Hiding Under the Ninth Earth
Book 03 : Epithalamium

Part II : Oh What a Difference a Day Makes
Chapter Twenty Six : It Was Almost Time

6:45 pm

'Poofter?' Well, this was certainly new.

Shaking her head in resignation at Albus' hasty departure, Poppy turned to confront Carlotta, who was standing with her hands on her hips, shaking her head as she muttered, "I did NOT just say that. No, no, no. No, did not say it. The words never left my mouth."

"Say what, Carlotta?" 'Popples' asked her sweetly.

Eyes narrowing, then relaxing, Quiesta said with some asperity, "All right, so I did; he deserved it, though. I've isolated the curse and contained it, at least that's done. However, he's still experiencing quite a bit of discomfort, but he won't let me in his pain centres. Every single frigging time I even get near one of them, the bloody git throws me out. If I can't fix it, he's never going to last the ceremony."

Well, this certainly was 'different'. "So can I assume from your rather colourful language, you think it has something to do with his, er, orientation and that you're a woman?" Poppy asked, not quite sure she understood--she'd been healing Severus for years without any problems of that nature.

Quiesta had the grace to look sheepish. "Sorry about all that. I'm unaccustomed with anyone tossing me out on my ear, let alone a stubborn git who's not even awake. This is the third time I've found myself suddenly on the outside, so I have ask why. And I have to answer, what else could it be? Unless you're going to tell me that he's really a vampire with a clever disguise?"

With the quirk of Poppy's brow and snort of laughter at the fanciful image of the dour Potions master pale in his normal all black attire, fangs extended, Quiesta continued. "I'll take that as a 'no'. All right, we've established he's human--" She hesitated and then scrunched her brow with her fingers, eyes closing as she muttered, "No, Carlotta--you will be good, you will behave--" She took a deep breath and smiled crookedly. "So--as a human it is safe to assume his pain centres are directly linked to his pleasure centres, just like everyone else's, yes?"

When Poppy nodded, smiling, Quiesta went on, "I've never worked on Severus before, but I have healed a few gay men in my time, and while I have never had any problems with this, I have heard of some women who have. I suspect any healers he's had in the past have all been men. While he wasn't exactly 'cordial', if you will, when I worked on the curse, he was never downright hostile about it either. Whatever the reason, he has a strong aversion to me mucking about with his pain/pleasure centres and I need to find a work-around or we'll be floating him to his wedding."

Once again, Poppy bit back a laugh at the image that provoked. "Perhaps you should act like a man," she said reasonably. "Shouldn't be too difficult. Just blunder in there, make a beeline for the centres like you owned them, and if that doesn't work, you can always spit."

Quiesta stared at her like she'd grown a third eye and then her head tipped back with her laughter. "Oh, Poppy! That was priceless. So what would I use for the spittoon?"

"I don't know, pick one--there are any number of useful orifices and ducts in the human body; I'm sure one of them would suffice," she replied drolly.

Her eyes shining with amusement, Quiesta said, "Hmmm. I think you're onto something here. Let me see..." and soon she was lost in thought. Several minutes later, she raised her head, and placing her fingers back on Severus' temples, started her one-sided conversation again. "All right, if you won't take a woman, how about a--? ... No? ... Damn it, Severus! How the hell am I supposed to--hey what? Wait a minute ... liked that did you? ... All right, let's see--ahh--so that's how it is--you want him and not-- ... All right, I think I can do this--ready or not, here he comes..."

In Poppy's experience, every healer had idiosyncrasies while they healed. Most of the time it was quite unconscious; they were hardly aware they did it. Some muttered to themselves. Jed, the healer in Hogsmeade, had a mantra that was quite annoying. Harry, well, he hadn't developed any yet that she knew of, but Poppy was sure he would; he hadn't been at it that long.

