Disclaimer: The characters and places of the Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringements were intended and no money is being made from this story. All characters not associated with the Harry Potter series belong to me. The quote, "I lent voice to thought and therein lies my mistake," comes from the TV series The West Wing. Nona, the rocker with a nose ring, comes from the Bowling For Soup Song 'Girl All The Bad Guys Want.'
Author's Note: Once again, I am drawing on some themes presented in Philip Pullman's series His Dark Materials particularly The Subtle Knife. My deepest apologies for not having all of the correct diacritical marks on the lines in French. I just can seem to get my POC computer to do it right. If only Draco could speak German instead!
Chapter Seventeen
The Ring Bearer
"I may never find the sleep
I've lost all feeling in my hands and
Feet may touch the ground
But my mind's somewhere north of here…"
Caedmon's Call: 'Somewhere North'
She wanted to turn back. She'd seen enough to convince her that her father was implementing his most devious and evil plan yet. This would cost millions of lives, even more if she stayed silent. She had the most heartbreaking urge to run back the way she had come and free those poor children. They had no idea what was about to happen to them—a fate far worse than death. They would soon be a feast for the dementors and then he would have an army willing to fight for him until death.
Her feet urged her forward.
She saw them. She saw it happen. One small blond girl, shaking like a leaf in a bitter cold wind, was pulled from the cage and escorted by one brutish-looking man with an unfeeling scowl.
She opened her mouth to cry out. She looked to her father who wore a satisfied grin. She had trained herself to remain silent. It would be her fault if this army caught everyone by surprise. She would have let it happen.
One tall, gray shrouded figure with ghastly pale rotting skin reached out for the girl who recoiled at the sight. Grabbing her by the hair, it removed the hood that had until now mercilessly kept its revolting head unseen.
Helpless, the little girl struggled against his grasp, a steel grasp.
She felt a wave of cold and revulsion pull her down and felt a searing pain as her forehead connected with the ancient stone of the dungeon floor.
Lucy cried out and threw a hand over her mouth, regretting to wake anyone.
The lighted Christmas tree in the corner of the front room afforded all of the early morning light. She could see that she was alone on the sofa. Everyone else must still be asleep, she thought thankfully.
***
Lucy was still asleep when Harry heard movement in the kitchen. He knew it was Sirius. He got up from the sofa as gently as possible, careful not to wake her and moved toward the kitchen where light was visible under the door. He needed some questions answered and Sirius would be the one with the answers.
Hearing the kitchen door open behind him, Sirius turned from the stove to see Harry standing there expectantly. He was still in the clothes he'd worn out last night.
"Are you just now coming in?" Sirius asked, picking the gray kitten up from the floor and setting it on the table with a saucer of milk.
"No. I was home by eleven. How did everything go at the office? Anything wrong?" Not waiting for Sirius to answer, he added, "Not that you would tell me if there was."
Sirius frowned, looking at him discerningly for a few seconds. "What's really bothering you, Harry? I know you don't care what it is I do at the office."
"Only as it concerns Lucy. You know how it is that she came to be unconscious at the edge of the forest when I found her and you're not telling me. No one will." Harry favored Sirius with a stern and unmoving glare.
"Didn't she tell you?"
"No," Harry replied evenly. "It was her father again, wasn't it?"
Sirius exhaled in an exhausted manner. "Sit down, Harry," he said, taking a seat himself.
Harry did as he was told and stared expectantly, waiting for Sirius to begin.
"Did she explain to you what happened that night in Ravenclaw's castle?"
Harry nodded. "She said that Mrs. Figg and her team found her and thought she was Elena. They arrested her. But when they found out that she was Lucy they cut her a deal."
Sirius nodded. "She's been working for Arabella. I only knew her as Imogen, one of her spies. She asked Imogen to spy on Lucius Malfoy, knowing what experiences she'd had previously. Lucy had made it her life's work to inform on her father."
"Why didn't you stop her? Did Arabella know that he's tried to kill her at least twice before this?" Harry asked. There was a palpable edge to his voice.
Sirius shook his head mournfully. "I wish I had known Arabella's true intentions for her before all of this had happened."
"So, the two of them were planning this behind your back, Corbin's back?" Harry asked evenly.
"I think if either of us had taken a harder look at the situation, we would have figured it out. Sadly, neither of us did."
"She easily could have died," Harry said angrily. "And for what? What did you all think you could get out of him?"
"Peter had mentioned a few of Lucius' pet projects. If we could find out what he was planning exactly, Corbin and I think Arabella might have used it in a bargain for Peter's life."
"And you cared more about saving Peter, a man who deserved what he got, than about a girl who almost died. She didn't do anything wrong. She only killed two people to save herself and the rest of us. If they send her to prison, then I should go to. I've killed someone too…Or is this just because she's a Malfoy?"
