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Bella's Harem	By : Mamacita Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 28885 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 21
- 22
Warning: This chapter contains sexual scenes between a F/M/M threesome that include SLASH. If you don’t like reading SLASH, you know where your “Back” button is—please exit now!

22: As For All Those Loose Ends...

Harry knew that even if he didn’t let on to the others what had happened the night before, it wouldn’t be long before they could tell something was going on. And he was right.

It started even before breakfast. Arthur’s alarm went off at seven-thirty as usual and he woke to see Lucius walking into his cubicle.

“Wh—good morning, Lucius,” he said, his voice husky with sleep. “Are the others here yet?”

“On their way,” Lucius said. “They’ll be Apparating any time, but they’ll still have to walk up from the Apparation point.” He held out an armload of clothes, and Arthur took them with a mystified look. “What’s this?”

“I took the liberty of ransacking the Dunstans’ quarters,” Lucius said quietly. “He’s about your size. I didn’t think you’d want to—er—meet everyone dressed in your eunuch garb.”

“Ah.” Arthur looked down at himself ruefully. “True, very true. Thank you, Lucius. That was kind. I’ll just get dressed quickly, then, shall I—and come along to...where, the Great Hall?”

“No,” Lucius said at once. “The sitting room behind the throne. As soon as you’re ready.”

“Right. Just coming,” Arthur assured him.

Lucius hurried away and Arthur dressed quickly. He would have liked a quick dip in the pool and perhaps a shave before meeting with the Order, but there would be time for that later. The thought that the next time he bathed it might be in the cramped tub in the tiny bathroom at the Burrow with six other people knocking at the door wanting to use the loo, instead of the spacious pool here in the harem quarters after everyone else had gone to bed, when he could have the whole thing to himself, was enough to bring tears of gratitude to his eyes.

He slipped on the fine silk stockings Lucius had brought, then slid Dunstan’s boots on over them. The clothes were a good fit, actually, but the boots were a bit large; still, he could lace them tightly to make them fit better. Anything was better than meeting the Order barefoot and in a sacking garment.

He hurried into the next cubicle to wake Alfred. “Mmph—what—time t’ get up?” Alfred mumbled sleepily. He opened his eyes and turned onto his back. Then he did a double take, sitting up quickly. “What—what’s going on?” he asked in surprise. “Where did you get clothes?”

“I’ll tell you everything in a bit,” Arthur said. “I’ve got to go—meeting with the Order. They’re on the way.”

Alfred’s eyes widened. “The—the Queen?” he whispered.

Arthur looked at him for a long moment. “Gone,” he said. “Gone forever.”

“She’s dead?” Alfred whispered hoarsely.

“No—look, I’ve got to go. I’ll be back as soon as I can, we’re just meeting off the Great Hall, and I’ll tell you everything. In the mean time, can you get everyone up? Just—just tell the others I’m at a meeting with Lucius and I’ll be back before lunch. And I think...don’t tell them anything else yet. Harry knows all of it, but I don’t want him grilled.” He looked at Alfred imploringly. “I really have to run.”

“Go, go! Hurry back, though. I can’t wait to hear the rest!” Alfred whispered after him. He sat there on his bed with his heart thumping as if he’d just run all the way to the Forbidden Forest and back. She’s gone? he thought. Forever? What about the Death Eaters? Can we go home? Are we free? Finally he got a grip on himself and went to wake up Marshall and Edwin and then the boys, reminding himself that they knew nothing of this as yet and would be wanting their breakfast.

It was all he could do to not break into a little dance of joy as he went to wake the other eunuchs and the boys.
The Order members Apparated to the edge of the Forbidden Forest nearly all at the same time, having left Grimmauld Place more or less together. Molly let out a low cry and everyone, nerves stretched, whirled, expecting they knew not what horror. But Molly stood there looking appalled, not terrified, pointing at something that lay beside a tree. The others approached to see the a body lying there.

“Why, it’s Charles Carnarvon,” Flitwick said. “A Death Eater...such a shame. I never understood what he saw in You-Know-Who. He was a good man, really.” He shook his head sorrowfully.

