Author's Note: Bitch's Brew and Lady Danger belong to Deborah Lippman and Mac Cosmetics. And of course the work of Harry Potter to JK Rowling.
A wise woman once said or sang that you must say a little prayer every morning before you wake up or put on your makeup. You never know what the day may bring. The day pauses for no one, whether it's a warm goodbye, a frosty hello, quiet alone time, mind-numbing business, or a few surprises. Sometimes the day can turn hellish. The road to Heaven can run straight through Hell.
Now Hell is subjective. For one person, it could be hate mail from all the credit companies coming for their due. For others, Hell could be having to help a sibling with homework. But then there's real Hell when you share your amazing ideas only to have them shot down one after the other. People can ruin your ideas but can't ruin your vision, although they'll try. After all, what's a big day without an even bigger "Wedding planner?!"
The words tumbled from Hermione's mouth unbidden before she knew what she was saying. Turning to Ms. CC, the witch wrinkled her nose in disgust and asked, "Why, in the name of Merlin, do I need a wedding planner?"
Cora and her mother arranged their schedules, as talked about during the first female event of the year. A time was set for all three ladies to convene and discuss the upcoming nuptials of Hermione and Marcus. At their first meeting, Cora poo-pooed all ideas, not her own. Then she took it upon herself to hire a wedding planner and only sent the details afterward to her mother and would-be daughter-in-law.
Already upset over the hijacking of her wedding, Hermione became flustered at the prospect of having a presumptuous, pompous wedding planner. Now the younger witch realizes you can't always get what you want. But that doesn't mean it's alright for someone else to have it either, mainly her mother-in-law. The wedding is not Marcus's mother's wedding. It's her own!
Just before Cora and the supposed planner arrived, she poured out her displeasure to Marcus's grandmother.
Hermione fumed, "I just don't see the purpose of having one. I like my own ideas. They're good. Besides, you're like a wedding planner . You know all the best things and where to find them."
Much too aware of her daughter's need to take over everything, Cecilia patted Hermione's hand. Her blue eyes sparkled, but her words were lightly reprimanding. "Don't be defeatest, Dear. That's very low-brow. I've said it before, and I'll remind you again. One day she'll be discontent and out of your power, but not yet. For now, smile and nod. We can always go back and make changes later. And who knows? You might find that some of these designs are worth including."
With a huff and a stab at a strawberry, Hermione doubts that. Anything this wedding planner comes up with, he can take it and shove up his "Ascot. He's wearing an ascot," she muttered. Both ladies observed Cora, the wedding planner, and a soft, mousy-looking woman trailing behind, entering the sunroom.
While Cora looked preppy as ever with her geometric sheath dress, the wedding planner was dressed like a macaroon. He wore a mint green outfit, complete with mint green pants, a white dress shirt, a minty blazer, and of course, the noticeable pale blue ascot. However, the thing that stood out more than the clothes was the man's mustache. Honestly, Hermione had to admit the mustache fit the man. It was perfectly curled like some larger-than-life cartoon character. The whole idea of this man would be comical were he not real and supposed to assist in planning her wedding. She couldn't help but wonder if he'd have anything useful to say. Judging by the outfit and mustache, she's unsure.
The preppy pair were all sweetness and smiles. Cora introduced the wedding planner as "Basil Nightshade. He comes highly recommended."
Hermione contemplated who would highly recommend this pastel pastry. But the guy only held open his hand and magically produced a business card, as if she's supposed to be impressed by this rudimentary parlor trick. Even so, the witch took the card and will never admit that there was an itty-bitty part of her that was a little impressed. Examining the rectangular piece of heavy paper, the witch noticed it read: Don't let your big day leave you feeling dismayed. Upgrade to weddings made in the shade. ~By Basil Nightshade
The pastel pastry stood and walked around Hermione and the table. He looked the bride-to-be over from head to toe at every angle. Then the man sat beside Cora with his feet crossed at the ankles. He opened his mouth to speak. However, neither Hermione nor Ms. CC was prepared for Mr. Nightshade's French-sounding, squeaky abrasive voice. It didn't match his outward appearance, but appearances can be deceiving. "I'm looking, I'm looking, and I'm seeing that you have been lost until now. Until this very moment, you were lost. Were you aware of that?"
His greenish eyes bore into Hermione's, waiting for an answer. Cecilia stared at the man with an odd expression, whereas Cora nodded in agreement with his every word like a bird bobbing its head. But the witch in question was thoroughly confused. How can she be lost when she's sitting right there?