And Quiesta? She was a talker, but sometimes, when the work was especially challenging, she sang softly while she worked, which was funny considering she couldn't hold a tune in a bucket. The monotone song, usually quite outrageous, always wove in and out of the notes of the Sanos whenever she was near being finished. Tonight was no exception and when Poppy heard her start up, she immediately recognized the words to an old Celtic ballad. But it was different; instead of the bawdy words they'd been expecting, these new ones were soft and sweet and with them, Poppy suddenly realised--the songs weren't for Quiesta, but for her patients, what they needed. Sobered, Poppy used a Quick-Quotes Quill and parchment she'd picked up earlier from a bedside drawer to record the words for Albus.

"I must away now, I can no longer tarry
This morning's tempest I have to cross
I must be guided without a stumble
Into the arms I love the most.

And when he had come to his true lover's dwelling
He knelt down gently upon a stone
And through the window he whispered lowly
Is my true love within at home?

Wake up, wake up love, it is thine own true lover
Wake up, wake up love, and let me in
For I am tired, love, and oh, so weary
And more than near drenched to the skin.

He raised his head up from his downy soft pillow
He raised him up and he let him in
And they were locked fast in each others' arms
Till that long night was past and gone.

And when that long night was past and over
And when the small clouds began to grow
Taking his lover's hand, they kissed and parted
Then mounted his horse and away did go.

I must away now, I can no longer tarry
This morning's tempest I have to cross
I must be guided without a stumble
Into the arms I love the most."

Quiesta stopped her singing. Her eyes opened, and Poppy smiled at her beaming face as she said jubilantly, "There! All done. You can wake lover boy now."

Well, maybe not so outrageous after all. Poppy was about to start her spells when Dobby arrived with a loud 'pop'. "Is Dobby too late? Dobby has Professor Snape's robes."

"You're just in time, Dobby. I was about to wake him," Poppy said with a smile. "How's Harry holding up?"

Dobby laid the robes behind her on the other bed after enlarging them, setting boots with socks to the side. "Master Harry is distracted," he said, smoothing the small wrinkles out. "Harry was listening so hard to something when Dobby left, Harry did not hear Dobby leave."

"Hmmm. Must have been the Sanos," Quiesta mused, "I was blocking him for the rest of it. You know, Poppy, some day we'll figure out just where that boy has limits," she commented, shaking her head.

"Or that he has none," Poppy remarked. She turned to Dobby, momentarily forgot in the exchange. "Thank you, Dobby. The headmaster will want to speak to you tomorrow, but for now--go, rest. I daresay you've earned it."

"If Madam Pomfrey is certain, Dobby will go." At her nod, he bowed to them both, and with a snap of his fingers was gone.

Poppy raised her wand over Severus, first casting a series of cleaning spells to wash away all the grime of the day. His skin almost pink, his hair shiny, she then cast the spell to wake him. He woke abruptly, his eyes wide open, looking all around him. With a groan he tried to sit up, and it took both Poppy and Quiesta, one on each side, to get him sitting at least somewhat comfortably. Poppy immediately set about casting her diagnostic spells again.

"Well, it looks like you'll live," Quiesta commented dryly.

Hoarse, Severus asked, "Why are you here?" Taking the glass of cool water she handed him, he drank it down greedily. He looked thoughtful, then said, "I remember now. I'm sorry you came so early for nothing, Carlotta. It seems I won't be able to talk to you about that Owl I sent you after all."

As Quiesta took the glass back, Poppy replied, "I think that is the least of our concerns right now." She reached over to the bedside table and picked up a bottle of his Infensus Curatio Potion. Opening it, she handed it to him, saying, "Here take this; it should help with your headache."

Severus eyed it strangely, but without question, downed the entire contents, Poppy's and Quiesta's hands hovering behind his shoulders ready to support him should he tip back. With a moue of distaste, he thrust the bottle back at her. Clearing his throat several times, he finally managed to croak out, "Strange choice of potion, Poppy. Why was it necessary?"

"Not now, Severus. Later. We have to get you ready--it's past time," Poppy said kindly as she helped Severus swing his legs over the side of the bed. With a wince, he stood, sagging into their support, the two women gripping his upper arms to help him balance.

His eyes widened when he glanced at the clock. Determined, he tried to straighten his legs with only partial success. "Weak as a new kitten," he mumbled, "this just won't do."

