Chapter 9

"How's the sunburn?" Wolfe asked, while he and Harry strolled towards the location of the reception. Up until the previous year, it had been an obsolete farmstead that had fallen into disrepair and abandoned. Matt had purchased it and fixed it up, although Harry didn't know why.

"I didn't get any. That lotion Galatea gave me really helped."

"It's very effective. With skin like Galatea's, it has to be."

Harry looked at the recently restored farmstead that was drawing closer with each step they took. "What do you reckon Matt wants to do with that farmstead?"

"He wants to cultivate herbs on a large scale for export. So far, the only herbs produced in Concordia are to satisfy local demand. But Concordia has some very favourable trade agreements with several wizarding nations that they're not taking advantage of due to the lack of export goods. He intends to change that."

"Matt won't admit this, but he's very much his father's son. He's got a keen nose for business opportunities. What he did with the Lovely Lady Lounge, for example…"

Wolfe shot Harry a sly look. "I take it you had fun?"

"Before, or during the fight?"

Wolfe sniggered for a moment, and then answered. "Before."

Harry shrugged. "The employees were easy on the eyes, the service was good…"

"Did Ginny give you a hard time about being waited on by flirtatious part-Veela women?"

"Not really."

"Then you're lucky. Galatea wasn't really happy about it."

Harry frowned. "Why would she feel threatened? Those girls were pretty, but most of them were one-eighth Veela or less. She has no reason to feel threatened."

"I think it's the baby blues. I'll ask Hermione about it."

"Is she already at the farmstead?" Harry asked. Wolfe had a telepathic link with his copies, but while Harry could tap into Wolfe's thoughts, he couldn't extend his link with Wolfe to the duplicates.

Wolfe nodded. "She and Montoya have just checked the cakes for poison. They're putting them in the storeroom now. Doc and Bert are setting up the security to keep everyone away. I'll take first watch, until Faust sends some guys to take over in a few hours."

"What about the rest of the food?"

Closing his eyes and concentrating, Wolfe fell silent for a moment and slowed his pace. "Most of it is being prepared now. Don't worry about it. Nothing will go wrong."

"I suppose we could let the people who invited themselves dig in first," Harry suggested. "To be on the safe side."

Wolfe smiled broadly. "Not a bad idea."

"Max, Harry, I could use a little help with supervising the decorating efforts!" Hermione called, poking her head through an aperture in the gate that led to the manor's courtyard. The gate swung open completely to reveal the frantic activities inside. The frame for a large tent was magically assembling itself over the courtyard, and a dozen witches were busy decorating the manor's inner walls with floral arrangements.

Several festive-looking coloured banners danced in the gentle breeze. They were attached to a flagpole that jutted out of the second floor wall of what was once the master's house, which was located opposite the courtyard gate. The rest of the building was a one-storey structure. The eastern wing comprised the former quarters of the labourers and their families. The western wing used to provide space for the storage and packing of goods produced by the farm. Interestingly enough, the manor also had a brew house adjacent to the gate, which explained the oasts Harry had seen beyond the farmstead's vegetable and herb gardens, next to the barn. On the other side of the gate, there was a storehouse that still held a cart and farm tools. The small stable meant for the master's best mount stood empty.

"Why did Matt go through all that trouble of expanding his house in the city when he's got so much living space down here?" Harry wondered out loud.

"Moving here was the original idea. But Gudrun's a city dweller, and she put her foot down. That's why Matt decided to use it for commercial purposes." Wolfe smiled. "I don't think Gudrun's out of the woods yet, though. Matt also has his eye on the other abandoned farmstead out by Nomad Island's outskirts."

"Thank goodness you two are here," Hermione began. She lowered her voice before she continued. "I need more eyes to watch over the proceedings."

"Everyone here is clean," Wolfe said. "I already told you that—at least—one of my copies did. But if it makes you feel any better, I think I can create one more."

"If you're sure that everyone's all right…"

"The people who are here at the moment are okay." Wolfe grabbed Hermione, twirled her around and began to gently massage the area between her neck and her shoulders. "Relax, sis. You're far too tense. Doc and Bert will lend their eyes when they're done setting up the wards around the cakes."

"I want this to go smoothly—oh, a little lower," Hermione purred.

"Don't enjoy it too much, Hermione. Ron will get jealous," Harry teased.

Hermione opened her half-closed eyes fully and shot Harry a mournful look. "He hasn't been around to give me any backrubs since Commander Ironheart commandeered him away from me."

"It's only been a day."

"Poor baby," Wolfe said quasi-sympathetically, as he switched to light chops with the sides of his hand.

