Quick AN: Since some are concerned, I should say that I'm definitely steering this story in a direction... I have the epilogue half written, even. That said, this chapter is fluff, I won't claim otherwise. I know I warned of sporadic updates, but I didn't want to go too long without publishing *anything*. Apologies.


"Oh, thank God you're here."

Jasmine raised an eyebrow at Hermione as she stood in the rear doorway of the Burrow. "Usually when people say that to me, they want something warded or something cursed. Which is it?"

The younger witch stood aside to let her friend into the kitchen. Molly's domain was cluttered and quiet… the older woman had filled nearly every surface with sandwiches and cakes and finger foods for the bachelorette before dashing away for the day. "Neither. But Luna is here and Ginny is egging her on just to annoy me. I need some sanity!"

Jasmine gave her a mischievous smile. "This is supposed to be your bachelorette. It's the wrong day for sanity. And besides, why did you have me invite her if you don't like her?"

Hermione sighed. "I like her, it's just the conspiracy theories and imaginary animals that test me. She's going on about a society of 'True Elves' hidden in a valley in the Arctic. A race of people nobody but she and her father know about, of course!"

"A society of magical beings hidden from the common eye? What a ludicrous notion."

Hermione crossed her arms and stuck out her lower lip. "You weren't this cheeky before Egypt."

"My disciplinary transcript from Hogwarts says otherwise… there were so many items on there I'd be proud of if I could remember them." She moved over to the kitchen table, setting her satchel down in one of the tiny free spaces and removing her green jacket to drape it over the back of one of the chairs. She'd toned down her wardrobe again to blend in with the other girls, wearing a simple white wrap-around blouse and jeans. Hermione felt overdressed in her blouse and slacks, but they went well with the golden scroll pendant Jasmine had given her in Egypt.

She knew when the other woman spotted it around her neck when Jasmine froze briefly, her hand still in her bag. Then she went back to digging, a pleased smile on her lips. "Is it just Ginny and Luna and us?"

"For the moment. The others should be here soon. George and Neville dragged Ron off around half-two, so who knows what shape he's in by now."

"Where's Molly?"

"She's visiting Andromeda… I asked her to stay, but she said today was for us 'young girls'." She sighed at Jasmine's incredulous expression. "I know, but when I pointed that out she just rambled something about the 'mother of the groom'." She paused as Jasmine pulled a gift-wrapped package from her bag and thrust it at her. "Oh, Jas… you didn't need to bring anything…"

"I know I didn't have to, I wanted to. Besides, you'll like it."

She took the package tentatively. "Should I be nervous?"

"Undoubtedly." She was shoulder-deep into her bag again, pulling a bottle from its depths. "But don't worry, I've brought the `social lubricant' to make it easier. Oh, don't look at me like that, it's only store-bought stuff. Did you want to sneak a glass before we bring it out to the others?"

The younger witch hesitated, her fingers lightly squeezing the gift. "Are… are you sure you want to do this?"

The wine bottle made a thump as Jasmine put it down. "Ron and Molly asked me the same question. Does everyone assume I've forgotten how to have fun?"

"N-no! It's just that I thought you might find all of this old hat. And you said you didn't want to pretend…"

"I don't want to pretend to you. I'll be who I need to be for the rest of the world... I've been doing it for centuries. But you and Ron and the Weasleys… you're always allowed behind the curtain."

Hermione felt warm, her worries falling away. She looked over the array of cups and glasses they'd gathered - no two alike - picking out a tumbler to use as her own and held it out. "Okay, then… get me started."


She helped Jasmine carry the cups out to the living room, setting them on the Weasleys' well-worn coffee table. Drinking wine out of simple cups and glass tumblers seemed… low class, somehow, but if Jasmine of all people was fine with the idea, Hermione wasn't going to put on airs.

Ginny smiled as they entered the room, sitting in the loveseat next to Luna, the two childhood best friends chatting merrily. "Ginny," Jasmine greeted, handing her a half-full cup. "Luna," she repeated, doing the same. Hermione carefully set her own armful onto the table while trying not to slosh her glass all over the place.

"Wine?" Ginny asked with a knowing grin.

"Of course," Jasmine said. "We're girls and we're going to be girly. We can break out the harder stuff later if you insist." She was sporting her London accent for Luna's sake, and Hermione saw Ginny raise an eyebrow at it. The dark-haired witch slipped into one of the Weasleys' worn but comfortable chairs, tucking her legs up beneath her.

Luna tilted her head. "Did you become a vampire while you were away, Jasmine?" she asked, much the same way someone might ask if she'd bought new socks.

Jasmine just looked at her, and then turned to look at the beam of sunlight that was quite obviously playing across her skin. She turned back to the blonde girl, befuddled. "Signs point to 'no'."

"Oh. You just seem to move differently. And I heard that very strong vampires can resist sunlight."

"That's a myth… they're more vulnerable to it, not less. I'm touched you think I'd make a strong vampire, though." Luna beamed.

The two argued good-naturedly about vampire trivia for a little while until the bell on the floo rang. Soon Susan and Hannah had arrived, and shortly afterward Padma and Parvati. Jasmine insisted on doing the greetings and taking coats, since she was the Maid of Honour, which made Hermione worry about her not recognizing some of the guests. The bachelorette had been arranged shortly before their departure for Egypt… which, thanks to all that happened, meant that Jasmine was now hostess for an event she didn't remember putting together, featuring people she no longer knew.

She'd already met Hannah, so identifying Susan was easy. More challenging was the Patil twins… like with Luna, Jasmine had questioned why Hermione would even want the two sisters present, since she described one as "vapid" and the other as "frosty". She could only shrug helplessly; once, Parvati's obsession with fashion and boys had been a huge irritation, and despite their shared love for intellectual pursuits she and Padma had never become the fast friends practically everyone at Hogwarts had assumed. But she couldn't imagine the twins not being at her wedding… they'd been in the DA. They'd been at the final battle.

Jasmine had simply given her one of those looks… the gaze she'd come back from Egypt with, the one that made you feel utterly transparent. "Sisters in battle," she'd said. "I understand." She'd nodded and added two more notches to her headcount.

As it happened, Parvati had barely said hello before she started gushing over the "retro-chique" of Jasmine's "new" blouse (actually purchased back in the early seventies), and like that, any worries about telling them apart was done. Hermione just rolled her eyes when Jasmine cast her a smug look over her shoulder. Pouring drinks for the new arrivals finished off the bottle, but Jasmine simply marched into the kitchen to fetch her bag, from which she pulled yet another.

Soon the girls were all talking and joking, even Padma. Ginny had already finished her cup of wine and was demanding more, making Jasmine laugh. Hermione marvelled at the older witch's ability to act like a twenty-something… none of the unaware girls noticed anything amiss, only remarking that she seemed more vibrant than before her trip. The last of the bride-to-be's worries vanished, and finally she could enjoy her bachelorette.

Hannah looked over at Ginny with a smirk. "Ginny, I hope your brothers aren't going to utterly destroy my boyfriend."

"You have met them, right? I think all we can hope for is that Ron takes most of their attention."

"Poor Neville."

"So is he going to be popping the question soon, Hannah?" Parvati asked with a sly smile.

The blonde blushed. "Maybe." She sighed. "I hope so. It's been going really well. I do love him. But I don't want him to feel pressured."

"Really well? Or really, really well?" Parvati asked with a grin and waggling eyebrows.

"Oh, stop!" If anything Hannah blushed even brighter. "What about you, Parv? Any men we should know about?"

The Indian girl sighed. "No. I've been too busy dealing with the flat and Lavender and our plans for the shop."

The mood in the room became somber. "How is she?" asked Luna.

"She got out of St Mungo's a few months ago," Parvati answered quietly. "I think they would have let her out sooner, but… she wasn't ready." She shook her head sadly. "There's a lot of scarring... she won't wear anything short-sleeved or low-necked. She can't stand to be around dogs, and they don't like her, either."

"She's lucky to be alive. We were all sure Greyback had killed her," Susan said.

"I know. But it's hard for her."

"Surviving and living are two different things," Jasmine stated quietly. "But one can't happen without the other. You're good to stand by her as she works through it." The two Hufflepuffs nodded in agreement while Parvati blushed at the praise. "Speaking of living," the ancient witch said, firm voice chasing away the dark mood, "how many godchildren will you give me, 'Mione? I'm thinking six, though I wouldn't say no to eight."

"Eight?" Hermione screeched.

"Well, you will have to put up with the legendary Weasley fecundity."

"If Ron wants eight he can get his own uterus!" she snapped. Hannah choked on her wine while Luna (who had been whispering the meaning of "fecundity" into Ginny's ear) giggled into the redhead's shoulder. After a moment Hermione was laughing as well, still blushing furiously.

"Are you planning on kids right away?" Susan asked, once they regained their composure.

"Oh, oh no, no no," Hermione replied. "I want to finish my Mastery first, and Ron wants to get a solid foundation with the Aurors. A baby is just something we can't afford right now, either in money or time." Parvati leaned over and whispered something to Padma in Hindi. Hermione scowled… she hated it when they did that. The two were British-raised and everyone knew it… did they think they were being sly? Still, she said nothing.

Jasmine had no such restraint. "I think how they pay for the wedding is none of our concern," she said sharply. "And you shouldn't need to be told that speaking in front of your hosts in a language they don't understand is rude."

The two sisters were too astonished at being caught out to even be properly ashamed. After a moment they blushed. "Sorry, Jas," Parvati said.

"Don't apologize to me."

She turned to Hermione, fully chastened. "Sorry, 'Mione."

"That's fine," she replied, hoping Jasmine wouldn't make more of an issue of it. The raven-haired witch had turned back to her cup. "But in answer to your question, my parents offered to pay, but when the Ministry heard they actually demanded to cover it," she explained, trying not to sound too smug. Jasmine raised her wine in a silent toast. "It's not like it'll be expensive anyway, not with Neville providing the location." She nodded toward Hannah, who smiled knowingly.

"I didn't know you spoke Hindi, Jasmine," Luna commented.

"I've picked up a word or two over the years."

"During your trip?" Hannah asked. "You were gone for quite a while."

"Yes, actually," the dark-haired witch replied, ignoring the way Ginny coughed.

"Oh, wonderful! You went to India?"

"India, China, the Americas... It was a bit of a world tour, actually. But that's for some other time. Right now, how about you open your present, Hermione?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and picked up the small parcel from where it'd been set on the table beside her chair. The others watched with interest as she carefully picked apart the shiny gold wrapping ("Gods, Hermione, just rip it!") to reveal a small white cardboard box which could have come from any muggle department store. Curious, she lifted the lid.

And promptly slapped it back down.

Jasmine had a grin like a cheshire cat. "Well? Aren't you going to take out your present?"

"I hardly think that qualifies as a present for me!" she replied with a mortified laugh. Of course, this made the other women very intrigued, and they all craned their necks to try to peek inside the box.

"What, the cloth? Well, you could certainly keep that if you like, but your present is wrapped inside it."

Hermione sighed, blushing as she pulled out the cloth garments - if they could even be called that - eliciting cheers and laughs from Ginny and Parvati. Hermione realized Jas was telling the truth… there was a solid object inside the lacey, silken package. As she unwrapped it (producing more hoots from the girls) she revealed a delicate bronze tube… a scroll case. A wooden plug was on one end, connected to the case by a leather strap. She opened it and carefully tapped out the papers inside.