Carnarvon lay there so peacefully he could have been sleeping. The only thing marring the picture was a single hoof-shaped bruise on his forehead. Minerva peered off into the trees, but it was dim and she couldn’t see very far. Nevertheless, in case the Centaurs were watching, she gave a single nod of acknowledgement.

“A shame, indeed,” she said briskly, “but we have mourned good men before and will no doubt do so again. We have a meeting to get to, people. Let’s be moving along—quickly, now.” They stepped out from the cover of the forest, not making any effort to hide themselves. They spread out in a broad line and swept across the dewy sward toward the castle, a row of bright, determined faces in the morning light.

Lucius met them at the Entrance Hall, waiting at the top of the stairs where McGonagall had been used to wait with the new first year students prior to their being Sorted on the first evening at Hogwarts.

“Good morning, and welcome,” he said with a smile. “Please come up. We’ll meet in the sitting room behind the—er—the throne.” He walked along in front of them and opened the door to the comfortable room, bowing them in. The house-elves had been busy; there was a small fire going in the fireplace, more for cheer than because of the need for heat on this day in late May.

Arthur stood next to the fire, facing the door eagerly. When Molly entered she stopped dead in her tracks and stared at him. Then all of a sudden her face crumpled and she burst into noisy tears and buried her face in her hands. Arthur was at her side in three swift steps. “There, there, Mollywobbles,” he said, burying his face in her hair and dampening them with tears of his own. “There, now. It’s all right. I’m here. Oh, Molly, it’s so good to see you!”

Everyone laughed and more than one handkerchief was surreptitiously applied to the corner of an eye. McGonagall steered Arthur and Molly to a sofa and Ginny crammed in beside her father, clutching his arm with both hands and resting her cheek against his shoulder contentedly.

There was a small delay while more chairs were conjured or Transfigured until everyone had a place to sit. Then Lucius went to stand by the fireplace and turned to address them.

“The very first thing I must tell you,” he said, “is that Bellatrix Lestrange is gone. Last night she was treated to a combination of the Oblivion potion and a memory charm—” there were gasps around the room from a few people who evidently knew the results of such a combination— “which some of you apparently know results in a complete, permanent, incurable loss of all memories. She has been given a new name and relocated to a small farm in a remote area of Scotland.

“The owner of the farm and his wife—Muggles, but with knowledge of the magical world through a relative of theirs—are in possession of enough of the facts to ensure that Bella will not ever leave. She will be seen to, given work to do, and generally learn to make herself useful. She has been told she is returned home after an absence due to a severe illness which has caused her to forget many things. Other than a weakness for pretty clothes, there is no reason she should not be perfectly happy there for the remainder of her life.

“The Death Eaters have all been dispatched on their missions as ordered by Bella; I have yet to hear results of any of the expeditions, but—” Flitwick was waving his hand wildly at the back, jumping up and down to be seen— “yes, Filius?”

“Carnarvon is dead,” Flitwick said. “He was at the Apparation point at the edge of the forest when we arrived this morning. I—I think he was left there so we would see and know that he’d been...dealt with.”

“Ah. I see. Thank you, Filius. Er—Dobby!” There was a little pop! and Dobby appeared at Lucius’ side.

“You called for Dobby, sir?” the elf asked, looking a little bewildered.

“Yes. At the Apparation point at the edge of the Forbidden Forest there is a body, Dobby, a Mr Carnarvon. One of the Death Eaters.” Dobby’s eyes opened wide. “I wonder...would you and perhaps a couple of helpers be able to handle burying him, Dobby? I know it’s a lot to ask. We don’t need him returned to his family’s burial ground, wherever that is—just buried here on the castle grounds. Can you do that?”

Dobby looked a bit taken aback at the polite request. “Yes...Dobby can do it. Dobby doesn’t need helpers. The old graveyard on the other side of the castle will be the place for the masked one. Dobby will see to it.” He bowed and, snapping his fingers, disappeared about his duties.

