Thanks to BajaB and Nukular Winter for the pub names. And to all the folks at Alpha Fight Club for their help. See chapter 1 for disclaimer.


Chapter 4: Weddings and Strippers and Strippers at Weddings


"Harry dear, can you please take this chair out to the lawn, copy it about thirty times, and set them up over by the gondola? The Minister's secretary just Flooed and he's bringing press coverage. I don't want them disturbing our guests."

"Sure, Mrs. Weasley," I said to her back as she rushed off. I'd been helping Molly for the past two hours. Her "perfect" sons, apparently still sleeping off the effects of Bill's stag night, were in no shape to help out.

Since the awkwardness of my Auror screening, Molly and I had been on more amicable, if somewhat more formal. To my surprise, she'd even dropped an oblique hint about how I may not have been as bad as she'd thought and that she wouldn't mind seeing Ginny and me back together. This was looking less likely with time, however. Ginny would be at Hogwarts next year, while I'd be off hunting Death Eaters: not the best recipe for a relationship. Perhaps I should have taken the Defense position after all.

I smoothed the front of my Auror dress blues, an old habit, and patted the breast pocket where I'd stashed my medals to avoid catching them on things as I helped out. I'd have to be a little careful, though. The uniform was charmed to resist spells—it would blunt a cutting curse, after all—but that also meant that it couldn't be Scourgified.

"Your first day off in two weeks and you spend it as a House Elf. Congratulations, Auror Potter. My already low opinion of you has fallen considerably, something I didn't think possible."

"Stuff it, Tom. The closer we are, the better I can suss out what's wrong with the Bond and find a way to undo it." It was true—of late, when Molly and I were nearby, our connection was almost tangible, a spongy warmth every bit as strong as the one I'd shared with Gin just before the final battle last time around. That it'd progressed this far this fast didn't bode well for separation, but I wasn't about to admit it to myself—or anyone else, for that matter.

Tom sneered. "Yes, yes. The 'Harry Potter Master Plan.' I'm quite familiar with it."

"You don't think it'll work?" I pushed through the door to the backyard and walked down the stairs, noting the polished buckles on the Wellies lining the steps. Molly had really outdone herself. A lesser woman would have simply moved the boots out of sight rather than clean them and leave them in place.

"Of course not. When was the last time you actually succeeded at a complex piece of magic?"

I duplicated the chair in my hand and heard a deep rumble in the distance. It didn't look like the weather would hold.

"Let's see—I believe I did a nice spot of transfiguration awhile back. Perhaps you recall?" I created another chair.

"Touché. I was referring to something subtle, requiring actual skill and not just brute force."

"Well, there was the time travel thing..."

"And how's that working out for you?" he said as he retreated from my forebrain. In my mind, I conjured a curtain between us. It was a largely symbolic gesture, but it would at least give the pretext of privacy. Of late, Tom was keeping more to himself anyway. While I was a little concerned what he was doing in the nether regions of my noggin, I honestly didn't mind the quiet.

I sensed someone approaching, so I pushed some extra magic into the spell and did a quick, twenty-fold duplication. With a twisting wand motion, the chairs levitated them into place and I looked up to see an impeccably dressed Veela whose subtle hip sashay was a magnet for any male's eyes, mine included. Apolline. Bill was lucky. Judging by her mother's appearance, Fleur was sure to age well.

"'Arry!" she said, affecting a frosty, perfect smile and gesturing to my chairs. "Impressive magic."

"Madame Delacour." I said, bowing and kissing her hand.

"Again, call me Apolline. You are recovered from ze cramps?" She arched a flawless, white-blonde eyebrow, then became serious just as quickly . "'Arry, zere is something I must discuss with you regarding Gabrielle."

"Ma'am?"

"My youngest, she is quite taken with you, which is very bad at this time." Seeing my confusion, she continued, "What do you know about Veela, 'Arry?"

"A little, but apparently not enough. Care to enlighten me?"

"Ze--what is ze word--puberty for a Veela is most difficult and Gabrielle is suffering it now. Ze 'ormones and ze magic together are 'orrible. At 'ogwarts, you saved her life, which made a bond between you. Unfortunately, zis bond, it means she will be also strongly attracted to you."

Lovely. Another bond. "So this means..."

"Gabrielle will not be in complete control of her faculties. Around one with magic as strong as yours, it will be a powerful aphrodisiac."

"I'm not that powerful," I temporized.

"Oh, but you are..." She reached up to stroke my face with her fingertips and my breath hitched. She continued in a husky whisper, "And it affects more than just Gabrielle." I breathed in her perfume and my heart started to race. She and Fleur had made a game out of flirting with me the other day, using their Veela power to its fullest to see who could enthrall me, and at the same time annoy Molly, the most. I blinked, reinforcing my Occlumency, and the effect diminished somewhat, though my trousers still felt a little tight.

"Tease," I grumbled as her light blue eyes shined with mirth.

"Zis matter, it will be more acute the closer she is to you, so I ask if you could remain a distance from her when possible."

"I'll do my best, ma'am." I felt a breath of tiny drops in the moist summer air.

"Please do. Though Gabrielle appears to be fond of Molly, following her like a kitten, it would be regrettable if she were to make a scene with you, 'Arry." Her hand was on my forearm and I tensed as she placed a lingering kiss on my cheek. "Do be gentle--she is quite fragile. Young 'earts, zey break easy, non?" She turned and my eyes followed her back to the Burrow as I worked at bringing my heartbeat down to something less than faerie-on-pepper-up speed.