Hermione pouted. "I don't want your pity, I want my husband."

"I'll let you know as soon as I've heard something. But I haven't heard anything."

Heaving a sigh of resignation, Hermione turned to Harry. "Did you give some thought to your vows?"

Harry grimaced. He and Ginny had agreed to make at least part of their vows something unique. However, he was coming up short in the inspiration department. This was a problem, because the wedding was only hours away. Ginny and Heidi were already preparing themselves in the bridal tent. "I don't suppose you could help me."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry, it has to be something personal which reflects the way you feel about her. I can't interfere. I'm sorry, but this time I don't have any notes for you to copy from. As you well know, Ron and I used more traditional vows."

Harry wished he'd done the same.

"Pick a secluded spot with a nice view," Wolfe suggested. I saw a large sugar maple in the pasture. Maybe a field full of wildflowers will inspire you a bit. We can handle the preparation without you. Just be sure to change in time for the wedding."

Harry was willing to give it a try. He turned and walked down the narrow road that led to and from the farmstead for a bit. At his leisurely pace, it took him about twenty minutes to get to the point where he had to leave the road and enter the pasture. He headed straight towards the large shade tree.

A heart-shaped carving immediately drew his attention. The carving looked recent, and the initials, NS and MK, each occupying one-half of the heart, gave Harry some idea as to who had made that carving.

He drew his wand and transfigured a few boulders at the base of the trunk into pillows. He arranged them in a comfortable heap before he reclined against the tree. Divination had taught him that this type of meditation wasn't the optimal way for him to get ideas. He never got the chance to begin his contemplation however, for the wind carried the faint sound of a singing voice to his spot.

An old wizard, clad in grey, was sitting on a wagon drawn by an Aethonan—a chestnut-coloured winged horse common in Britain—that was passing by on the road, headed towards the farmstead. While Wolfe had got the enhanced hearing, sense of smell, taste, and touch from the pendants, Harry had inherited enhanced eyesight. It allowed him to discern details on the cart as if he were looking through Omnioculars that could penetrate through the sides of the cart and see what was inside. There were bundles of fireworks of all sorts and shapes, each labelled with a large red 'A' and a familiar-looking Draconian rune.

That was Aberforth's mark, of course, and the old man was Aberforth Dumbledore, whose fame in Concordia was due mainly to his skill with fires, smokes and lights. His real business was far more difficult and dangerous, but the Concordian folk knew nothing about it.

Harry rolled onto his feet and skirted close over the grassy pastures, attempting to intercept the cart. As he flew closer, he heard the song.

The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door when it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow it if I can…

Harry intercepted the cart easily, and came to a hovering stop in front of it. He crossed his arms. "You're late."

Aberforth puffed on a long pipe before he answered. "I am never late, Harry Potter. Nor am I early. I arrive exactly when I mean to."

Harry laughed. "I'm sure Hermione will disagree."

"I imagine she will. I had a bit of trouble coaxing Hasufel out of his stable this morning."

Harry smiled. Aberforth had constructed a hut at the base of the Citadel's hill. The newly-built stable for the spoiled Aethonan was in many ways more luxurious than Aberforth's hut.

Aberforth pointed to the unoccupied front corner of the cart, and Harry gently descended, coming to rest on the designated spot. Then Aberforth whistled, and the horse resumed its course with a relaxed gait.

"Any news about Nicolai's situation?"

"Good news, as a matter of fact. It has been resolved."

"Ivan the Impaler actually told Ironheart what he wanted to know?"

Aberforth nodded. "He was more than happy to."

"Why?"

"Oh, not out of concern for his grandson's well-being, if that's what you thought I was implying. No, it seems that Ivan discovered that the caliph's been taking his business elsewhere, lately. He was about to blackmail the caliph anyway, when Donovan turned up."

Harry was glad that the resolution had come so easily. Nicolai had a bright future ahead of him, and it would have been a shame to see that go to waste. "So what's going to happen to the caliph?"

"He'll be stripped of his title and power sometime tomorrow, and a new caliph will be chosen among the sultans. And to avoid another such debacle, the magical ministries of the countries belonging to the Desert Federation will also insist on better screening and monitoring of their nobility's activities."

Another thing Harry was grateful for. Perhaps it would curb their behaviour in the future.

In front of the cart, Charlie Jr and Arthur Weasley darted out of the cornfield opposite the pasture. "Aberforth, Aberforth's here!" Arthur called.

Millie, Susie, Fred and Amelie soon appeared from between the cornstalks and began to follow the cart.

