A/N: Hello all! I am actually a bit ahead on this story for the first time in a while, so I'm tentatively promising an update in the next week or so. There are only four planned chapters left, although I do have a few timestamps I'm considering after all is said and done. Anyway, onto this chapter, in which multiple plans are executed :) Feel free to drop a review, I love reading them.

Friday, January 14th, 2000

As much as George has grown to resent the Ministry, he's grudgingly accepted that they know how to throw a gala. Their annual fundraiser seems even more lavish than usual this year; the location they had chosen was a sprawling mansion, which held an outrageously large ballroom. The tall ceilings had thrilled George when he had first seen them — the magical firework display he had designed relied on the space, and George was looking forward to actually seeing his charms in action; the last time he had created something this extravagant had been with Fred in Hogwarts, and they had hardly had time to take in the show as they flew off on their brooms.

Guests had been arriving for the past hour, slowly trickling in and shaking hands with the members of the Ministry and the Wizengamot who were present. Kingsley had yet to arrive, but George had seen Robbards earlier, scowling as he berated some Auror. They were in charge of security, and George did not envy the job. The Ministry was not well-beloved by their people at the moment — the Quibbler's articles regarding the WPG matches had not spun them in a favourable light. A handful of stories of found happiness and love didn't forgive the literal hundreds of stories of misery and devastation the WPG matches had caused. Luna had included all of them, with each issue of the Quibbler containing a few anecdotes. The Daily Prophet sometimes reprinted the positive stories, but never the negative — and the magical people of Britain were taking notice.

Today's issue had been… well, for lack of a better word, magical. Luna had enchanted every Quibbler article to project a holographic charm similar to the Chocolate Frog cards, and they all shone with a small image of marching witches and wizards, hands in the air and carrying signs. The headline read in bold font: "March for Marital Rights — Show Your Support on January 22nd!".

The article itself had been clear — people were to arrive in Diagon Alley and the Ministry of Magic's public floors with signs for a peaceful protest; the goal was to interrupt and spread the dissatisfaction witches and wizards had for the Wizarding Population Growth Act. Luna's writing had been articulate and compelling, interwoven with the importance of peace and reconciliation in the aftermath of the war. George had been impressed by the entire article, and nearly since the moment the Quibbler had been delivered this morning, he had heard hushed conversations, witches and wizards eager to give their opinion on the matter.

With so much chatter of the March happening at this evening's gala, it shouldn't be quite as difficult for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to discover who agrees its time to disband the WPG, and who has a vested interest in its continuation.

As well, George is eager for Parvati to arrive. Not only because he is dying to ask her for the millionth time whether she sees anything about Neville and the three Slytherins' rescue mission happening tonight, but also because she has grown increasingly withdrawn and distant in the past few weeks. He had woken to her screaming only a week prior and raced into the living room where her cot remains set up. Parvati had been nearly hysterical, repeating the champagne over and over as she sobbed in his arms. He hasn't woken to the sound since, but George is starting to suspect it's only because she's placed silencing charms around her cot, because it's obvious she's exhausted.

A gentle hand on his arm startles him, and George turns only to come face to face with Hermione. She's wearing an emerald floor-length gown with black lace on the bodice, her ever-present beaded bag in her hand.

"Hermione," George greets. "You look particularly ravishing this evening!"

Hermione blushes and rolls her eyes. "You're ridiculous. Listen, when does the firework display begin?"

"At 9 PM promptly. They want the speeches and more formal dances out of the way so that it's dark enough for the show."

"Perfect," Hermione glances around quickly. "No Kinglsey, yet?"

"Not so far as I can tell." George shrugs. "Hawkworth and Robards are here, avoiding each other."

Hermione snorts. "That's because Robards has a brain, and no one with any lick of sense would subject themselves to Hawkworth."

George laughs — it's true that Hawkworth is nearly universally disliked; it's becoming more and more obvious that the Wizengamot has lost their fondness for their Chief Warlock. This evening so far he has floated from person to person, with no conversation lasting more than a moment.

