One of the few benefits of going out with Glin was the inevitable fact that regardless of how much skin you were showing, Glin would still be wearing the racier ensemble. In fact, Ginny was fairly certain that someone could show up naked to Hermione's bachelorette party and Glin would somehow manage to be more naked. Luckily for Ginny, she'd escaped a shopping excursion with Glin and was wearing a relatively tame outfit. Sleeveless, the little black dress fell to just above the knee and flared out just enough to swish around her legs when she walked.

"Draco?" She asked, eyeing herself critically in the vanity's mirror. "Does this look okay?"

Stepping out of the bathroom, Draco glanced at where Ginny was posing in front of the mirror, then placed his hands on her shoulders and shook his head compassionately. "Awful. Truly wretched. We're just going to have to stay in."

She met his eyes in the mirror and rolled her eyes at him. "It won't be that bad, Draco. They'll all be so drunk and busy harassing Harry they won't have time to be snide to you." She kissed one of the hands on her right shoulder. "They're stubborn, but they'll get over it."

He took his hands off her shoulders and turned away. "If you keep bullying them to invite me along, you mean," he said sourly.

"It's as good a method as any. Worked for me anyway." She stopped fixing her hair and turned around. "Just don't get drunk and-"

"Don't eat or drink anything Fred or George have had a chance to tamper with," he recited. "You told me already."

"I'd just rather not have to un-hex you when I'm going to be fairly well inebriated."

"So you get to go out and get pissed, but I can't? That's quite the double standard, dear." Draco teased.

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. "I figure once a boyfriend has vomited on me, he owes me one."

"A fairly good rule of thumb," a new voice rang out. Minnie ambled in from the doorway where she'd been eavesdropping. "I wasn't eavesdropping, I just happened to hear everything you said because I was standing just out of sight. There was no 'dropping' involved, and the presence of 'eaves' is entirely dependent upon your definition. Where're the parties?"

"You know, you could make your babble a little more understandable with the use of transitions. Try it some time." Draco said dryly.

"Save me from your incomparable wit," the cat replied sarcastically before rolling over onto her back and looking pained. "Since you aren't answering my question, I'll tell you. Both are the parties are at Hex at seven. Why is that?"

"First off, it's rude to go through someone else's mail, Minnie, not to mention against the law," Ginny admonished.

"Bah. Law schmaw. I'm am above the law. If the law were a hill, I would be over it. If the law were-"

"Can it, or I'll put you in the kennel," Ginny said bluntly. "As for why both parties are at Hex, I suppose we'll find out when we get there."

Minnie's ears flickered in irritation. "Well, let's get going then. It's almost seven. You've said goodnight to the kid?"

"She's over at Mum and Dad's for the night already," Ginny told her. She'd convinced Draco that Molly would love to have a little girl to fawn over for a night. Convincing Molly and Arthur hadn't been terribly hard, even though they still had reservations about the whole Draco situation. When Ginny and Draco had left the Burrow, Molly was making cocoa, and Arthur had been showing Marigold one of the boy's old collections of Chocolate Frog Cards.

"So let's leave," Minnie said, doing her best to arch an eyebrow. Honestly, getting the two of them out a bedroom was more difficult than getting Ricky Martin out of those leather trousers he was always wearing.





As Hermione surveyed the room, she was once again grateful she'd entrusted Glin with all the bachelorette party details. It was quite apparent that, while Glin might project the appearance of a scatter-brained fashionista, she could throw one hell of a party.

The club was dimly lit, with amber fairy lights zipping around at the top of the room, providing a hazy sort of half light. Glin must have placed some sort of a magical netting up at the top of the room to keep them from coming down and biting the guests. There wasn't a live band, but some sort of music was being piped in, probably on a muggle sound system. It was rock, but sort of mellow, and the singer had a slightly raspy, sexy voice. It was good for a bachelorette party, all in all.

The room had been rearranged so that tables and chairs were clustered enough that everyone could see Hermione if she sat towards the center. A little sign on the bar indicated that gifts should be placed there. Baskets for tips sat on the bar for the wait-staff, and they had been decorated with red and gold bows. Crimson and cream flower arrangements were scattered about the room.