No, not papers… papyrus. The sheets had a tiny shimmer indicating a preservation charm, but they still gave off the faint, musty odor of extreme age. The partygoers had gone silent, and both Ravenclaws had eyes for nothing else. Even Luna's gaze was more wide-eyed than usual. Hermione saw the faded outline of an Egyptian eye at the top, and drew a shaky, reverent breath.

"Are those some of Wadjet's notes?" Luna asked.

"What? Don't be barmy. They can't be." Padma protested.

"That's definitely Wadjet's Eye, there."

"Then they're reproductions. If they were her writings…"

"Who?" Susan asked.

"Wadjet was an ancient Egyptian witch, and an Egyptian goddess," Luna explained. "We don't know if the witch was named for the goddess or the other way around. But she was said to be very powerful and immortal."

"She pioneered a lot of magical theory we use today," Padma added. "But that was four thousand years ago! If those were really hers, they'd be worth… well, more than all the books in the Hogwarts library put together!"

"They're real," Jasmine said decisively. "They're notes on the Fidelius charm."

Padma's eyes nearly bugged out of her head. Hermione would later blame the wine, but for a moment she nearly burst out laughing at the thought that she looked like a photo negative of Luna. "Jas… where did you get them?"

"I've been checking up on the contents of the Potter vaults," she replied, and Hermione couldn't help but note that the answer was completely true and yet didn't answer the question at all. That was how Jasmine told lies… by carefully offering the truth. She understood the need, but wasn't sure if she approved.

"Jas…" Hermione said, voice shaking. "I can't-"

"Don't you dare say you can't take them, you can. They're mine to give, and I want you to have them. You did say you were going to use the Fidelius as the basis for your Charms mastery, didn't you?"

She nodded, and placed the scrolls back in the case with reverence.

"I've never heard of Wadjet," Susan said. Beside her, Parvati nodded.

"You'd probably know her better as Muirgen," Luna said brightly.

Padma moaned, putting her face in her hands. "Luna..."

The blonde shot her fellow Ravenclaw a look so innocently credulous that it had to be meant to irritate. "What's wrong?"

"Don't tell me you took Edwin Grint's book seriously? Morgan and Wadjet were separated by over two thousand years-"

"The records he found from Crassus' wizards-"

"Girls." Jasmine's tone ground them both to a halt a second time. "This is Hermione's party, let's not get into a strident academic discussion. We're supposed to be drinking wine and corrupting her to Ron's benefit." To make the point, she drained her glass. Hermione could see Ginny enjoyed actually being in on the secret; the redhead matched her heroine by guzzling her cup as well.

The elder witch pulled yet another bottle from her bag, and Hermione felt a small twinge of worry. But Jasmine was a smaller woman - and play-acting or not Hermione could never imagine the ancient allowing herself to be truly drunk - so matching her in drinks was probably safe. Not like Ron, who was likely trying to outdo George and Charlie at that very moment with firewhiskey.

She had no idea what George had planned for Ron's bachelor party (and knew better than to ask), but Jasmine seemed content with having them lounge around the Weasley living room and chat, and Hermione was more than happy with that. They talked and played games, including hexing a questionably-shaped pinata which she was pretty sure Ginny had obtained from George's shop. Hermione kept enough sense to shoot down "Truth or Dare" when Susan suggested it, and not just because of what somebody might ask Jasmine. As the evening wore on everything seemed to become less embarrassing and more hilarious.

Being a bachelorette, it wasn't surprising at all when the conversation took a turn for the lewd (especially with Parvati in the room). She refused to let the girl wheedle any confessions out of her, only saying that Ron was a considerate lover and she had no complaints. Both Susan and Parvati lamented their single status, though the latter was rather plain about her intention to hunt among the eligible bachelors at the wedding. Hermione just laughed. Hannah - who by then was wearing a permanent blush - commented that Neville was as sweet and kind in the bedroom as he was anywhere else, but she didn't want to be treated like a fragile china doll all the time. A tipsy Padma volunteered more about what she demanded her men provide her than the staid Ravenclaw probably intended… her sister was left wide-eyed, and Luna regarded her former house-mate with newfound respect.

"Shābāsh, Paddy," Jasmine toasted, and the Indian girl grumbled indignantly at the nickname. A flick of her fingers popped another cork. "Top-up?"


When Molly returned home around ten it was to find young women scattered around her living room like dead bumblebees, the Maid of Honour standing proudly amongst the carnage. Hermione was currently slumped against Ginny's unconscious form, the redheaded girl having passed out in the middle of proclaiming how happy she was to be getting a new big sister who wasn't a snotty veela. The brown-haired witch could barely hold her eyes open, but she heard the older women chatting as they carried the girls one-by-one to the unoccupied bedrooms upstairs. They laughed and talked quietly, though at that point Molly could have lit off one of her infamous howlers and not disturbed anyone.

"Are you fine to take care of them? I can come back," she heard Jasmine offer.

"I'll be fine, dear. Girls are so much easier to deal with than boys… you wouldn't believe what the twins put together during Bill's bachelor party. You could have burned the house down and it still wouldn't compare."

"Well, there are hangover potions in my bag in the kitchen. I'll leave that here." Hermione felt a hand touch her shoulder and opened her eyes to see a vaguely white and black blur leaning over her. "'Mione… ready to go?"

"Nooooo… 've already done my NEWTs… ain't studied…"

"I'll take that as a 'yes'. Come on, your books are at home." Hermione marvelled at Jasmine's sense of balance as she helped her stand… the Burrow was rocking back and forth treacherously. That was really something Arthur should have looked at.

"Are you sure you want to apparate, dear? Her… ah, tummy might not quite be up to it."

"She made me promise to bring her home. Besides, you'll be fine, right 'Mione?" She grunted in reply. "See? She could give her dissertation. I'll stop by tomorrow and help with the others."

Molly sighed. "Okay, then. Travel safe, dears."

As it turned out, Hermione's stomach was not up to side-along apparition, not even Jasmine's much-gentler version. Fortunately the ancient witch also had the incredible foresight and control to apparate them directly into the bathroom of the flat, so that when she doubled over and retched she was already in front of the toilet. Jasmine held back her hair, conjuring a glass which she filled with water from the tap to wash her mouth.

As they walked - well, walked and staggered, really - through the living room on the way to the bedroom, they heard the lock work on the front door. It opened to reveal George, the dead weight of Ron bobbing in the air behind him.

The Best Man looked at the Maid of Honour and the dubious state of the bride and grinned. "Brilliant."

"I think we've performed our duties well."

"They'll think twice about ever getting married again, that's for sure."

"How are you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm mint. You were right about taking the hangover potion before you start drinking."

It took a few seconds for it to sink through her haze, but suddenly Hermione growled, "What?!" Jasmine and George gave her matching grins.

Together the two helped their charges to the bedroom. Jasmine carefully sat Hermione on the edge of the bed as she removed her necklace and transfigured her clothing into pajamas using a wand that appeared from nowhere in golden light. On the other side of the bed George did the same for the comatose Ron. She heard Jasmine ask if Ron needed a "visit" to the bathroom like Hermione, but George explained that his brother had taken care of that particular task in a potted plant inside the Hog's Head. Both women eww'd in response.

Jasmine presented Hermione with a vial of hangover potion and another glass of water. She drank both, blearily glaring up at her friend. "You di' this t'me."

The raven-haired witch beamed. "Yes, yes I did."

"Y'r s'posed to be all ancient an' wise, no' a party girl."

"You want wisdom? You want something Myrddin taught me?" She cupped Hermione's cheek gently. "Living is a verb, Hermione. It's something you do, not watch or just think about."

She watched the other woman carefully. "You r'ly loved him."

Jasmine paused as she laid the younger witch's wand on the bedside table. "I really did."

"'m glad. D'you think me an' Ron will be like that? E'ryone thinks we don't match, that we won' last."

"I can't answer that for you, and neither can they. But you deserve the chance to try."

She grabbed the other woman around the waist, rubbing her face against Jasmine's belly. "I love you, Jas."

The ancient witch stiffened. Then she pet the bushy-haired head. "I love you too, Little Sister."

"Nuh-uh," Hermione protested. "I was born a year 'fore you! Y'r the 'Li'l Sister'. You cheated."

Jasmine laughed. "If you're not cheating, you're not trying."

"Words I live by," declared George.


Thanks to the hangover potion, Hermione woke the next morning feeling far better than she had any right to. Poor Ron - who'd been in no shape to take a potion or even hydrate the night before - was a wreck… but when Hermione went to the kitchen to fetch him some water there was another vial sitting on their tiny kitchen table, "For Ron" floating in golden mist above it. A half-hour after taking the potion he was back to normal, plotting revenge on his brother.

She asked if George had poured the firewhiskey down his throat. He said he didn't understand what that had to do with anything.

They relaxed for the rest of the day, only leaving the apartment to head over to the Burrow for supper, where Ron made a show of fingering his wand while George grinned unrepentantly. Afterward they went home, snuggled in front of the television for a while, and went to bed.

The rest of the week was quiet and really rather boring. Ron wasn't on leave until the Wednesday, and Hermione honestly wasn't in the mood to work on her mastery, although she spent the entirety of Monday pouring over the treasure Jasmine had given her. It was amazing - and a little frightening - to recognize the loops and swirls of her friend's penmanship in the sketched runes on the ancient papyrus. The notes were written in the glyphs of ancient Egyptian, but Jasmine had thoughtfully included supplements on modern paper translating the important pieces. Runes and arithmancy was universal in any case.

The writings had to have been authored over decades... or perhaps even centuries. She could see Jasmine's runes change slightly, becoming neater and with fewer corrections. The notes told a story of her friend slowly puzzling through the complex mechanics of what would eventually become the Fidelius charm... the fits and stops, the successes and failures. Sharp, fast lines showed when Jasmine had become frustrated, and softer, more artistic glyphs spoke of when she made progress. Had these been scrolls found in the library at Hogwarts, written by someone unknown, Hermione would never have even looked for such emotional markers.

Late that day, it occurred to her: these notes had been scribed when Jasmine had been between a thousand and fifteen hundred years old… the woman who'd written them had been older than the Ministry. But she'd still been closer in time to the Jasmine they'd lost than the woman who'd eventually come back to gift them to her.

Jasmine had said she'd been forgetting much of her life up until she'd learned the basics of Occlumency at the discipline's very beginning. How much of her friend had been left in the woman who'd written these notes?

Hermione put the scrolls back into the tube and then went to bed, laying there but unable to sleep until a worried Ron came home and asked if she was feeling well. She pulled him into the bed with her in a wordless demand to snuggle, and after about an hour she felt much better.

Which was good, because his stomach was making itself known again. With lighter spirits she set about cooking them a late supper, and didn't even subject him to any complaints about gender roles as she did so.


It was the day before the Day; the capital letter was heard every time someone spoke of it. Hermione was well aware that this Day had happened to plenty of other people plenty of times before. (Did Lady Zabini still call it "The Day"? Surely the capital had fallen off after seven repetitions!) But it was her Day, and she was getting the feeling in her stomach that always used to mean she should study more. She'd written up a timetable - complete with coloured blocks of time allotted to vows, speeches, and cutting the cake - but Jasmine had seen it and set it on fire.