Freeing one hand, Poppy rummaged in her pocket. "Here, Carlotta," she said, handing her a vial with a clear amber liquid. When Quiesta took it from her with a nod and a quiet 'thanks', Poppy addressed Severus. "How much of today do you remember?"

Severus watched Quiesta down the restorative with a puzzled frown, saying dryly, "Obviously not enough." He shook his head. "I remember leaving with Remus, going to the pub, chasing a rat, and waking at Malfoy Manor. It gets a bit fuzzy after that, but I definitely recall waking up here once and then not much more. He nodded his chin at Quiesta. "However, if she healed me, that explains the nightmare from which I just woke."

With a dry chuckle, Poppy exclaimed, "Severus! Where are your manners? And after she made you such a nice song, too."

Sliding his eyes over to Quiesta, he said slowly, "You worked on me long enough to make up a song? That's disturbing." He looked down at himself. "And it seems to me that my manners are in the same place as my clothes." With a twist of his lips, he continued, "Ladies, while I'm sure you find the situation, ahem, quite scintillating, would it be in the realm of possibility that I could have my clothes now?"

"Oh, will you listen to him! Such conceit," Quiesta said to Poppy. "Certainly Severus," she continued in a sugary voice, "we'll 'help' you get dressed, won't we Poppy?"

Severus grimaced at the saucy wink Poppy gave her in return. "Indeed," she said quietly, picking up his inner robe from the bed.

Quiesta eyed the other clothes and then Severus from tip to toe. With a sly sideways smile, she said, "Well, it appears you're going to go 'traditional', Severus. We've no skivvies for you."

She held out the robe behind him while Poppy ordered, "Stick out your arm."

Severus tried to turn his head around to see what they were up to. "What? Is this truly necessary? Can't you just spell them on me?"

"Not hardly," she retorted, "we can't use too much magic so close to the wedding, you know that."

"Very well," he grumbled, putting his arms behind him stiffly. "At least the potion seems to be working." Poppy clicked her tongue, and guided his arm into the sleeve. He hissed as tender skin met heavy silk. "Ow! Damn it, woman--watch it! "

"With all his bitching, he must be feeling better." Quiesta said drolly, trying to get his arm through the other sleeve of his inner robe while Poppy worked on her side.

Sighing heavily, Severus snarled, "I am NOT being 'bitchy'. Where did you get your bedside manner? From sandpaper?"

"Ooooh, can't the ickle man take a little pain?" Quiesta cooed in a baby voice while Poppy bit her lip to keep from laughing outright.

"Hmph. I see why you teach and not practice." When he failed to get a rise out of the Healer, he went on, "And why your patients all end up unconscious." She pulled his arm through and cast a small spell to keep the robe from slipping, yet would hold the fabric off of his freshly healed wounds.

"There you go, all done. Ickle Sevvie is all ready to go on this side." When he threw her a murderous glare, she chuckled wickedly, asking, "Poppy? You need a little help over there? I'd be more than happy to dress the dolly on that side."

Poppy stopped and stared and burst out laughing. "I'm fine over here, but you need to button him up, dear." She chuckled as Severus pulled back as far as he could inside the robes to avoid Carlotta's nimble fingers as she closed the frogs running from hem to throat. Snorting, Poppy said, "Some 'dolly'. While he's bendable, he's not biddable." She reached over and plucked the outer robe from the bed, handing one side to Quiesta.

Quiesta continued the harangue while threading Severus' arm through the sleeve. "Posable," she huffed, struggling to get the fabric covered arm through the sleeve without twisting it, "but not flexible."

"No, he's not, is he?" Poppy replied, working the fabric of the outer robe over the inner like a stocking. Once in place, she smoothed the silk down, tugging it in places to set the folds right. She tilted her head at Severus, considering him speculatively a moment before saying, "I suspect this is the model for bad mummies. Refuses to cooperate and cries all the time. Probably wets the bed, too." Her eyes raked him from head to foot. "Not badly made, though, quite well formed, actually. Takes a lot of abuse--too bad he doesn't like to play with the girl dollies."