Sirius sighed. He knew this conversation would come eventually. And he knew that Harry would number him among the guilty along with Arabella. He was guilty. He let this happen. But he couldn't make Harry understand what he didn't want to understand. "I'm not sure of Arabella's reasoning. She isn't well enough to explain it herself. Peter's death has left her shocked, in a state of suspended reality. The doctors don't know if she will ever talk again."
"Well, there's an easy way out," Harry spat.
"I understand your anger, Harry. I was angry as well. I admit that I should have figured this out. I could have stopped it sooner. But who's to say that she wouldn't have gone after her father to begin with, without Arabella's invitation?"
Harry sat there in silence for a moment. "Where will she go after this?"
Sirius shrugged. He was relieved that Harry didn't blame him further. "She'll finish out the term at Hogwarts. She won't be placed back in her father's care, if that's what worries you. Her grandmother…" Sirius paused for a moment. Harry noted the expression of regret and pain that crossed his face only momentarily. "Her grandmother was killed not long ago. She would have gone back to France to live with her."
"You knew her, didn't you?" Harry asked. "Like you knew her mother."
"They were both very exceptional people," Sirius said. "As is Lucy. I guess, if her father hasn't been apprehended or her brother found by the end of the term, I will be appointed her temporary guardian. She has no other family."
"Malfoy's missing?" Harry asked, perplexed.
"Draco? Yes, he is. He disappeared a day or two before Lucy was attacked. Ginny was one of the last to see him. He left her a letter, vaguely explaining why he had to go. We assume it has something to do with his father."
Harry thought about this for a moment. "Draco hates his father. He wanted to kill him the night Lucy died."
"He doesn't hate his father anymore than I hate him," Imogen said, standing at the kitchen door in her nightdress.
"Do you have any idea where he might have gone?" Sirius asked her as she came to sit next to Harry.
Imogen shrugged. "I don't know. But I'm not worried about him. My father would never hurt him. He'll come back." She looked at the kitten and smiled. "Who is this?" she asked.
"Oh," Harry said, with a certain disappointment. "She was meant to be a surprise. Happy Christmas."
Imogen blinked, shocked. "For me? Oh, how wonderful. What is her name?" she asked, reaching a tentative hand across the table to stoke the small gray kitten with a finger.
"I don't know. What do you want to call her?" Harry asked.
"I've always been told that I'm crap at naming things," she frowned.
"By who?" Sirius asked, laughing.
"Draco. He said that Master Shakespeare was a poncy name for a horse. That's my horse, by the way, Master Shakespeare," Imogen explained.
"Malfoy's a—," Harry began, but was interrupted hastily by Sirius.
"Why don't you think on it. I'm sure she won't mind going nameless for a little while longer."
"Did you have her all shut up inside of that bag yesterday, Harry? Is that what was wiggling and trying to get out?" Imogen asked, leveling a shocked glare at Harry.
"She liked it," Harry lied.
"You poor thing," she said to the kitten, picking it up and following Harry and Sirius into the front room to open presents.
***
He only planned to stay in Paris for a few days.
It was probably the last time he would feel this at home wherever he was. He would never be able to return here…and he could deal with that. But there was one thing that he could not deal with leaving behind—no matter how much pain it had caused him. It was the painting that hung in his room at his grandmother's city home. It was the painting of him and his sister at ages seven and three. He had never been particularly fond of it. Lucy had always liked it. It was why he felt he might miss it if he left it there.
He planned on leaving tonight. He hadn't decided where yet.
It was Christmas in Paris. Draco felt the snow and the charming avenues of the city calling him, telling him to leave his depression aside for just one moment longer. He missed his mother and his sister, but he could do that and walk at the same time.
Throwing on a coat, Draco pushed the front door open and walked out onto the busy rue du Grand Cours. Having no particular destination in mind, Draco wandered aimlessly for hours, numb to the cold, numb to feeling. His thoughts wandered with him and took him to a place he didn't expect to see again. It was the coffee shop that he had first run into Ginny. He remembered clearly her hurried apology when she had spilled her coffee all over him, quickly rescinding that apology once she had recognized him.
If anyone were to have told him in that instant that she was the one girl that he would end up loving forever, he would have laughed in their face. But it was true.
He briefly wondered if it had worked, if Ginny hated him for leaving her alone…for the last time. He wondered if he had the will left to do anything, so much of it had been spent just to convince himself that this was the only way to keep her from harm. It would have been so much easier to promise her forever and to stay with her, the way he wanted to.
With a quick resolve, he pushed the regret aside and moved on, avoiding the park across the street and a slew of other fond memories that would rent his already abused soul to pieces.
Somewhere in the distance, across the icy river, he heard the church bells from the cathedral.
Without thinking, he turned and headed in that direction.
On the steps he met a pathetic wretch in rags, presenting a charity case for those who made their way inside the sanctuary.
Draco dropped him a few bills without looking down.
Grabbing the money and also Draco's hand, the homeless man called his attention down to him. Draco felt a slight indignation arise in him.
"Merci," the beggar said, shaking his hand.