Fortunately, she had plenty of distractions from pre-wedding jitters... and in a wonderful chance of pace, they had nothing to do with anyone named Potter. Her parents' plane had landed that morning, they'd picked up their rental vehicle, and they'd called ahead to the flat to indicate they were on the way over. Unlike Ron and his family, the Grangers would drive up to York and the Longbottom estate, and Hermione would ride with them.

Four hours in a car with her parents. In their first visit back to the UK since they'd been forced out of the country by their own daughter.

The row when she'd finally tracked them down and removed the memory charm had been… beyond description. She'd been certain she'd be disowned. Her father - who almost never raised his voice - had been livid, while her mother had used that wretched, teary voice that always crushed Hermione: "You took our choice away, Hermione. How does that make you different from the people you were fighting?" She had never wanted to die so much in her life, and was nearly too much of an emotional wreck to safely apparate back to the motel.

She'd had Jasmine, though; Ron was still helping put the shattered pieces of his own family back together in the UK, but the third of their group had come along to Perth. The raven-haired witch had insisted they stay the entire week, even though Hermione had been ready to take the international portkey back that very night. She'd also been suspiciously absent the next day when her parents showed up at their motel to talk and reconcile. Hermione hadn't given them the address.

Not all of Jasmine's wisdom had taken millennia to acquire.

The Girl-Who-Won hated trading on her name, but for the sake of her almost-sister there was nothing she wouldn't do. A few floo-calls to the right people and even the Australian Ministry was leaping to help the family… they corrected names on documents, smoothed things over regarding immigration, and generally were just helpful and efficient in a way that utterly shocked the two girls, who were far too used to the British Ministry.

Her mother (from whom Hermione had inherited her logic and dispassionate decision-making) had been the one to sit the family down to answer the questions of the future. They'd decided that regardless of how they came to be there, they did love their new home in Perth. With the magical government essentially giving them carte blanche to settle how they wished - it was a political coup for Australia to adopt the parents of one of the heroes of magical Britain - they'd decided to stay, and even open a new dental clinic.

Hermione was desperate for the wedding to go perfectly… not just for her own sake, but so that her parents could see that the magical world wasn't just danger and bigotry, but safety and wonder as well. They'd always wanted to be supportive, but learning details she'd kept secret - like how the staff at Hogwarts couldn't even be bothered to tell them that their daughter had been petrified for a month, for example - had soured their opinions rather justifiably.

But she was marrying a magical family, there was no helping that, and she needed her mother and father there. As a bit of an olive branch, she'd asked her father to help provide the music; Hermione liked the Weird Sisters, sure, but her tastes had always been mostly muggle. Her father, a fierce audiophile, had jumped at the chance.

It was with an even mix of eagerness and trepidation that she waited out front of the flat she shared with Ron. Just like in Australia, Jasmine was with her, sitting beside her on the granite steps in front of the building. The sky was grey and it was threatening to drizzle, but they both wore jeans and their coats. Their breath clouded lightly in the air, and Jasmine had cast a light warming charm on the concrete steps.

Hermione learned that she had not simply experienced a drunken hallucination the Saturday before… the dark-haired witch really did summon her wand from thin air. She demanded an explanation, and her friend - perhaps recognizing her need for a distraction - rolled her eyes and indulged her, explaining wand bonding and "soul pockets" and secret, almost-dark magics in a quiet voice that didn't carry.

The younger witch was successfully diverted from her fluttering stomach… so much so that when Helen and Colin Granger finally rolled to a stop in front of the apartment, Hermione didn't even notice until her father tapped the horn, sending her nearly a foot into the air. Jasmine was as unflappable as ever.

"Mum! Dad!" She leaped to her feet, hugging her mother tightly as she climbed out of the vehicle, then dashing around the rented Toyota SUV to do the same to her father. Jasmine followed at a more sedate pace, taken a bit by surprise when Helen fetched her up into an embrace as well.

"Oh, honey, it's good to see you," her mother said. "You're looking well. And you, too, Jasmine!" She scanned the shorter girl up and down, squeezing shoulders which once upon a time had been little more than skin over bone. "Have you been working out?"

"I took up yoga," Jasmine answered with a grin.

"Oh, I tried that soon after Hermione was born, trying to get my figure back. Didn't manage to stick with it, though." She looked at the two friends. "Were you waiting out in the cold for us? You didn't have to do that, we would have buzzed up."

Hermione shrugged. "I wasn't sure if you'd know which building it was, and I needed the fresh air."

"Pre-wedding jitters," Jasmine advised in a mock whisper, making Helen laugh. Hermione glared, but let her mother pull her into another hug.

"Were you sitting on that cold step for long?" Colin asked suspiciously. "You can get piles that way, you know."

"Oh my God, Dad!"

"I thought that was a myth," Jasmine said.

"Well, there's sometimes kernels of truth to those old myths, you know."

"Oh, trust me, I know."

"Can we talk about something less embarrassing in public, please?" Hermione demanded, her face red.

"Fine, fine," he said. "Where's your things? Did you have anything you needed me to carry down?" Both girls held up their satchels. "Really? But-" He halted, wide-eyed, as Jasmine pulled most of the length of a broomstick from her bag as way of demonstration. "Oh. Right. I forgot." He shook his head. "I'm going to have to have one of you do your magic on my garden shed."

"Where's the style in that?" Jasmine questioned. "I can have a police box delivered if you prefer." Colin laughed.

After a few minutes the four piled into the Toyota. Jasmine craned her head to stare at the equipment which had been piled into the back, which was so full it was surprising it hadn't needed an expansion charm. A pair of speakers were visible, along with a subwoofer, and yet more was underneath. "What in the world is all this? Is that a generator?"

"What is all this?" Hermione echoed incredulously. "Dad, I thought you were just bringing your stereo!"

"That is my stereo," he replied, nearly giddy.

"Get ready, your father is overly pleased with himself," Helen said dryly.

"I got a great deal in London on the speakers and amp, and the new laptop will plug right in. The music is on the hard drive! It's great!"

"Dad, a computer? I wasn't even sure your CD player was going to work at the Longbottoms!"

"It should be fine," Jasmine said reassuringly. "There wouldn't be that much active magic in the greenhouses. Just unplug the battery when crossing the wards and while you're in the house."

Hermione knew better than to question Jasmine's knowledge. "How did you afford all this? I thought you were still equipping your new clinic!"

"Here we go," Helen said, rolling her eyes.

"We got a phenomenal deal on the new gear," Colin explained happily as he shifted the Toyota into gear. "Some kind of launch event from KI, very limited. A new periapical x-ray, records system, software, the whole lot… practically for a song! And no strings attached, I was very careful with that. Don't you worry, honey, we're very much under budget at the new place."

"From KI, hmm?" Hermione said, glaring at the dark-haired woman beside her. Jasmine simply blinked innocently.

Colin was quite pleased to describe how he intended to set up his generator and the stereo, which entertained them for a time. Hermione warned her father how important it was to keep Arthur away from any sensitive equipment... whether he had his wand out or not.

"It's going to be strange, being in Australia while you are both here, and coming back to England just as you go back to Australia," Hermione remarked. "Will you get a chance to visit your friends while you're in London?"

"Oh, definitely. We'll being making the rounds, some were a bit concerned when we… ah, disappeared," Colin stuttered to a halt as he bumbled into uncomfortable ground. The silence in the car became oppressive. "Anyway," he continued with forced cheer, "this is the perfect time for you to go… Karijini will be nice and yet not too hot. You'll like it, your mum and I went last year around this time."

"What?" Jasmine sat up straight. "What's this? Karijini? The park?"

Hermione realized that, with all their catching up and planning for the wedding, she'd never reminded Jasmine what their honeymoon plans were. "Yes, Karijini. Ron and I are camping there."

"When you picked up the international portkey to Australia, I thought you were going to the Blue Mountains or the Opera House! You're going camping for your honeymoon?"

"Yes, we are. It was your idea, remember?" she replied with a pointed glare. She knew Jasmine didn't remember, but hopefully she could cover before her parents wondered why. The Grangers had been the adoptive muggle family to match the Weasleys' magical, and Jasmine had carefully considered and decided she would be okay with them knowing what had happened. In the end it had been Hermione who had resisted the notion of telling them, not wanting to add more evidence for how dangerous the magical world could be, at least not so soon.

It was worth it to see Jasmine caught off-guard in any event. "Mine?" She hesitated, then sniffed dismissively. "I must have repressed the memory. I have stupid ideas. You know that."

Hermione could see her parents trading amused looks. "It's not a stupid idea! It'll be fun. You know the concept of wizard `camping' barely deserves the word. Ron and I can get away, we can relax, just nature and each other-"

Colin coughed. "I'm not sure I'm supposed to be hearing that part." Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

"I'm just saying, if you changed your mind, I know who to talk to to get a portkey to Hawai'i. Or Rio. Athens, if you're not avoiding Europe. And accommodations won't be a problem either-"

"Camping, Jasmine," Hermione growled. "Me. Ron. Nature."

Jasmine sighed, slouching back and pouting like the twenty-something she was pretending to be. "Fine." The air in the vehicle was much lighter, and Hermione could see her mother suppressing a grin in the side-view mirror.

Colin cleared his throat. "You know, if you're looking for someone to drag to Hawai'i, I could find a couple of people…"

The dark-haired witch laughed. "I'll keep that in mind. We'll have to expose you to portkeys first. They can be a bit… wild."

Happy mood recovered, the four continued on; soon the buildings of London fell behind them and they settled onto the motorway to York. The Toyota lapsed into a peaceful silence.

It was a near four hour drive from London to York, so Hermione settled in and let the hum of the vehicle lure her into a light doze. She'd been worried that Jasmine would be bored, but the elder witch seemed quite content to read a book she'd brought along, a sci-fi novel written by someone named "Peri F". Hermione was envious… she couldn't read in a moving car without getting motion sickness.

They stopped once for lunch and twice to visit a loo, and on the way through York her father stopped off to purchase a large petrol can which he filled to supply his small generator. Then they were off again… into the countryside and to the Longbottom estate. Eventually they crossed the bridge over the River Ouse. Sheep grazed on the last tenacious grass of a nearby field, indifferent to the cars and transport trucks that roared past them.

"This used to be called Eboracum," Jasmine said. The ancient witch stared out the window, and Hermione tried to picture what she saw: the very beginning of the city, surrounded by wilds… long before roads, much less a railway. "Home to a Roman Legion… the long arm of the Empire. A castrum, set above the river and surrounded by great swaths of yew… nothing but green lands and blue sky."

She turned to Hermione. "Eborakon," she said with a lopsided smile. "'Place of Yew.'"

The younger witch had nothing to say; instead, she reached over and squeezed her friend's hand.

Within a half-hour they were approaching the Longbottom estate, and Jasmine and Hermione were needed to give directions - including driving through what was, to Colin and Helen, a solid hedge. But then they were rolling up the graveled drive to Longbottom Manor. The engine of the Toyota cut out when they crossed the ward line, but the vehicle rolled across the magical barrier and restarted without incident on the other side.

