "Ha! Did you hear what I did there?! And so what if I am besotted? I'm man enough to shout it from the rooftops: Auror Augusta Meredith Gilmont is the ultimate woman for one Blaise Nario Zabini – hell, I think I'll sing it from the ceiling, let me just scale this pole–" he thrusts the tray into Theo's hands.

"Save it for the karaoke session, you pillock," Draco grabs Blaise before he puts the tent's structural integrity to the test. "Mother will have your silly hide for a hearth rug if you bring down the marquee."

"Vat is happening? Blaise, you hev gotten engaged to Gus? I congratulate you most heartily," Viktor appears, vigorously slapping Blaise on the back. "You are quick vorker, da? And a lucky man."

"Not engaged– yet," Blaise coughs, eyes watering. "Gimme– some time– my Gussie's not ready."

"You've just about moved them all in though, haven't you? And you and Gus have grown much… closer, judging by your moony look," Theo astutely remarks.

Everyone stares at Blaise as he flushes and moves slightly behind the thick pole he was about to scale.

"Shuddup, Theo," he softly mutters. "Not gonna talk about that…"

By the stars – he's actually blushing! Draco marvels.

Looking around, he sees his astonishment reflected on the other men's faces. Theo's fake fangs gleam as he tips back his head and heartily cackles. Harry attempts to smother his chuckles behind his hand, while Neville and Viktor cough to cover their grins.

"Oh, Zabini: if you hadn't delighted in taking the mickey out of me when I first started seeing Hermione, I might have some pity for you… but I so don't," Draco razzes, joining in on Theo's guffaws. "I hope Gus makes you sweat bullets during your courtship, I really do."

"Har-de-har, poopy-head," Blaise grumps. "Tavi taught me that one, and it suits you to a tee – ah, get stuffed, you unfeeling bastards!" He discreetly gives them the forks as he marches off in high dudgeon.

"Aww, even his rude gestures have been toned down – our boy's become a family man, I'm proud as punch," Theo pretends to knuckle away a tear.

"We hev saying, 'Лепят му се като мухи на мед' – the women, they cling to him like flies on honey; but now, Blaise is the fly," Viktor sagely pronounces.

Well, I can't top that. Draco clutches his knees for support as their hilarity climbs a few levels after Viktor's thoughtful, unintentionally comical observation. Neville laughs so forcefully he begins to wheeze for breath.

"Steady on, mate," Harry slings a supportive arm around his shoulder. "Draco, I think Narcissa's trying to get your attention?".

"Yes; I believe Mother wants to start the games. Come on, guys," Draco leads them into the next large chamber. Blaise's hot, sulky glare as he falls in behind sets them off into peals of laughter again.

By Merlin, it's great to have friends.

Casting a hawk eye over the expanse of the games chamber, Narcissa smiles fondly as she watches Jane Granger exhibiting a number of organizational traits she's clearly passed along to her daughter, along with their riotous brown curls. Armed with the Muggle clipboard and 'operations manual', Jane is busy ticking off names and handing out various props for each of the games stations with all the confidence and expertise of a professional party planner.

Everything is going swimmingly… well, apart from our fool husbands and their daft schemes, she muses, as her gaze narrows on Lucius and Bernard's decidedly shifty postures as they bend together their heads beside the 'Ostrich Dance' area. The padded mats of the makeshift wrestling ring squeak a little as the first two contestants shrug off their coats and roll their shoulders in preparation for the friendly bout. Narcissa's left eyebrow quirks as she notes that Macdolas has been paired off against Kevyn.

Given their constant professional rivalry, this competition (each combatant has a card taped to his back with a word written on it; the first one to read the other's word is declared the winner) is likely to prove spirited, at the very least. Narcissa quickly moves closer, unsurprised to overhear their spouses colluding in slyly running a betting pool with the elven and human audience, as to which elf will emerge victorious.

"Gentlemen! Perhaps you did not hear our repeated instructions that all games played are simply for fun?". Narcissa maintains her smiling façade, though she is highly tempted to laugh at the men's startled jolts and matching guilty expressions. "I suggest you promptly return all the monies you've gathered, and consider whether you'd like to retire to the study for the remainder of the evening?" she alludes to her earlier threat.

"Of course, ma chère épouse. Ah, running a book was all Barney's idea; I'm afraid the novelty of exploring such an intriguing pastime quite obscured my good sense," Lucius smoothly murmurs, throwing his pal a warning glance.

"Er, right," Bernard chimes in. "Just a few congenial wagers – but no harm done." He begins rapidly redistributing the coins they've sneakily accumulated, ignoring the grumbling objections to the cancellation of the bets.

"Excellent. Consider this your final warning," Narcissa's grin deepens at their mutual consternation, before she glides over to Jane.

The dentist tries to tuck a pencil behind her ear, chuckling as it encounters the barrier of her borrowed golden crown. "See, Cissy – this is why I shouldn't have been entrusted with your beautiful jewellery," she comments. "Now, what did you just break up over there? No, don't tell me – I bet I can guess: they tried to run a gambling ring, didn't they?".

