Title: A Return to Normalcy
Author: Noiri
Rating: T
Genre: Action/Adventure/Humor
Pairings: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Hermione/Tom (AKA Voldemort)
Summary: Old age is accompanied by a slew of medical complications that even the Dark Lord is not immune to. In a fit of discomfort, Voldemort finds a brilliant solution with startling consequences.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: I know this isn't moving as quick as some of you would like, but I'm trying to make it incorporate some elements of a realistic Harry Potter novel, just because I'm strange that way. (And yes, I do realize that by having Hermione/Tom I'm being in no way realistic, but, like I said, I'm strange.) If you're really keen on jumping straight to the Hermione/Tom part and cutting most of the plot/background out, just jump to the end of chapter 3, which, hopefully, will be posted in a day.

Chapter 2: The Phlegmatic Wedding

On the other side of England, a certain Harry Potter heaved his suitcases downstairs. Beaming at the perfectly kept living room and sparkling kitchen, he heaved the load onto the welcome mat with an unceremonious thump.

"Watch where you're throwing that thing, boy!" Harry's uncle shouted, storming into the foyer and nearly knocking over a small table.

"Vernon, don't worry about him, calm down, dear," a bony woman exclaimed, trying to suppress her husband, who had gone rather red in the face.

"Well he just had to break Dudley's hunting rifle before he left, did he?" Uncle Vernon growled.

"Yeah, you clumsy - " laughed Dudley. Suddenly he was muted in fear as a male figure appeared at the doorway. Whoever he was, his appearance was half-disguised by the lace curtains that the Dursleys had erected on the door windows. Seeing the figure, Harry grinned, at the same time taking pleasure in noting that the three people standing behind him were most likely shaking in their slippers.

"Who's that? Come to fetch you, has he?" Uncle Vernon glared at the door, unconsciously reaching for an umbrella.

"Oh that's Remus- he's a werewolf," Harry said in a mock casual tone. As Harry expected, the word "werewolf" immediately heightened the anxiety in the room. The Dursleys had never had much luck with wizards, much less magical creatures; the first time, Dudley had emerged with a pig's tail, the next, with a four-foot long tongue. Therefore, it was understandable that at the moment, Harry's large cousin was backed up against the wall, his large pudgy hands held firmly behind his back.

"A werewolf!" shrieked Aunt Petunia, as her face contorted horribly. She was, no doubt, imagining the neighbors staring in horror as a human-sized wolf tore down their door.

"No, no, he's not a wolf right now," Harry said pointedly as Remus knocked on the door. "Well, then, can I let him in?"

"I don't want one of those in my house!" Vernon Dursley shouted, flaring his nostrils resolutely. "Just take your bloody luggage outside and get out! GET OUT!"

"All right, then," Harry said calmly, opening in the door. A shabby brown-haired man with an empty smile stood on the doorstep. "Hi, Remus." Remus Lupin started to cross over the threshold, causing Uncle Vernon's face to color and Aunt Petunia's face to whiten.

"I'm sorry, you … whatever you are" Uncle Vernon started, standing outside, "but if you put another foot in this house, I'll - " Suddenly a distinct pop was heard from behind the bushes, making all three Dursleys jump. A young woman with dull blue hair, looking slightly tired out, walked over to the front door and clasped Remus' hand firmly in her own. The Dursleys clearly neglected to remember either of them from the short meeting at the end of Harry's fifth year, because in a moment Aunt Petunia was wrinkling her nose in surprise and disgust.

"Wotcher, Harry," the woman said, managing a brief grin at Harry. She turned to the silent man beside her. "Oh Remus, you haven't introduced yourself, have you?"

"I'm afraid not," Remus sighed. "Very well then. I'm Remus Lupin, Harry's former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. So erm, we're here to take him to a wedding over at Ottery St. Catchpole … er, possibly permanently… oh, er, we're very, ah, sorry, I know it's quite sudden…" Uncle Vernon, however, did not seem to care about manners at the moment. Hearing confirmation of Harry's departure seemed to excite his spirits greatly.