I arranged cream and silver ribbons along the edges of the block of chairs while in my head Molly bellowed at a somnambulant Fred, who had apparently mixed a batch of hangover potion on the stove and made a mess of things.

My sense of danger piqued. I heard a high-pitched growl, like that of a kneezle, and readied my wand. A half-second later, a yellow chiffon missile emerged from beneath an invisibility cloak and crashed into my chest, blowing me backwards off my feet. Clever fingers, trained by a thousand generations of evolution, worked the fasteners on my clothing. Before we reached the ground my robes were splayed open and my trousers were tugged down to my knees. My back landed in the moist ground with a quiet 'splut' as a diminutive, barely-pubescent veela straddled my waist and rocked her hips firmly against mine. I thanked the fates that my boxers were still on—I was quite sure that she wasn't wearing knickers.

With a snarl, Gabrielle's tiny hands buried in my hair, drawing my face to hers. I elbowed the ground beside me and turned us over so that I was on top, but I couldn't pull us apart. In transit, her legs locked around my waist and a hot, prehensile tongue snaked between my teeth and wrapped around mine, seizing it tight. As my mind processed the possibilities, I felt a surge of Veela magic, primal, filled with youthful lust, an almost palpable cloud of desire.

Her desire, not mine. Ginny may have strained my moral compass, but Gabrielle took a Reducto to it.

I turned my wand onto her and started to vocalize a stunner as I heard a female voice behind me.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

A slender ray of violet struck me and I felt my body go rigid, rolling off of the tiny girl. Gabrielle sat up with a frustrated shriek and then started to wail. Hermione, deeply tanned and just back from holiday, loomed over us, her arms akimbo.

"Harry James Potter! Just what do you think you were doing with this poor girl, taking advantage of her like this?"

I could only blink. Did she really expect a response?

My best friend continued to lecture as she smoothed and restored the girl's dress and pulled her into a hug, sending a seething glare over her shoulder. Some time later, Hermione stood and led Gabrielle, now a sniffling portrait of innocence, back to the Burrow, leaving me laying in the grass, exposed, near the press corps seats.

I heard guests start to arrive in the distance. Bloody hell.

Just as I thought things couldn't get any worse, Tom poked his head through the curtain and laughed at my predicament. "The half-breed whelp was more woman than you could handle. Why am I not surprised?"

I grumbled, my anger giving me the focus to break Hermione's hex. I just managed to slide up my trousers as Bozo rushed over with his camera. I flashed him a cheeky grin and pumped my fist in triumph.

As if in answer, it started to rain.


The bored-looking usher sneered at my disheveled, grass-stained clothes and ignored me, addressing the couple behind me instead. As he seated them, I slipped my Order of Merlin and its French equivalent over my neck. He returned and his eyes widened.

"Monsieur Potter, my apologies for not recognizing you." He bowed deeply. Short, with a pear-shaped body and a smarmy, pinched face set in a permanent squint, Fleur's cousin Pierre wasn't the kind of guy I enjoyed dealing with, but it beat enduring Ron's complaints about being an usher and not a groomsman like his brothers.

"Friend of ze bride or ze groom?" he said, bowing obsequiously.

Let's see. Accused of having my wicked ways with the groom's little sister versus the bride's?

"Bride, please. Back row's fine." While neither family had heard of deodorant, Fleur's at least recognized the concept of bathing. Besides, Remus was alone over on the Weasley side and I didn't want to get stuck having to talk to him. Instead, I chatted up Madame Maxime, who was seated in front of me and who, I was surprised to learn had a seemingly endless supply of double entendres and bawdy jokes.

"Wotcher, handsome!" chirped a voice I knew well from my day job.

"Tonks?"

"This seat taken, love?" she asked, sliding next to me. Maxime winked at me and engaged the man next to her in a private joke.

"It's yours if you want it. You're not..."

"Sitting with the fur-ball? Nah, he's got a case of the mopes. You know, nothing to do now that the Dark Tosser ain't around… Thought I'd come over here to chat up a dashing Auror instead. Congrats, by the way, on making us all look bad—course record your first time through? Look out for Danner and Jimmy, by the way—jealous twinks'll try hazing you or something equally suicidal." She flicked some grass off the back of my robe. "So, a tumble in the hay already? Who's the lucky lady--anyone I know?"

"Ugh." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Long story, but there's no lady in my life, lucky or otherwise, thanks."

Tonks grinned playfully. "You and the Weasley girl, not an item, then?"

I shook my head. "She's seeing someone else. See the photographer?"

"Scrawny kid with the zits?"

"The one."

She whistled. "No accounting for taste, eh? Speaking of..." The metamorphmagus's hair turned red and freckles dusted her pale skin. "I can kinda tell yours. Fancy hanging with an older woman for the day? Unlike Miss Bat Snot, I can even give you juicy Auror gossip...." She slid under my arm and leaned her head conspicuously on my shoulder as the music became louder and the procession started up the aisle.

Ginny glared as she passed and I waved in return. I'll admit to feeling a little vindicated at her reaction—maybe her feelings for me weren't completely gone after all?

"Harry, dear, who is that with you?" Molly asked in my head.

"Just Tonks. She's just playing around, trying to get a reaction out of Remus."

"Okay, just wondering... Oh dear, look out!"

Fire erupted around us as with a bestial snarl, Gabrielle launched a fireball at Tonks. I froze the orange flames before we got burned too badly and heard Apolline alternate between chastising the girl for her actions and gushing over her baby's first fireball. She hissed at Colin to make sure the event was captured on film.