"Fireworks, Aberforth … Aberforth! Aberforth, fireworks," the children chattered, hoping to catch an early show.

Aberforth whistled again and the horse began a quick trot, outdistancing the children.

"Awww," the children chorused, voicing their disappointment.

However, Aberforth had surreptitiously drawn his wand and aimed it at the hindmost box. It flipped open, and some of the fireworks inside jumped off the cart and went off, giving a colourful show of sparkly light and small explosions.

"Yaaaay!" the children jumped up and down and cheered.

Aberforth let out a hearty laugh.

Harry grinned. "Couldn't resist indulging the kids, could you?"

"There's nothing as precious as children's laughter."

Looking at the enraptured faces of the laughing children, Harry couldn't disagree.

"So, my boy, how are you coping with the butterflies in your stomach?"

Harry's stomach had been quite calm, but Aberforth's reminder rekindled his nerves. "I was supposed to come up with some special vows. I don't know what I'm going to say."

"What about the first time you saw her?"

"I didn't really notice her the first time I saw her, Ab—"

"Yet as time went by, I realised that there was more to her than meets the eye," Aberforth sang. "How is that for an opening sentence? It rhymes too."

The old wizard's suggestion triggered an idea in Harry's mind. "That's not a bad foundation to build on. Thanks!" he said, taking to the air. He put on a burst of speed and headed back towards the city to write it down.

*

"We have to do something about those smudges under your eyes," Hermione said, while she rummaged through her bathroom cupboard.

Ron had only been able to get three hours' worth of sleep, after having been awake for more than twenty-four. Not that he'd have been able to get any sleep before he'd been certain that Nicolai was indeed off the hook.

Hermione twisted open a jar and scooped a handful of cream on her fingers. She proceeded to rub it under his eyes. "It won't help you to stay awake, but at least it'll remove those smudges. Leave it on for about five minutes before rinsing it off."

"All right," Ron sighed.

"Don't fall asleep."

"Not to worry, love. I've already had three cups of coffee. Besides, my little sister is getting married. Not exactly the most boring event in my life." He frowned, wondering what he was going to wear. It had never occurred to him before now. In Concordia, the native dress resembled medieval European clothing. However, it was also a melting pot of various ethnic styles worn by the human immigrants who had come in from all over the world, and then there was the riotous mix of fashion favoured by the goblins, dwarves and elves. "What're you wearing, anyway?"

"I'm going native, though I'll be wearing a ceremonial robe over my dress in my function as the Keeper of the North."

Ron blinked. "You bought a dress?"

Hermione smiled. "All the Mrs Weasleys bought a dress. The shops were open until late, so we went shopping for dresses after the family get-together."

"Mum too?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Don't act so shocked. Your mother has worn dresses before."

"Not formal ones," Ron countered.

"Ron, we don't have time for this!" Hermione huffed.

"Why is it that every time I'm right, all of a sudden you don't have time to continue the discussion?"

"I need to be in the forest well before the ceremony begins, to help prepare the forest clearing and create the consecrated circle. I don't have much time left," Hermione said, drying her hair off.

Ron smirked. "Just admit that I'm right."

"Fine, little boy. You're right."

"Thank you," Ron said, while he slipped off his pyjama trousers. "And what am I supposed to wear?"

"Your dress uniform."

"Bloody hell, I forgot—"

"I had it cleaned, Ron," Hermione assured him.

Ron smiled. Hermione's ability to anticipate him never failed to surprise him. "Thanks, love."

"What would you do without me?"

Ron stepped up to her and engulfed her in a hug. "Not something I want to think about. Right now I'm thinking about something I'd like to do with you. Why don't you get out of that towel and take another shower with me, hmm?"

Hermione stepped back and began to tug at the towel slowly, only to cease her effort at the last moment. "Sorry, no time." She grinned wickedly and darted into their bedroom.

Ron groaned. "That was cruel," he called after her.

He waited for a few more minutes for Hermione's facial crème to take effect before he stepped in the shower stall. The shower was brief but thorough, and when he was done, he found his dress uniform waiting on the bed, along with his knee-high socks and black velvet briefs. Ron smiled, guessing that Hermione was planning to re-enact their own wedding night. The gold pocket watch Hermione had given him for their first anniversary glinted on top of the pile of clothes, and Ron saw a black hair-band wrapped around it, indicating that Hermione wanted him to tie his hair back so that the tail rested at the nape of his neck. His recently shined boots stood at the foot of the bed.