Draco was speechless for a moment and then replied, "De rien," still staring, struck by the unguarded connection.
"Joyeux Noel, monsieur," the man smiled.
Draco blinked and then took refuge inside the dark and lofty, yet confining space. The place was packed with people. Worshippers milled about as the heavenly sound of children's voices, like angels in their purest form, sang 'Oh Come All Ye Faithful' in Latin.
Draco kept to the outer aisles, leaving the middle of the sanctuary for those who'd come to worship. He was there to hide.
On the edges of his memory, he could barely make out the last remembrance he'd had of being inside of a church. It was Lucy's christening. He was three years old. He couldn't remember much other than the white dress she wore. He couldn't have said what his mother or father was wearing, or what the priest said. But he could remember the great cloud of unease that surrounded the ceremony. He could tell his father's displeasure in the very way he stood. His mother had been just the opposite.
And like an indulgent but none too pleased parent, his father had consented. Like a vile, homeless animal, Lucy had been treated from almost her birth as unwanted. His mother had gotten her way, she could keep the child. But he wouldn't pretend that she was a blessing. He had never treated her as he did his son. And Draco wouldn't understand that for a long time.
"Good day to you my son and a prosperous New Year," a clergyman of unknown status came up to Draco as he quietly studied the stained glass.
Draco looked on him, expressionless. He didn't care for kindness of any sort today, not even the unsolicited kind—especially the unsolicited kind.
"Pere, you are wasting your time. I merely appreciate the architecture," Draco said simply.
"It is merely man's feeble attempt to describe His greatness," the priest insisted.
Draco looked from the window, the Virgin and the child Christ, to the old man. "Ah, yeah. Great guy, God"
"You have reason to doubt His greatness, my child. Everyone does. That is what faith is for," the old man counseled.
Draco turned to give him his full attention. "Are you telling me that I should have faith in a God who tortures the innocent, glorifies the wicked and can turn and spin it all around to feed his flocks on Sundays?" Draco asked, gesturing with a sweeping hand at the masses of people filing through the church behind him. "I've seen His infinite mercy. He let my sister die cold and alone, bleeding to death in some strange impersonal stone cell while my father still lives, the man who's made her life a hell and her death an injustice. Keep your doctrine, Pere, and feed it to the gullible. I'll buy none of it today."
"Faith is believing beyond all of that. He is not deaf and he knows your pain, my child," the old man said in a tone that suggested wisdom thousands of years old.
Draco brushed past the priest and out of the doors, down the south entrance steps to the moss covered banks of the river.
He thought it vaguely cliché to want to throw himself into the churning river. Here of all spots, he wanted to end it all. How many people have read Les Miserables and thought that it might not be an unpleasant way to end it all.
It was his promise to Lucy, never to try it again, that stayed him.
Distracted for a moment he pulled the chain and silver fleur-de-lis that Lucy had worn until her death from his underneath his shirt. He stared at it for a long time wondering if he had ever felt this acutely alone. He hadn't guessed he ever had.
Instead he settled for leaving. He wrapped his coat around him, pulling a half-empty bottle of scotch from one pocket and headed back to the house and then, wherever his feet would carry him after that.
***
Despite his appeals to Harry to be gracious when Arabella arrived with Mae Lupin. Sirius feared that Arabella had lost his trust forever. It did seem as though she went out of her way to make Lucy's internment as her spy less than pleasant. He understood how it must seem for Harry. Arabella was the reason that he found Imogen coughing up blood and nearly unconscious just a few short weeks ago. He didn't expect forgiveness on Harry's part, just a bit of understanding for someone who was suffering as much as Arabella was at the moment.
She sat in silence throughout the meal, never letting go of Mae's hand. For Mae's part, she looked as though she enjoyed being needed again. Sirius suspected that it was hard for her around Christmas with Remus so recently gone, only two years dead this coming June. She missed her son probably more than Sirius could comprehend.
"Harry, it's time you got ready. The wedding party will want to be meeting early," Sirius instructed.
Arabella had been invited as a friend of Arthur's and Mae had been close friends with Molly and so had decided since they were already celebrating Christmas at Sirius' house that they would all go together.
Harry got up without a word and left as he was told.
Sirius and the two women retreated to the front room while Imogen insisted that she could clear the dishes herself.
"Still nothing out of her?" Sirius asked Mae as she fussed over Arabella.
"Not a sound. She cries sometimes at night. And how are you doing, dear?" Mae asked, her old eyes discerning Sirius' anxiety. He could hide easily from others, but his mother and Remus' had always been different.
"I'm fine, worried for her," Sirius admitted.
"Nonsense. She will do just fine. You've lost a friend too Sirius. It's all right to grieve."
"I wish I had the time to," Sirius countered. "With Remus, it happened so fast and then there was Harry to worry about. I was in prison when it was James that had died. I didn't even get to attend the funeral. Peter…I still don't know what to make of it. I have pushed him out of the pleasant memories for so long it's hard to remember exactly what he meant to me." He stopped and looked at Arabella. "To us all," he added mournfully.