"Oh, I see Parvati. She looks beautiful!" Hermione gasps. George wheels around to find his wife looking uncharacteristically subtle — she's wearing a formal lehenga, with a beige lace overlaid on rich scarlet silk. George smirks at her hint of Gryffindor colours and is pleased to see she is looking awake and cheerful. Her long hair falls down nearly to her hips, and her dark eyes are outlined in kohl.

"Hi Hermione," Parvati greets when she reaches them. "You look nice."

"I could say the same for you," Hermione grins. "I love the red and gold touches."

Parvati flushes. "Gryffindor pride, right?"

George bows to her with a flourish, tricking a laugh from her throat. When he is standing once again Hermione has disappeared towards Malfoy, but Parvati is still standing in front of him.

"Any new… sights?" George asks in a hushed tone.

She shifts uncomfortably. "No, nothing. Sorry."

He rests a gentle palm against her shoulder blades. "Don't be sorry. You did nothing wrong."

A server in formal wizarding robes appears in front of them, holding a tray of drinks and snacks. "Drink?"

"White wine, please," Parvati answers quickly. George glances at her quickly — she still drinks, but not in front of him very often. She must be as nervous as he feels, with all the moving pieces of this plan.

"Water for me," George adds. "I'm technically on the clock."

They take their crystal glasses, and George sips at the water without the familiar pang of longing for alcohol. As painful as this process has been, he's finally in a place where he doesn't miss liquor and its effects with every moment.

"George, where is Ginny?" Parvati asks.

"At home," George answers, then nearly whispers. "Ginny's supposed to stay out of the spotlight for a while. We don't want any… other news… interrupting our Marital March plans."

His sister is barely showing, with only a hint of a curve at her stomach, but everyone had agreed that news of her pregnancy being leaked or even hinted at could hurt the momentum they had building against the WPG. As much as George knows the secrecy is necessary, it feels awful. He is almost positive that no baby has ever been more loved and wanted, and yet they have to hide their news.

"Good evening witches, wizards, and honoured guests," A voice booms from the small stage to the side of the dance floor. The gala attendees turn as one to see Ernest Hawkworth standing in front of the pedestal.

"We are so excited and thrilled to have you all here, celebrating another year come and gone with the Ministry of Magic. While it's been a challenging few years, we are happy to see our people united and safe, once again. I'd like to give a big thank you to Gawain Robards, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and our Aurors, who work tirelessly to improve our world, and who are providing security at our Annual Fundraising Gala this evening.

"I won't take up too much of your time, but I'd like to point out a few things happening this evening. Snacks and drinks are being catered and served throughout the room; we'd like to thank The Leaky Cauldron, and Magic Meals Restaurant in London for their sponsorship and help in this endeavour. You can also find a bar on the far side of this room, next to the Silent Auction — be sure to bid on any items, as the Auction ends after our special 9 PM entertainment, brought to you by Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Now, without further ado, we'd like to kick off an evening of dancing with our Minister and his wife taking the floor: Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley Shacklebolt, everyone!"

Hawkworth steps down from the podium and begins applauding. The audience follows suit, and the ballroom doors open to show Kingsley and Rosmerta. She's got her arm twined with his, and he escorts her to the dance floor. The band begins and Kingsley whirls Rosmerta into a formal dance. Although Rosmerta looks stunning, her expression seems tight and unhappy.

"Not quite her cheery self," Parvati murmurs beside him.

George sighs, "Would you be? If you had a child being held hostage?"

Parvati leans gently into him, her warmth comforting yet unfamiliar. He is friends with his wife, and he has held her after any particularly frightening visions, but beyond that, they mostly stay away from each other.

George had told her the day she appeared at his door that he didn't want a relationship, and Parvati has never tried to change his mind.

"You do look lovely, by the way." He says suddenly.

Parvati glances up and blushes, bringing her wineglass to her lips. It's been refilled, and George frowns.

"Thank you," she says demurely. "You look handsome, as well."

He laughs at her shy tone, "You're too kind, Parv. Listen, I'm going over to chat to Harry for a moment, would you mind finding Ron? He was near the bar table last I saw, but I wanted to ask him how Hannah's doing."