After hours of shopping, Glin had decided Hermione would wear a pair of cream, linen, boot-cut pants that had thin, vertical, brown stripes running down the sides. A large, chocolate brown, satin ribbon laced up the pants on the left hip. The tight, white tee-shirt Glin'd bought topped it. Glin'd decided to try her hand at fashion design, and had torn the sleeves off, ripped off the hem at both the waist and the neck, and torn a small line that extended low enough tat Hermione was afraid her bra would show, or the shirt would just randomly fall apart. In addition to tearing up a perfectly good tee-shirt, Glin had painted "Bride" across the bust in scrawling, chocolate brown letters.

Suede brown boots were probably the only part of the get-up Hermione would consider wearing again. Even she had to admit that she looked pretty good, though. Carlos had stormed into her flat around an hour earlier like a tornado, flinging around words like "base" and "waterproof" and "manipulator." Her hair had been polished and curled and pulled until it fell in a riot of artfully messy ringlets that were pulled back from her face by a wide, satin, chocolate brown headband.

He make-up made her feel like a movie star. Her eyes were covered from lash to brow with a light tan Carlos called "chilled champagne." He'd highlighted that color with a deep brown- "cashmere cocoa." Her cheekbones were defined enough to make her look exotic, but not enough to suggest that she was related to "circus folk." Her favorite part of all was the stuff Carlos had smeared all over her lips. It stayed on no matter what. She'd kissed Harry, had a cup of tea, even brushed her teeth and her lips still looked as polished and "mochalicious" as they had when Carlos had first shown her. She was half convinced that he'd used dark magic, but if this was the result she really didn't care. Let him mutter the unforgivable curses right and left, because if this was his contribution to human-kind, he could do no wrong.

Glin popped out the bathroom, and Hermione realized that she had, once again, been outdone.

A masterpiece of illusions, Glin's outfit appeared to be held together using only a few small and haphazardly placed stitches. Sheer, triangular strips of blue fabric in varying hues made the dress. The strips were banner shaped and had jagged edges as if they'd been torn, not cut. The short side of the strips laid just across the bottom of Glin's collarbone, with the pointy tips hitting her a little above her navel. Another strand of them started just below her bust, and a third set of longer triangles started at the top of her hipbone. A fourth and final set started around six inches above her knee. The triangles overlapped enough to cover the essentials.

Maybe.

Little, aqua, open-toed shoes with a low heel, dangly, light-blue earrings, and a white-gold armband set with light-blue crystals accessorized the ensemble. Her eyes were highlighted with a very light blue shadow, and her lips were glossed over in a nude shade, leaving her whole face looking dewy and fresh. Her hair fell in short, pale blonde ringlets hitting her just about at her chin, with the sides pulled back just enough to showcase the earrings perfectly.

If there had been around twice as many of the little triangles, t would have been a fairly-presentable, highly-fashionable outfit. As it was, Glin looked like an "R" rated waterfall. "X" rated, depending upon the way the light hit her. Hermione certainly couldn't see any sort of undergarments at least...

"Stop staring at me like that," she said exhaustedly. "I'm wearing stuff under this- it's just the same color as my skin. It's been a long day, and I couldn't handle going commando." Glin sat on a stool and put her head on the bar with a pitiful expression. "Don't tell people. I don't want to ruin my reputation."

Hermione ruffled her hair. "I promise. What's wrong?"

"Other than Harry's party being upstairs?"

"What?"

"Evidently someone double-booked it. I spent a few hours decorating and putting up wards and things all over the place so that they'd stay upstairs and we wouldn't hear each other." Glin's lower lip fell out in a pout. "My feet hurt."

"Want me to charm you and cheer things up? I'm really, really good at it," Hermione wheedled.

"It wouldn't be good for- I've felt flu-y. Besides, it'd wear off quick, and I don't want to get addicted to that kinda thing anyway."

"Okay. Let me know if I can do anything."

"Just have fun. I like being a hostess. I'll be okay. I thrive on parties."





Apparently, Glin was right. Hours later, she was bubbly and much like her old self. Keeping track of the presents Hermione received on a scroll of parchment, she made notes so that Hermione would have an easier time writing thank you notes. Hopefully, she'd have less trouble returning half the junk she'd gotten. It wasn't necessarily bad stuff... Well, truthfully, some of it was hideous. Most of it was just wildly un-Hermione. A chartreuse corset that would look hideous on a girl of Hermione's coloring came from some woman who was, quite clearly, beyond intoxicated. When Hermione had opened the box, and the woman began hooting and giggling, Glin had known there'd be trouble. She'd guessed as much when someone had passed a package that looked like it had been in a war with scotch tape and lost.