Ron put on his underwear and headed to the bathroom to shave. When his face was as smooth as a baby's bottom, he donned his uniform. Then he brushed his hair, gathered it at the base of the hairline at the back of his head and tied the black elastic band around it. He tidied up the bathroom and unlocked the door that led to the hallway, so his mum could bathe the older half of Angelina's brood, while Jasmine bathed the younger children. Angelina had already left for the ceremonial site.

Ron headed back into the bedroom to give himself a last once-over in the full-length mirror. As he crossed the doorway into the bedroom, he was suddenly very grateful that Hermione had managed to convince him not to put their bedroom in the attic, like it had been in their former home. The interconnecting door made going to the loo in the middle of the night much easier.

He posed in front of the mirror and tugged the medieval style high-collared long-shirt straight. He slid his wand's holster a little more to the side, and removed a black thread that had been obscuring his rank insignia. The two silver pips showed that he was a Ranger Sixth Class. Though he had attained the rank only eighteen months ago, Captain Kovalenko had informed him that he was already being evaluated for promotion, and that the results would be known in about three months. If the outcome turned out positive, he'd be promoted fifteen months earlier than the average time it took a Ranger to ascend from the sixth to the fifth class.

With a start, he realised that he'd outrank Hermione, who was ascending the rank ladder at the regular pace even though she was Captain Sharif's star pupil. It was also common knowledge that the Rangers in the Medical Division didn't ascend in rank as quickly as those in the Martial Division, as well as the field operatives of the Intelligence Division. They simply didn't get quite as many opportunities to show initiative, innovative tactics, and strategies. Another factor was that there were only two officers' spots in the Medical, Artificer, Administrative and Diplomatic Divisions, as opposed to the large Intelligence and Martial Divisions, which had three lieutenants and a captain, totalling four officers.

Ron smoothed a crease in his black breeches and straightened the folds of his knee-length fold-over boots so that the folds were equally wide. Then he looked at the overall picture, and was satisfied with the image. He liked the Rangers' dress uniform. The black cloth and silver trimmings were neutral to every complexion and hair colour.

"Looking sharp!" the mirror complimented. "You forgot to tie the laces of your boots, though."

Ron looked down, only to remember belatedly that his boots didn't have laces.

"Hah, made you look," the mirror crowed. Ron chuckled. The mirror had been a wedding present from Lee and Alicia. George had been developing it before he died, and the mirror clearly channelled its creator. It always commented on someone's looks with good humour, though at times it could be a tad annoying, often making lewd comments to Hermione when she passed before it in her underwear, lingerie, or her birthday suit. Hermione retaliated by teasing the mirror much like she had teased Ron, earlier.

Ron heard the front door downstairs open, and a cacophony of voices echoed up the stairs. He left his bedroom and skipped down the stairs, drawing gasps from Jasmine, his mum, and Millie and Susie as they beheld him in his dress uniform.

"Oh Ron, you look so handsome," his mum said proudly. "Now if you'd only let me trim your hair—"

"Out of the question, Mum," Ron said firmly. He'd decided to wear his hair long—while he still could—before it began to thin, like Bill's and Percy's. Since he too favoured his father with regards to his build, he believed that possibility to be more than likely.

Jasmine smiled. "Really, Mum, I remember you showing me those pictures of Dad in his youth. He briefly wore his hair long too, and as I recall, you liked it."

"Those were different times," Molly protested, though her feeble tone told Ron that she realised she could never win the argument.

Ron leaned down and kissed his mother on the cheek. "Rest assured that I'll stop by The Burrow for a trimming when it doesn't look good on me anymore. See you at the ceremony."

*

Chiron, the chieftain of Nomad Island's centaur community, had met the preparation party at the edge of the 'known' forest. The other denizens of Nomad Island weren't allowed to go any deeper into the forest. If they did, the centaurs would escort them back out. The centaurs didn't technically own that part of the forest, since they detested the concept of ownership as humans knew it. But they were fiercely protective of their inner sanctum.

Upon arriving at the site, Brother Francis, who was member of a wizarding monastic order and had also married Ron and Hermione, as well as Ron and Ginny's parents, opened the large chest that had been floating behind him. He took out a few dozen surveyor pickets and colourful rolls of tape, and put Wolfe and Harry to work staking out what was to be the periphery of the outer circle. They used a radius line to make sure that it was indeed circular, and that it was centred upon the location of the high altar. The radius line had been enchanted to work by itself, so Harry and Wolfe only had to follow it around and drive a picket into the ground where it stopped. Because of Wolfe's handy multiplication ability, the task was quickly finished.

Then the friar lifted four miniature altars out of the chest and handed them to Angelina, Fleur, Hannah and Hermione, instructing them to place each altar in its canonical quarter of the working space. Tapping the altars three times with a wand reverted them to their normal size.