The drive was long, gravelled with beautiful tiny white stones. Laid down in the age of carriages, the Toyota filled it completely, but since there really wasn't any other traffic to worry about they drove at a decent pace. Helen was amazed at the hedges that bordered the path, lush and as green as if it was early September rather than mid-November… some still carried a few tiny pink flowers. Even Jasmine was impressed.

Once they emerged from the hedges and trees the grand dignity of Longbottom Manor came into view. Unlike Jasmine's home, the ancestral home of the Longbottoms wasn't a manor house but a chateau, complete with rounded towers at the corners with parapets. The drive changed from gravel to broad, grey brick, and Colin slowly guided the vehicle up to the white-painted front doors. Not wanting to damage the grass, he simply parked it there in the middle of the drive… it wasn't as if there would be many muggle vehicles competing for space. The four stepped out, stretching the stiffness from their bodies.

Helen was craning her neck, looking up at the broad, three-leveled stone building. "Wow."

"The Longbottoms are a very old family. They're also probably one of the wealthiest magical families… maybe the most, now that the Malfoys aren't doing so well," Hermione said. She didn't quite keep the smug approval out of her voice, causing her father to glance at her over his shoulder… during the long, painful story of what had happened in Britain after Hermione had "sent them away", the Malfoy name had figured prominently.

They'd barely begun for the door when it suddenly swung open and Neville stepped out, smiling broadly. Behind him stood Hannah, grinning over his shoulder. "Hey, guys!"

Hermione rushed over and hugged him, not for the first time marveling at the tall, broad-shouldered man that had grown from the chubby, awkward boy. Hannah hugged Hermione and Jasmine while Neville shook hands with Colin and Helen.

"Wow, Jas," Neville exclaimed, looking her up and down, "You look much better since your trip!" All she had to do was raise an eyebrow and his eyes went wide. "I-I mean you look relaxed and happy!"

"I am happy," she replied with a smirk, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "And I think it'll get even better. Thanks for having us."

"Oh, I'm glad to do it," he said. "Getting the greenhouses ready has been a fun project, and I love having you lot over… it makes the Manor seem less empty. Uh… don't tell Gran I said that. Anyway, would you like to see it?"

"Of course!" Hermione said eagerly.

"That'd be great, actually… I can carry my equipment down," Colin added. "If I could get a couple of you-"

Jasmine reached into her sleeve, and when her hand came forward again it was holding her wand. She waved it in a decisive loop with a single flick, causing the boot of the Toyota to pop open and the speakers, amplifier, and even the generator to float out. Each item bobbed in midair at knee-height, following behind Hermione's father like a gaggle of ducklings.

"That works, too," he conceded.

"Jasmine, nice," Neville said.

"I've been practicing," she replied. Beside her, Hermione rolled her eyes.

Neville lead them around the corner of the Manor, down some stone stairs that lead to a small, idle fountain and some stone benches. Beyond was a huge field which contained the greenhouses that had become the Longbottom heir's passion. There were six in all, arranged in rows of three, and any single one of them could have held the entire Great Hall from Hogwarts. They stood two stories tall, glittering with huge panes of magically-strengthened glass. They followed him into the closest.

Inside was mostly empty, though chairs and small tables had been arranged along the sides. What made Hermione draw a delighted breath was that where a muggle wedding might have used paper or streamers, Neville had used plants. Flowering ivy had been coaxed up toward the rafters, looking like thick green garland, dotted along their lengths with bright white blossoms, and flowers and creeping vines decorated the walls. The center was grass, thick and lush, trimmed just an inch higher than the soles of their shoes... if they hadn't known better better, they could have mistaken it for rich, green carpet.

"Go ahead and stomp on it," Neville invited. "It won't tear or make a mess even if you were wearing boots. It'll be nice and soft to dance on. I turned down the warming charms… I figured it'll get plenty warm in here on its own once everybody gets moving."

"Neville, this is wonderful!" Hermione declared.

After Colin dropped off his gear - he was somewhat nonplussed to tell a bunch of floating inanimate objects to "Stay!" - and he'd had a chance to question Neville as to the best way to run the cables so that the generator could run outside, the group headed to the next greenhouse over - the one that would house the actual wedding ceremony.

"Neville… nice," Jasmine repeated his words back to him… quite justly. Hermione felt a tightness in her chest as she looked around in wonder.

If the reception area had been wonderful, the wedding area was incredible. This particular greenhouse held the trees that were sensitive to the winter… Neville had moved them inside, and then coaxed them into bending and reaching their branches toward each other in layers so they formed a canopy of green above a circular grassy area. Vines hung from the branches, dripping with a rainbow of sweet-smelling blossoms, and someone - probably Hannah - had helped him by charming numerous tiny glass globes. Dozens of the luminescent spheres floated in the air just above their heads and amongst the leaves. Silver chairs had been arranged into rows for the guests on patio stones in front of the grass, which was surrounded by a gravel path of small polished blue stones. The grass was edged by yet more flowers, and just to the rear of where the Minister would stand was a polished slab of marble: a menhir, a monolith associated with pixies, who according to wizarding superstition would sometimes come to witness and bless a bonding.

"So what do you think?" Neville asked.

Helen's mouth was hanging open, and Hermione knew she had the same expression. She felt her eyes becoming watery. "Oh... oh Neville!" She couldn't express herself with words, so she turned and seized him in a crushing hug. He patted her on the back, and behind him Hannah beamed on her boyfriend's behalf.

"Are you lot getting hungry?" he finally said, blushing with humble pride. "The house-elves have been going bonkers with excitement... I think they're looking forward to tomorrow more than we are! They probably already have supper ready."

He lead them back to the manor, one hand resting gently on Hannah's back. When they arrived they discovered Ron and his parents had arrived via floo… and were currently enjoying an awkward silence with a stone-faced Augusta. Their relief was visible as the others arrived, though Ron was plenty happy to be invited to eat as well.

Supper was a simple meal of potatoes and honeyed ham. The parents of the bride and groom chatted amiably amongst themselves, while the "younger" crowd did the same. Augusta was, like always, a quiet and forbidding presence, but they managed to enjoy themselves without looking like they were ignoring her. The old woman said little, up until Helen mentioned again how amazed she was at the greenhouse.

"Of course," she declared imperiously, but even Hermione could see the pride in Augusta's face. "Neville is a master of his craft." The young man in question looked down at his plate, a shy but pleased smile on his face.

They stayed in the dining room talking long after the house elves had cleaned up and Augusta departed to bed. Hermione's mother was the anesthetist for their dental clinic, and so had a pharmacology background… she was fascinated by the properties of Neville's plants. Neville himself wanted to hear all about Jasmine's "trip", and the dark-haired witch danced around the details with an ease that simultaneously appalled and amazed Hermione.

"Wow, it's gotten late," Neville commented; the magical clock on the wall had its lone hand pointed well past "Bedtime". "I suppose I should show you to your rooms."

They all stood, the Longbottom house-elves popping in to whisk away the plates and leftovers. Hermione's parents were shocked and utterly fascinated by the little creatures. Hermione drew a breath, but gave up with a roll of her eyes as Ron gave her his "please don't start" face.

"I don't understand why 'Mione and I have to be in different rooms," he grumbled.

"It's tradition, Ron," Jasmine said. "You're not supposed to see the bride before the ceremony."

"But I'm looking at her right now," he pointed out, making a point of staring at his fiancee.

"Oh, Ron," she replied, rolling her eyes. She grabbed his shoulders and spun him about, giving him a little shove toward his parents. "Eighteen hours. You can survive that long without me."

"Maybe, but who says I'd want to?" he waggled his eyebrows at her over his shoulder.

"You've been coaching him," Helen accused her husband.

"Hey now, my lines are better than that."

Ron and the Weasleys were lead off by Neville, while Hannah took up the role of showing the Grangers to their rooms. The Hufflepuff girl seemed to have the run of the manor, and Hermione hid a smile... any marriage proposal from Neville would only be a formality at this point. Helen and Colin, though reasonably well-off themselves, were awed by the size and comfort of their room; meanwhile Hermione and Jasmine were each given rooms of their own that were no less grand.

It was actually a relief to be left alone for a little while after being cooped up in the car all day, so she slowly prepared for bed. The guest bed was ridiculously comfortable, probably enchanted, and she almost didn't want to fall asleep and miss out on it. It helped distract her from the fuss and nervousness that she'd knew would begin as soon as she woke up, and soon she was nodding off.

She hadn't thought to set any wards, and didn't hear the door when it opened; but she jolted, stifling a shriek, as she felt the bed dip behind her. She turned her head to see a male shape leaning on the bed. "'Mione, budge over."

"Ron, you're not supposed to be in here," she hissed.

"When has that ever stopped me? Or you for that matter?"

"All the time before I met you and Jasmine, if I recall correctly!"

"Well, I haven't slept without you for a year and a half now, and I don't intend to start again."

She was glad the darkness hid her blush. She sighed for show. "Just behave yourself, my parents are across the hall."

"Alright, fine," he grumbled, much in the same way he'd complain when she'd drag him to the library to study. He kissed her on the back of the ear but left it at that.

"Well, I see my idea wasn't unique," came a low voice out of thin air, and this time both of them swallowed cries. Jasmine summoned a werelight, breaking the disillusionment spell she'd been hiding under. The soft white light hovered over her palm, illuminating her face and her raised eyebrow.

"Jas... argh." Hermione pinched her nose in frustration. Then she tossed open the blankets. "Get in."

"Are you sure?" Her eyes slid over to where Ron was blushing. "I wouldn't want to bump into anything… pointy."

"In, Potter!"

Jasmine wisely obeyed. The bed was huge - large enough that Hermione could have slept sideways and still left plenty of room for the other two - but the three clustered together in the middle like puppies. Ron pressed against his fiance, wrapping an arm around her waist and nuzzling the back of her neck. Jasmine bracketed her on the other side, pulling the blankets up to the collar of her golden silk pajamas.

"You know, if we keep doing this people are going to start to wonder," the older witch commented.

"Oh, go to sleep, Jas," Hermione grumbled with her eyes closed. She hugged the other witch's arm, resting her chin on her shoulder as she had so many times in the dorm at Hogwarts. She felt warm and protected with her husband-to-be on one side and her dearest friend on the other. Her parents slept only across the hall, and her literally enchanted wedding was set for tomorrow. Everything was right with the world, and she felt herself slipping into a peaceful slumber almost immediately.

At least until Jasmine's voice broke into the darkness. "I'm just saying, if people are going to talk anyway-"

"Jasmine, shush!"


"Say that again. Slowly, this time, because I'm sure I misunderstood you."

The proprietor of the beauty salon gestured helplessly. "I'm sorry miss, but Claire just can't make it in. She slipped on the ice last night and she's getting x-rays done... right now, even!"

Hermione just stared at the older woman as if she'd begun speaking in Gobbledegook. Behind her Helen looked on in sympathy while Jasmine pursed her lips pensively. Helen's mother had driven them to York so that Hermione could have her hair done at the small salon - an appointment booked nearly two months beforehand. But with just a few words the entire plan had been blown to ruin.

The bride shook her head in desperate denial. "You must have someone who can cover for her! It's too late for me to make an appointment someplace else!"