Quiesta studied Severus, smoothing and pulling her side down in the same manner. "Really? Only likes the boy toys?" Laughing at his sputtering, she asked, "Are you sure you don't like the girl dollies, Sevvie? I can think of a few 'uses' for the posability and I suspect getting these clothes off would be a sight easier than getting them on."

Severus looked at her with something akin to horror, for once bereft of words. With his mouth working soundlessly on any number of tempting curses, none of which he could or would use, the two women laughed at his discomfort. Poppy put her hand on his shoulder and made him sit down on the bed. Handing him his socks, she asked jokingly, "Do you think you can manage these?"

To his acute embarrassment, he couldn't bend far enough; he was still too stiff. With a sympathetic shake of her head at odds with her previous teasing, Carlotta took the plain wool socks out of his hand and, sinking to the floor to sit on her knees, she gently hooked one of his feet onto her lap. Without comment, she first put on the sock and then tugged on the boot Poppy wordlessly handed her. Placing his shod foot on the floor, she repeated it on the other side, patting the toe of his boot as she set it down. Standing, she held out her hands, saying, "All right, my man, let's see if we can't get you walking."

With a quiet, "Thanks," Severus gripped her wrists. After wrapping her hands firmly around his wrists, she stepped back a bit to give him the room to use her arms as leverage to stand. Poppy stopped his swaying with a hand on his back, and one step at a time, each subsequent one a little easier, they moved him to a small table near the foot of the far bed. He sat stiffly in the hard chair without assistance and inhaled deeply of the steaming bowl of thin broth waiting there.

"I want you to get as much of that down as you can, Severus," Poppy said in her brisk manner, all joking aside. "Quiesta and I have to get ready as well. If you need anything, Farly will be here to help."

He looked at both women, his gaze steady. Inclining his head, he turned back to the bowl on the table. Quiesta and Poppy smiled indulgently at each other over his head and, after Quiesta tied a large napkin around his neck and gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze, moved away together.

He was halfway done with the broth and had just set the spoon aside and taken the napkin off when Quiesta returned alone. She glided over to him and wordlessly stood behind him, putting her hands on his shoulders. "I need to make one final check to make sure it's holding," she said cryptically. He nodded, but she knew he didn't understand. Placing her fingers on his temples, she dipped quickly in and back out with a sigh of satisfaction. Her hand trailing across his shoulders as she moved around to face him, she kept it there as she said quietly, "I will see you in a few minutes, Severus. Poppy should be out in a minute or so. Is there anything you need?"

"Only an explanation and Harry, and I suspect I am going to have to wait for both," he said dryly, a rare smile on his lips.

Quiesta chuckled. "Ah, nothing then that I can get for you."

"Thank you, Carlotta."

Mimicking his previous nod, she patted his cheek and moved away. He was about to tell her she looked splendid--for a woman, when Poppy startled him from behind. "Carlotta! Didn't anyone tell you you're not supposed to outshine the--well, you know what I mean. That red is lovely on you, dear."

Quiesta made a mock curtsy and smiled. "As do you, Poppy; lavender suits you well."

Severus growled, "Now that the two of you are through admiring each other, can we finally leave?"

"Carlotta certainly can, but you and I have a few more minutes left to go."

Taking the hint, Quiesta made her goodbyes and was soon on her way.

Grudgingly, Severus said quietly, "You do look very nice, Madam Dumbledore."

She shook her head. "A compliment? From you? Now I know you're not feeling well."

Chuckling, he pulled his head back to look at her better. "I'll have you know, I'm quite capable of doing so if the occasion warrants it."

She handed him another potion, this time from a brown bottle. "What? Are you saying I don't warrant it at other times?" she asked, a mischievous glint in her eye.

He sniffed the contents cautiously and looked over the ingredients as he said in a distracted voice. "Well, you know what they say about shoes--" Obviously satisfied with the mild pain potion she'd given him, he downed it easily, setting the empty bottle on the table. "Ah, one of my better ones."