He heads towards Harry as Parvati heads to the bar. Harry looks strained to even be present at the Ministry event, and George knows it's because he hates being here when Neville, Blaise, Theo, and Pansy are doing the dangerous mission.

"How's it going?" George asks.

Harry runs his hand through his hair, messing up any semblance of combing he had going on. "It's good. Dawlish is just outside the door watching for latecomers, but he's thrilled to hear of the March. To be honest, most of the Aurors I work with are dreading the whole March because they're worried it will turn violent, but they also hate the WPG, so… I guess they're on board?"

George sighs. "Yeah, I'm not surprised, mate. No one wants another war, and this reeks of it."

"No more war," Harry Potter promises. "None of us want that."

George falls silent and stares out at the dance floor. Kingsley and Rosmerta are still dancing, but other couples have now joined them, and the dance floor is looking more lively.

"Ginny says hi, by the way," Harry adds suddenly. "She wants to do a get-together soon, maybe this Sunday depending on… well, things."

"I'm sure Mum would be thrilled," George grins. "I'll come by for sure, just drop me an owl."

Draco Malfoy heads towards them from the ballroom doors. He's wearing black wizarding robes with an emerald green trim to match Hermione's. Guests sidestep him as he passes, and George wonders if there will ever come a time when Malfoy is regarded as anything more than a Death Eater.

"George, Potter," Malfoy greets. "Theo says they're in place."

"Good, shouldn't be long now," George notes. It's 8:30, and Kingsley is bound to give another speech before the fireworks. The minute the fireworks begin, Harry is set to send the message from his DA coin to Neville's, and then everything will be underway.

If all goes according to plan, everyone should be back in their beds before midnight, and Rosmerta's kid should be safely ensconced in the Nott Manor.

Rosmerta, as well, needs to be notified. This is George's only other function in the plan — he is to corner Rosmerta after the firework display and hand her the illegally made portkey that is burning a hole in his pocket. It will send her straight to Nott dungeon. Hermione had argued for hours that it was barbaric to send her into a dungeon, but she had been outvoted by Theo, who had adamantly refused to risk Cho and Luna's safety before they could confirm Rosmerta hadn't been imperio'd.

George glances around the room, noticing that Parvati is standing near a pale and exhausted-looking Ron. His youngest brother has spent nearly every waking moment with Hannah, who has yet to awaken from her coma. The healers at St. Mungo's seem baffled, as there is no physical reason for Hannah to still be unconscious — her body is healed, scars thin and unobtrusive, as though it had never happened at all.

"Good evening," Kingsley's sonorus fills the space, and the band decrescendos into silence. He's standing behind the podium with Rosmerta at his side. "It is wonderful to be among you all today and celebrating with dances and great company. Please remember to check out the Silent Auction before our fireworks display.

"While it has been a challenging few years, we at the Ministry are so pleased to celebrate like this. Being Minister of Magic has been a true honour for me," Kingsley takes a deep breath and glances around the room. "I know we are still re-building since the war, but I am pleased with our progress. I am eternally grateful to all the charitable donors and sponsors who have made this evening possible, and to those who give their continued support to the Ministry. Please join me in toasting: May we continue to live peacefully, and give grace, comfort, and love to our fellow magical folk. May we continue to grow stronger, more understanding, and learn from our past."

Shining crystal glasses appear before them, Harry snags his midair as though it is a snitch and sniffs. "Mine is firewhiskey, I'm sure of it."

George smells his own. "Mine is water."

"What a curious spell," Harry mutters. "Hermione is probably dissecting it as we speak."

George laughs and glances over to find Hermione staring instead at her husband. Draco Malfoy has an uncharacteristically soft smile on his face, and he wraps an arm around her waist as he snatches her glass out of her hand. Hermione's laugh is nearly audible from across the room as he teases, and George rolls his eyes at their flirting.

Draco gulps down her drink and grins at her. George turns his head back to Harry, disparaging remark on the tip of his tongue when a shrill scream rends the air.