"I'm sorry, miss! But we're a small shop… I've already shuffled as many appointments as I could! We're going to be working overtime as-is… I might be able to fit you in near seven tonight-"

"Tonight is my wedding!" Hermione cried. "Do you understand? I can't 'shuffle' that, and I can't walk the aisle looking like this!" She was tugging on her hair, making it even more bushy. Many eyes were on them as the bride began to melt down in the middle of the salon. "I can't do this! We… we have to cancel. Tell the Minister-" She froze suddenly. "Death Eaters. There's a few left. This… this is sabotage! They arranged an accident, and-"

"Right! She held on longer than I thought she would," Jasmine declared, taking hold of the younger woman's elbow. She nodded at the confused matron. "Please tell Claire to get well soon. Meanwhile, I think we can handle this. Helen, could you get the door?"

The hyperventilating bride was led outside, moaning with despair. "Oh, Mum, I should have done it yesterday like you said! It's not even noon and it's all ruined! I'm doomed!"

"Not doomed, 'Mione, come now," Jasmine said sternly. Helen was clearly torn between proper sympathy for her panicking child and giggling at her hysterics.

The ancient brought the three of them behind the building, quickly scanning for onlookers. "Right. Helen, could you take my arm? You too, 'Mione. I'll come back for the car later. Brace yourself."

The brunette obeyed before even thinking about it. "Jas, what-" There was a snap and pop, and the three of them were suddenly standing in Hermione's room at Longbottom Manor.

Helen lurched, her face white. Jasmine reached over and caught her before she could fall. "Sorry about that. I thought Hermione would have apparated with you at least once."

The mother of the bride gave her a queasy smile. "She told us about it but never did. Maybe I should thank her."

Jasmine guided her over to the bed. "Just have a sit, the nausea will pass in a moment. Now, 'Mione-"

"Jas, did you just apparate us through the wards?" the other girl blurted.

Her friend rested her fists on her hips. "It figures that would be what you fix on. And yes, I did. So you're going to sit here," she gently pushed her over to a chair, "and think about how. A good intellectual exercise to keep you from flipping your bonnet again."

"But we should have been splinched! And you were side-alonging two of us-"

"Hermione, breathe. I'll be right back. I just need to fetch my kit."

"Your 'kit'? You're going to do my hair? What do you know about hairdressing?" The glare she received would have had Augusta scurrying for cover. She winced. "Right, sorry, I forgot."

Jasmine nodded and smirked. Then she turned and disappeared with another quiet pop.

The room was left in a silence that echoed after the previous few minutes. Helen, who had finally begun to regain some colour, looked at the spot where her daughter's friend had stood.

"I see what you mean when you said she found some confidence after her trip," the older woman said.

Hermione flopped back against the decadently soft cushion of the chair. "You have no idea."

"Well, it looks good on her. I'm glad to see it." She paused for a moment. "Ah, honey… what does it mean to be 'splinched'?"

The younger woman winced. "Ah… it's when you apparate, but don't arrive in one piece. Literally."

And like that, her mother's colour was wiped away again. "Right," she said weakly. "Well, your father has some Goldschläger hidden in his bags he thinks I don't know about. I'm going to go steal a little. Want me to bring you back a sippy?"

Laughing, she waved a hand. "No, Mum, I'll be fine. Thank you."

Her mother left to check on her husband, lightly closing the door behind her. Hermione spent the next fifteen minutes pondering how Jasmine might have circumvented the Longbottom wards - she was reasonably sure her friend wouldn't be rude enough to damage the wards, so that narrowed it down a bit - when there was a light knocking at the door. Standing, she opened the door a crack, expecting to see Hannah or maybe one of the Longbottom house-elves.

Instead she found Jasmine standing there, wearing something that looked a lot like a lab coat… it was pure white cotton, collared and stretching down to her thighs. Her wand, which Jasmine normally kept in its not-quite-existing state, was tucked into her hair, which was done up into a bun. In her hands was a bulky brown leather satchel which the dark-haired witch clutched in front of her as she looked at Hermione with wide eyes and a cheerful expression.

"You the bride then, ay?" Hermione blinked owlishly. Jasmine's voice was half an octave higher than she usually spoke, chirpy and sporting a thoroughly cockney accent. She reached out and gently pulled on some of Hermione's treacherous frizz. "Looks like I arrived jus' in time! 'ave a sit then, luv, and Holly'll fix you right up." She barged into the room, sweeping Hermione along in her wake.

Utterly confused, she could only blink. "Jasmine-"

"Holly," she corrected. Her face took on a mue of sympathy. "Ah, poor girl… nerves, innit? Well, you sit right back an' relax, I'll take care of everythin'."

Hermione found herself hustled over to the vanity and not quite shoved into the chair. She was spun away from the mirror, and watched as 'Holly' gathered up her bag and began arranging small tables scavenged from around the room. The bag was obviously spelled as a large wash basin was pulled from it, quick filled and heated through expertly-cast charms. A transfiguration washed over Hermione's chair, transforming it to a comfortable reclining chair with a neck support. Before she could blink she was tilted back and her hair dunked into the warm water.

"I don't of'en get to use me magic. Most of me clients were muggles, although I'd get the odd witch, but I still couldn't be spellin' stuff about in the middle of the salon. It's refreshin', an' a lot faster." Jasmine had produced some shampoo from her bag and was lathering up the hair in her grip. She turned her attention to Hermione's scalp, and the massaging feel of her hands chased away the stress… it was so pleasant the younger witch had to stifle an involuntary moan.

"Where… where did you work before?" she managed to ask.

"I worked for Madam Blair at 'er salon in New York City for seven years, 'as it 'appens," she replied, still in her 'Holly' voice. "Never sent a lady away that wasn't 'appy, an' I did the dos for a lot of blushin' brides, so don't you worry, luv." She sighed happily. "Oh, I do love a weddin'! All the pomp and circumstance with a proper party at the end, ay?"

Her hair was washed and toweled mostly-dry, and a pair of vintage curlers - looking more like instruments of torture than beauty - were pulled from the bottomless bag. Hermione looked nervously at the scissors Jasmine wielded, but she kept quiet as the other woman set about snipping and trimming. The curlers were heated with magic and put to use while the raven-haired witch went to work on Hermione's face with a palette of makeup. At Hogwarts, giving Jasmine an eye-pencil had been a sure way to earn a trip to Madam Pomfrey, as Lavender had learned the hard way. But `Holly' handled the implement as adeptly as a wand.

Hermione listened, fascinated, as her friend chattered non-stop… it was so different from her reserved self that - along with the accent - if Hermione closed her eyes she would swear she was in a room with someone she didn't know. She was clever enough to realize that Jasmine was distracting her, so she let herself be entertained.

She played along, turning into a game… asking the other woman about herself and trying to figure out what time period she came from without directly asking. It turned out that 'Holly' was the muggleborn daughter of a woman from Essex, who had lost her father 'in the trenches' and immigrated to America after the war. Nineteen-twenties, she guessed.

"Me mam jus' couldn't stay… too many memories. I don't remember him much meself, 'e was always away. She's with 'im now, God bless 'er soul. She taught me all she knew, and gave me a good start. And I can't say I 'aven't had fun along the way." Her hands were working Hermione's hair, loosening some of the new curls, weaving the locks into some configuration she still refused to allow her to see. "There! Now, luv… tell me what you think."

She was turned around to face the mirror, and for the first time in two hours Hermione saw the result of Jasmine's efforts. "Jasmine…" Her voice failed her.

"Ah, ah! Keep it in, luv, you'll ruin your mascara," Jasmine cautioned as tears began to gather in the younger girl's eyes. She offered a small handkerchief and Hermione carefully dabbed away the wetness. The raven-haired witch leaned down to look over her shoulder in the mirror. "How do you feel?" she asked, her voice back to its natural register.

"It's… beautiful! You're amazing!"

"You know, I get that a lot."

Hermione laughed. "And my mother says she's glad you found some confidence! She has no idea."

"I'll leave it up to you to decide when to tell them. They're as far as I want the circle to go, but I trust you and them."

"I know. But not for a while. Let's not worry about more secrets and magic… I just want to be their daughter." She reached up and held the hand that rested on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "You are too, you know."

Jasmine hugged her with one arm tightly, a quiet outpouring of emotion that was rare since her return. "Bai tou xie lao, Hermione."


He wasn't going to barf. He wasn't.

Unfortunately, denying it in his head made him think about barfing, which was plenty enough to make his stomach queasy. His glass of club soda wasn't really doing much to help, but holding it gave his hands something to do as he waited just inside the greenhouse, trying not to think about the thing he wasn't going to think about.

Merlin, why hadn't he put any time into learning Occlumency? Oh, right... he hated Snape.

He didn't miss how George watched him out of the corner of his eye, as if he might suddenly decide to run off. As if! Every time - every time! - he'd ever turned his back on Hermione or Jasmine he'd regretted it. The months on the run, hiding from Snatchers, alone except for his fear that one or both of them might be dead by the time he caught up with them… that had taught him a lesson like nothing he'd ever learned inside Hogwarts. Never again… they were his girls, and he'd vowed never to let them out of his sight again. The one time he'd slipped Jasmine had all but wrapped herself in a bow and given herself to Voldemort.

He kept his feet planted, as obstinate as any Hufflepuff… and tried not to think about how Hermione deserved someone who didn't need to get hit in the face with a bludger so many times before he learned a lesson. Tried not to think about how so very many people reacted to the news of their engagement with a raised eyebrow and "What? Hermione and Ron? Seriously?"

He and George were standing at the entrance to the greenhouse, greeting people as they came in and sat themselves. Ron really had to give it to Neville… with the sun down and the charmed lights providing the light, you could forget you were in a greenhouse and think you were in an enchanted forest straight out of a storybook. (He hoped the man realized just what kind of standard he was setting for when he finally got around to proposing to Hannah.) Bill and Fleur had only just arrived, and it said something that he'd barely noticed how gorgeous his sister-in-law looked in her formal dress. His brother had looked at him and at the way the soda sloshed a bit in his glass, and just squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

The glass door opened again, letting in a small gust of cold air - the November night was chill but not freezing, and he liked how it kept him from getting sweaty in his formal robes. Jasmine stepped in, looking amazing in a long, silken dress as vibrantly green as her eyes. Her hair was dark, shining waves gathered at the side of her head and pulled forward over her shoulder... apparently somewhere along the line she'd learned how to work with her hair. She looked gorgeous, but he noticed it in the same way he'd noticed Fleur: simply a statement of fact.

There were more than a few people who were surprised that it wasn't Jasmine in the wedding dress. He could see why, considering their mutual love of Quidditch and food and hating people named Malfoy. And when she'd started turning into a young woman… wow. Oh yes, he'd looked. And certainly he hadn't fought with her quite as much as he had with Hermione.

That was it, though: they didn't fight often, but when they did, it was always nastier… they each knew just what to say and do to really hurt one another. They were too much alike. He'd realized that she was like a sister, and as soon as he started treating her like he would Ginny, instead of as a love interest, everything became clearer and easier. He had seriously considered asking her to be his "Best Woman", but Hermione had gotten to her first.

She looked better in a dress anyway.

She was smoothing out that dress, adjusting the way it rested on her hips. "Not long now!" she said. "Colin and Hermione will be just a few minutes. Are you two ready?"