Tonks and I headed back to the Burrow to clean up. I fixed what I could with my wand, but a few of the burns had already blistered, so I went off to search for salve in Molly's stores. Unfortunately, by the time I'd located some, I was treated to the sight of Tonks straddling Remus's lap in the living room, her face and body hairy like before.

I dropped the tin on the table.

It was probably just as well. Flings among Aurors never work out.


"Wasn't it the most lovely ceremony?" Molly asked in my head. The wedding party were on the floor dancing a waltz and she and Arthur were in the center of a gaggle of red- and blonde-haired couples.

"Yeah, lovely," I lied, having only caught the very end. I'd taken a few minutes to cast silencing charms on the Burrow, since I knew from having shared Number 12 for the last two weeks with the couple that Tonks was a screamer. Not particularly interested in the ceremony itself, I'd snagged a bottle of firewhiskey from one of the tables and took a walk with Moody around the perimeter to ensure that no Death Eaters were there to disrupt the ceremony. Technically, I was on duty to keep the peace anyway, so all was good.

Fred and Ginny passed by, somehow managing a shuffle in 3/4 time. Ginny caught my eye for a moment, then looked away. Behind them was Percy, being towed by a tiny witch hellbent on dancing in front of me. Gabrielle then "accidentally" raised the hem of her dress well above her knees. I caught a glimpse of her skinny thighs, then coughed, directing my gaze elsewhere.

Just then, the Minister flopped into the seat next to me, the chair groaning under his weight.

"Auror Potter," he said, his gaze falling on little Gabrielle's derriere.

"Minister."

"I see that you sent an unusual request to my office. The Transferral Room?"

"Is there a problem?"

He frowned for a moment. "It's just an unusual request, one that could have fallout if word got out. I'm still undecided on whether to grant it." He lifted a glass of champagne to his mouth, then ran a wide, lascivious tongue over thick lips as he watched the pert bum of the prepubescent witch sway in exaggerated motions.

"Fallout? How so?" I tried to ignore his behavior.

"If the public knew that their hero, the one who slew You Know Who and whom I put in charge of the Strike Force, was a practicing Necromancer, don't you think they'd find that a bit... odd? You know, new Dark Lord, that kind of thing?"

"Probably." I thought for a moment. "What would it take to change your mind? I'd be willing to swear an oath that what I have in mind isn't dark magic." It wasn't, really—soul magic of the type I wanted to do is merely borderline unethical, the kind of thing that gives most wizards the mandrake-screaming fantods.

He looked at me, raised an eyebrow, and slowly returned his gaze to Gabrielle. No way—as much as Fleur's sister annoyed me, I couldn't offer him that. "How about a press conference?"

Sharp words from Apolline told Gabrielle to leave me alone. The little girl stamped her foot and screwed up her face, blasting her immature aura as hard as she could, which caused Percy's and the Minister's mouths to drop open. Seeing that I was unaffected, Gabrielle turned in a huff, flaring her hair behind, and strutted away with her insensate partner. I nodded my thanks to Apolline, who winked at me, amused by her daughter's antics.

As he recovered his senses, the Minister sniffed. "Right. Very well, a press conference. I've an event scheduled in a few days to announce Crabtree's appointment to be Goblin Liason; let's combine it with that. Coordinate with my secretary, Auror Potter." He nodded to me, then left.

I took a sip of lukewarm Champagne as Molly hummed in my head, fluffy joy seeping through our bond.

"Everything is just so perfect," she gushed. "I just don't think anything can spoil this evening..."

The Fates, as you know, never leave such statements unchallenged.


A new waltz began and I decided on a whim to steal a dance with Gin while Colin was busy snapping photos. I strode across the dance floor toward my wife, who met my eyes and turned to go in the opposite direction. Her brothers—minus Bill, who was still dancing with Fleur, and Ron, who was arguing with Hermione--looked on warily.

"Ginny?" I called behind her.

She stopped and turned around slowly. "Harry."

"You look beautiful tonight."

"Thank you very much." Her angry eyes didn't appear particularly forgiving.

"Would you care to dance?"

"Not particularly," she said.

"Harry!" A high-pitched voice rang out. A short, mousy-haired teenager with bad acne and a large camera jogged up to us and took a snapshot.

"Colin." I didn't relish having to deal with the sycophant.

"It's great to see you again. Ginny, you didn't tell me Harry would be here... Hey, wicked medals!" He took another snapshot, this time of my chest. "This is so great—we can hang out and talk about old times!" He stood next to Ginny and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close to him. It didn't take much imagination to figure out that with his height, his hand was on her bum.

"Old times?" I grumbled, as I saw him squeeze. Ginny started, then glared at him.

"Yeah, you know, the DA and fighting back against Umbridge? Good times, eh Harry?" He soft-punched my shoulder.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, instead meeting Ginny's. She looked like she'd rather be anywhere but there. "Yeah, good times all right.... Hey, Colin, would you mind if I had a quick dance with Ginny? I know she's your date..."

"Not at all, please do," he said, giving her a none-too-gentle push toward me. "It'll be great—I'll even take your picture."

"No!" she protested as she stumbled into my chest.

I took her hand and said in a low voice, "Just one dance, Gin, then I'll leave you alone tonight. I'm not staying long anyway—Auror stuff, you know."

Molly interrupted in my mind, "Harry? You're not staying? I thought your assignment was here..."

"It was, but I don't want to be a wet blanket—King's going to cover for me. This is your family's time to celebrate anyway."