At Narcissa's mirthful nod, Jane sighs and rubs at the bridge of her nose. "Sometimes I wonder if we'd have had less trouble if our husbands had kept up their caustic animosity… this bizarre alliance of theirs is creating such a series of headaches, isn't it?" she dramatically moans, before they both start ruefully laughing.

"No, no: I am glad they're getting along famously – or infamously, as the case may be," Narcissa assures her friend. "Don't worry, Jane, I know exactly which points to pressure to keep Lucius toeing the line."

"If only I could say the same! Barney does mean well, but his well-intentioned devilment seemingly cannot be contained. I do wish he'd not shaved off his beard, I miss it already," Jane pouts.

"I hope it shan't offend you if I say I much prefer Lucius as a blond wizard, too," Narcissa emphatically replies. She moves nearer, determined to mention an issue that has been bothering her since last night's dinner.

"Jane… do you think Hermione is well? Physically and emotionally, I mean. The last few days, I've noticed a few… interesting changes, in her appearance and behaviours." Narcissa crosses her fingers in the hope she hasn't overstepped.

Jane casually shrugs. "Oh, are you referring to her increased appetite, moodiness, exhaustion interspersed with manic spurts, and sudden smell sensitivity? I'm sure there's an entirely plausible explanation, Cissy." She drops her indifferent air along with her clipboard to grab both Narcissa's hands; they both dance an thrilled, spontaneous jig and whisper-shriek their glee.

"By Morgana – I didn't want to say anything to Hermione, she was terribly agitated last night, the poor darling – but Jane, can it possibly be anything else?!" Narcissa exults.

"I had exactly the same initial symptoms when I got pregnant with Hermione, Cissy – and just like her, I stubbornly refused to give them any credence, until my period was too late to ignore or attribute to exam stress. My daughter's a wonderfully smart cookie, but she's also as obstinate as a mule, you know." Jane's cocoa eyes mist as she looks across to where Hermione is clapping and cheering on a writhing and growling Macdolas, Draco's arm snugged around her waist.

"Hermione knows her own mind, certainly," Narcissa tactfully concurs. "Should we keep our suspicions to ourselves, Jane? There's a simple confirmation spell that can be performed, even at this early stage; but maybe it would be best for us to keep our own counsel, until we know she's ready to process it all."

"Yes, I agree, Cissy. In the Muggle world, most pregnancies are kept private until they've passed the first trimester, anyway… Hermione and Draco have only been together a couple of months, so they have quite a way to go before they reach that milestone, I would estimate," Jane says. "Now, I'm not upset about the very real possibility of having a grandchild – I'm absolutely ecstatic! – but I must admit I am puzzled as to how their contraception failed. Hermione's always been diligent and responsible to the point of obsessiveness, as far as I'm aware."

Narcissa purses her mouth, tapping her forefinger to her top lip.

"I have a theory as to that intriguing enigma, Jane… tell me, how much do you know about soul bonds?".

Tearing away his eyes from the highly entertaining game of 'Giants, Wizards, Elves' taking place in the largest cleared circle, Harry steers Hermione to the most secluded group of chairs along the tent's back wall. "Here, let me take your plate while you sit down."

"Thanks, Harry." Smoothing her cream satin high-waisted dress over her knees, Hermione expertly balances the snack plate before she nibbles at a chickpea and beetroot falafel, dipped in tahini sauce. "I'm dying to know what you want to tell me, so please – start talking," his old friend directs.

"Right. Um, do you want the long version, or the highlights?" Harry asks, mostly for form's sake. Hermione's always wanted every last detail – in triplicate. He smothers his grin as she utters an impatient huff.

"All of it, please."

"Molly Weasley visited Pansy's boutique last night…" Harry repeats everything Pansy told him of the horrid little encounter, the subsequent visit from Mayumi, and Harry's own headlong dash back to the salon to reassure and comfort his hurt and distressed girlfriend. He deliberately speaks in a monotone in an effort to mask his still-simmering ire.

He holds up his hand as Hermione's eyes dangerously flash and her mouth begins to open, the last few morsels of the falafel ball abandoned.

"Wait, please: I have to tell you what occurred this morning, when Pansy left to attend her therapy appointment…" Harry continues his retelling.

"… so I yanked Kreacher into the Floo and hustled us home before the situation deteriorated any further. I've rerun the conversation over and over again, since… I don't regret anything I said to Molly, Hermione. Not a single word – does that make me the worst kind of ingrate? I'm so mad at what she's done… and the potential damage she could have done, to both Pansy and our relationship. Aarrgh!" His attempt to savage his hair is thwarted by the black bandanna headscarf. Cripes, I'm even starting to sound like a pirate.

"Harry, I am freaking FURIOUS – what on earth made Molly think she had even the slightest right to interfere?! Gods, my fingers are itching to actually slap her…!" Hermione bolts upright; Harry bobbles the crumb-strewn plate before it can fall to the floor.