He snaps his gaze toward the sound and finds Hermione Granger sunk to her knees on the ground, with Draco Malfoy convulsing at her feet. She's screaming for help and trying to hold him still, and George doesn't realize he's moved until he drops to the ground beside them.

Ron is holding his legs down, and Hermione is shouting in his face, but it takes moments they don't have for George to realize what she's yelling about.

"My bag!" She screams, gesturing at the purple-beaded monstrosity behind him. "My bag, please, my bag!"

George scrambles to snatch it and hand it to her, and he watches as Hermione upends it over Draco, who has gone a swollen purple colour.

Hermione is sobbing, but after only seconds that feel like hours, nearly a dozen tiny stones fall on Draco's chest, coating him.

George stares at them blankly — and then it all clicks together. Parvati had told him, months ago… Malfoy drinks the champagne, and Hermione buries him in a mountain of tiny stones… she's desperate to bury him.

Hermione nearly claws Draco's lips open before shoving the stones in his throat. He stops convulsing immediately, though his eyes are still rolled back in his head.

George meets Hermione's teary gaze. "Bezoars?" George asks hoarsely — they weren't stones… "You… you carry bezoars?"

"Of course," Hermione replies hoarsely. "Of course I do. Ever since Ron had to take one. I always have them."

George reaches over Draco Malfoy's unconscious body and clamps a hand tightly on Hermione's shoulder. "Hermione… you just saved his life."

Hermione shakes her head, tears spilling out of her eyes. "No. No. He just saved mine. It was my champagne, George. He drank it to tease me."

George gapes at her, and she gathers up the bezoars she didn't use and tosses them back in her beaded bag. Auror Dawlish and Harry Potter are standing beside them, holding back the crowd. Harry looks thunderous, and George knows he heard what Hermione said.

"We lifted the anti-apparitions for five minutes. Let's get you to St. Mungo's." Harry says authoritatively. He reaches down and clasps Hermione's elbow, nearly dragging her to her feet. Dawlish casts a levitation charm on Draco and then disappears with a pop.

"George," Harry reaches his hand out and shakes George's hand. "I'll be back when I can."

He disappears too, and amid the horror of the last few minutes, it takes George a second to realize that Harry has pressed his gold DA coin into his hand. He comes to his feet and tugs his robes back in place. Robards is shooing people away into other corners of the ballroom.

"You okay, Weasley?" Robards asks.

George nods, "Yes. Just… shocked."

"I think we all are, son," Robards adds, a little gentler. "But, whether we like it or not, the night must continue on. I hope you've planned a suitably flashy firework display, Shacklebolt will need it to recover from that scene."

It isn't Kingsley that takes to the stage, however; it's Hawkworth, and he looks furious. His sonorous is slightly too loud when he booms, "Our apologies for that most unfortunate event. We are so glad Ms. Granger is suitably prepared for all situations. Please, everyone, find somewhere comfortable to enjoy this most fantastic display from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!"

Applause is smattering and scattered, but George isn't worried. He flicks his wand and lets the first charm go, triggering the entire event. The ceiling turns black as a night sky, and twinkling stars shoot across the room. It had been a particularly tricky thing to do, using Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, but containing it to only one section.

George gently taps his wand against the coin in his hand, muttering "Now, now, good luck." It burns hot, and then the message is gone. He slides it into his pocket and spends a moment desperately praying that the mission for Rosmerta's kid goes well. They can't afford any more accidents.

Parvati returns to his side after a moment, and she's trembling. Ron flanks her, and George is glad to have his brother nearby.

"I never thought I'd say this," Ron mutters, "but thank bloody Godric that I got poisoned at Hogwarts. That bezoar saved my life, you know, and now it's saved Malfoy."

"I thought you hated Draco Malfoy," Parvati whispers.

Ron huffs. "Well, I do as a matter of principle, really, but I suppose he's not so bad. Hermione loves him, and she's the smartest witch I've ever met, so I reckon he's got to have at least some redeemable qualities, right?"

"Plus the glass he drank was meant for her," George adds, quiet and furious. He wonders now if she ever told Draco she had bezoars in her bag. If she had drank that glass, would anyone have known how to save her?