Quietly, she held out her hand. As he took it, she asked, "Are you ready?" When he stood, his impatience was almost tangible. Shaking her head and chuckling, she said, "Stupid question, eh?"

Smiling, he embraced her with a soft, "Thank you, Poppy," and without further ado, he escorted her slowly out the door.

7:45 pm

The chiming of the wards, this time, was at least expected, though later than he thought it would be. Harry rose from Severus' chair, where he'd been brooding, staring at the small fire, and went to answer the door. As he'd thought, Arthur was standing in the alcove, looking a bit uncomfortable; most folk did down in the dungeons, but Harry found them close and safe.

"Harry!" Arthur exclaimed, giving him a brief hug. Stepping back, Harry made room for him to pass.

"You were expecting someone else?" Harry murmured as he closed the door behind him. Following him into the sitting room, he watched in amusement the frank look of surprise on Arthur's face as he slowly turned, taking in the room.

"I say, this is quite cosy. I'm afraid it's not at all what I thought it would be."

"Oh, it's better than it was this morning. Dobby helped me carry out the rack and the chains, and, with nothing better to do this afternoon, I cleaned out all the cobwebs before harvesting all the mould off the walls," Harry teased, his eyes bright with laughter.

"Ah--what?" Arthur asked, staring hard at him, and then started chuckling. "You're having me on."

"Only about the mould," Harry dead-panned, chortling at the way Arthur's face fell into horror then smoothed. He gazed at Harry keenly and then laughed. "Serves me right to make assumptions like that, doesn't it?"

"A little bit." Harry shrugged. "I'm used to it and we rarely have guests, so I guess it's natural for people to think about all the horrible things one gets to in the dungeons. Besides, if I recall, Severus once told me it took him almost three years to clean them up, so I expect your memories of them are a bit different than my own."

"Ah, yes, I understand," Arthur responded absentmindedly, looking at some of the titles in the bookcase, but Harry could see he really didn't. It was all right, though. Arthur was a good man and, like just about everyone else, couldn't truly appreciate the better attributes of a well-kept dungeon.

Looking a bit nervous at Harry's silence, Arthur turned from the books, his hands buried in his pockets as he said, "Are we ready, now? If you'd like, we can go on up or we could stay here a while longer until they call us."

Harry looked around the room himself. "No, I just need to finished getting dressed and then we can leave. I think I have seen enough of this place for a while." He didn't mention that it was a very lonely place without his 'roommate'.

Arthur moved to the side of the room by the fire and sat in Harry's chair. "I'll just wait for you here, then."

"All right. Can I get you anything to drink? A brandy perhaps?" Harry asked, remembering his manners.

"No, thank you. Albus said there would be refreshments waiting for us upstairs. I'll survive until then."

Harry nodded and went to their bedchamber. Boots on and a trip to the loo later, Harry donned the outer robe, adjusting the heavy robe to settle smoothly on his shoulders. He went to the mirror to make sure it was falling straight, thinking of when Severus had replaced the caustic, although very amusing at times, Wizarding mirror he'd had before with this antique Muggle version. Oddly reluctant to leave now, Harry gave himself a glare, and left the room to rejoin Arthur.

Arthur stood when he heard Harry come in. "Are we ready?" he asked and then paused, eyeing his robes. "You look splendid, Harry. I don't think I've ever seen you in full Wizarding robes before--usually you favour those with the trousers and such."

"Well, they seemed a little too informal for this, and I don't have much cause to wear these." Harry turned to leave. "Shall we be on our way? Wouldn't do to be late to my own wedding."

Joining him, Arthur smiled as they walked to the door. He looked at the Muggle watch Harry and Severus had given him on his last birthday. "Not too much longer--Albus said everything would be delayed a half hour. Wasn't very long on explanations, but Albus never is, not when there are others who can tell the tale." He glanced at Harry sideways.

Harry set the wards, taking a deep breath of the air outside their quarters; it might be the same air he'd breathed a few seconds ago when still inside, but it tasted different now, sweeter, filled with greater promise. He shook his head at his own fancy, saying, "So is that why the old bugger doesn't tell anybody anything?"