George nodded, sipping from a glass of water. Ron matched the gesture, trying to look confident. "Sure thing. " His voice was steady. He tried to hide how the hand that held the glass was shaking, but he saw her eyes narrow.

She didn't say anything. Instead, she slipped in beside George so that the three of them became an honour guard at the door, even though everyone was present and accounted for. The chairs were full, and Minister Shacklebolt stood up at the menhir, chatting quietly with Justin Finch-Fletchley, who had somehow worked his way into being the Minister's aide. Even Hagrid was present, seated beside McGonagall in the back row; the position wasn't intended as a slight, but as a simple acknowledgement that having him in the front would block the view of everyone behind him. He'd been surprised when Ron had apologized for it, the man far too good-natured to ever assume insult.

The silence drew out as they waited for the bride. Ron had seen Jasmine giving George sideways glances, but he was still surprised when she suddenly turned to his brother and said out of the blue: "Just so you know, we're not having sex."

Ron choked. George was caught completely off-guard, spewing his mouthful of water, and it was his good fortune at no one was standing in front of him. He coughed and spluttered, finally managing a confused, "W-What?"

"We're not having sex. Especially if you always make a mess like that! My word, George." She pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his chin. "You might have heard what the bridesmaids and Best Man tend to get up to after a wedding. I didn't want you getting your hopes up."

"I… Wha-…" He sighed dramatically. "Well, thanks for letting me down easy!"

"I'm sure you'll find love again."

"You've ruined women for me forever. I'll have to find a muggle bloke."

"Would you like me to set you up? I've got some phone numbers, though you'd have to find a phone."

"I'd ask if they were older men, but your perception of that is kind of suspect nowadays."

"Are you making fun of my age? I'll put you over my knee, young man."

"You just said we wouldn't be doing that!"

The two paused as Ron cracked up, nearly snorting his water. They watched him laugh for a moment before shaking hands at a job well done. Jasmine slipped in to hook her arm with his, George laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Twenty minutes, Ron." Green eyes looked up at him. "Twenty minutes, then it's party time. You'll last."

"I know, I know. I promise, I'm not getting cold feet."

"I never thought so." She leaned in. There was a weight to her presence now, something everyone noticed but nobody commented on. Most of the time it was intimidating… but at that moment it was comforting, like a warm, thick blanket. "Trust me, once you see her, you won't want to go anywhere."

He nodded, reaching an arm around her shoulders and giving a gentle squeeze. If anyone had told him two years before that he'd be hugging Morgana at his wedding… well, crazy stuff happened around Jasmine, so he'd probably have granted it as a possibility. He just wished she'd channel her Powers of Improbability to something more useful… like getting the Chudley Cannons to the World Cup.

The door opened again and in came his soon-to-be mother-in-law, only shivering a little from the cold air in her long, lavender dress. While Hermione had inherited her colouring from her father, her features and bushy hair had come from her mother. Helen tamed her hair by keeping it short, but it left her neck and shoulders exposed to the cold, and she sighed with audible relief as the warmth of the greenhouse hit her.

"Everyone ready? They're on their way."

"We're all set here," Jasmine replied on his behalf. She tugged lightly on his arm. "Come along, Mister Weasley," she said, and he wondered whether she was deliberately imitating Professor McGonagall.

The four walked up to the front, Helen taking her seat in the front row next to a stern Augusta. The brothers and Jasmine arranged themselves around Shacklebolt while Finch-Fletchley faded off to the side and out-of-view. Ron still thought Justin was a bit of a prat, but like any Hufflepuff he was hard to dislike. Kingsley was as serious as ever, but he nodded to the groom and Jasmine, and Ron knew he was glad to be here. The stresses of rebuilding the Ministry of Magic into something stronger and less corrupt were already showing as lines in his face, but he'd asked them to officiate the wedding, rather than leaving it to one of the members of the Department of Lineage (which, to be fair, was one of the sections of government getting hit hard by his reforms). They'd accepted happily.

Ron heard the door to the greenhouse open. Off to the side, Hannah waved her wand and a small enchanted organ began to play Here Comes the Bride, the tune that was so oddly the same between magical and muggle weddings. It felt like the blood was draining from his body through his feet; his stomach had turned to lead.

This was it... in a few seconds, there'd be no backing out. Hermione would be stuck with him. .. the stupid boy who was always letting his mouth run loose, who always left the bedroom a mess, and never understood a bloody word when she started talking about arithmancy or runes or physics. Eventually she'd figure out how badly she'd settled and-

Hermione and her father stepped into the light from the glowing spheres, and suddenly everything else disappeared.

She'd opted for a dress from Madame Malkin, who didn't dare put anything less than her best efforts into something worn by one of the heroes of the War. The mermaid-style dress (not even under the Cruciatus would Ron ever admit he knew what that meant) was lace and silks, tight around Hermione's slender waist and bare across her shoulders, flaring slightly at her just above her knees into smooth, shimmering fabric that stretched behind her in a short train. Though magic had removed most of the scar, she was still conscious of where Bellatrix had tortured her with the knife: the sleeves of the dress, made of embroidered lace, covered her arms and stretched down to the back of her hands. The cloth had been charmed to softly glow, and her every movement left a faint mist of white and blue fading in the air behind her, like she'd become a living, human patronus.

Close enough, as far as Ron was concerned.

She and her father walked up to the front at the slow, measured pace required by the music, but Ron would have waited forever if need be. Colin briefly rested a hand at the small of her back, obviously resisting the urge to hug his daughter, then sat down next to Helen. Hermione handed the bouquet to Jasmine, then turned to him.

His hands seemed to move of their own accord as he gently lifted her veil and pushed it back. He heard several pleased gasps from the front row, probably from Ginny and Molly; the sniffling from the back was probably Hagrid.

He'd heard that there'd been some kind of fuss with the hair salon, though Helen had refused to elaborate; whatever had happened, the results were incredible. The frizzy, treacherous locks of her hair, of which she complained loudly and often, had been spun into delicate, silken art. Tendrils framed her face, and the bulk of it was tamed and pulled to the side of her head, falling in soft, honey-brown curls to her collarbone and breast. The strands seemed to shimmer with a golden glow like polished bronze; on the side of her head, where the curls gathered and began their gentle fall, a trio of small peonies - hermione peonies, only barely tinged with their usual pink - had been woven in alongside a pair of golden ribbons that twisted and spun through her tresses. He had to fight the urge to run his hands through those curls, to see if they were as smooth and soft as they looked.

He had to fight the urge to grab her and kiss her senseless then and there. She blushed prettily, looking down and then staring up at him through her eyelashes, her eyes half-lidded, and he knew she had a pretty good idea what was going through his head. All his panic and doubt was gone, exactly as Jas had promised.

Shacklebolt raised his wand over their heads for the ceremony, and Ron squeezed his bride's hands. Oh yes, he was never leaving her side.


The ceremony passed by in a blur as Ron stood there in a kind of daze. Nobody got angry with him, so obviously he was saying the right things at the right times. When Shacklebolt pronounced them wedded, it was Hermione who had to grab his head and pull him down into the kiss - drawing some laughter from the audience, who hadn't missed the stupefied look on the groom's face - but she was grinning as she did so. Ron felt the rice tossed over them and heard the cheers of the girls.

He would have happily kept kissing his wife forever, except after a minute Jasmine crept over and poked both of them in the ribs. "Come on, you two," she scolded merrily, "I'm hungry. There'll be plenty of that later." Hermione giggled, and even Kingsley rumbled with laughter.

Lead by the bride and groom and showered by yet more rice (Merlin, how much did his sister bring?!) the group went next door to find that the Longbottom house-elves had already laid out everyone's plates. Everyone sat down, and Ron's father gave the opening toast. After that everyone gratefully tucked into their food. He felt Hermione's worried eyes on him as he ate… did she really have so little faith in him? He'd been watching Jasmine, just like she had! He gave her a smug look as he ate his turkey in slow, measured bites, and Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled.

The speeches were generally short, though George made sure that the incident with the Ford Anglia, and his mother's reaction, was related to everyone in its entirety. Colin was unusually candid in mentioning how angry he was to have been forced to leave Britain during the war (he didn't mention how Hermione had accomplished it) but acknowledged that she'd done it out of love and the knowledge that no matter whether he stood a chance or not, he would put himself between her and anyone who tried to hurt her. He finished by saying how glad he was to have a worthy son-in-law to help him with that task, squeezing Ron's shoulder. Hermione was reduced to happy tears as he spoke, dabbing constantly at her eyes.

The trickiest speech was Jasmine's… she simply didn't remember the specifics of her school years, so she couldn't mention anything overly specific. Instead she compared them to couples in history, from Arthur and Guinevere to Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel (she also mentioned that as far as the Death Eaters were concerned they were also Bonnie and Clyde, which Ron didn't understand but all the muggleborn in the audience laughed).

When she was done she turned to them, glass in hand. "Hermione… you are my conscience. Ron, you are my strength. Without you, I'm not a whole person. You're my brother and my sister… which technically means that the two of you getting married is a form of incest." Everyone cracked up. Jasmine smiled and continued, "You are my family. No matter where I go, no matter where I live… my home is you." Hermione was dabbing at her eyes again, and his own throat felt tight. Off to the side Hagrid was openly bawling, causing McGonagall to roll her eyes (which were looking decided moist as well).

Thankfully she ended it there, and there were no more speeches. The house-elves popped in to whisk away the plates and rearrange the tables, leaving Neville's large grassy area bare. Colin gleefully jumped to his feet and ran outside to start his generator, returning a moment later to fire up his stereo. Then came the part Ron had really been dreading: dancing with Hermione in front of everyone.

He wasn't a rubbish dancer - several embarrassing lessons with his mother made sure of that - but doing it in front of everyone was a lot of pressure. It was bad enough when he only had to worry about stepping on Hermione's toes… now he had to worry about her dress! But she pulled him close and rested her head against his shoulder, and he knew that she knew he loved it when she did that... whether it was while they slept, or while they danced, or even just standing outside waiting for the Knight Bus. He relaxed and found the rhythm of the slow song Colin had chosen.

"Today is a good day," Hermione said quietly.

"Yeah, it really is," he agreed.


Every house at Hogwarts had its secrets. Hermione reluctantly granted the Slytherins that the Chamber of Secrets was perhaps the most impressive, although the Ravenclaws having the daughter of their founder as the house ghost was a close second. The Lions would proudly lay claim to the mysterious, appearing-at-your-darkest-hour sword of Gryffindor as their own.

Hermione thought that was a bit narrow-minded. No, she thought the biggest secret of Gryffindor was that Neville Longbottom was the best dancer in the school.

He'd learned to dance under the stern tutelage of his grandmother, who insisted that no heir to the Noble House of Longbottom would look the fool on the dance floor. Sure, the young man had embarrassed himself during the Yule Ball during Fourth year… Ginny still teased him about the bruises on her feet. He'd been going through his awkward phase (he'd claim his entire time at Hogwarts as "awkward") and had been a nervous wreck besides. But now he had finished growing, had a steady girlfriend, and was known as the man who had summoned the sword of Gryffindor to slay the snake familiar of the Dark Lord with a single stroke. It was entirely reasonable for anyone to get a bit of a confidence boost from that.