Ron's expression grows dark. "You'd think since the Ministry is so concerned about this being a peaceful protest that they would stop trying to murder us."

Lightning flashes across the roof, crackling in spiderwebs and stretching out — it turns gold and tiny red flowers sprinkle down like rain, covering the floor in petals for only moments before disappearing. The crowd's applause has gone from sparse to nearly deafening.

"We'd have to prove it was the Ministry," George adds quietly. "I don't know how we would."

Ron shrugs, defeated. "We can't. Not yet. Stick to the plan."

George watches as Rosmerta slips out the ballroom doors, most likely for the washroom. There's an Auror trailing behind her, either a protection detail or a guard.

"On that note, I'm off to do my duty," George mutters. He slips away unnoticed, timing his exit perfectly with a light show that spirals out, slowly morphing into the shape of a unicorn. It's utterly enchanting, and no one notices him.

He follows Rosmerta and her detail down the hall, turning the corner.

The Auror is blocking him, wand drawn. "Can I help you?"

"Depends if you know where the toilet is, mate?" George says, giving his words just a hint of a slur. The guard's wand doesn't drop, but his shoulders relax momentarily, fooled into thinking a drunken idiot has followed them.

"It's just back down the hall but on the left side. You just missed it." The guard explains.

George almost feels guilty, but he dutifully salutes the guard and turns himself around, barely waiting until he's turned the corner to snatch his wand. He ducks back around the corner and aims at the guard's back.

"Stupefy," George hisses. The red beam hits square between his shoulder blades, and the guard goes down with a muffled thump. Rosmerta turns and opens her mouth as though she's about to scream, but George is ready.

"Petrificus Totalus," he casts, "Immobulus."

Rosmerta is frozen, standing tall with her mouth gaped open. George hurries towards her, casting a levitating spell and pulling her into the closest room. It's an empty study, and he turns toward the witch.

"Madame Rosmerta, we've met, but I'm George Weasley," he explains. "I don't have much time. I'm going to release you, but please don't run. This is a portkey."

He holds up a silver barrette, and steps forward, clipping it gently into her updo. He pulls his wand and dispels the magic that holds her captive. She launches herself away from him but doesn't scream.

George sighs. "At precisely midnight, that portkey will activate for only a single minute. It is your choice if you want to go or not. All I can tell you, is that if you choose to touch it, it will transport you to that which you love most."

Shock ripples across her features, closely followed by suspicion. "How would you know what it is that I love?"

George stares at her — he wishes he could promise her the missing child, wishes he could give her hope. He can't, though. He doesn't know if the plan has worked or if the child is even alive. He doesn't even know if Rosmerta can be trusted.

"I can't tell you." George shrugs. "But I can promise that if you do choose to use that portkey, no harm will come to you."

He steps away from her and slips out the door despite her protesting noise. He has been gone too long already. The guard he had stunned is still sitting in the hallway, and George casts a mild obliviate, just enough to scramble the guard's last few minutes, before disappearing down the hallway.

He re-enters the ballroom to cheers and screaming. The entire ceiling is ablaze with colours, rainbows exploding in every direction. It's chaotic and beautiful, and if George had timed it right, the entire cacophony will disappear into only a final image of the year 2000, lit up like candlelight.

He finds Ron and Parvati and is only stationed beside them for a moment when the show blazes out, just as he planned. He feels a burning warmth in his pocket, and he sneaks a glance at the coin.

'Got her.'

He turns to his brother. "Meet you at Theo's?"

Ron stares at him, and something must give him away because suddenly his younger brother is grinning at him. "Yeah. Yes!"

George laughs, and Parvati leans into him again. Ron nearly races out of the room before he can get caught up in the speeches and the silent auction announcements that are sure to start again.

"You okay?" George asks his wife.

"Yeah," Parvati murmurs. "Just… tired."

"I hear you," George agrees. He sneaks an arm around her waist and lets her rest against him. He's desperate to get to Theo's and hear the updates, and inquire as to how Draco is doing, but he can't go yet.

"I didn't realize," he says quietly into Parvati's hair. "In your vision. We always thought they were rocks, but they were bezoars."

