Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

AN: Um…this one is probably pretty short, too.

Chapter 23 - - -

I was so excited to see Marcus, I practically skipped down the stairs. Thankfully, the lounge was only a short distance from the bottom of the stairs.

"You're wearing the ring," Marcus remarked the moment he saw me.

"Why, of course, silly. What else did you think I'd do with it?" Raised onto my tiptoes, I planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Well, before you left, you said you were still deciding…" He trailed off.

"Oh, don't be such a goofball." I replied.

"So…we're engaged?"

"Why else would I be wearing this?" I waved my hand in front of his face.

The ring glinted in the fire light on my extended left hand, the emerald sparkled so beautifully I couldn't imagine any other ring on my finger. Why had I ever dreamed of anything but an emerald? It was gorgeous, and of course, the perfect nod to our ancestors. And of course, Salazar Slytherin.

"You like it?" Marcus' voice interrupted my staring. My head tipped back, I looked up at him with what I could only imagine was a gooey expression.

"Of course I do, when I look at it I see you."

His returned smile stretched from ear to ear.

"Dinner is served," My Mother announced to the group, "If you would follow me into the dining room, we will begin."

"I do not mean to interrupt, Mrs Bennett, but we have an announcement. Hayley and I have decided, with the blessing of all in this room, to officially enter our engagement."

The room filled with joy—from his family and mine. I felt a twinge of guilt at bringing this news the day that Viktor confessed he couldn't be with Blair, but she knew this had been coming. I was going to be Marcus Flint.

A voice in the back of my head, tried to object—but it was like trying to hear someone speak under water. The voice was muffled; the words sounded merely like noise and nothing else. I shrugged it off, and toasted with my family to my future-in-laws.

Sunday passed in a blur—I had tea with Mother and Mrs. Flint at which it was decided that our engagement party would be held the upcoming Friday. We wanted to go with Saturday, but Marcus' Cousin, Tatiana, was being presented to society that evening. Rather foolishly, I suggested we postpone until the following weekend, but Mother and Mrs. Flint looked at me as if I were positively insane to wait that long.

"How long did you say that color was going to last in your hair?" My mother looked down her nose at me.

"Just another week or so," I shrugged, "It was supposed to last through our trip to America."

"Do you remember the name of Narcissa's colorist?"

"What's wrong with my hair?" I turned, my brows crinkling defensively. All it takes is a cleared throat and look from Grand Mummy for me to smooth it back out. Premature wrinkles were a sign of blood impurity.

"It makes you look…wholesome." She wrinkled her face in disgust. Apparently Grand Mummy had never given her that talk.

Kristin laughed, like she thought this was the funniest conversation she'd ever witnessed in her life. "It does make you look rather different, dear."

"I don't recall his name, no." I sighed in defeat.

"Do you know if Natasha's place in Diagon Alley is still open? So many of the shops are boarded up and abandoned," My Mother remarked as if this is the world's single largest tragedy, like shop owners don't have a reason to get out of town.

"Most of the shops that are still around in London are in Knockturn Alley…" Kristin responded, "And there's nowhere on that street I'd want to have my hair done."

"My colorist is fabulous," My grandmother said, who had decided only this morning I was too old to still call Grandmummy (we have opted for Gigi), piped up, "How about an afternoon in Paris?"

"Oh, mais bien sûr!" It had been a few weeks since I'd last been in France, and sadly, that felt like an eternity, "Pouvons-nous obtenir des crêpes?"

"Darling, you know I hate it when you talk in French. I can't understand a word you're speaking." My mother interjected.

"Pour vous? Quelque chose." Gigi replied.

My body felt like a bottle of champagne that had just had the cork pulled, bubbling and fizzing with nervous energy. What to wear?

"I really don't like the idea of this," My mother wants her way. I could tell she was going to do whatever it took to exert what she felt she deserved.

I turned to Gigi, waiting for her verdict out of instinct. For so many years, she had been the boss of me. Without her here, in London, transitioning back to the life where I follow what my Mum wanted was stressful. With her here, it was much more confusing.

"We'll be back tonight—just a blink away." She winked.

"And you'll make sure that your colorist completely undoes the potion on her hair?"

"Of course…I'll even take her shopping for a dress for her engagement party this Friday, would you like that?" My grandmother addressed the question solely to my mother, but there I stood, bobbing my head up and down like an idiot. I couldn't help myself…France! Clothes from France! Food from France!

"I have much to look over for the party," My Mother coldly replied, "Just make sure her dress is appropriate."

"Yes, darling." GG winked, "Go ahead and grab whatever you like from your room, and then we'll leave."

"How did you want to transport?"

"We'll take Floo to my home, and apparate from there. Long distance apparating makes me so light headed," She answered.

Upstairs in my room I run to my closet, shuffling through the items I had yet to unpack from life at Gigi's for so long. They had remained in the trunk for a reason—they were in completely forbidden colors. While Gigi believed that with blood purity of wizards, we would maintain our strength, she didn't believe in paying homage to a dead guy we may or may not be related to. Besides, black was much too stark for her complexion.

I pulled the ivory tulle skirt from the bottom of the stack, letting my fingers run over the soft fabric. It had been ages since I'd gotten to wear this. I shift through my closet until I find an acceptable (by mother's standards) black and ivory polka dot silk blouse.

I dressed quickly, spending even less time at my vanity. A messy, bow-bun sat on top of my head. Winged black liner traced over my lash line. A dainty pearl cluster adorned each ear. Candy apple red flats covered my toes. Red lipstick slicked over my lips.

And then I was out the door, tossing my purse (wand stowed inside) over my shoulder as I took the stairs into the foyer two at a time, slowing down when I got close to Gigi. She stood at the grate, inspecting the pot of Floo Powder on the mantle.

She turned at the sound of my feet on the hardwood floors, "Shall we?"

"Oh," I replied, beaming, "We most certainly shall."

Within three minutes exactly, I stand in the heart of the wizarding capital of France. The streets are bustling with people, not as many as usually are about, but a significantly larger amount than I see in London.

Gigi's salon can't take us right away, so we go around the corner for a crepe and café au lait. They serve us on the patio, at a quaint pink topped table with a vase of tulips.

"Oh, please," Gigi begins, repulsed. "Take that dratted thing off."

I looked down at my hand, the emerald nestled on my left hand. I don't want to take it off. Looking at it reminded me of my love. I wondered what my wedding band would look like—would the band be encrusted with gems, too? I hoped so.

"Morgana Hayley Bennett," She warned, "Please, do as I say. I'll give it right back, just want to have a quick look."

…but my finger would feel so naked without out it…I looked from Gigi to the ring, and back again. With a sigh, I pulled it from my finger—all of a sudden I'm hit with vertigo. I leaned against the tabletop, letting the ring drop from my hand.

I don't see where it's fallen but I hear Gigi's chair scrape back as she bent to retrieve it.

Everything suddenly clarified around me—the colors were more vibrant, my head felt clearer. With my fingertips, I traced the line of my brow, massaging my temples. Suddenly, I'm stricken with a massive headache. I grabbed the café in front of me, brought it to my lips and took a liberal, very unladylike gulp. Gigi didn't even scold me.

I set the cup back down with shaky hands—I felt so faint, and looked up at her.

"It's just as I thought," She muttered to herself.

"What's going on?"

"The ring—it's been bewitched." I choked on the gulp of air I had been bringing into my lungs—the ring was bewitched? By whom?

"To do what?"

"To make you love him." She replied, frowning as she finally looked at me, "I don't think it was your betrothed."

"Then who?"

"His mother."