Being a woman about town as she was, Glin had been through a number of bachelorette parties. Generally, your higher quality gifts were professionally wrapped in pastel, solid colors, with fabric bows. Patterns bespoke of the middle level department store, especially busy patterns meant lower-end stores, your basic riff-raff. Handmade paper was iffy- generally the gift was expensive, but not returnable, and the odds were fairly high it was from some sort of artsy, little store.

When it comes to non-professionally wrapped items, usually the amount of tape and the ribbon color were key. Generally, the less tape, the better, to a certain point. When it gets to the point where only the bare minimum of tape is used, you know that the gift buyer has included the cost of wrapping supplies in their gift budget. Mismatched ribbon showed poor taste, and almost assured a gift return. Why even open it, except to be polite, really?

Some of it was interesting, at the very least. One of Hermione's crazy auror friends, who looked like she hadn't been out of a surveillance van in years, gave her a variety of restraints ranging from four silken cord things to a pair of handcuffs. If you thought about them in connection with Hermione, it was gross. If you could consider them independent of the whole Harry/Hermione-having-sex thing... well the prospects were actually much more intriguing.

Ginny's secretary Sadie had give Hermione a little bowtie and collar set which they'd all been ready to attribute to some nefarious, sexually-deviant purpose, when Sadie rather depressingly informed them it was so the cat could feel dressed up for the wedding as well. The groans followed in stereo, but Hermione seemed to like it as well as the variety of bath tonics Sadie had also given her.

Padma's gifts had been impeccably wrapped, and had contained two bathrobes and pajama sets for Hermione and Harry. Both robes were crimson terrycloth with gold accents. Harry's pajamas were a satin shirt and pants set in gold, with crimson accents, the same color scheme as Hermione's nightgown. She'd made them herself, which was nice, because it meant they were tailored and she hadn't had to guess at sizes.

From Angelina came some new invention called "Eterna-Fluff Towels." While the phenomenon of having towels that were constantly dry and fluffy did seem pleasant, Glin didn't really see the excitement. They were towels. Sure, they were pretty and soft, but when it came right down to it, they were still towels. Tracy and Alicia had gone the right way, giving gift certificates. Alicia's was to a trendy little home furnishing store called, perplexingly enough, "Boil, Bubble, Toil and Curtains." Tracy's was to "Aphrodite's Wardrobe," an upscale clothing store.

Glin had given them a variety of glasses. Wine glasses, high ball glasses, shot glasses, an amazing amount of them, and a bottle of expensive champagne. Hermione had looked all awed and overwhelmed, so Glin quickly informed her she'd gotten everything at cost from one of Mark's suppliers and laughingly handed her the last present.

Ginny's gift was cute and had the entire table emitting a collective coo. It was a large, leather-bound book, with the simple word "us" emblazoned on the cover. Inside were photos of Harry and Hermione through the years, starting with a picture Mrs. Weasley had snapped of Hermione, Harry and Ron together in Diagon Alley before the start of their second year. There were clips of both of them kissing and cuddling from the tabloids, and a smiling photo of them at a little cafe table a few days after their engagement. Their was a second album, identical to the first, which was presumably for them to fill with pictures of their futures. Hermione was getting a little teared up, so Glin decided it was time to move on.

"Right, so the presents are done, and it appears most of you are pleasantly... toasted, so I'd say it's time for the entertainment. Boys?" She called loudly into the hallway.

A bevy of attractive young men paraded out of the hallway as the music increased in tempo and volume. Some of the more smashed women were up out of their seats and boogying to beat the band before the men even approached them. The others were coaxed out of their seats, leaving Glin and Hermione sitting at the large table.

"Ugh," Hermione muttered. "This is going to take a ton of work to pack up."

"Don't worry about it. Mark and his friends are staying late to help me with everything. I'll have it trucked over to your flat... Although I have no clue where you're going to put it all."

"Most of it will probably be sent over to Draco's for storage. Ginny said he'd be happy to put it all in one of the unused rooms for awhile. We're just going to have to buy a house." Hermione sighed wistfully. "I guess we're not one of the hip Diagon-Alley couples anymore. Steady jobs, a house, and a china pattern. I wonder when we lost our edge."

"It's been a long time in coming, Herm," Glin told her. "The two of you have been an old married couple since before you were dating. The whole picket fence thing was inevitable." She took a big gulp of her milk.

"I don't think we're quite ready for the 2.4 kids yet though."

Glin tried not to choke on her milk, swallowed, and took a few breaths. "Who is? Besides Ginny, of course."