"It's alright, Hermione, I handled it, OK? Please, sit back down; your boyfriend's hitting me with some serious stink eye right now, and I'd rather not have to tell anyone else about this particular bit of nastiness, love." Harry pats her clenched fist until it relaxes. "Look, I wanted to share this with you for a couple of reasons: one, I'd appreciate it very much if you could please have a quiet word with Pansy, just to make sure she really is OK? I figured you'd be able to give her a different perspective on what Molly's like, and maybe provide her with a sympathetic ear."

"Of course I will! Pansy is a dear friend, and I'm so sorry she's had to deal with Molly's shit," Hermione's eyes fill with ireful tears. "I've got Pansy's back, she's my bestie, and I'd go to war for her… you sure you don't want me to go round to The Burrow tomorrow?" she zealously suggests.

No way in hell… although the ensuing Battle Royale would be worth selling tickets for. Harry prudently keeps that cheeky thought to himself.

"I'm positive – but thank you, I really appreciate your support. The second reason I wanted to talk this over with you is to ask you whether you think I'm overreacting, or being unnecessarily harsh? I'm afraid I've gone too far, with Molly… I love her very much, but she deliberately hurt Pansy, and almost cruelled our relationship."

Hermione is vigorously shaking her head in negation before he's finished his sentence. "Harry, I think you told her exactly what you needed to say, and I'm impressed with how well you said it, truly. Please don't worry for a second that you're being ungrateful, or unkind: Molly went too far, she really did. I love her too, but we both know she's flawed sometimes, just like the rest of us."

Gulping past his tightening throat, Harry softly continues, "I couldn't ever forgive her if I'd lost Pansy over this, Hermione. I– I told them – Molly and Arthur – that I intend to marry Pansy, and raise a family together – and I meant every word."

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione flings her arms around him, squeezing him in a tight, joyous hug. "I'm so happy for you! This is amazing– no, INCREDIBLE!" The rising pitch of her exhilarated voice attracts the attention of more than a few people, including a frowning Draco.

"Easy, love: let's just keep that between us for now, alright? I've never been surer of anything in my life, but I know it's too soon to tell Pansy. I want her to stay, not run for the hills," Harry smiles. "I don't wish to beat you and Draco to the altar, anyway."

Hermione pinkens. "We've not made any such proposals, or plans," she primly replies. "Don't get ahead of yourself there either, Harry."

"Pfft – if Narcissa and your mum weren't watching, I'd start a wager of my own, as to how long it'll take before you and Draco sashay down the aisle: and to be clear, Malfoy undoubtedly will be doing most of the 'sashaying'," Harry teases. "Don't bicker, you know I'm right. Here, let's just kick back for a bit and watch this crazy game, hey? Can you explain it to me, please?".

Hermione twists her lips in a wry grin, silently acknowledging Harry's peace-making gambit. "It's the energetic Wizardly version of 'Paper, Scissors, Rock', but with full body movements, see? Giants stand on tippy-toes, raise their arms, and growl 'Rawwwr!'. Wizards crouch a little, wave their fingers as if casting a spell, and yell 'Shaaaazaaam!'. Then Elves crouch very low, cup their hands around their ears, and squeal 'Eeeeeeee!'.'

"Giants beat Elves by squashing them, Elves beat Wizards by outsmarting them and chewing on their legs, and Wizards beat Giants by zapping them with magic spells. So the two teams are paired off on opposite lines and on the count of three, they have to act out their chosen character simultaneously, and whomever wins the battle has to try to catch the loser and bring them over to their side, until there is no one left in one of the teams. Look, Lucius just got captured by Wirey," Hermione sniggers.

"What a shame," drawls Harry. "Your dad won't last long, he keeps doggedly choosing 'Giant'."

"He wouldn't pick that character if he'd ever met Grawp," Hermione pithily observes. "Poor Neville – he's going to fall over if he tries being an Elf again," she points to the tall Gryffindor awkwardly stooping and wobbling in the line.

"It's alright, Hagrid's got him." Harry laughs along with Hermione as they witness Theo nimbly dodging Ruibby's deft little hands, until Macdolas covertly sticks out his foot to trip him.

"Hey, Hermione? I'm really glad you're so happy with Draco, you know. I never would have thought we'd be sitting in a marquee at Malfoy Manor, celebrating a beloved elf's birthday, and having a brilliant time of it, to boot; but I'm bloody delighted to be here, and I'm honoured to be included in your new life. Thanks, dear heart." Harry lightly kisses her temple, careful not to dislodge any of the shiny pearl thingies stuck in her hair.

"Thank you, Harry." Hermione sniffles for a few moments, waving away his proffered clean napkin as she drags another hankie out of the charmed little bag looped around her wrist.

Content to sit and watch from the sidelines a little longer, Harry adjusts his pirate eye-patch to focus on Pansy's lithe form as she animatedly performs the various gestures and sounds of the funny game.

I may not be able to tell her right now, but Pansy Mallory Parkinson is the absolute best thing about my present life… and everything I want in my future.

Aye, aye.

French translation:

ma chère épouse – my darling wife.