"But you're a part of the family…" I sent her an image of the tiara Fleur wore and I could feel her wince. "True, Aunt Muriel is family too. But you understand what I'm saying, dear..."

"I might have been once, but things are different now. If it happens now, it'll need to be a new beginning." In the back of my head, Tom snickered, muttering about how much more entertaining the Lestrange reception was, with its orgy of debauchery and muggle torture.

Ginny was staring at me. "Fine, one dance. If you can keep from spacing out, that is."

As we danced, her brothers took turns glaring at me. "Look, if Colin makes you happy..."

"He does," she said, her eyes looking over my shoulder.

"That's good, I suppose."

"Yes it is, isn't it."

After another awkward pause, I stopped and took her hands, my eyes meeting hers. "Yeah, it is. What I was going to say was that if he makes you happy, I understand. I had my chance with you and thought it more important to protect you than to keep you close. Once I loved you, desperately in fact. You were my everything, Gin."

Ginny had a pensive look on her face.

"Harry!" Molly snapped, reading my thoughts. "You're giving up, just like that? What about being in love?"

"What would you have me do?"

"I know your heart. Fight. Fight for her... For yourself."

I swallowed as the realization hit me like a falling hippogryph that perhaps, despite my efforts, it was fated that I couldn't get Ginny back, not in this new world, anyway. Maybe it was the change in the bond, or maybe it was Fate and her cruel sense of humor, but something clutched hold of my heart and squeezed hard.

"That Harry doesn't exist anymore," I choked out, both in my head and aloud.

Molly huffed as Tom piped in, "A wise decision, Potter. The low-born waif was beneath you. The Malfoy widow, on the other hand, would be a most advantageous match." He flashed images of Draco's mother dressed in fetish leathers.

I couldn't help but think 'flexible.'

Molly brusquely shoved the images away and hissed. "She certainly is not, Tom, and Harry should not be with that scarlet woman!"

I ignored their bickering and gave my wife a sad smile.

"What are you saying?" Ginny asked.

"Oh, Harry," Molly said. I suspected some of my heartache was bleeding through the link.

I spoke to my Bond-mate in my mind. "Don't let this ruin your evening. I've got just one more thing to do—get rid of this ruddy bond—and then we can get on with our lives. I don't know if things will sort themselves out with Gin, but you said yourself that she's too young for me now. Albus—the old Albus—was right; it was a mistake coming back..."

Ginny looked confused. "You're leaving?"

In more ways than one. "Goodbye, Gin."

I kissed her cheek and walked away, leaving her alone on the dance floor. A moment later, Colin snapped a candid photo of my love staring after me, her hand on her cheek where my lips had had touched her, her eyes bright and blinking.

It was a beautiful shot, the last of Ginny in her bridesmaid's dress. A moment later, orange flames erupted about her.

"Gabrielle!"


I tried to escape the reception, but somehow it seemed that every time I managed to escape one tedious conversation, I found myself stuck in another. It didn't help that with the alcohol flowing as it was, people who would normally shy away from me were uninhibited. Finally, seeing an opportunity, I bolted for a break in the crowd in the hope of making it to the Apparition point before being pulled aside again.

Unfortunately, as soon as I'd stepped into the clear, I realized why nobody was there—in the middle was Gin's Aunt Muriel, famous for two things: her gaudy tiara and some extreme churlishness. She grabbed my arm and muttered loudly about how horrid the Potters were back in her day and how scandalous it was that I'd been spawned from the unholy union of a ruinous scion and, in her words, a "shifty-eyed Succubus Mudblood who walked funny."

To make matters worse, Hermione had stormed from the Burrow and had cornered Molly. They were having a heated discussion in my head. I nodded vaguely at the hag and tuned into the other discussion.

"What's the matter, Dear? Is Ron being himself again?" Molly asked, slurring her words—after I'd left Gin, she'd had a generous sample of the wine the Delacours had brought.

"No, it's Harry. I thought I knew him, but it's obvious now that I don't." She looked up at Molly, her eyes rimming with tears. "I know a lot is going on with him lately..." Molly gave her a knowing look. I tried to butt in, to tell her that I'd not yet shared with Hermione my time travel, but Molly shushed me as Hermione continued. "I caught Harry making... advances on someone far too young for him."

"Well, bless my soul," Molly said, smirking. "That little rascal..."

"Molly, it's not what you think," I said.

"Hush, Harry. Let me savor the moment," she said, her thoughts drifting to another family wedding, one that wouldn't require partnering with such a difficult family.

Aunt Muriel started a coughing fit and I used my multi-fighting trick to make a clone, who tapped her on the shoulder. She turned, confused, and latched onto my clone's arm, berating him for pranking her. I took the opportunity to slink away.

"Potter!" a gruff voice called. It belonged to the Minister, who motioned me over.

"Sir?"

"I'd like to introduce you to my wife, Sabrina, and my daughter, Regan." He gestured to a large woman and an equally corpulent teen-aged girl whose beady eyes reminded me of a young, female version of Dudley. I vaguely recalled she was a Hufflepuff in the class a few years below me. I dutifully kissed the pudgy hands of each as Molly's words rang in my head.

"Harry's a good boy, dear, so don't fret about that. He's is in love with her."

"What?! But she's just a child and Harry's a… a paedophile!"

"I am not a paedophile!" Bugger—I said that out loud. I cleared my throat. "I mean, I'm very honored to meet you both."

Sabrina huffed loudly as Regan stood by, her mouth open in shock.

"Right then," the Minister said, shooting me a glare and putting an arm around his wife. "Carry on, Potter. Come dear, Regan."