"You were as thick as thieves, the four of you were," Mae said with a fond smile. "It's tough. You're the only one left now. Don't do the memories an injustice by letting them go. It's okay to remember the good times as well as the bad." She removed a case that she had brought in with her that morning. Handing it tentatively to Sirius she explained, "It was Remus' father's. Did he ever tell you that his father played?"
The shape of the case gave it away. Sirius shook his head. "I can't accept this, Mae. I don't play anymore."
"Nonsense. You play very well. I heard you at my son's funeral. And then you went and did a fool thing like throw your instrument in his grave."
Sirius' eyes grazed over the case. His fingers went to the locks which made a loud click. "I gave it to him. He always said he lacked the talent," Sirius said, remembering the many practices Remus had listened in on.
"No. He said that he would rather appreciate your talent. Remus didn't get to do a lot of things he would have liked to. Playing was one of them. I want you to have this. Remus would have wanted you to have it." Mae looked on Sirius with a firm, but motherly determination. "I've had it tuned and everything. It only waits for you to play it."
"There were only three people that would hear me play," Sirius said, lifting the blood red violin from its case. It smelled of rosin and ancient wood. It must have been in the Lupin family for ages. "My mother who is dead, my friend who is dead, the love of my life who is dead."
A voice broke him from his mournful reverie. "They still hear you, though." It was Imogen, Lucy standing in the doorway of the kitchen. It would have been something that Dale would have said.
Tentatively, nervously, Sirius put the bow to the strings.
Imogen listened from the doorway with a smile. She had been so wrapped up in his playing, remembering the stories her mother used to tell her about the boy at school with the genius for the violin. She hadn't exaggerated. The instrument seemed almost an extension of himself. It sang with his touch. It was mournful, the tunes he played, but it was the memory of his lost friends and it lived on.
"Help me, Lucy," Harry asked from behind her, bringing her out of her thoughts. She turned to see that he had made a mess of his bow tie. She laughed while she straightened it. Harry's hand moved around her waist as she reached up and fixed his hair as well.
"It's Imogen, by the way. I can't tell everyone just yet," she whispered, careful not to interrupt Mae's concert.
"Okay, Imogen," he said.
"Does that bother you?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.
"No. I don't want you to have to hide anymore. But I know why you have to," Harry answered.
"I love you, Harry," she said, leaning forward to kiss him.
"I love you too," he replied.
"Go, or you'll be late," she said finally, handing him his coat.
"See you there," he said, taking it and moving toward the door.
Imogen waved as he left and then turned her attention back to the violin.
***
"Five minutes." Sirius' warning came before she'd seen him pass by her door. A smile crossed her face as she saw him pass, note her briefly and then continue on down the hall. Moments later he reappeared, stunned, mouth gaping.
"Wow. That dress is…You look radiant," Sirius said. His lack of eloquence was flattering in a way she was sure Lucy had never felt before, especially after her accident. It was a rare moment when her reflection in the mirror was without fault. Tonight she felt as if those compliments were hers to own…and she did own them.
She gave herself one last appraising glance in the mirror. It was as Anni had said…a fabulous color on Imogen, a deep red that made her dark features and black hair all the more dramatic. "Lucy never would have been able to pull this color off," she admitted with a smile.
Sirius smiled. "I have something for you down stairs," he said, holding the door for her.
She glanced at him curiously as she passed out of the room, trying to discern what his angle might be. "We've already had presents," she said as she descended.
"It's not a Christmas present."
In the front room where Mae and Arabella waited for them, Sirius handed her a large and squishy package. She didn't know what to make of it.
"Open it," Sirius urged.
She did. It was a cloak in the deepest shade of red. She was awestruck at the beauty of the garment for just a moment, before… "You had a peek at my dress, didn't you?"
"Just a little. I needed to know the color," Sirius admitted. "I thought you might need a new one. You can't very well wear that torn one."
"Thank you. It's lovely," Imogen smiled as Mae helped her into it.
The ceremony would be starting in half an hour. Imogen was curious to meet the infamous relatives of Anni and Harry's and was eager to meet up with Ginny again. They had a lot of discussion to cover. She prayed as they Apparated to London that she would find the time and a quiet space at the reception to tell Ginny her thoughts about her father and his scheme.
***
"Are you ever going to tell me what happened?" Ron asked, sitting beside Ginny and eyeing her suspiciously.
"Even if I remembered anything, what makes you think I'd tell you?" Ginny asked evenly with a shrug of her shoulders.
"Oh, you can't tell me? Who can you tell? Malfoy? Your new best friend, Lucy?" Ron continued, visibly harassed.
She eyed him patiently. "Ron, don't start. And don't say her name out loud. Her father's still looking for her, you know." She watched him seethe next to her. "You need not worry about Draco, he's nothing to do with me anymore. I doubt we'll be seeing him anytime in the future. But I thought you liked Lucy?"