Now he could waltz with the best of them, tango to make any woman flustered, and foxtrot like he'd guzzled a gallon of Pepper-Up. The single girls would fight for their turn with him, though wisely always deferring to Hannah who was very un-Hufflepuff in her possessiveness when it came to her boyfriend. But Neville was nearly inexhaustible ("I know," commented Hannah with a blush and mischievous smile) and they all had a turn.

Colin primarily played classical music, out of respect for the occasion and wizarding sensibilities. George and Jasmine were paired together alongside Ron and Hermione for half a dozen songs… after that Hermione pulled Ron over to sit for a bit and rest her feet; she liked dancing, but she was still a bookworm and not as used to physical activity as she probably should be. George was sharing a waltz with Hannah while Neville was paired with Professor McGonagall… it was an open secret that the stern headmistress loved dancing as well, and despite her age she was amazingly energetic and graceful.

Jasmine sat next to the pair as Hermione removed her shoes and rubbed her feet. She'd sat down at the same time as they had; the ancient witch looked relaxed, but Hermione didn't miss the way her eyes followed Neville's movements.

She rolled her eyes and leaned over. "Go dance, Jasmine."

The other witch raised her eyebrows. "Pardon?"

"You're wearing your `I'm trying not to show off' face. It's really quite disingenuous."

"I have no such face! Do I?"

"Usually only when you're on a broom. But I'm guessing somewhere along the line you finally learned how to dance," she said dryly. Beside her, Ron laughed quietly. "So go!"

Jasmine smirked, and there was just a little bit of Morgana in the expression. When the current song ended she stood and walked confidently over to the Longbottom heir, the other girls wisely yielding to the Maid of Honour. Neville saw her approach and raised his eyebrows, his smile just a little bit nervous; after all, the only person to damage more feet at the Yule Ball had been Jasmine herself. But his expression filled with surprise as the music started again - a tango, this time - and Jasmine's steps became a glide. She slipped her hand into his, and purely by instinct he fell into step with her.

She had learned how to dance during her time away, and dance very well besides. Hermione wasn't surprised… it was obvious enough just in the way she walked, and she'd seen how Jasmine had held herself back while dancing with George. She watched her friend move in a way that was easily Neville's equal, and barely stifled laughter at the astonished look on his face.

Ron leaned over. "What d'you think he'd do if he had any idea who he was dancing with?" he asked quietly.

"What? Neville?" She pondered the idea carefully. "Barf, maybe, or pass out. Definitely a panic attack."

Ron made a noise of agreement. After a moment, he stood up. "I'm telling him."

She grabbed his hand and thrust him back into his chair. "Don't you dare!" She hugged his arm to keep him from standing, making him laugh.

They watched the couple dance for a few minutes, until Professor McGonagall wandered over, trailed by Hagrid. They both stood in the presence of their former teacher.

"Now, now, that's not necessary," she protested.

"Just being respectful, Professor," Hermione said with a smile.

"That's not necessary either, Hermione. You're a married woman, I think you can call me Minerva," the older woman said fondly.

"All right… Minerva," she answered warmly.

"It was a lovely ceremony and delicious dinner," Minerva complimented. "I'm glad I managed to get a dance or two in before we had to leave."

"Oh, already?"

"Yes, unfortunately. Horace is in charge of the castle while I'm gone, and I'd like to get back before he's sold all the stones." Hermione coughed a laugh into her hand.

The older woman turned to look at the dance area, where Jasmine was currently being twirled by Neville, her green dress flaring. "I'd hoped to speak with Miss Potter before doing so, but… she seems occupied," the headmistress said with an amused air. "I must say, I'm glad someone finally taught her how to dance. Poor Mister Diggory had to visit Madam Pomphrey after his night with her."

"She discovered a few passions during her trip," Hermione said, well aware that she was imitating Jasmine's gift for understatement. Judging from his snort, Ron knew it too.

"Well, good. To be honest, I was a bit worried about her lethargy after the war. You've all come into your own… I'm so very glad to see it." She pulled Hermione into a hug, and after a moment Ron as well. Although he looked terribly awkward (perhaps even a little frightened) he returned the embrace.

After that was Hagrid's turn, squashing both of them to his chest at the same time. "Tha' was the prettiest weddin' I ever saw," he blubbered happily. "E'rybody lookin' so happy! I wish we cou' stay longer, but you'll come an' visit, righ'? An' bring Jas! It'll be like ol' times!"

"Of course, Hagrid. Thank you so much for coming!" She squeezed the gentle oaf as hard as she could, his bulk barely yielding under his huge tailored suit.

Shortly after the two left, Hermione's father tired of the "boring" classical music and switched over to more modern muggle fare. Though the purebloods were caught a little off-guard, they soon threw themselves into the happy, bouncing music with fervour. Ginny and Luna tried to keep up with Jasmine, while Neville spun off with Hannah. Even Percy loosened up enough to enjoy a dance with Padma, and Seamus Finnegan, Lee Jordan, and Parvati twisted and spun without a care in the world.

As Jasmine had promised, Colin's laptop worked fine; Hermione's father was actually able to queue up several songs and sneak off to dance with his wife and daughter while they played… Molly and Bill would intercept Arthur whenever the Weasley patriarch seemed to be trying to sneak his way over to the stereo. Meanwhile, Hermione may have abused her privileges as the daughter of the DJ, but the glare she received from Jasmine as the first notes of Dancing Queen began to play made it entirely worthwhile.

The rest of the night was joyful and borderline manic… they may have insisted on a "small" wedding, but there was no ignoring the fact that the Weasley/Granger wedding was the event since the war. Shacklebolt could have exploited it for all sorts of political advantage, but he'd promised not to, and he was far too upright to break such a promise (thus guaranteeing him votes from the couple for certain). Hermione and Ron allowed him to have a few photos anyway, shaking Ron's hand and dancing with the bride. Jasmine tended to turn away or otherwise avoid Adrian Jugson and his camera, but that was hardly new behaviour and needed no explanation.

Rita Skeeter made no appearance, but at one point Hermione could have sworn she saw Jasmine hand George a mason jar with holes in the aluminium lid. She knew better than to ask.

Her plan to show her parents the happier side of the wizarding world was a rave success. Helen hugged her newly-married little girl, slightly tipsy and babbling through happy tears about the vows and the way the enchanted lights bobbed in the air and the way her wedding dress shimmered… everything she had dreamed of and more for her daughter's Special Day. Hermione was reduced to a happy mess as well, finally conjuring a handkerchief so she could wipe off her mascara and blubber in peace with her mother and Molly and even Hannah without dripping makeup onto her dress.

Her father was just plain having fun, playing whatever music caught his fancy, interspersing slow, romantic tunes in among the happy, bouncing dance songs. Several purebloods, including Neville, were curious about the muggle music boxes, and asked if all muggle music was like what he was playing. Under Colin's watchful eye Arthur was even allowed to touch the laptop, and Ron grumbled that his marriage would come second forever in his father's memories to getting to move a mouse pointer around a screen. There were no brawls with pureblood bigots, and the Malfoy family hid in their home like shunned pariahs as the Weasleys danced and laughed. It was a good day!

It was well past midnight when everyone began to wear down. Colin looked eager to keep playing with his toys (and a little tipsy… he'd introduced Arthur to Goldschläger, and the other man had returned the favour with a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey...). Hermione's mother was sitting with Arthur and Molly, all three looking exhausted and half-asleep. Padma was dozing in a chair between Parvati and Susan, and Kingsley and his entourage had left shortly before midnight.

Hermione sat next to Ron as he nibbled at yet another piece of cake, claiming he needed the sugar for energy. They watched Jasmine saunter over, and even their ancient friend looked a little bit sweaty from her exertions. Behind her Ginny and Luna were still wiggling awkwardly, trying to imitate the belly dancing moves the ancient witch had been showing them.

Green eyes looked over their slouched positions in the chairs. "You two look worn out," she commented.

"Thank you," Hermione answered dryly. "We can't all be a machine on the dance floor. The hosts can't exactly sneak off like George did, the prat. Besides, I'm not so worn I can't do this!" She snapped her fingers proudly. Jasmine looked down at where the cleansing charm had freshened them all and laughed.

"Well, perhaps I can help a bit. Here." From a tiny pocket on her dress - likely charmed - Jasmine pulled out a card which could have come from any muggle gift shop. Happily Ever After was written in looping calligraphy on the front, but the inside was empty except for two circles drawn on either edge and some text written below each.

"'Groom thumb here, Bride thumb here'", Ron read. He looked at Hermione and raised an eyebrow.

Shooting a suspicious look at Jasmine, Hermione smiled and took her spot. After a moment, Ron took his.

There was a snap, and both were gone.


"I am going to kill her. I don't care that she's immortal, I will find a way."

Hermione watched as Ron stomped about. Truthfully, she was delighted. Jasmine had picked her timing perfectly: the party was winding down, and she'd saved them the slow, dreary process of seeing the guests away. The portkey had whisked them off to freedom, plopping them down someplace, though neither of them knew where. They knew they were standing in the middle of the fancy new wizarding tent belonging to Bill, set up and ready for them in some unknown location.

The card was still clutched in their hands, and golden text began tracing itself across the blank area:

Here you go, Hermione: you, Ron, and camping… but you didn't forbid me from
modifying the location. I decided that if you were going to go camping, you
deserved a place a bit more special than Karijini, and now there you are.

Where you stand has great meaning to me, and hopefully soon it will to you as well.
A couple I greatly admired pledged themselves to each other near where you stand,
and I think your bond will be even stronger, because you've already traveled
beside each other through the worst the world could throw at you.

You have nothing to worry about… you stand in perhaps the safest place in all the
world, with only nature and each other to command your attention. But if you truly wish
to come back, just hold this card and say "Nice try, Scarhead".

If not… you should find everything you need ready and waiting.

PS: There's butterbeer and cake in the cooler. Don't trust the candies, George put them there.

Their suitcases had been deposited neatly next to the wide, fluffy bed, which already had the covers turned down, and the lights throughout the tent were charmed and lit. Obviously Jasmine had conspired with some of the Weasleys… probably George. When they poked their heads outside they saw only darkness, though it was far warmer than the UK and they could hear leaves rustling in the faint breeze. Above them stretched an endless, glorious expanse of stars

Ron almost recited the return phrase, but she stopped him, grabbing his arm. "No, Ron. We're here. Let's give it a try."

He looked at her helplessly. "But, 'Mione… Karijini!"

She smiled. "I suspect wherever she's put us is even better than Karijini."

He sighed with a growl. "I hate it when she just does stuff like this."

"I know. And when we get back we can hex her bits off. But meanwhile? She can deal with saying goodbye to everybody and cleaning up. While we're here, ready to relax…" She looked at him significantly. "Alone. On our wedding night."

Ron looked back at her, his eyebrows touching his hairline. He began to redden even as a dopey smile creeped across his face. She didn't even try to hide her own flush of pleasure that she had such an effect on him.

"Do you really want to go back?"

"No, ma'am!"


It was well past noon by the time they woke up according to a Tempus spell. They would have stayed and snuggled for longer, but both their bellies were making themselves known, along with other needs. They opted for a simple breakfast of cereal and juice, then shared a shower that took quite a bit longer than perhaps it should have (thank goodness for magical showers providing endless hot water!).