"Of course you're not, dear," Molly said in her mind, then turned to Hermione. "I realize he's almost twice her age, but I also know that deep down Harry loves her dearly and would do anything for her, especially after saving her life. And isn't that what matters in the end?"

Hermione just opened her mouth, speechless.

"Nothing is ever easy with Harry, that rascal. But trust me, his feelings for her are genuine and who are we to stand in the way of true love?" She gave Hermione a hug, then asked conspiratorially, "Tell me, did she seem to feel the same for him?"

With a shiver, Hermione nodded.

"You're an only child, dear, and muggle-raised at that, so you may not know this, but weddings have their own special magic that brings out certain feelings, particularly in younger sisters. Why, I remember when I was her age at Gideon's wedding...." Molly sighed wistfully. "Out under the stars, it was the first time that Arthur and I made love." Molly looked at Hermione and patted her arm. "Never mind, dear."

"I think I need a drink," Hermione said, grabbing a glass of wine from a tray and draining it in one go.


Resigned to being unable to escape, I took another sip from my bottle and watched in detached amusement as Ron and Hermione continued their shouting match two tables down. Their row had flared up over most of the day, but it had come to a head with the addition of alcohol—Hermione was working on her second bottle and was shouting and gesticulating. From the looks of things, the crowd was also amused—they were drunkenly cheering each point and counterpoint.

Fortunately, my scowl, honed and perfected for a decade, was keeping anyone but my old friend, Ogden's Finest, from interrupting my thoughts, among them the fact that Gin had disappeared into the Burrow an hour before for burn salve and a different dress.

Colin had joined her. Bastard.

BZZZZT!

A loud buzzing accompanied a crackle of lightning as a small girl was hurled onto her back in front of me. She sat up, her skin lightly blackened and her white-blonde hair standing on end, as she cursed loudly in French. I couldn't help but grin—at least with the Age Line ward, something was going my way tonight.

She wailed, "Mama..." and ran off, her face in her hands.

I looked up, slightly buzzing from the liquor myself, and saw Ron approach, his hands balled into fists. In the distance, Hermione flounced away in a huff.

"Trouble in paradise?" I drawled.

He grabbed the front of my robes. "Bloody hell, mate! We were supposed to take off school next year and go after the Dark Tosser's Horcruxes together. Now I'm going to have to go back to Hogwarts and take N.E.W.T.s and... and everything! You're such a selfish shit, Harry, going off and hogging all the glory like that."

"Uh," I said, eloquently.

"I mean, now you're a bloody hero again and I'm what, just the sidekick who wasn't even there for the final battle? I would have had your back, mate. Your back! Couldn't you've at least shared the glory, maybe let me score an Order or Merlin or job at the Ministry?"

"Look, Ron," I pushed him back, hoping to calm him down. No such luck—Hermione's words had him going full steam.

"Noooo! You have to be all 'I'm bloody Harry Potter--I'll go kill Voldemort on my own and leave Ron behind.' Selfish twat...." He took a swing at me, a badly telegraphed roundhouse that I dodged easily.

"Calm down, mate. Nobody wants to get hurt..."

"Nobody wants themselves to get hurt, but I wouldn't mind seeing Plucky Perfect Potter pushed down a peg..." Fred said smugly, having somehow managed to sneak up behind me.

"I'll hold him, Ronnikins if you want your shot," George said, crackling his knuckles behind me.

I closed my eyes and created a clone behind them, who reached up and cracked their heads together, causing the two to crumple to the dirt. Dispelling the doppleganger, I raised an eyebrow at Ron, who stepped back, no longer as sure of himself. I made a couple of Portkeys out of paper napkins and dropped them on the twins, transporting them to their shop.

"Harry?" Molly asked in my head. "Where'd you send my boys?"

"Home. They had a little too much Firewhiskey."

"Oh, you're such a good boy," she answered, then with a drunken grin pulled her husband into a spontaneous tongue kiss in the middle of the dance floor. Everyone under age forty promptly turned away.

"Bleah, some warning next time?" I said, reaching for the firewhiskey to get the taste out of my mouth.

Grumbling, Ron turned to leave, then stopped, asking loudly enough for his voice to carry to the entire reception, "Did you really bugger my sister, Potter?"


BZZZZT!

Gabrielle, screamed in frustration as she plopped yet again onto the soft ground just outside the Age Line. Ron's broom clattered down beside her. I gave her points for creativity—it was much better than her last try, which entailed jumping off the adjacent table into the wards.

The door to the Burrow banged shut as Ginny, now in a dark green dress, its buttons undone to her navel and one of the shoulder straps down about her elbow, stomped down the stairs and away from the house. Colin tailed behind, fastening his robes and pleading with her. She made a beeline toward me.

"Harry James Potter!" she yelled, showcasing the discretion that Weasleys are famous for.

"Gin?" I asked, aware that everyone was now watching us.

"Am I desirable?" She stopped and stood facing me, her hands on her hips.

"Um, yes?" I didn't add that I didn't find it quite as flattering when she was in a towering rage.

She turned on the shorter wizard following her. "See!"

"I just asked a question, that's all," Colin said, trying to placate her.

"Prat!" She slapped him hard across the face and stormed off.

Colin, holding his hand to his cheek, watched her walk away, then noticed me. "Harry! Can I ask your advice on something?" he asked with a little too much enthusiasm.

"Depends what that something is. If it has to do with Ginny, then hell no."