"I don't really give a damn," Vernon said heatedly, his mustache bobbing furiously, "just take the boy and go!" Beside him, Aunt Petunia seemed to make a gesture with her hand, though Harry couldn't tell if she was trying to swat a fly or wave a small farewell.

"Right, then. I'm Tonks, by the way," the woman said, grabbing a hold of the remainder of Harry's luggage. She looked at the Dursleys expectantly. "Well, you're going to say good bye to him, aren't you? I don't know if Remus has explained the entire situation here, but our world is in danger and you might not even see Harry again." Tonks gazed at the Dursleys in sympathy, which they only greeted with bewilderment.

"It's not my fault if the boy goes and gets himself killed, right? No paperwork or anything?" Vernon barked, eyeing the two suspiciously.

"Er… I think you're missing the point…" Remus said, staring at the Dursleys in mild disbelief.

"Don't bother, Remus," Harry interjected, shaking his head at his relatives. "We'd better just go now…"

"All right, then, Harry. Well, Glasses steady? Hair on?" said Tonks. "You'd better hold Remus' hand, we're just going to be Apparating there." Harry held the man's moist palm in one hand and a handful of his luggage in the other, nodding. He cast a last glance at the Dursleys, who seemed mostly unfazed by the fact that they might never see him again. Tonks said, "OK, let's go!" and immediately the three of them disappeared into the air.

When Harry's feet finally hit solid ground, the three of them were standing outside the Burrow, the home of Harry's friend Ron Weasley. A head of red curls peered at them from the door window, which Harry gathered to belong to Mrs. Weasley. "Molly, it's us," Tonks said, rapping on the door. Mrs. Weasley made to turn the doorknob, but she was immediately shunted aside by her husband, Arthur.

"Alright Tonks, what does your mother call you?" Arthur said gleefully into the door.

Tonks sighed and rolled her eyes, laughing. "Dory-pooh," she replied quietly, her voice laced with a slight trace of embarrassment.

"And Remus?"

"Wolfgang," Lupin muttered, hunching his back over ever so slightly.

"Good man, Remus. And you're sure you've got Harry Potter?"

"Oh, Arthur, for heaven's sake, just let the poor things in!" Mrs. Weasley said, pushing her husband away and opening the door graciously. "Come in, Harry, dear, we've been worried sick over you."

A red-haired teenage girl named Ginny walked into the room, adding, "Really, Harry, she has. Mum had the flu last week, she could barely get up." She was followed by her brother Ron, who also boasted bright red hair and a lanky figure.

"Well, come on, Harry," Ron said, smiling. He waved his wand at some of Harry's suitcases, which proceeded to float shakily. "Haven't quite got a hold of it yet," he added sheepishly. "But it's great you know, finally being able to do magic at home, right?" Harry nodded and took hold of a particularly large leather pack with his right hand, starting towards the stairs. A bushy brown head appeared at the top of the stairwell.

"Harry, you can use magic too, you know. It's your birthday, remember?" the girl said, also smiling broadly.

Harry blushed. It was his birthday, and for once, he had completely forgotten. How could he, especially when it brought such an influx of important events? For one, as a seventeen year old and therefore an adult wizard, he could use magic any time he wished, and he would be able to Apparate soon, once he passed the test. More important in Harry's mind, however, was the fact that he was now the proud owner of 12 Grimmauld Place (though he didn't really have a mind for living there) and he would never have to see the Dursleys again. These thoughts put Harry in good spirits as he, too, brandished his wand and waved at the remainder of his luggage.

"Are you sure you don't want anything to eat, Harry dear? I baked you a birthday cake," Mrs. Weasley called, as Harry and Ron started up the stairs.

"Oh, thanks Mrs. Weasley, I'm fine, really," replied Harry, nodding at Mrs. Weasley appreciatively.