"I do, I guess," Ron ventured. "I just don't trust her that much. I mean, disguising yourself for all that time. It's not right. Harry was upset by her death, you were. Does her brother even know?"
"She had her reasons, Ron. And no, Draco doesn't know."
Ron favored her with a discerning frown. "You sure you don't remember anything?"
Ginny sighed and restrained herself from doing him physical harm. "I'll go see if Anni needs any help." Ginny got up without another word.
Harry showed up in that instant. Ginny was relieved that he was there, if only to serve as a distraction for her brother and his conspiracy theories.
"Wow, Gin. That dress is nice," he said simply, favoring her with an appreciative smile.
She smiled back faintly and offered a humble, "Thanks." Wouldn't they love to know that it was a gift from Draco when he'd invited her to the opera over the summer? She disappeared into the adjoining room where Anni's maid of honor, a black-spiked rocker chick with a diamond stud in her nose was chain-smoking nervously under Hermione's disapproving glare.
"Ginny," Anni said distractedly. "You've met Nona, haven't you?"
Ginny smiled at the girl in black and offered a small, "Nice to meet you." She stared in wonder and thought it odd that the three girls in front of her had all attended the same primary school. She never thought she would have to fit Anni into the comparison as the "somewhere in the middle" to Hermione's and Nona's extremes.
"Ginny, wow. That dress is amazing," Hermione said with a bright and admiring smile, surveying the expensive cut of the deep green dress she wore.
"Yours is very nice too," Ginny returned the compliment, remembering that Hermione could clean up very nicely. It faintly reminded her of the Yule Ball in her third year. Hermione was in nearly the same color as those dress robes she had worn, her hair in the same neat knot.
Ginny turned to Anni in an apologetic tone and said, "I hope the color is fine. I didn't have much time to shop."
Anni appraised her for a moment and then laughed. "Just as long as you don't wear white, I couldn't care less." She turned to Nona and added, "Honestly, I should be the one chain-smocking here. You're making me nervous, Nona. Put those out."
"Five minutes," Anni's mother, Marianne, announced at the door.
Anni nodded. She turned around when her mother left the room and expertly stuck her tongue ring back in.
"You're honestly going to wear that today?" Hermione asked, surprised.
Anni smiled. "Watch the Dursleys when you pass." She offered with a wink.
Hermione smiled slightly. It seemed a good enough answer for her.
Anni tripped only once on the way to the altar. Ginny wasn't sure whether it were on purpose or a genuine accident, both were likely with Anni. As she passed her uncle, she stuck her tongue out—a sort of F-You to his anti-freak stance. Her father nudged her on after Vernon turned visibly purple. Ginny could hear Mrs. Bennett scoff indignantly from somewhere near the front.
It was a good thing, Ginny thought, that she was paying attention to her daughter as she made a scene down the aisle and didn't notice her future son-in-law and his brother making shadow puppets on the priests robes and the altar. She was sure Petunia Dursley had caught that though.
She walked with Ron, who wouldn't look at her, apparently mad at her for something or another. As Fred was officiating as best man, he walked with Nona the chimney, who, mercilessly, had left off smoking for chewing gum.
Harry and Hermione in front of her and Gabriel as ring bearer and a pretty little flower girl from Anni's side of the family rounded off the small wedding party that would have been larger had George managed to convince Bill and Charlie to be in it. They refused to wear bow ties.
Ginny made a small wave in Imogen and Sirius' direction and was forced to shove a bony elbow in Ron's ribs as he made an irritated noise.
Thankfully, George was distracted enough by Anni's presence at the altar that he left off the childishness long enough to take her hand.
There was an indignant and proud scoff from the bride's side of the family as Anni made a face when the priest said her full name, "Annabelle Marjorie Bennett."
Ginny smiled. She'd heard stories about Aunt Marge, but didn't think it appropriate to crane her neck around in order to put a face to the name. She fought curiosity throughout the ceremony, convinced that she would finally get a peek at the famed old crone at the reception.
***
"An Animagus, huh?" Imogen smiled with an approving air. Her smile widened as an amusing question came to mind. "So, have you ever had the urge to lick yourself, or drink from the toilet?" She laughed as Sirius made a face. He was a very graceful dancer and she wondered vaguely where he had picked it up.
"Once when I was very drunk. I don't remember it, but James swore to me the next day that I had drank from the toilet." He smiled wryly. "But I don't think I was in Animagus form when that happened."
Imogen pulled a face and made to stalk off the dance floor. "Where is Jill? I think she has the right to know what sort of a hound she's getting mixed up with."
"You tell her and you die, Spencer," he threatened.
She saw Harry approaching. He had been busy with Ron and Hermione and hadn't much paid any mind to her. She had taken it personally at first, but realized that she would have to get used to the fact that she had two best friends to compete with for his attention, and they had tenure. Not to mention the occasional swarm of fans that accosted him in public every so often.