The man cut her off when she opened her mouth to respond. "That's alright because I, Basil Nightshade, have found you. A wedding marks the beginning of the rest of your life. No longer are you a lost little girl but a found woman. For example, Shae will be lost forever unfound."
Hermione's eyes flicked to the girl in question. She supposed Shae was the subdued, mousy-looking one taking notes with the diaphanous quill. That's a little harsh of him to say. The girl doesn't look terrible. Nothing a little self-maintenance can't help.
Basil clapped his hands, and a golden polka-dot binder appeared in front of him. For basic parlor tricks, the wedding planner has them down to a well-timed art. Pushing the binder to the edge of the table, Basil tapped his fingers on it and smiled- his mustache taking up most of his face. His trebled voice explained, "Every wedding tells a story. Some stories are classic and timeless, while others are gauche and tacky, but then there are those that are fated and written in the stars. What story will your wedding tell Ms. Granger?"
Hermione had not thought about that. Just like books, weddings can tell stories. Who knew? With her interest captured, her pulse quickened, thinking about what story she and Marcus could tell. As the witch thought, Basil spoke again. "Great people have great weddings. Ordinary people have plain weddings. And boring people only talk about weddings they've attended. Which person are you, Miss Granger? Are you great or ordinary? Are you willing to think outside the box? Inside this binder are many ideas to give you inspiration. All of them are some of the best designs that ever came to life. I, Basil Nightshade, have created each one of them. But maybe you will come up with another that's even better than these. Probably not, but we'll see."
He clapped his hands, but this time nothing appeared except his assistant, who he spoke with in hushed tones. Their gazes went from each other to Hermione, then to each other again. Every so often, looking at the bride-to-be. It made the younger witch nervous, all that gazing. Her hand reached for another biscuit and wondered, was it her hair, her appearance, what?
When they finished conversing, Basil said, "Now, we need to set a date." He snapped his fingers, and a leather-bound date book appeared on the table. After flipping to a page, the man noted, "December is a wonderful time to have a wedding. Don't you think? After all, it's the most wonderful time of the year! I would aim for the middle of the month; that way, people aren't rushing around for Christmas." Shae nodded her scraggly dirty-blonde head in agreement.
The Grand CC decided to speak, and everyone grew still. "My grandson and Hermione plan to marry in the spring when the flowers are in bloom." She smiled sweetly behind her teacup.
The assistant feverishly wrote that down while Basil brimmed with glee. "Oh! That's wonderful! Spring is a splendid time of year! Let me flip to next year's date. How about May next year? That will give us plenty of time to create the wedding of your dreams. We will craft a marvelous story."
The planner magically turned pages to a place in the back, which must have been May because the pages stopped. The pastel man was quite high-strung, Hermione could tell. She almost felt sorry for him regarding what was about to be said. But she mentioned anyway, "Actually, Mr. Nightshade, the wedding will be this spring- this May."
Basil's jaw dropped in astonishment, and his eyes became as round as CC's cup. Once he composed himself, his French accent became highly pronounced, "Hello! Did I hear you correctly? This May?" Hermione nodded. The man's assistant took her notebook and began fanning him while Basil started picking at his silk ascot. When he had calmed again, he remarked, "Well, you can't put a crown on a clown and expect a king. But you can pull a rabbit out of a hat every now and then. That doesn't bother me much. I'll be pulling one out for your wedding Miss Granger. I've done it before, and I'll do it again. So, enough funny business. Let's get to it."
Just like that, the morning became totally consumed with all things wedding. It was a total marital takeover. No flower arrangement was left undiscovered. As the women flipped through the wedding lookbook, it became noted that this man had crafted many affairs, not just weddings. And all of them were more spectacular than the next. Catching the ladies by surprise, he let it slip, "Just the other day, I was sitting with Mrs. Greengrass. Her daughter is getting married too. Did you know she plans to have swans swimming on the Malfoy lake for her wedding? And geese holding baskets of flower petals charmed to magically disperse on a velvet-covered walkway before her daughter walks the aisle? Won't that be lovely? A little over the top but lovely."
Cora's eyes narrowed and bristled at the thought of the Greengrass-Malfoy wedding. If there's one thing Cora Flint knows, it's how to party (or rather, how to throw one), especially if it's to upstage the Malfoys. Each party that Cora's thrown has been more lavish than the last one. No expense or reputation has ever been spared. So the mother of the groom went full groomzilla. "This is my last child's wedding. Let's do it right with all the works. Hermione, what do you think of an enchanted forest with twinkling fairy lights?" Then the woman paused, had a faraway look in her eyes, before adding, "We could also have a golden enchanted pumpkin to look like a carriage. You know from that Muggle story Spender-ella or is Spender-sella. I can't remember. What do you think about that, Hermione?"