Hermione received a bowl and a small sack of blessed soil, and set both on her altar. Looking at Hannah's altar, she saw a large open shell and a pitcher of water. Fleur's altar held a large red candle. Angelina's had a censer and a fan.

Brother Francis unloaded the last necessary items from the chest, before tapping it with his wand while muttering an incantation. The chest transformed into the high altar, which he placed at the very centre of the circle. With practised ease, he threw an embroidered white altar cloth over it, and proceeded to arrange the necessary items on it.

"Right then," the elderly friar began, after everything was in place. "I'd like to discuss a few things before the prayer. Hermione, could you please let the photographer know not to enter the inner circle?"

"They've done this sort of work before, so I assume they already know."

"Perhaps, but I'd also like to ask that the photographers don't use their flashes. We've excellent light conditions anyway, and constant flashes would be highly distracting to me, and perhaps Harry and Ginny as well."

"I'll tell them."

"Excellent." Father Francis nodded. Then he turned to Wolfe. "Does the Guardian have the rings and the ribbons?"

Wolfe, who was once again a single entity, nodded.

"Does everyone remember their lines?"

"Yes, Brother Francis," everyone chorused.

"Harry, your special vows?"

"Memorised, Brother Francis," Harry replied confidently.

"Are you certain? I've married many couples, and I've found that nerves and poor memory can turn an eloquent speech into an embarrassing bout of stuttering."

"I have a thought to associate every sentence with."

Wolfe smirked. "I'll hold up a cheat-sheet for you to read, if you want."

"Your confidence warms my heart," Harry replied, somewhat sardonically.

Brother Francis laughed. "Well, I must commend you on your calmness. Most grooms and Guardians would be nervous wrecks at this point."

"A result of our occupational hazards, I'm afraid. If you stare death in the face every so often, you develop a certain control over your nerves," Wolfe said.

"That, and the fact that the people in the Martial Division are slightly insane and thrive on staring death in the face," Hermione said.

"Facing death with a smile," Harry and Wolfe said simultaneously.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "See what I mean?"

The rotund friar nodded solemnly. "Yes, and I thank the Maker for the existence of such men. They delivered three of my fellow friars from corruption, in Laketown." He turned to Harry and Wolfe. "Tell me, have you two ever reformed that luminous being who defeated the avatar of evil?"

"I'm afraid that's impossible. The talismans that made it possible were destroyed along with the destruction of the evil stone," Wolfe said.

"But you and 'Arry can still do many fantastic things. Are you sure that the power to unite into a single being is gone? Maybe it is inside you, like your ability to multiply yourself, and 'Arry's gift of flight," Fleur said.

Harry shook his head. "I'm not sure how I know this, but I know that the physical union of the talismans was a prerequisite to form Phoenix. Now that they're destroyed, it's no longer possible."

"Phoenix is what the entity called itself," Hermione explained quickly, seeing the nonplussed expression upon the mention of that name.

"Another factor is that Korumu's stone was destroyed. The ability to form Phoenix was a part of Novoridu's talismans for the specific purpose of creating a being powerful enough to stand up to anyone drawing on the evil power of Korumu's stone. The evil stone was directly linked to the good talismans, and once the stone was gone, there was no longer a need for the talismans." Wolfe said.

"The universal truth," Brother Francis said. "Without evil there is no good, however nice such an arrangement would be. But come, let us not ponder this any longer."

He walked to the high altar, ignited the contents of the censer, and lit the lamp that symbolised Providence. Then, he returned, and taking Fleur and Angelina's hands, he gestured for the rest of them to join hands in prayer.

"Great Maker," he began. "You have made the bond of marriage a holy mystery, a symbol of Your love for us. Hear our prayers for Harry and Ginny. With abiding faith in You, and continuing faith in each other, they will pledge their love today. May their lives bear witness to the reality of that love. We make this prayer in the name of all that is. So mote it be."

Brother Francis let go of Angelina and Fleur's hands, signalling that the prayer was over.

"I must do the rest of the consecration by myself, so you lot can go about any business you may have. When the Summoner—Ron, I believe—announces the imminent start of the ceremony—"

"The six of us have to hurry back to beat the crowd here. We got that part," Wolfe said.

"Just making sure," Brother Francis said. "Hermione, don't forget the photographers."

Hermione was a bit annoyed by the constant reminders, but she knew that Brother Francis' cautions were born from experience. "I won't."

***

A/N: I know, I know, major Gandalf and LOTR channelling in this chapter. ;-)