He came to stand behind Sirius and cleared his throat for attention. "May I dance with my date?"
Sirius seemed reluctant at first to give up such a splendid partner, but conceded in the end.
He crossed the dance floor and then turned, giving Imogen a charming wink and disappearing off of the floor with Jill.
"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten what I looked like," Imogen said, pretending to be put out. She noticed Harry blush slightly.
"No," He admitted. "I'd notice you anywhere. You're…you…" Harry struggled for words.
Imogen beamed. "I'm never taking off this dress. Honestly, Lucy never had this much fun."
Harry's expression fell.
Imogen's followed. "Is something bothering you, Harry?" she asked, pressing a warm hand to his cheek.
"I'm sorry…" he began, still unable to put into words what he wanted to say.
"Sorry for what?" she asked. She was growing frightened. He had acted this way right before he'd told her that he couldn't love her. He'd left her alone and brokenhearted and she never wanted to feel that way again. "For God's sake, Harry just say it," she begged with wide eyes.
"I'm sorry I hurt you," he said finally. "I did love you. I just couldn't admit to it then. I was afraid that I was letting Lucy down. I know it doesn't make any sense," he explained.
She shook her head. "Harry, I understand. I know why you did it. It still hurt, but it was justified."
"I never want to be a cause of pain for you," Harry said, searching her eyes for a reaction.
She just smiled and kissed him, throwing her arms around his neck. "I have something for you," she said. Behind him she moved her hand over her left wrist and removed the bracelet, her implement of spying. She had drained it of its contents—a symbol of her commitment to giving up her old life.
She handed it to him.
Harry took it and stared.
"I'll tell everyone tomorrow. I don't know if that means I'll get in trouble, or if charges will be brought against me." She shrugged, looking doubtful. "I mean, I did kill two people. But I'm leaving off my disguise. I'm not going to hide any more. I'll be who you want me to be."
He stared at her speechless. "I want you to be you…whoever that is. If it means that you won't be forgiven, that the Ministry will hunt you, don't do it. I don't want you to—," Harry began nervously.
"I can't be someone else forever, Harry. I may be dishonest, spying, cheating, murdering Imogen, but I'm more Lucy…and a Malfoy. The truth is…I'm tired of hiding. I want to be called by my name. I want to hear you say it."
Harry was unsure how to react. A faint smile passed over his face and she took this to mean that he agreed.
She smiled a relieved smile and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.
"I love you, Lucy," he whispered.
"And I you, Harry," she said.
***
"Hermione, stop fussing for just one second!" Ron said, vying for her attention as she kept sentinel, eyeing the Dursleys, prepared to stave off any disaster.
It was warm. Wards had been placed around the garden of the Burrow. Everything was in an enchanted, Springtime bloom. Arthur had really gone out of his way to make this special.
"I have something I want to tell you," Ron said in a pleading tone.
Hermione, looking around for Ginny, making sure that she was having a pleasant time, turned momentarily to appease Ron.
"So, tell me then," she said.
"Not here. Can we go somewhere else?"
"You want to skip the party? Ron, that's not very polite," she admonished.
"So, it's my brother. Who cares?"
Satisfied at seeing Ginny conversing with a French girl named Sophie that she vaguely remembered being introduced to as Bill's date, Hermione nodded and left with Ron.
Ron had already gotten her cloak and his and led her out of the wards where the snow was falling in a magnificent cloud of white and silver in the late evening.
Hermione shivered at the considerable change in temperature and pulled her cloak around her. "What was so important that you dragged me away from the party where it was warm?" she said in a hassled tone.
"This," Ron said, pulling her toward him and kissing her. He pulled his cloak around the two of them as the snow fell in glimmering drifts all around.
She pulled away and stared at him, expressionless. "You dragged me out here to make out?"
"No," Ron said simply, keeping her declining mood in check. "I wanted to tell you that all of my life I never expected to be this happy. George is lucky. I couldn't help but think, the whole time I was standing there and watching them, seeing how happy the two of them were, that he would never be as happy as you have made me."
Hermione had not been expecting this. She went a few shades redder than her cheeks had already been from the cold. She placed a hand over her mouth as she broke into a wide grin. There were tears in her eyes.
"You've made me happy too, Ron. I hope you know how much," she said after a moment.
He nodded. "I know a lot can happen between now and then, but when school's over I want to marry you." He stared at her for a long moment. She seemed shocked, speechless. And then a small squeal emanated from behind her gloved hand. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight.
"Yes, Ron. I'll marry you," she said, pecking his cheek, forehead and lips wildly.
"Hermione, you're hurting me," Ron laughed. She was squeezing him so tight that his airflow was being threatened.
"I love you, Ron," Hermione said, relenting just slightly.
"Hermione, I love you more than life itself," Ron replied, burying his face in the lengths of her cloak that bunched at her shoulder.
Reluctantly, both agreed to head back to the party before Mrs. Weasley began to miss them. She hadn't fully come out of her state of worry since Ginny had come back. Ron guessed that she probably never would until Ginny could explain where she had been.