What a great question because the bride-to-be sat there stupefied. She wondered how this woman even knew about Cinderella, much less a Muggle story. But she quickly recovered herself and noted, "I think a fairy tale theme would be perfect." Because it would be perfect, it was her idea all along.
So that's how the Malfoy-Flint cold war began, over flower arrangements, fairy lights, and Cinderella. No matter that the Granger-Malfoy war had been waging for years with the first utterance of mudblood. No. Because now, an opportunity has come knocking. The pureblood queen can be knocked off the pedestal and the perfect pureblood bride off the top of the proverbial wedding cake. It's time to dust off the old bitches brew and choose your lipstick shade wisely. Cora prefers Lady Danger, and she's taking Hermione along for the ride as a willing passenger.
As the wedding plans continued to mount in charming, fanciful proportions, Marcus had also been doing some planning. He strategized that a head can't just up and wander away. That would be too far-fetched for even the most normal patient of the Janus Thickey Ward to consider. So if Magnum Flint didn't walk away, then someone took him. And if the head was taken, where would it have gone? It would have to go to the same place as the Powder of Life because it's needed to be alive.
Once Marcus thought about all of these things, he considered the other Flint properties. One by one, Lord Flint began investigating each place to see if any suspicious activity had commenced. He started with the coastal cottage in Wales, which turned up nothing except golden seashells and a valuable oyster collection. Oddly the collection was encased behind a glass box with security. It made him wonder just how valuable these oysters were and did they house things other than pearls. From there, it was the Villa in Tuscany, and on and on it went.
By the time Marcus arrived at the French chateau outside Monaco, he had decided it was ridiculous to own so many properties. With no time to waste, the wizard rushed into his father's old home office space. The room was similar to the one in Flint Manor, with the large oak desk situated in front of an equally large window. The difference between the two was the pictures hanging on every wall. In England, there were only two, one above the fireplace and the one in front of the safe. Here there are about ten.
As he began floating pictures down, one by one, a house elf named Tickle popped into the room. Tickle shook his head and said, "Master being taking time to hang those picsies. Master loved them. Tickle being sad new Master is being messing."
But Marcus didn't care. He continued taking them off the wall, telling the elf, "Well, your old Master was up to his old tricks. I need to find my father's safe in this house. It's important that I do. Something valuable has gone missing."
The office safe was discovered when a painting of Monet's Poppies had been removed. Just as he went to open it, Tickle shared, "Old Master has two safes. One here and one elsewheres."
Marcus stopped, turned around, and stared at the tiny creature with his bulgy eyes and white pillowcase. His next words were measured. "What do you mean two safes?"
The elf's spindly arms came and attached themselves to Marcus's leg. "One here and one there." At the word there, the two apparated into a different house room. It was darker than the office, a little more gloomy than before. Tickle unattached himself, and before his new master could reprimand him for sneaky apparating, he pointed a boney finger to a picture of a young girl sitting in a wooden chair.
Still catching his breath from the sly elf, Marcus moved to the painting. He tried to take it down, but it wouldn't budge. After countless attempts to force it off the wall, the wizard was ready to give up. But then Tickle helped him by casting an unsticking charm. Marcus felt stupid; why he hadn't thought of that, he'll never know. Finally, the portrait floated off the wall and onto the ground. Sure enough, a safe was behind it, just as Tickle said. It required a combination. The new Lord Flint used the code to the one at Flint Manor. Unsurprisingly it did not work.
Every possible combination was tried, but none opened the dumb thing. Almost ready to give up again, a small voice from the painting spoke. "You must be the new Master of the house. I'm Claudia Flint, one of your great ancestors. Perhaps you should try the combination druggist."
Marcus eyed the lady curiously but punched in the code she suggested. Sure enough, the safe swung open. And sitting far to the back wall was a canister of none other than the Powder of Life. He shrunk it and secured it in a plastic bag he had brought, just in case. That's one missing item that he had found. Very carefully, the chaser put the bag inside his jacket pocket.
Finding the Powder of Life is all well and good, but where this powder is, there has to be the head too. Surely. So, Lord Flint turned to the elf and requested, "Please take me back to the other safe."
Tickle did, and Marcus opened that first safe as quickly as a seeker catching the snitch. His mouth hung open the minute he saw the contents. Inside it was the trick tea, expectacles, the magical hourglass, and something new. A medium-sized clear glass jar sat stoppered, sticking out like a sore thumb because of its dark red color. Turning to Tickle, he asked, "What is this? I know what these other things are, but I don't know what this red potion is."