“Well—that’s one down,” Lucius said. “And actually we know, thanks to an uncle of Severus’, that the group sent to approach the Vampires has been disposed of, with one very important exception. As for the others, I’ve not yet heard. I would suppose Greyback won’t be able to resist boasting about killing a bunch of wizards—Death Eaters at that—so eventually we’ll probably hear something about that group. I don’t know that we will ever know for certain about the envoys to the Giants. The Elves may well communicate with us; our own envoy—” he smiled at Ginny, who blushed and tried to look modest— “was singularly successful in smoothing over relations there ahead of time. I don’t expect them to have shown much mercy to the Death Eaters; the elves know the dangers of letting them survive as well as we do.”

“As for the Goblins—”

He was interrupted again when the door flew open. Bill Weasley stood there, panting. “Sorry I’m late!” he puffed. “Had to report in—hard to get away.” He walked over to stand behind the sofa where Arthur sat and rested a hand on his father’s shoulder.

“Actually your timing couldn’t be better,” Lucius said. “I was about to report on the results of Bella’s envoy to the Goblin contingent.” He wore a little smile. “Would you like to fill us in?”

“Of course.” Bill went round the sofa and turned to face the group. “I just reported back to work this morning; the news was all over Gringotts. Apparently Bella’s group Apparated right to Gringotts, figuring that was the best place to confront the Goblin leaders. It wasn’t, of course—the Goblins there just work there, like anyone else. Their leader certainly doesn’t work there. But Ragnok got permission from the leader to speak for all of them.

“He and some of the others led the Death Eaters down into the vaults on the pretext of having to swear on some Goblin relic stored in a huge treasure vault, and no doubt the Death Eaters had some thought of stealing treasures for themselves, or something. Ragnok took them to a vault that has a rather special enchantment placed on it. It’s where the bulk of the Goblin silver artefacts are stored, and to ensure that they don’t tarnish there is no air in the vault.”

He looked around the group, seeing that several of them seemed to have an idea of what was coming next. “So all of the Death Eaters were led inside the vault; it’s huge, I was in it once years ago. While they were all busy looking around at all the treasure, Ragnok gave a little speech welcoming them. It wasn’t until he had already slipped around them and the door was closing that they realized he had said the Goblins would never cooperate with Bell—and then he locked them in! I guess you can imagine what happened next.” But for the one or two who hadn’t figured it out yet, he told them anyway.

“The instant the vault resealed itself, all the air was magically sucked out of the place. The spell refreshes itself every few hours to make certain no air gets inside. I don’t know of any way the Death Eaters could have survived after the first purge of air, but if any did, they certainly didn’t survive the subsequent purges. Ragnok ordered the vault opened early this morning, and every Death Eater inside was carefully accounted for. All of them are dead.”

Lucius thanked him for his report. Bill nodded and started to return to his place, then paused. “By the way,” he added, “Ragnok is eager to cooperate with a new Ministry, if one is put into place. I said I didn’t know what would be decided but that we would send someone to inform Gringotts as soon as any decision is made.” He went back to stand by Arthur and Molly. Molly beamed up at him proudly.

“Lovely to see you, dear,” she said in a stage whisper. Bill bent and placed a smacking kiss on her cheek.

“Er—moving on? Actually Bill has brought up the next point we need to discuss,” Lucius said. “What will we do about a government?” At the instant babble of voices that broke out, he raised his hands and said loudly, “People! People! Thank you. I would like to take a few minutes to go round the room and see what your ideas are. It may be easy enough to reach a consensus just by doing that. Let us start with Filius—” he motioned to Flitwick, on his far right— “and just briefly—very briefly, please, for now—state your ideas. We can discuss details later if there is a wide variance of opinion; let’s just get a very general idea for now.” He motioned to Flitwick, who rose.

“I should like to see the Ministry of Magic reinstated,” he said without hesitation. “In the last year or so it’s been taken over by Dark personnel, but that would have been an easy thing to fix had we not been afraid of retaliation by the Death Eaters. I think we should reinstate the Ministry but perhaps take this opportunity to make something of a fresh start, if you will, replacing key positions with persons suited for them and with no Dark leanings. It’s a good system, it just got out of hand because of You-Know-Who taking over everything.”