A half-smile forming on his lips, Arthur said, "Well, that and our good headmaster likes a spot of drama every now and again. Makes some sense, though; at 154 I'm not sure what it takes to make anything exciting again when one's 'seen it all'. Of course, we're both too young to have that problem."

"Hmmm. You have a point. I'd not thought of it quite that way." They continued down the hallway in companionable silence. Halfway up the stairs out of the dungeons, Arthur looking more comfortable with each step away, Harry said, "Did I remember to thank you for waiting with me?"

Arthur laughed. "Definitely nerves. Yes, Harry. You've thanked me more than enough. Hedwig is exhausted with all the gratitude you poured on us this last week."

"Remind me to thank her," Harry said distractedly, noting the end of the Sanos. Quiesta was finished. He stopped, closed his eyes, and concentrated. He was still blocked. Giving a small sigh, he resumed walking.

Arthur just shook his head and smiled, but said nothing.

They reached the Great Hall and, turning left, went down a side hall towards the Room of Requirement. "Did Albus tell you how we're to do this?"

Somewhat distracted by his own thoughts, Arthur stared at Harry a second before focusing on him and replying, "Yes. We're to knock on the door three times, wait a beat, and push the lion."

"The Lion," Harry said, glancing at the smooth door.

"That's what he said." Arthur walked up to the door and did as instructed. On the third knock, a lion's head appeared in the middle of the door at eye level. Arthur turned to look at Harry, who shrugged as if to say 'how am I supposed to know'. Pushing on the lion's nose, the door swung open to a cosy room with two comfortable chairs set at angles to each other. Between them was a small table upon which rested a wooden salver with two glasses of amber liquid, some soft cheese with green apple slices and small points of toast. On the opposite side, behind the chairs, was another door with no handle.

Harry and Arthur settled themselves wordlessly in the chairs and startled at the fire burning merrily where the door they'd entered had just stood.

"I guess this means I should be glad I went to the loo before we left," Harry said dryly, taking one of the snifters of brandy, handing the other to Arthur.

Arthur chuckled and helped himself to some of the food. Harry thought about it and decided that if he were going to drink the liqueur, he should probably eat something as well, but he still wasn't hungry. He set the snifter back on the table, untouched, where it promptly morphed into a glass of milk. Chuckling, he lifted the glass and drank deeply of it. "I think this is the first time I've ever seen this room change things so quickly, but it's exactly what I need; I haven't eaten since this morning, but the thought of food..."

"Is unappealing. Nerves as I said. It's to be expected. I was a nervous wreck when I got married," Arthur said with a fond smile. "And with it starting late..." He gazed at Harry expectantly.

Harry smiled to himself, wondering when Arthur had become so transparent. "So, Albus didn't tell you why we're delayed?"

"No, he was singularly quiet about it."

"Hmmm. Severus was injured; they called in Quiesta to heal him while I was stuck in the dungeons." At Arthur's startled expression, Harry hastily assured him, "Oh, he's better, but it took longer than they thought it would." Or at least he hoped Severus was all right.

"There is much missing out of the middle of that tale--like all of it. But no matter. I suspect I can get answers later; however, I am glad to hear Severus will survive his 'accident'."

And when had Arthur become as sneaky as Albus? Harry decided to humour him. "It was no accident," Harry replied slowly.

Arthur stared at him. His "Oh?" carried a wealth of questions.

"It was Malfoy," Harry said flatly.

"Ah." Arthur was silent for a few minutes. Quietly he mused to himself, "Well, that is a bit surprising. I hadn't expected him to tip his hand quite this soon; he's usually more cunning and patient than this."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked bluntly.

Arthur hesitated, then making a decision, replied, "Lucius is like a burr; once he sticks to your trousers, you can't get rid of him. He's been quietly gathering followers both here and abroad, mostly in Italy where the Ministry of Magic is lax and more than a little corrupt. A Galleon goes a long way there. We've been watching him carefully, trying to determine which of the Death Eaters remaining are still fighting a war they won't acknowledge is over versus which ones have joined Lucius. We still don't know what he's been up to, but we have noticed the number of marriages in the older houses have increased as have the number of births. And he's hiding some known fugitives from Azkaban, like Lindsay Avery and Peter Pettigrew, but without proof..." He shook his head. "While we don't think he's setting himself up to be the next Dark Lord, we do think he's trying to establish a power base, presumably to take over the Ministry. But again, without solid evidence..."