The little house elf tugged his ears and made a whimpering noise. Too upset to speak, the creature started sobbing. Marcus neared the elf and bent down to sit on his knees. Looking at the upset elf, he assured him, "Tickle, I'm your new master. I'm not like the old one. I will do you no harm, I promise. But if you know what that potion is, I need you to tell me. It's essential. People may be in danger because of it."
Tickle shook his head and tugged his ears, but he told his new master, "Nasty, nasty, foul stuff. Old Master made Tickle use it on wizards and muggles. Bad, bad, bad." He cried some more then.
The elf's words concerned Marcus, but he needed more information. So he gently questioned the elf again. "Tickle, what did the potion do?"
The elf stared at the new master and said, "Burn. It burns."
Turning his head back to the safe, the athletic wizard knew precisely what that potion was. It's Magnum Flint's, Blazing Brew. The situation became a scorcher, and he had to handle this with care. Knowing that he could only up and transport this potion with the proper container, the youngest Flint made a decision. He sent his Patronus to Potter.
The minute the black bear departed, the wizard proceeded to sit at his father's desk. No sooner had he sat than Potter's stag appeared, speaking, "Where are you?" Marcus let him know he's at the French chateau, complete with coordinates. He left the floo open for the Auror. Within moments, the chosen one arrived.
Potter gave Marcus a questioning look, and the two went to view the potion. Harry took count of all the dark objects and retrieved the Powder of Life, which Marcus gladly handed over. Then Harry stared at the red potion inside the safe. As he stared at it, he remarked, "It's as Professor Dumbledore once said. The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing and should be treated with great caution."
Marcus wondered, "So what do we do, Potter?"
Chuckling, Harry explained, "We treat it with great caution. You think that after one of the evilest wizards of all time had been defeated, that evil would go away. But that's not true. I've found that wickedness waits for no one and that evil attaches itself to those most useful to its purposes. So, let's disrupt its goal."
With those words, Potter summoned a team of Aurors who came and took control of the dark artifacts. They also seized the Blazing Brew and carried it away to be studied by ministry scientists. After the team cleared everything and secured the house, Marcus flooed home. As the man took off his black jacket, he was met by a worried witch who wondered, "Where have you been? I flooed your friends, and they didn't know. I flooed the stadium, and they said you weren't there. I know you weren't with your Gram or mother because they were with me. Are you alright, Marcus?"
Seeing the concern on her face, he pulled his witch into a warm hug, kissed her forehead, then sat them on a chair with her in his lap. Then the wizard proceeded to explain what transpired. Where Hermione was worried before, she became incensed. Her finger poked his chest as she spoke. "Marcus! I cannot believe you went searching for those things alone! The last time you had your friends with you, not that it made me feel any better. But at least you had support."
His fiance' let out an exasperated sigh and shook her curly head. "Babe! You can't do this alone. You need backup. What if something had happened to you? How do you think I'd feel then? Ten times worse!"
Her hand caressed his face with care. Marcus knows all of that, but "Hermione, I can't sit around and do nothing. Those dark objects that were missing can do some severe damage. If something happened to you and it was discovered that one of those had been used, it would kill me. It would wreck me."
His arms clasped around her tightly in search of comfort. He has to make her understand that "My family was involved in this mess, and I want to clear our names. I don't want our future children to be tainted by it. Please try to see my point of view," he begged.
She understands his point because she feels the same. His witch wanted to tell him so, but he continued talking. "I did call Potter, and he came with his Aurors. They secured the contents, and now I'm here with you."
As much as Hermione would like to keep harping at him about finding these things alone, she couldn't. Something else was on her mind. "Marcus, all the objects disappeared from the safe at Flint Manor. Then they suddenly appeared at the ones in the French chateau. That doesn't happen on its own. Someone moved them there. Someone who had access to your father's safe."
Marcus sunk into the couch cushions. He hadn't thought about that. In fact, it's disturbing and opens up a new can of flobberworms. His hand ran over his hair, as it does in times of stress, and Hermione pondered out loud, "Who has access to his safe beside you? And that potion, did it look fresh? Because if it looked pristine, then someone made it recently. But the question remains, where is Magnum Flint?"
If the chaser had the answer to that one, their problems would be solved. Sadly the wizard does not. All those questions lead to nothing but pure trouble or, worse, pure evil. As the old saying goes, in every life, a little rain must fall. But sometimes, when it rains, it pours. Too bad it seems to be pouring poisoned potions. So in the words of that great detective Sherlock Holmes, the game remains afoot.