I sat at the table next to my bottle and he followed, positioning himself across from me and causing me to curse myself for not setting the Age Line threshold a year or two higher. "Well, you see, Ginny and I were, you know, inside. Some heavy snogging and stuff, maybe leading to something more." I could have done without the eyebrow waggle. "And then I started touching her... down there." He pointed toward his crotch in an indiscrete way and I was painfully aware of the several sets of eyes still on us.

I replied, "Are you an idiot? I said I don't want to talk about Ginny! Now leave before I kick your..."

He continued, as if not hearing me, "...And it wasn't like Parvati's or Lavender's at all. Or even like Cho's. I was confused at first, but then I realized what it was. I asked her if she was a virgin."

I cocked an eyebrow, debating whether to curse him into oblivion or ask how in the world he had managed to bed three of the most desirable witches in Hogwarts. I gritted my teeth. "And?"

He turned glum. "And she said that she was, but she didn't mind if that changed."

"And this is a bad thing because..."

"Well, you weren't with her."

I coughed. "I respected Ginny too much to push things until we both were ready."

He ignored the slight. "But you don't understand. You, Harry Potter, hadn't been with her first."

Jezebel's Jugs! Did he mean... "So, she'd be more attractive to you if I had slept with her first?"

Colin rolled his eyes. "Well, yeah."

I clenched my fist and said, "Let me get this straight. You were attracted to Gin because you thought she was with me first?"

"Exactly!"

There was a long, awkward pause while I debated the relative merits of putting a Dark Mark on his arm myself and then following with a Killing Curse. The spell actually wasn't hard, just a modified Protean charm, and as head of the newly formed Auror Special Strike Force, I had carte blanche to hunt down marked Death Eaters. I looked down and noticed a handbag on the ground a few tables over that was bunny-hopping toward us.

In the end, discretion won out—I'd promised Molly I'd behave tonight, which meant killing her photographer was discouraged. I took a deep breath. "Do you know anything about Ginny? Like what her favorite color is, or her favorite food?"

He shrugged.

"Green and strawberry shortcake. Can you even say what you like most about her?"

"Aside from the fact that you dated her?" I glared at him. "Um, I don't know. I guess she's got a nice arse." Colin was pensive for awhile. "Hey, I know, maybe you can have a go with her first, then I can? It'd be almost the same, right?"

That did it—self control was gone. I blasted him out of his seat.

I growled in my head, "You catch any of that, Molly?"

A moment later, she answered. "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention." She took in the scene through my eyes. "Oh dear, is everything okay?" It figures, the one time I want her listening in, she isn't.

"What's your problem?" Colin asked, sitting up and nursing an injured shoulder, his face scrunched with hurt. A small crowd gathered around us, including Arthur, Charlie, and the twins, who had recovered and Apparated back to the shindig. Ginny, apparently over her anger from before, rushed to help her injured boyfriend.

"Harry, you've had enough to drink; I think it's time you went home," Arthur said in a quiet voice, sliding the bottle away from me.

"Sorry, sir. I just felt that someone should defend Ginny's honor. This prat sure as hell wasn't going to..." Ginny glared at me and positioned herself between Colin and me.

Colin's face reddened. He pushed her off and stood, drawing his wand. "Harry Potter, I challenge you to a duel!"

There were gasps all around.

"I beg your pardon?"

"A duel. I challenge you!" He looked a mixture between offended and eager and I realized with chagrin that he was probably hoping for such an opportunity, no doubt as part of some perverse fantasy involving us. Seamus's stories about catching him in the shower wanking to a photo of me didn't seem so farfetched anymore.

I snorted and said, "I don't think so. I really don't enjoy kicking puppies. Besides, you're underage." The possessed handbag bobbed closer.

Colin straightened himself up to his full height, which wasn't especially fearsome, and placed a hand on the small of Ginny's back. "By the Accord of Catherwood, I challenge you!" A faint, purple glow surrounded him and Ginny.

The little punk had done his homework—he'd invoked a loophole that allowed for honor duels to protect a maiden's honor and, technically, Ginny was still a maiden. As ancient law, it superseded the Reasonable Restriction Against Underaged Wizardry.

"You do know I killed Voldemort, right?" I muttered, ignoring the collective shudder at the Dark Lord's name. The drunken crowd recovered and egged us on. "Fine, let's get this over with. Choose your second."

Arthur sighed, recognizing that there was little he could do, and motioned for us to follow in the direction of the pitch where we'd played Quidditch during my summers at the Burrow. From his occasional stumbles, I could tell he'd had his share of wine too.

Just as we left the reception, an anguished scream pierced the night air. I turned to see that Gabrielle had finally made it past my age line, having ensconced herself within a handbag with an engorging charm on it, and had hopped across the ward, only to find that by then I'd left and she was now trapped inside.

A bottle of firewhiskey flew towards me—Gabrielle had hurled it—and I levitated it to my hand. It'd be a shame to waste good liquor.

We gathered on the meadow. The Weasleys were all present, except Bill, whose dance card was still filled with Veela, the poor guy, and Ron, who was off somewhere with Hermione, probably having mad makeup monkey sex. Molly stayed back at the reception, content to watch through my eyes, and she tutted to me in my head not to kill the poor boy, that it wouldn't help me win Gin's heart. Colin, Viktor, and I were also there. Vik had offered to be my second after Charlie agreed to be Colin's. Moody and Kingsley, after sending the last of the press away, positioned themselves on the edge of the pitch to keep the others from gathering for the spectacle.