He took another sip of the brandy and settled back into the chair. "Of course, all of this is privileged information." He looked off into the distance, a worried frown marring his brow. Almost to himself, he continued, "Bless him, Albus must have been looking for the proof we need; obviously he was not successful or he would have told me. But it is odd he sent them out so close to the wedding--unless..." He looked over at Harry. "I suppose he had his reasons. He always does."

Harry chuckled grimly. "Yes, he did, actually. Good ones as it turned out." He said nothing more and glanced away from the curiosity in Arthur's eyes. How could he explain it when he didn't understand it himself? He drank down the last of the milk, the glass disappearing after he set it down.

"Did I tell you Molly is thinking of going back to work?" Arthur asked out of the blue.

"Really? Where? Has she had any offers?"

Arthur chuckled, saying, "Yes, she's been asked several times over the years by an old friend of ours who runs the rare book department of Gringotts to help him with their collection. She apprenticed with Finius until she got pregnant with Bill and the others, but she's kept up with it over the years and now that Ginny's engaged, the last one out of the nest, so to speak, Molly wants to go back to it. And with me out all the time, it will give her something for herself."

Harry was stunned. Where had he been? "Ginny's engaged? When? To whom?"

Arthur's face softened. "I am sorry, Harry. It has been quite a while since we've seen you, hasn't it, what with Ron and all."

Harry waved his hand in negation. "It's all right. I've been more than a bit preoccupied myself, but that still does not answer my questions."

"Well, it hasn't been all that long. Only a month or so. We're waiting for them to set a date before we publish the Banns. And they say they won't do that until they find a house, so she's still living in that rabbit warren with all her friends while Neville's staying in his rooms on campus until then."

Rabbit warren? Then it hit him. "Neville? As in Longbottom?" Harry asked incredulously. "I didn't even know they were dating; he never mentioned it the few times I've seen him." And he realised, with a sense of shame, he'd not asked.

Arthur looked uncomfortable. "They started dating a couple of years ago. Ginny was up at St. Mungo's visiting Bill and Ron at the same time Neville was there to visit his parents. They got to talking and one thing led to another." He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. "In fact, that's how we heard about the work you were doing. When you first approached us about the boys, I admit we were a bit sceptical, but talking to Neville and seeing the progress you'd made with his parents helped us make the decision to go ahead and let you try." He stared off into the distance, remembering. "Best choice we ever made, too."

Harry decided not to make an issue of it and murmured, "So little Ginny is getting married. I feel so out of everything, like the world is just passing me by. I need to start paying better attention."

Arthur chuckled. "If you think that now, let me assure you it gets much worse as you get older. We all do it, let time slip past us, so don't feel alone." He took another sip of the brandy. "So, let's see, what other news do we need to catch up on."

As they talked, Harry gave up trying to contact Severus, paying attention instead to all the little happenings in the Weasley family he'd missed with his loss of contact with Ron. Not that they'd seen much of each other since they'd reconciled almost four months ago. Just about the time he'd resolved to start at least Owling them more, the door behind them chimed. Startled, he and Arthur peered around the back of their chairs and saw they door behind them now had a handle.

Arthur looked at his watch before turning his gaze to Harry. "8:25 pm. Right on schedule. Ready?"

Harry took a deep breath, standing. "As ready as I'll ever be." As he turned to go around the chair, he could be heard murmuring, "And about bloody time, too."

Arthur chuckled, and they went, together, to the door.

Timeless

He walked through the endless corridors of time and space in the twilight realm of endless possibilities the Orrery represented. Reaching the infinite point where the future meets the past, he called out the mighty words of ancient power and captured an instant into a shimmering ball of reality. It twisted and writhed within his gnarled hands, his normally snowy white beard painted the brightest colours of the rainbow to the darkest shades of midnight as the captive moment desperately tried to escape his inexorable prison. He spoke to it, soothingly, lovingly, until captivated more by his charm than his magic, it calmed, expectantly waiting to do his bidding, for like everything else in this place, it could not ultimately refuse him.