Andromeda, next in line, got to her feet. “I agree wholeheartedly with Filius, with the addition that perhaps we could do some preventive work this time around, specifically to ensure that the Ministry can’t be infiltrated by Dark forces. There have been a lot of innovations since the Ministry was first devised; surely we can use some of these to our advantage.”

McGonagall was next. “I would definitely like to see a Ministry governing us again. I also think reforms would be a very good thing. And there is something I would like to suggest as far as choosing our Ministers. The Muggles have a rather time-honored system of election by popular vote that seems to work rather well, on the whole. I think a finite term of office for Ministers should be the rule, and we should institute an election system.”

One by one the members of the Order rose and gave their views. By the time the circle got back to Lucius it was clear that the Ministry would shortly be reinstated.

“However,” Lucius said, “we will need an interim Minister, even if we are eventually to hold an election—yes, Hermione, we would be delighted if you would lend your assistance with that process.” Hermione had been bouncing up and down on the sofa for some time now, excited about the whole election idea. Wizarding elections! It would be an enormous undertaking, and she was thrilled to be able to offer her extensive knowledge about the Muggle system of elections to help start the process in the wizarding world.

“I think, just from among ourselves for now, we should nominate an interim Minister,” Lucius continued. “Then we—”

“I nominate Arthur,” Kingsley said quickly.

“I second!” Flitwick cried before Lucius could get a word in.

Arthur sat on the sofa, staring at Molly with his mouth gaping in surprise.

“Well...before we vote, are there any other nominations?” Lucius asked cautiously. He was met by a contented silence. “I see. All right, then—may I have a show of hands, please, for those who vote to install Arthur Weasley as interim Minister of Magic?” Every person in the room instantly raised his or her hand. Laughing, Lucius raised his own.

“It looks as if it’s unanimous. Arthur, although I have absolutely no authority to do so, I hereby declare you the interim Minister of Magic, to serve until a general election can be held among the wizarding population of Britain. Do you accept this honor?” In a perfectly audible aside, which he pretended to hide behide his hand, he whispered to Arthur, “Please say yes!”

Amid general laughter, Arthur stood and turned to face the others. “I—I’m overwhelmed,” he said, and indeed there were tears in his eyes. “I don’t know what I could possibly have done to deserve this honor, but—yes, I accept. Thank you for your faith in me.”

“Don’t thank us yet,” Lucius warned. “There are some knotty problems ahead; you may find yourself cursing the lot of us before today is over.” Arthur shook his head and sat back down. Molly, too had tears in her eyes, but hers were of pride.

“When we leave here,” Lucius said, “I would like Filius, Severus, and Bill to accompany me to the harem. Getting the boys and the eunuchs out of there and into some decent clothes needs to be our first priority. Bill and Filius, you especially can help with undoing the wards so they are able to leave without setting off alarms all over the place. Hermione, Ginny—perhaps you would be so kind as to search the Death Eater quarters and collect any robes you can find for them to wear. They can hardly leave here wearing the—er—the items Bella had for them. Narcissa, would you please show them where to look?” Narcissa stood and beckoned to Ginny and Hermione, and they departed on their mission of mercy.

In the relative quiet that followed, Molly’s furious whisper could be clearly heard. “Eunuchs? Arthur—you’re not—what has she—” Arthur’s ears turned a fiery red and he shushed her and whispered he would tell her about it later, it was only temporary, just a potion, nothing to worry about. Molly directed a suspicious stare at Snape over the back of the sofa, and he hastily affected an absorbing interest in evening up the amount of cuff that was showing below the sleeves of his robe.

“All right,” Lucius said at last. “We can’t put this off any longer. We need to discuss Bellatrix—where she is, what’s been done with her, and how we should proceed with her trial and punishment.” Everyone quieted at once. “Severus, would you please come up and explain the details as we discussed them last night?”

Snape got up and walked to the front of the group, carefully avoiding Molly’s fulminating glare, and began to explain the plan to pass off an Imperiused, Polyjuiced Alecto Carrow for the absent Bellatrix in a trial and sentencing, much as he had explained it to Harry the night before.