I stood across from my adversary and affected a bored look while Ginny rubbed his shoulders and continued to glare at me. Somehow, with the challenge Colin had wormed back into her good graces, as if the earlier drama were somehow my fault. Whatever. While I was honest enough to realize I still loved her, I couldn't help but think that my wife was a right pain in the arse sometimes.

"Vill be killing boy?" the Seeker asked, cracking a smile for the first time.

"I think you should," Tom said. "It'll serve notice to your enemies to avoid such frippery in the future. I used the same technique to good effect back in 1947."

I shrugged. "I hope not. It'd be too much paperwork."

"Pity," Tom and Viktor chorused.

"I am looking to embarrass him though."

Charlie was whispering advice to Colin as Viktor lamented, "Vat's vith party? No single vomen. Thought Weela vedding good place to pick up chicks."

"I hear you, mate." I pulled the cork from the bottle with my teeth and spat it out, then offered it to him. He took a long drink and handed it back.

"Her-mi-o-ne vith Veasley?"

"Yeah. They were fighting, which I think is some kind of foreplay thing for them." I took a swallow, then passed the bottle back to Vik.

He nodded. "You hold liquor, vill make good drinking partner tonight."

"I'm drinking for three," I said. He gave me a confused look. "Never mind."

Tom burped in my mind, mumbled something unintelligible, then started to snore as the alcohol hit him. A side-effect of all the rituals he'd done to gain power was that his tolerance to alcohol had become virtually non-existent. Frankly, I didn't mind the bit of extra insurance that he wouldn't try taking over tonight. In the back of my mind, I noticed that Molly was staggering about too, apparently feeling the combined effects of the liquor we'd both downed.

"You not vith Veasley girl anymore, I see. Her-mi-o-ne's letter say you and she together." He made a hand gesture that, at least in Britain, suggested copulation.

I shrugged. "We were, but it didn't work out." Across the pitch, Colin was rolling his shoulders and bouncing on his toes. He threw a few shadow punches, which I guess was supposed to be intimidating.

Viktor nodded thoughtfully and took another pull from the bottle. "Vat say you finish quick, ve go to club. Dis party no good."

"Best idea I've heard all night."


"Diffindo!" Colin shouted and a yellow bolt arced toward me. I flicked my wand lazily, tapping it away, and I took at step closer. I figured I'd do as in my fight with Snape and just block or dodge everything and then go slug him—it's worth more style points that way and I wasn't as likely to kill him with a punch.

"Expelliarmus!" I didn't bother deflecting. The hex whooshed over my shoulder and I continued to approach.

"Expulso!" he screamed. This time, the curse crashed against my shield and flashed with brilliant green flame. Not bad—I guess I'd taught him well.

"Are you about done?" I drawled, then ruined the effect by stumbling slightly, the half bottle I'd drunk affecting my balance. Behind him, Gin's brothers cheered the young wizard on.

He answered by shouting the incantation for a bone-shattering curse and tracking a jagged orbit with his wand. A dark yellow bolt erupted from its tip and I had to put up a strong shield to avoid bleed-through. The curse crackled against the shield, which was nearly opaque with the amount of magic I'd dumped into it. The smile on my face faded—while not illegal, his choice signaled a pretty clear escalation. The kid was playing with fire, using curses like that against me.

A tripping jinx followed, which I side-stepped, and I was almost close enough to kick him in the chops. A cutting curse, neck-level, came fast and I deflected it back at him, shredding his robes near the legs and slicing open his right thigh.

He looked down, turning pale at the sight of his blood, then tensed his shoulders, leveling his wand at me. I put up a strong shield in anticipation, but was unprepared for what followed.

"Crucio." A thick, crimson bolt sputtered out of his wand and struck me in the chest. I gasped, going to one knee, before the curse sputtered and lifted.

I stood again. Alright. Now I was pissed off.

I lunged at him, snatching his wand with my left hand, and body-checked him with my shoulder. He fell to a knee in front of me and I grabbed his robes and bitch-slapped him repeatedly, then threw him onto the ground, where he fell, sniffling.

"That was incredibly stupid. I'd be within my rights as an Auror to arrest you and send you to a life sentence to Azkaban." I heard a sharp intake of breath from Ginny's direction, but I didn't take my eyes off my opponent. Instead, I kicked him solidly in the chest and he fell hard onto his back, hitting his head on the ground. "You want to jump in, Charlie, take a crack at me and share his sentence?"

The dragon handler's hands shot up, his wand dropping to his feet. "No thanks, Harry." It was the smartest thing I'd seen a Weasley do all night.

I turned back to Colin, who had started to crab-walk away. I adopted my evilest glare and put up the Glamour that I'd used on Albus, pumping magic into my eyes. My irises flashed with red fire. "But I'm a gracious bloke. Instead, let's treat this as a DA lesson..."

In my best lecture voice, I said, "As my dear teacher, Bellatrix Lestrange, said when she taught me to cast the Cruciatus, 'You've got to want to cause pain. You've got to enjoy it.' Let's just say that I've learned that lesson well, Creevy."

Colin whimpered noiselessly, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Now now. Let me show you how it's done..." I leered at him and hissed, "Crucio," as a stain formed on the front of his robes.

Though I can be a bastard at times, I'm not quite that cruel. I didn't charge up the spell. Instead, in my mind, I merely thought, "Levicorpus." Colin flew upward, dangling from an ankle.


In the ensuing seconds, I learned several things:

Either Colin never bothered dressing after the blow-up with Ginny or he came wearing nothing under his robes. I wasn't sure which disturbed me more.

Not all Gryffindors are hung like lions.

Even upside-down, it's rather difficult for a guy to stop mid-stream.