Carefully cradling the fledgling against his chest like the infant it was, he carried it out of its cold birthing place, through an enchantment made only for those of his kind, into a plain room warm with promise. Happy, the moment begged in its noisy silent fashion to be released into this new inviting home, a sanctuary where it could reside in happy stasis. He whispered patience to it, waiting until it once again was under his spell, pulsing brightly with all its latent power, for both he and it knew nothing contained more power than Now.

His shoulders starting to droop with the effort of holding such an eager participant, he took a moment of his own to focus inner resources rarely called upon. Like an Ouroboros, his strength fed his weakness until, balanced, he stood tall and straight. Raising his arms, he waited for the instant and when it was right he released the captured moment, floating it until it spun furiously, freely in the centre of the Room. Joyfully it turned, faster and faster, growing with each revolution until it overtook him, passed him, encompassed him within itself. He waited and carefully watched its soft edges slowly expanding to fill the Room. Sweating with the effort, he watched and waited and when it began to escape the confines of its possibilities, in that instant when it crossed the lines of reality, he called upon the awesome power of the Now it was about to invade. With long words of power, he raised his arms again and bound the moment with the possibilities and made them one Now.

The past meeting the future held by the present. This was the way of the Now. It was done.

Now he could rest easy, knowing that those he loved would be safe. Conjuring a squashy chair, he gratefully sank into it, the last indulgence of the day, surrounded as he was by the infant moment he'd just birthed. It frolicked and rolled and played like a puppy, exhausting in its exuberance.

He was tired, but his tasks for this day were not yet completed. Patting a pocket in his robes, he smiled and, rummaging in its vast depths, pulled forth a bottle of love. Oh, they might call it a potion, or any of a dozen other names, but he knew the reality of its creation. Conceived in concern, nurtured by boundless intellect, and born out of the purest love and trust, both shining things so rare he kept them close to his heart, knowing they asked for nothing more than his love in return. No favours, no conditions, no strings except the ties that had bound them for over thirty four years.

Uncapping the bottle, he poured a measure, his mind turning to thoughts of fat, plump lemons dancing on the ends of shiny green boughs made bright with a relentless sun. He took a sip and the pleasures of ice cold lemonade on a scorching summer day burst on his tongue. He savoured the taste, sip after sip, until the small measure was gone. With regret, he spelled the cup clean and resealed the bottle. Already he could feel the love in the bottle flowing warm in him, giving strength to tired limbs and clarity to thought, and as it flowed through him he couldn't help but wonder what it contained. Shaking his head, he laughed at his own conceit, knowing that trying to guess what made it work was like trying to fathom the heavens and life itself. For he knew, if nothing else, that nothing comprised merely its ingredients, that even the most common weed, if imbued with the magic of one who loved, could heal the world.

After tonight, he would be travelling a new path. A short road, he knew, compared to the others before it, one with gentler curves ever moving downhill until he reached the terminus. But he also knew this one would be richer than any other he'd ever travelled, for he would, for the first time in his life, be able to slow down enough to truly enjoy the thousands of little joys awaiting him on either side. Not that he'd ever ignored them before, but there had been times he'd not been able to do more than spare them a regretful passing glance.

Closing his eyes, he waited, relishing that he had a moment to spare, a moment filled with its own importance from simply existing, not requiring something to give it meaning. He studied this moment, feeling within it all the promise of what was to come from it and what had made it. Just like the little moment he'd captured here, in this Room of Infinite Possibilities, it burst into the future with each passing instant, leaving behind the echoes of the past. Always moving, always containing within it all the moments of eternity.

He smiled with its secret. It was almost time.

TBC

Quiesta's 'song' was adapted from the Scottish/English traditional "Night Visiting Song". Many thanks to Aseneth for her help in researching alternate wording/versions and cadences.