"You can just stay in Fred and George's room, again, I guess," Ron said, when they finally reached an empty room. He flicked his wand impatiently at the suitcases, causing one of them to open and the others to hit the walls of the room.

"Ron, what are you doing," Hermione said, approaching from behind them. She flicked her wand at the whole room, and all of the suitcases lined up neatly against the back wall.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said. He, too, flicked his wand, and the suitcases landed neatly in the center of the room. Ron's ears managed to turn a brilliant shade of crimson.

"Oh, honestly, Ron, get over it," Ginny yawned, rolling her eyes at her embarrassed brother.

"Let's go down for cake, then, shall we? I expect Bill and Fleur to arrive any second, now," Ron snorted, starting towards the stares. Harry amusedly shook his head at Hermione, who shrugged back with a bit of a smile.

"He's trying to make me jealous or something by mentioning Fleur. It's not like I care. She's marrying his brother, not him," Hermione said, pursing her lips in a matter not unlike Aunt Petunia.

"Er, how long has this … thing … been going on?" Harry muttered, turning his attention towards Ginny.

"Oh, ever since Hermione got here, just a few days ago," said Ginny, sighing dramatically. "I think both of them are a bit slow on the uptake, if you ask me."

Harry grinned knowingly. Perhaps the wedding would bring them to their senses.

The wedding was to take place the following Sunday, and so the whole of the Burrow was thrown into disarray. Mrs. Weasley zoomed through the house with the force of a lion, randomly straightening objects, complaining at Harry's constant state of malnutrition (she never seemed to tire of it), shouting for Ginny to try on her bridesmaid gown, or otherwise fussing with Bill. Percy finally had the decency to show up, partially because he was at risk of being permanently cursed by his siblings, and partially because some of Bill's important Gringotts coworkers would be there. Fleur's parents, her delicate sister Gabrielle, and a gaggle of various blonde-haired relatives arrived on Thursday. Fleur herself arrived the following day, as she had been involved in an internship over the summer. The Delacours were not the least bit put off by the Burrow, though they were more of a hindrance than a help, due to their sparse knowledge of English. It was quite a miracle, Harry decided, that they were all able to communicate arrangements at all. He found out through careful listening that the wedding would take place at an elegant wizarding chapel near Dover, and the whole lot would be traveling by mass portkey. (The Delacours had not been able to understand the exact location of the chapel, and so Mrs. Weasley thought it best that they all travel together, for fear that the Delacours might end up stranded at a random point in England.)

On Saturday morning they all gathered in a circle with their hands stretched towards an gigantic worn-out candle, waiting for 9:00 AM to arrive. Harry and Ron had spent the morning packing (Hermione scolded them for doing it so late). Harry had brought his green dress robes from fourth year, and some various toiletries. (Ron was very glad for an occasion to show off the dress robes that Fred and George, for some reason, had bought him.) The entire scene was rather peculiar indeed; there were nine redheads and nine blondes crowded together, with Harry and Hermione lost somewhere within. As 9:00 AM came and went, Harry found that they were no longer standing at the Burrow, but in the large and spacious foyer of an ancient chapel.

"Right, then," Mr. Weasley said, disposing of the candle in the nearby trashcan. "We'd better start setting up today.

"Mon mari et moi pouvons créer des fleurs," Madame Delacour said lightly, waving her wand grandly and producing a magnificent pastel floral arrangement.

"Yes, but where are you going to put that?" Mrs. Weasley asked pointedly, though she was clearly impressed with the bouquet.

"Pardonne-moi?" Madame Delacour said, clearly not understanding a word of English. Thankfully, her husband interjected.

"My wife means to say iz zat we can 'elp with zee … euh … fleurs" Monsieur Delacour said, finishing rather uncertainly.

"Oh, no," Mrs. Weasley said, turning red, "of course you can help your daughter! No, what I meant was that - " However, she was abruptly cut off by Fleur, who had decided to rejoin the conversation.