"Yeah, I suppose she got off pretty easy with the built in family thing. They may have baggage, but they're no 36 hours of labor."

"36 hours?" Glin said in horror. "But, that's a day and a half. A day and a half of pushing and shoving and... great goddess, the stretching!"

"Lucky for us, it's a while off, eh?"

"Yeah, lucky us," Glin said. "Hours?"





With his hands locked behind his head, and his feet resting on the top of the table, Harry looked pretty relaxed. There was a great deal of ruckus being made around him. The Weasley collective had taken to playing a massive game of cards with Harry's teammates. Sirius was chatting with one of the female bartenders, and Draco sat rather uncomfortably at one side of the table, hands folded in his lap, making eye contact with no one.

"Not much of a cards man, Draco?" Remus asked. Remus had chosen to sit out as well and was finding the evening to be rather boring.
Draco's head swung to look at him. "With the Weasley brood? Not likely. If I were to lose- which I wouldn't- they'd mock me mercilessly. In the entirely predictable event of my winning, they'd only accuse me of cheating."

"It's hard to break your own mold after living in it so long. At least you're willing to try. You're a braver man than I. Slainte." Remus downed the shot of whisky in front of him.

All of a sudden, Remus smelled something. Actually "smell" was too gentle a word. Out of the thousands of scents in the bar, this one assaulted him. Sucker punched him straight in the gut, and it took a great deal of effort to bury the wolf's desire to howl like something out of a bad horror film.

Tracy was in the room, and from the smell of it, she was close by.

A pair of warm and invisible arms snaked down his chest from behind. Warm breath puffed against his ear as Tracy whispered. "Fancy meeting you here."

"I feel the need to remind you that the use of federally purchased Auror supplies for investigation and harassment of individuals not currently involved in federal or international investigations is strictly prohibited by a variety of international treatises."

"Ah, but you're discounting International Law number 576A, subsection 3, paragraph 4 lines 8 through 10."

"Which would be...?"

"You make me really, really hot." She was kissing the back of his neck now, nipping small bites against his nape.

He moaned softly and looked to make sure none of the other men had noticed. "Tracy, we've got to talk."

"We do an absolutely depressing amount of talking, Remus" she sighed disappointedly in his ear. "I'll meet you at your place in a half hour, is that okay?"

"Mhmm."





The bachelorette party had been a success, at least in Glin's opinion. The rest of the girls had gone home, and Hermione's gifts had been loaded sent over to the room at Draco's that Ginny had selected for them. Really, all that was left was to de-spell the place, and then head on home.

"Mark, come dance with me," Glin instructed softly, standing in the middle of the dance floor. She was swaying lightly to the mellow sounds coming out of the stereo.

"Bowie again?" He asked, gathering her in his arms and letting her rock in his arms. "What is it, Dovey? Not like you to get all strung out on classic rock and nostalgia. Some bloke do you wrong?"

"Mark?" She asked, her voice staying soft and calm and her body never breaking from the easy rhythm it had fallen into. "Be quiet. I'm pretending you're someone else."







A waft of warm, vanilla scented air washed over Remus as he opened the front door.

This was not good, definitely not good at all. In fact, if Remus were pressed to make an itemized list of not good things, the would certainly rank very near the top, somewhere under wolfing out and eating friends, yet above public nudity.

Telling your pseudo-girlfriend that you couldn't consummate your relationship because you weren't entirely sure of the consequences, when it appeared she'd been planning a rather nice seduction was not the way to top off a nice evening out.

"Tracy?"

"Remus?" She emerged from the bathroom, wearing his maroon, terrycloth bathrobe, her hair tousled and damp. "I took a shower. My hair smelled like smoky bar, and I know you're especially sensitive to smells right now." She scrunched her nose. "I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all."

Tracy walked into the bedroom, letting the robe shift off her shoulders. "Coming?"

When he made a strangled sound, she turned around and arched and eyebrow. "Honestly, Remus, it's just sex. We really shouldn't have to get all angsty about it. If it's bad, then we can work on it, or... Well, really, it's nothing to have this absurd amount of performance anxiety over."

"Actually, it is something to... urm... 'get all angsty' about." Remus replied nervously, biting his lip. "Why don't you get into some clothes so we can talk."

"Argh! All right." She stalked into the bedroom, and Remus could hear her rifling around in his dresser drawers. A few minutes later she emerged in one of his ratty old sweatshirts and a pair of his boxer shorts. "So, what's the fuss about?"