They also agreed not to tell anyone about their engagement until about a week after the wedding. It really was George and Anni's day. They wouldn't have been justified in stealing it away from them.
But they had to tell Harry. It would be unforgivable not to give him a heads up.
***
There was a large woman at the edge of the crowd, glaring at her and Harry. A dog sat at her heels, looking just as horrid as she did. She was sipping Champaign disdainfully.
Harry hadn't noticed her.
Squeezing her arm slightly, Harry left her and headed off in the opposite direction, after Ginny. Imogen looked after him and noted sadly that Ginny didn't look well. Apart from being sick, coming down with what might turn out to be a nasty cold, Ginny was also standing off on her own at the moment, staring at a tree and draining a Champaign glass of its contents.
After Harry had left, she turned her attention back to the glaring woman. It was time she introduced herself to Aunt Marge anyway. She made a straight line toward the large woman, eyeing her with a less than kindly stare.
Imogen passed a waiter on the way over and deftly snatched a glass from his tray, draining it. Her eyes never left Marge's. She threw the finished glass over her shoulder as the distance between her adversary and herself diminished.
"Marge is it?" she asked with an elegant raise of her eyebrows. To her displeasure, if any one had been paying attention to the two, they would have noticed that she resembled her father very much in that moment.
"Yes, it is, young person," she said, blinking in a displeased manner.
"Did you know that it is rude to stare?"
"Rude? You presumptuous little beast. You're one of Annabelle's disgusting urchin associates, aren't you? No respect for your elders, absolutely none," Marge raged.
An evil grin broke across Imogen's face. "No. I am not a friend of Anni's." She waited a moment, letting the full weight of her words break across Marge's understanding.
"So," Marge said with a serpent-like air. "You're one of them. That society of layabout dillusionists who call yourselves magical." She eyed Imogen appraisingly.
Imogen, for her part, held her ground, staring and listening, unmoving.
"No good. The lot of you are no good. Vernon told me about you. I must confess that I didn't believe him. You're all an evil race. I should have known that boy was no good. And to go associating with you people. It's the worst kind of disgrace. Poor Petunia, what she suffers on account of associations like that! No good, useless, freaks! His parents were the same way."
Imogen listened politely. It was rude to interrupt—under any circumstances. Casually she lifted the hem of her dress. She knew it was very undercover-like to have your wand strapped to your leg. But really, in a dress, where else could you put it? She removed it calmly and leveled it at the woman who raged on in front of her.
As she stopped, she stared down the wand, at the child who held it level between her eyes.
"I may look very young and inexperienced to you. I'm not. Please heed me when I say that if you ever speak ill of Harry's parents again, I will use whatever means necessary to make you sorry." Imogen stopped and eyed the dog at her feet. Slowly her eyes moved back to rest on Marge. "Do you care to test my knowledge of curses? Perhaps hexes? I know five different ways to render your vital organs the consistency of ash." Her eyes flashed with the intent to back her talk up.
Marge scoffed at her, visibly ruffled, but determined to leave with the upper hand on this child.
"Doubt me, do you?" She leveled the wand at the small and ugly dog at the woman's feet. "Perhaps a demonstration, then."
Marge let out an indignant howl, scooped her dog into her arms and turned to beat a hasty retreat.
Imogen smiled and called after her, "It's rude to turn your back to someone. It shows poor breeding."
Marge made no attempt at a last challenge. She didn't even look back.
With a satisfied grin and under the stare of several guests, Imogen replaced her wand and walked away in the opposite direction.
***
"Are you all right?" Harry asked tentatively, coming to stand behind Ginny.
"I will be when people stop asking that," she said with a smile, turning to face him. He noticed with a little unease that there were tears in her eyes. "Honestly, do I look like I'm about to fall apart?"
Harry looked at his feet, unwilling to answer.
Ginny glared. "Don't answer that."
"Is there anything I can do?" Harry asked sympathetically.
"Alcohol is working better at the moment," Ginny said with a wide grin. "Besides, I think you might have a disaster to stave off, Harry Potter."
Harry looked at her quizzically.
Ginny merely pointed past him with her half empty Champaign glass.
Harry turned and with much alarm saw what Ginny was smiling about. Imogen had Marge staring down the end of a wand.
"Oh, God!" he said, racing off in the opposite direction.
Ginny couldn't help laughing at them. Everything just seemed infinitely more hilarious to her tonight. She drained the glass and threw it against the trunk of her companion tree. Weaving a little, she watched the scene break apart in disappointment. Marge went in one direction and Harry and Imogen in another. She was sad that Imogen hadn't hexed the old bat. It was getting pretty dull around here.
She settled instead on the amusement of the small ring bearer who was the target of a well organized chase mounted by the flower girl who was hell bent on a kiss.
Imogen broke off from Harry as he was stayed by Ron and Hermione claiming there was important news that he needed to hear.