Fred, George, Percy, and Charlie don't particularly like getting doused with urine.

Ginny likes it even less and she's quick with her bat-bogey hex.

Vik is even quicker with his disarming spells. I'd be buying the first round tonight for sure.

Arthur is wiser than most would give him credit for. He took one look at his daughter's spinning, pissing, whimpering, exposed boyfriend and shook his head. He turned with a sigh and walked away.


"Bah. Wodka is drink of gods. Next, you tell me you don't like fucking!"

I snorted. Vik had used the same line in the last timeline, the first time we'd hit this place. He was pretty well potted, three-quarters of the way through his bottle after polishing off my firewhiskey during our respite at Number Twelve, when I'd changed into something slightly more appropriate than Auror blues. Nursing my own glass of Cognac, I wasn't far behind.

We were having a great time in the Bulgarian nightclub, but as you know, saying so is redundant. The Eastern European magical communities pride themselves on the quality of their hedonism and their nightlife is legendary. Part of the allure is the liberal use of some dodgy inhibition-lowering charms, stuff that'd get you shut down in a day if you tried it on Knock Alley. The other part was that they only hired waitresses and dancers of mixed Veela ancestry.

We were sitting at a small, round table near the edge of the stage and I had my Occlumency barriers up as well as a few Glamours to hide my scar and make me look a bit older. For the hell of it, I'd also crafted my magic into an aura that acted as a low-grade Veela charm, a little something I'd learned along the way. Coupled with wearing Sirius's pure-blood attire, I was getting enough stares that Vik, international Quidditch star that he was, had moved beyond "amused" and was squarely into "annoyed" territory.

Then, suddenly, his scowl disappeared and he clasped his hand on my shoulder. "Ven you wisit old country, Potter?"

I wasn't getting out of explaining this, I knew. Earlier in the evening, my drinking partner was lamenting the lack of proper clubs in Britain, so with a thundercrack of cross-continental Apparition, I pulled off a SASA—snatch and side-along—and brought us both from London to the street in front of this place. After obeying his first instinct, which was to throw a swing at me, Vik opened his eyes, saw the sign that read, "The Unicorn and the Maiden," and gave me a bear-hug, grinning as if Christmas had come early.

Despite its charming name, it was quite the dive, nestled between places with names translating to "Bloody Skidmark" and "Muddy Undercarriage." And, given how the "maiden" was riding the unicorn on the sign out front, it wasn't clear she qualified...

I leaned back in my chair and said, "When I was working on killing the bastard, the same time I learned to speak Bulgarian. I didn't know you lived here though, or I'd have looked you up."

"You speak Bulgarian?"

I said a few words in reply, but he made a pained face. "Accent too big. Ve speak English tonight."

The music started, loud and raunchy, just as I'd remembered, and I saw a familiar set of legs walk onto stage. Milenka. That wasn't her stage name, but her given name. How I knew it is a story that I won't get into now. Oh, and did I say "walk?" I meant "saunter in such a way as to become every man's fondest fantasy." She looked as good as last time. The part-Veela had a mane of straight, strawberry blonde up top, nothing below, and the kind of body that would have started a riot, had the aggression-suppression charms not been set at full strength.

Molly, back home at the reception, which was winding down, moaned softly in my mind—I'd forgotten about her since arriving—and I could tell that despite the distance, she could feel some of the charms' effects bleeding through our link. I felt a little bad, but there wasn't much I could do since she wasn't talking to me after the little scene with Colin.

As Milenka's knickers vanished, I gave Vik a smirk and placed my bottle at the edge of the stage. I balanced a Galleon vertically on its lip. The angel danced over and turned herself so that her gyrating bum was toward us. Sliding into a wide splits, she snatched up the Galleon without missing a beat. Or bothering with her hands.

Through a haze of alcohol, Veela magic, and mood-altering charms, I peeked in on my Soul-mate and saw, much to my shock, that Molly had jumped atop one of the tables and was imitating some of Milenka's less gymnastic moves.

Not to be outdone, Vik tried the Galleon thing with his own bottle, but Milenka just wagged her finger at him. I flashed him a cheeky grin and dropped a comment about her having taste and not liking Vodka either, then raised an eyebrow to the dancer. With a sexy half-smile, she prowled back and stroked my cheek with a fingertip. She repeated as before, taking a second Galleon. Much to Vik's dismay, she plucked his from the bottle with her fingers. Milenka then leaned in with a growl and kissed my cheek near my ear. I whispered to her in Bulgarian to join us after her dance. She peered at me through long lashes and answered with a quick nod.

Eight Galleons and a great show later, the song ended, Milenka left the stage, and Vik continued to pout. I shared with him the secret—silent warming charms on the coins—and he swore at me in his native tongue, a language rich with curses of the non-magical type.

I had other things on my mind, though. Back at the Burrow, Molly's dress was off and her slip had followed. Nearby, Gabrielle reached behind her back to unfasten her own dress—apparently the Veela girl could sense enough of me in the Weasley matron's bond to make her wish to join. The shoulder straps of Molly's brassiere fell to her elbows and she was about to undo the clasp as Gabrielle, her sons, and Apolline all converged on the makeshift stage.

"Molly!" I shouted in my head, finally penetrating her trance.

"Harry?" she asked, then looked down, horrified. "Sweet Merlin." She blushed—all over—and stepped off the table. Arthur, beside himself with desire and frustration, took her arm and rushed them toward their bedroom. As they went, I saw through her eyes that the Weasley boys had begun modifying the memories of the remaining guests.

Hypocrites.