"Well, Tracy, I think it would be best if I informed you before we got into this that this has-"

"Yeah, yeah, 'it's not you, it's me' blah blah. Let's get down to it Remus."

"Right, sorry. Of course." He said apologetically. "I've been translating the Bisclavret text you gave me and I've discovered a number of very interesting things. It's been invaluable as a resource, really, and I just-"

"Remus! There's a point in here somewhere, I assume?"

"Right, of course. Well, Bisclavret's assertions about some of the werewolves habits... urm..."

"Sexually?"

"Erm... yes. We'll, Bisclavret assertions are rather vague, but problematic nonetheless. He implies that the results of a... mating may create a sort of bond, rather like the one created in real wolves when they mate."

"The bond created when wolves mate for life, you mean?"

"Correct. There's not a whole lot of research out there about the subject. As far as I can tell, it appears that there is a significant correlation between the... physical act of intimacy... and some sort of change. The references are rather vague, and I'm not entirely sure what it's basis is. References are made to chemical, biological and metaphysical alterations afterwards."

"As fascinating as this is Remus, what exactly does it mean?"

"It means that if you... I... if we consummate this, then it's entirely possible that both of us will undergo some form of transformation. There's just not information available as to what kind of transformation. All I know is that it's irreversible, and it will bind us permanently. If one of us were to die... it might kill the other. If we were to separate, it's entirely possible it could produce unwanted side effects, like dementia. It's entirely possible that the transformation may influence you more, possibly enhancing any animal instincts you have, like calling your animagi potential into existence. It's also entirely possible you'll develop wolf characteristics, possibly even becoming a lycanthrope yourself. The whole situation is entirely too risky. Tracy, I think it would be best if we stopped seeing each other."

Tracy sat for a moment, looking at him, dumbfounded. "So, if this is just presenting a problem, that means you haven't... consummated things with anybody else?"

"It's never become an issue before, no." Remus ducked his head a bit and blushed.

"Never?" Tracy looked at him curiously. "So, essentially, you're a virgin."

"Do we really have to dwell on this?" Remus stood and began to walk towards the kitchen. "Suffice it to say, things will be staying that way, and I'm sorry to have wasted your time."

"Oh no you don't," Tracy exclaimed, grabbing his hand. "You've had hours to brood about this and I've gotten less than five minutes. Plus, you don't get to make all the decisions, Remus. What if I want to pursue this?"

Remus turned to face her and pulled his hand out from hers. "You can't, Tracy. It'd be torture for both of us to... continue this when we can't..."

"Why can't we?" Tracy asked. "Remus, what's wrong with me that you wouldn't want to be bonded to me for life?"

"Oh no," the blood drained out of Remus's face. "It's not that Tracy, I swear. It's just too much of a risk for you. I mean, to be tied to me for all eternity, and to experience any number of unknown physical changes..."

"But I know what could happen, and I don't care! Remus, I've been chasing after you for a month and some stupid thing about me maybe changing into a werewolf is not going to stop me. If there is something to deal with, we'll handle it when it presents itself. Until then, I'm doing what I like."

"Tracy, you can't imagine-" Remus protested.

"But I can. You know that Remus. I studied werewolves at school, I've been with you before and after the change, I know. Now, you're coming back in that bedroom and you're going to lie back and appreciate all the freaking vanilla scented candles I picked out today, and all the other stuff I picked out earlier, and I'm going to ravish you, and you're going to like it, Dammit!"

"Are you sure?"
"Now!"








Glin had been swaying in Mark's arms for the duration of three songs, when she felt a shift in Mark's arms. "Glin, Love, I'm needed in the back office, I'm handing you off to someone else."

Without even opening her eyes, she swayed against the new person holding her, relaxing into his embrace.

"Glin-"

"Ssh..." She said, putting a finger to his lips. "I'm pretending you're you."

They swayed like that a few minutes longer, until the stereo switched off and Mark came out from his office to tell them he wanted to lock things up.

"Glin-" Ron said again, as softly as he had said it before, infinitely careful of her.

"Ron? I have something to tell you, but I want to wait. Is that... okay?"

"It's fine, Glin. I'm glad you're speaking to me again." She felt a kiss being pressed lightly to the crown of her head.

"I was being stupid again. I do that lots, Ron. I'd rather not talk about that though. So, could we talk about it tomorrow, maybe, and tonight we'll just go back to your apartment and you'll hold me and we'll fall asleep and tomorrow things will be easy?"

"I can't make tomorrow easy, but I can manage the rest, I think."