"Yeah," Parvati says weakly. "I guess so."

George frowns at her non-committal tone but is distracted by Kingsley drawing their attention again. He thanks George for the display, and the audience cheers raucously, giving George cause to bow formally in all directions, drawing laughs and cheers around the room.

It takes ages, but finally, the Silent Auction winners have been drawn, and the crowd has started to thin out. George and Parvati make their way to Kingsley, who is standing with Rosmerta beside a few guards.

"Kingsley," George says as he approaches. The guards immediately block their path, and George rolls his eyes.

Kingsley himself is the one who motions the guards out of the way. "George Weasley, that was a wondrous display of magic."

"Thank you, sir." George grins. "This is my wife, Parvati Weasley."

Kingsley nods to her. "Nice to meet you."

"We're just heading out, but wanted to thank you for inviting us, and for the employment of Weasley Wizard Wheezes," George says. He turns his gaze to Rosmerta, briefly. "Madame Rosmerta, good to see you."

She says nothing but watches him with calculating eyes.

"See you around, Shacklebolt." George reaches out and shakes Kingsley's hand; instead of the strong grip George had become used to during the war, Kingsley is clammy and limp.

George releases him and turns away, dragging Parvati out of the ballroom with him. They walk quickly to the apparition spot since the anti-apparition wards are back in place.

"What time is it?" George demands.

"11:30, why?" Parvati replies breathlessly.

They make it to the apparition point, and George gathers Parvati into his arms. They appear again in their living room, but George takes a moment before letting go.

Parvati is staring up at him, endless dark eyes both trusting and frightened. He instinctively tightens his grasp.

"This war, it never really ended," George says breathlessly. "We're still all plotting and blackmailing and lying to each other. Both sides keep asking for peace and planning for war. They made a mistake tonight, though."

Parvati stares up at him. "What mistake?"

"They tried to kill Hermione," George laughs darkly. "Not only is Harry furious, but Hermione is, too. Not to mention, when Draco Malfoy is fully healed, he will be out for blood."

Parvati snakes her arms around his middle and squeezes him. It's comforting, and George rests his head on her silky hair and lets her presence relax him after this terrible evening. This feels new — he's held her before, but her body feels right in his embrace, and George thinks for the first time that maybe he's made a grave mistake himself.

He pulls back, just enough to watch her. Parvati is beautiful, always has been, but George is just realizing how ridiculous it is that she sleeps in his living room when they're married. Just realized how lonely he was, how lovely she is, how grateful he suddenly is that they were matched. Parvati has brought him sobriety and balance, and while that may not be what makes a marriage, it's not a terrible place to begin.

He leans down without thinking and kisses her; it's instantaneous how she opens for him, reaching up on tiptoes to kiss him back. He traces his fingers down the spine of her gown, resting his hands on her waist. Her arms press against his shoulder blades, urging him closer and closer.

"Parv," he breathes in between kisses, "Parvati—"

She stiffens minutely and pulls away, ragged breathing in the darkness of their living room.

"I'm sorry," she says, "I'm so sorry, George. It's too fast."

He rests his forehead against her hair for a moment, and then slowly pulls away until they aren't touching. It feels akin to losing a limb.

"Sorry," he says. It's all he can say — he's not sure what about it was fast; they've been married for ages.

"Let's get changed and head to Theo's," Parvati offers, "We have to meet Blaise there, anyway."

George nods again, turning slowly and heading to his room. He closes the door behind him and sinks to the hardwood floor. He wonders if he's just ruined a good thing, because Parvati only wants to be friends.

It doesn't feel like it though, the way she had fallen into that kiss. It felt like she had been waiting for him, all this time.

So why would she pull away?

A/N: Parvati's lehenga can be found here (take out the space): www. /product/embroidered-net-lehenga-in-beige-and-red-lcc235?geoip_country=ca&gclid=Cj0KCQjwmPSSBhCNARIsAH3cYgYgNXkU_QHkK7XjhFE7yWTT_A2qhcoqSmvROyKaKs3ldNoKWwDvYlMaApdKEALw_wcB&gclsrc=