She was concerned with Ginny and in need of her exclusive conversation.
Grabbing up her new cloak, she headed toward the edge of the garden where Ginny had just assaulted a pine tree with a Champaign flute.
"We need to talk," Imogen said.
"I'm through talking," Ginny said with a smile, refusing to give her attention from the two children racing through the dace floor full of people to Imogen.
"Are you drunk?" she asked.
"Maybe. No. I don't think so," Ginny said, her answer becoming firmer.
"Grab your cloak. We need to talk."
Ginny hesitated for a moment. A new song had just begun. Fly Me To The Moon. Ginny frowned and threw her cloak around her shoulders and scoffed at the band, wishing she had something to throw. With a new resolve, she took Imogen's arm and headed out of the wards and into the small wood beyond that.
"What's bothering you?" Imogen asked when they were at a safe range to begin talking.
"Nothing…everything," Ginny began. "I think I'm going crazy. I'm having the weirdest dreams and then I can't remember anything when I wake up. I lost a whole day, Lucy. And then I end up in your pajamas unconscious in my garden."
"I think it might have had something to do with my father," Imogen admitted. She gave Ginny a tentative stare.
Ginny blinked. "See, I lent voice to reason and therein lies my mistake. How could it have had anything to do with your father?"
"When I went to spy on him…" she shook her head, desperately trying to clear it. Her heart was beating rapidly. This had been her secret, her torment for more than a week now. And she was about to expose someone else to it. She was fast doubting Ginny's capabilities to handle it. "He's creating an army for Eowyn." She stopped and looked at Ginny.
"Yes, I already know that," Ginny said. "Old news."
"He's been using children," Imogen continued.
"Oh God!" Ginny said, thoroughly and properly horrified at this new bit.
"It's a sort of soulless army of children. Powerful. They don't have a will of their own. Ginny, he used dementors on them. I saw it."
"I saw them too. In my dreams. It was a little blond girl, hacking at a Gryffindor knight. It was terrifying. How do we stop it?" Ginny asked. She was stronger than Imogen had taken her for. Though she was physically and mentally worn out, her reserves of strength and unfathomable comprehension of things that Imogen had only a few days before struggled at comprehending was amazing.
Imogen bit her lip. "I was hoping that you had visited Mungo. I was thinking that maybe he had an idea."
Ginny shook her head. "Maybe he did. I wouldn't know. He and Faramir were too busy playing James Bond and blowing your cover. I didn't get a chance to find out."
"Great," Imogen said, defeated.
"I'm sorry. I wish I knew. But, Imogen, isn't this sort of their thing? Should we even get involved?" Ginny asked.
"It's not theirs entirely. My father is back there instigating something. If he implements some of our modern magic…" she shook her head gravely. "It could alter time completely. Maybe that's what he's trying to do. Besides, they're our friends, aren't they?"
Ginny nodded. "You're right. How could we help?"
Imogen thought. "I don't know. It's freezing out here, though. Let's think it over in the morning."
Ginny nodded her agreement. They headed back to the party to find it in a chaos. Most of the guests had left. The Weasleys stood back in a solemn line with Hermione and Harry who watched on in shock as Sirius tried to calm an irate and frantic Jill.
"I just turned for a second." She was wailing hysterically.
"No!" Ginny said, racing into the scene. Bill immediately took her hand as if to assure himself that he would know where she was at all times. She didn't resent this, she was in too much of a daze to register it.
Imogen went pale and knew immediately what had happened.
She expertly slipped away from the charged scene. They wouldn't find him there. Only she could get to him.
She moved onto the garden path and entered the Burrow at the front entrance, undetected.
She silently climbed the stairs and entered the door on the first landing, Ginny's room.
Without a word, steeling up as much resolve and courage as she could, she removed her Time-Turner with a trembling hand. On the chain next to it was a small silk sack. It contained one last Polyjuice Pill. This was going to be dangerous. If it didn't work, she would very well never see this place again. But then, neither would Gabriel. That was the thought that spurred her into action.
***
The solemn party moved into the house where Mrs. Weasley put on some tea. They had arranged themselves around the kitchen table and somehow made it accommodate their numbers.
Jill was still frantic. She wasn't speaking anymore, just shaking her head and rocking back and forth.
Arthur went straight to the Ministry.
Sirius went to see Dumbledore and then to see what Corbin could find for them.
Among the crowd in the kitchen were two people very unfamiliar to Ginny. She hadn't noticed them before. A blond woman and a man desperately trying to maintain control of his senses. They looked almost as worried as Jill.
Molly went to them first with tea and said, "They'll likely turn up. They must have gotten out of the wards somehow."
The woman nodded vigorously, vainly clinging on to this simple hope. They must have been the parents of the flower girl. She must have gone missing along with Gabriel.
Ginny was lost in thought and jumped slightly as she heard Harry's voice behind her. "Ginny, weren't you just with Imogen?"
She blinked and then turned to face him. They both scanned the room. She wasn't there.