"My mother is a florist," she explained, clutching Bill's hand, "she can decorate zee place wizz beautiful flowers."

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley said, an understanding slowly dawning upon her, "that would be fine, of course, Arthur and I can get a head start on the seating." With that, the entire party set to their tasks, working diligently until the afternoon. "Bill, dear, what do you think?" Mrs. Weasley beamed, admiring the transformed chapel. An array of ever-fresh flowers artfully adorned the doorways and walls, while lovely silky gauze seemed to wrap up the entire building.

"It's fine, mum, really," Bill said, panting slightly after having conjured and arranged so many chairs and tables.

"Fine?" Mrs. Weasley reproached, sounding slightly hurt that Bill hadn't burst out in joy. "Are you sure, dear? We can work a little more on it, if you like." At this, the entire workforce turned up their heads in slight horror.

"No, no, mum, it's fine, I love it, I promise," Bill reassured her tiredly. The remainder of the Weasleys and Delacours, along with Harry and Hermione, nodded as furiously as they could. Slightly more calmed in the nerves, Mrs. Weasley smiled and bade them all Apparate home.

The next morning's wedding was a cheerful, if security-tight, affair. The entire Order of the Phoenix showed up. Though significantly humbled by the loss of Dumbledore and the betrayal of Snape, Mad Eye Moody took to standing by the doorway behind the umbrella stand and carefully eyeballing every guest as they entered. (One infant had caught sight of the dancing glass eyeball, and promptly started wailing in horror.) Harry could only guess half the charms and enchantments that Moody may have instituted to provide maximum protection, and for once, he, Ron, and Hermione stayed completely in their seats, for fear of setting off one of Moody's none-too-pleasant booby traps. Harry watching calmly as Bill, Charlie, Mr. Weasley, and several other men he could not identify strode prominently to the front of the chapel room. He was finding it to be much the same as a traditional muggle wedding, until he saw a large white rose floating down from the ceiling on a cloud of smaller white rose petals. As the rose touched the floor, the petals opened to produce Fleur, who stood there rather smugly in a beautiful white gown made of a strange cloth that seemed to glow on its own accord. (At this, most of the males in the room became entranced in their seats, earning many haughty glares from the various wives.) "I read that wizarding brides try to make as grand an appearance as possible," whispered Hermione in awe as Ginny and Gabrielle, both in pale green bridesmaid gowns, appeared out of thin air. Harry breathed fervently, noticing that Ron had gone slightly slack-jawed in the seat to his right. "Oh, for goodness sakes, Ron, stop it!" Hermione hissed quietly, leaning slightly across Harry's lap. A small red-haired boy, evidently part of the Weasley family, floated down the aisle with a minute potted seedling in his hands. The solemn man at the front, dressed in painfully sequined robes, did a complicated bit of magic and some ancient chanting that left Harry impressed but didn't seem to have much of an effect on the rest of the wedding party. Before he knew it was over, Bill and Fleur had kissed and everyone around him was getting up for refreshments.

"I wish I had caught the olive branch," Hermione sighed, reaching for an elegantly carved goblet filled with a misty liquid and topped with an abnormally large strawberry.

"Who would you want to marry?" Ron said accusingly. "Krum?"

"No," said Hermione, glaring crossly. "I don't like him anymore. He's just a nice friend."

"Oh, really?" Ron said, looking both relieved and suspicious at the same time. "Who d'you fancy now, then? That bloke over there?"

"I don't fancy anyone at all, and I certainly won't for quite some time now, thank you very much," Hermione said succinctly. She grabbed her goblet and went to find Ginny.

"Don't worry, Ron," Harry said absentmindedly, contemplating the vast selection of drinks. "She's lying."

"Right," muttered Ron, walking into the table and nearly knocking all the goblets over. "Not like I really care, though, anyway."