Hermione wistfully folded away her wedding dress from where it had been draped over a chair in their rather hurried shedding of clothes the night before. Ron simply stuffed his good robes into the "dirty laundry" bag as a rumpled ball, ignoring her glare as he did so. Soon they were both dressed in their summer-wear, assuming that if Jasmine was kidnapping them for a honeymoon, she'd at least not send them someplace cold.

"This is nice. Where are we?" Ron asked as they stepped out of the tent.

They were standing in the middle of a forest that was every bit as magical as the one that Neville had created in his greenhouse. They were surrounded by trees, dripping with blossoms and some heavily laden with apples. Even in the shade the grasses were green and healthy, and birdsong could be heard in all directions. The air was warm like an early summer's day, so she could only guess that they were closer to the equator.

The only sign of human hands was a large gazebo, mere yards from where they stood. It seemed to have been carved from a single block of marble or chalk, and was wide enough that they could have set up the tent underneath it. Instead as they approached they saw the space was occupied by two long marble boxes made of marble… tombs. The top of each tomb was carved into the shape of a person lying in repose, a man and a woman.

"A grave site? She thought it'd be romantic to send us to honeymoon next to a grave site? She's gone senile!" Ron said, appalled.

Hermione carefully traced the front of the tomb at the feet of the seemingly-sleeping woman. Text had been carved there, but being exposed to the elements for what was obviously a huge amount of time meant that the words had almost entirely worn away. The text on the man's tomb had fared little better… but by putting her fingers on the stone she could feel where the letters had once resided.

"Arthur?" she pondered out loud. Surely Jasmine wasn't so crass as to send Ron to a gravesite that bore the same name as his father.

Arthur. A beautiful land full of apple trees. No…

She dashed back to the woman's tomb, Ron watching with concern at her sudden frantic expression. The woman's marker was more worn by simple virtue of its angle to the wind, but Hermione carefully traced the depressions she found in the stone. "G… w… e… n…" She almost mistook the following `h' as an `n', but now that she knew what she was looking for, the -wyfar that came after was just confirmation.

"Gwenhwyfar?" Ron asked, confused, as he pronounced it Gwen-why-far.

"No, Ron, that's the old spelling," she said. He looked at her, concerned by her shaking voice. "We pronounce it Guinevere."

He wouldn't have been any less stunned if she'd bonked him between the eyes with George's beater bat. "Guin- What?" He backed away from the tombs as though they might explode any moment.

"Guinevere! Arthur and Guinevere, Ron! Do you know where we are?" She seized him by the lapels of his jacket. "She sent us-"

"She can't have!"

"She did! She sent us to Avalon!" She was breathing too fast. She swallowed, trying to get herself under control.

Ron was running his hands through his hair. "No! No, no, it's impossible… Oh Merlin-" He choked. "Oh, Merlin! He's here! She said she buried him here… his tomb is somewhere around here!"

"Ron! Ron, calm down," she said, blatantly ignoring the hypocrisy as she shook her husband hard enough to loosen his teeth. "It's just an island. Just an island… just a legendary island lost for thousands of years, holy ground for wizards… Oh Jasmine!" She buried her face into Ron's jacket.

He rubbed her back gently with concern as her shoulders shuddered. Then she pulled back from him, laughing… there were tears in her eyes, but they were from joy. "I can't believe that woman! Oh, Ron… this is amazing!"

"We're still hexing her bits off, right?" Ron prompted.

"Oh, all of them!" Sighing, she leaned in, giving her husband a squeeze. After a moment a thought came to her and she pulled in a horrified breath. "Oh my God… Ron… this is Avalon, and we," she leaned in to whisper harshly, as if the two carvings might spread the tale, "we were like bunnies!"

He looked down at her, and his expression clearly said that he had no idea why this was a bad thing, a sheepish smile spreading across his face. She stared at him, scandalized, but couldn't help herself... she started giggling, and soon the two of them were back to laughter, leaning against each other and completely ruining the solemn atmosphere of the two nearby graves.

Neither of them said anything for long moments as they caught their breath. When he thought he could speak properly, Ron turned to his wife. "S-so… do you want to go find Merlin?"

"Oh balls, yes!" Realizing what she'd said, she clapped her hands over her mouth.


They spent nearly a week on the fabled island, exploring daily and returning to their tent for the night. Despite Ron's unspoken worry, Hermione did not decide that they should keep their hands off each other; if anything, she became even more lascivious, much to the redhead's delight. When he worked up the courage to ask her, she simply shrugged and said "It's not like Jasmine didn't know what we'd be doing". She did, however, ask that they move the tent a bit farther away from the two sarcophagi.

The island was, at most, a few kilometres long on a side, but dense with trees and flowering bushes and lush grass. The slightest breeze from the ocean would send the air skittering with pink and white petals, and sweet scent was everywhere. They were amazed by the magical animals they saw, from gamayun to even wild puffskeins… always creatures of gentle nature, because no predators would dare reside on the isle. From the second day onward Hermione insisted on carrying a sketchbook with her.

They didn't actually find Merlin's tomb until two days later, and not in the way they expected. What had drawn them was the sound of phoenix song; they found a large outcropping of rock, split down the middle and a path winding through beyond sight. They threaded their way in and found themselves standing in the middle of bowl-shaped depression in the hill, surrounded by stone on all sides. It was a phoenix flock, their nests set into holes pecked out by their incredibly strong beaks. The married couple looked around them with awe and elation.

Nearly two dozen birds looked down at them as they stepped in, their shoes kicking up a bit of grey dust... judging from the amount of ash it'd been a nesting spot for a very long time. Indeed, their arrival proved to be a little too much excitement for one phoenix who was looking old and sickly… he burst into flame then and there, and the two humans reeled from the sudden heat. After a moment the fires died away to reveal a tiny chick peeping from the charred remains of his nest.

The other phoenixes barely spared their flock-mate a glance as they regarded their visitors; they didn't seem offended by the couple's presence, merely curious, and a few even chirped in greeting.

One bird actually seemed pleased to see them, singing a few happy notes. Hermione wasn't sure how she knew, but: "Fawkes?" He confirmed it a moment later as he leapt into the air, fluttering over to land on her shoulder, chirping happily. He pressed his head against hers for a moment in greeting, then reached out a wing to pat Ron on the head.

"I can't believe this! This is where you've been? We were all wondering where you went when-" She skidded to a halt, not wanting to talk about Dumbledore's death on her honeymoon.

Fawkes seemed to understand, only answering with a few mournful notes. Then he gently took hold of her hand from where she'd been gently stroking his chest feathers, using his beak to manoeuvre it so it could pointedly look at the ring on her finger. He chirped again at the sight of it; then looked at Ron, and then back to her with his head turned at a quizzical angle.

"Of course him!" she laughed.

"Even the phoenixes," Ron moaned, rubbing his forehead.

"We're here on our honeymoon," Hermione explained. "It wasn't planned, not really… we were going to go to Karijini in Australia-" She paused as Fawkes rolled his head. "Oh, come on! There's nothing wrong with Karijini! Not that it matters, Jasmine hijacked the whole thing and sent us here." At that he bobbed his head in approval, and a half-dozen of the phoenixes chirped their agreement. She crossed her arms. "Well, I'm glad you approve of her executive decision. Not that it isn't wonderful here, but a little warning would have been nice!"

She paused as a thought occurred to her. "You knew. When we were at Hogwarts, with Jasmine… you knew she was out here, too… watching us." Fawkes hesitated, then bobbed his head. "Then when you allied with Dumbledore…" Another bob.

"What? He became Dumbledore's familiar because Jasmine told him to?" Ron asked incredulously, earning himself an offended squawk.

"Nobody tells a phoenix to do anything," Hermione said. "But she asked, didn't she?" The bird bobbed his head again. "Has it always been that way? I mean, I don't think any of us really thought about how old you might be. Have you always been there, looking after her?" The hesitation was longer this time, and when he answered it was with a sad little note. "What? What does that mean?"

Whatever it was, Fawkes obviously didn't want to talk about it, so Hermione gave up. "Well… Avalon is amazing. I always wondered what your nests looked like," she said, nodding politely to the other phoenixes. "And was that really a fionnuala we saw yesterday?"

"Don't forget the snorkack," Ron volunteered.

"We are never talking about the snorkack."

Fawkes looked at them, considering. Then he fluttered into air, pausing on a small outcropping near where they'd entered. He spread his wings a little, chirping and tossing his head… they were to follow.

He lead them out of the nesting area, through a field and under a grove of trees, essentially circling around the large hill that held the phoenixes' nests. On the other side they found a small open door leading into a tomb set into the hillside, reminding her a great deal of the tombs of Egypt except the walls lacked any hieroglyphics. On the far wall a replica of a fireplace had been carved from stone, and in the center was a single rectangular sarcophagus made from the same marble as Arthur and Guinevere's. Like the royal couple, the top had been carved into an image of its occupant. Residing within the hill it had been protected from the elements, the tomb as intact as the day Jasmine - for who else could it have been? - had made it.

He had been a tall man in life, Hermione noted, maybe even an inch or two taller than Ron, and just as broad. Rather than an image of an aged man with restful dignity, Jasmine had opted to recreate him as he was with youth and vigour, likely barely older than they were now. He had a broad chin, and a largish nose, and cheekbones which would have made Fleur jealous. The statue's eyes were closed in peaceful repose, and Hermione half expected it to snort and sputter awake as Fawkes flew in and settled to perch on the statue's folded hands.

The lettering on the front of the sarcophagus was still intact, requiring no strain to read: Myrddin Emrys. Below the name was an inscription; Ron squinted at the words:

De corde totaliter
Et ex mente tota
Praesens adsum
Etsi procul absum

Hermione came up beside him and pressed herself against his arm, laying her head on his shoulder. "'All my heart and all my soul are with you, though I am far away'," she translated softly.

They were both silent for a long moment. "It's easy to forget," Ron said. "It just seems like she went away for a little while and came back with a new attitude and a bunch of neat spells. I keep forgetting that she met people, did things, lived a life. A lot of lives." Hermione wrapped her arms around him and squeezed lightly. "After all this, what are we? How many friends has she buried? Are we just a blink of an eye to her?"

"Ron, she didn't send us here to make us sad," Hermione said gently.

"She had to know we'd find this," he countered. "She wouldn't send us here to act like tourists around the tombs of people she knew and loved."

"How many people do you think have stood here, other than her?" she said, squeezing his arm lightly. "Do you think she'd share this with anyone else? This isn't us playing tourist… this is us catching up. This is her introducing us." Fawkes chirped in agreement.

Ron was silent for a moment, and Hermione let him think. He reached out to touch the folded hands of the stone figure, Fawkes hopping aside to let him. After a moment, he frowned. "I never got to give him the `shovel' speech."

"The `shovel' speech. To Merlin."

"Hey, it made Prettyboy Diggory behave himself."

"Cedric was a gentleman, Ron... and it was Jas who was crushing on him, remember."

"Well, better late than never." He turned back to the marble figure, watched by the bemused phoenix. "So, Myrddin, is it? I hear you've turned my best friend's head, mate…"