“Severus,” McGonagall interrupted in some alarm, “just where is Alecto Carrow now?”

“Er—she’s in the castle dungeons, in a cell,” he said, a bit disgruntled at having the smooth flow of his explanation interrupted. “She is under the Imperius Curse, and she is currently Petrified with a stasis spell on her to avoid having to have someone wait on her. We thought it safest if there was no unnecessary contact with her, even under the Imperius.”

Minerva nodded, mollified.

Lucius took up the thread of events once more. “I have spoken to the editor of the Daily Prophet. He is only too happy to be able to print legitimate news articles once again and has offered to run a free issue today announcing the return of the Ministry, our new Minister, and the trial of Bellatrix Lestrange, which is to begin tomorrow. There is a lot that needs to happen very quickly here, and I hope you will all do your best to accommodate events as they unfold.

“Molly and Arthur, you need to Floo to the Ministry offices at once; a reporter from the Prophet will be there no later than ten to take pictures for today’s special edition. Reg Cattermole has arranged to have the Floo in Narcissa’s and my quarters connected directly to the Ministry.” Narcissa had returned and was waiting quietly by the door. “My love, if you would please be so kind as to show them the way?” She nodded and ushered the Weasleys out, but not before Molly managed to get in one last Significant Look at Snape, which he unfortunately caught full-on, having forgotten to avoid looking at her.

“Bill, Filius, and Severus—the harem, if you would. Severus can show you the way. I’m afraid removing the alarm wards may also destroy the warming charms that are on the harem, but it can’t be helped. The girls will be arriving there with robes for everyone soon eno—oh.” He suddenly looked a bit abashed. “I’ve just realized—I never told the girls where to take the robes. I wonder if they’ll take them directly to the—er—well, perhaps you’d best hurry along, gentlemen. If you see the ladies along the way, you can relieve them of the garments and deliver them to the harem. As soon as we have everyone out we can work on getting them home.”

McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey, and Andromeda remained behind, the last of the Order.

“What do you need us to do, Lucius?” McGonagall asked.

“Ladies,” he said, “I have a job for you. Alecto needs to be taken out of stasis and un-Petrified and dosed with Polyjuice. Now, Poppy, I know Polyjuice isn’t something you would normally have in the Hospital Wing....”

“No,” she spoke up, “but I know Severus had a supply, at least a few weeks ago when I was here. If it’s still there, I can fetch it for you.”

“Good. I think you will want it all, but it will need to go to the Ministry with Alecto—all except the first dose, which you will administer here.” He drew out a small envelope. “I took the liberty of snipping off a sizeable lock of Bella’s hair while she was unconscious. This should give you enough to use until...well, until Alecto no longer needs the potion.”

He looked at them searchingly. “What we’re doing might not technically be called murder, but for all practical purposes that’s what it is. I don’t want to ask this of any of you if you feel you can’t go through with the job. What do you say, ladies?”

“Give me that,” Andromeda said, and she took the envelope from Lucius. “I think your plan is ingenious, Lucius. I really don’t see anything else you can do—and Alecto Carrow is the perfect answer to this problem.”

“I agree,” McGonagall said quickly. “I sometimes think she would have enjoyed killing the students if they crossed her, when she was teaching. Pure evil, that one. The world won’t be losing a thing when they lose her.”

“Poppy? You haven’t said much. How do you feel about all this?” Lucius asked quietly. “Are you with us?”

“You know I am,” she said just as quietly. “I’ve never used an Unforgiveable in my life, nor dosed anyone with Polyjuice so they could suffer in another’s place. But I honestly don't see what else canbe done. The people need to see with their own eyes that Bellatrix is being tried and sentenced and punished, and they need to see her gone for good, I think—dead, is what I mean—and I see no other way to do that. If it has to happen, I agree that Alecto Carrow is a suitable person to use. I’ll play my part, Lucius. I won’t let you down.”

“I never for a moment thought you would,” he said warmly. “Well then, ladies—to the dungeons. If you could please dose her first, then bring her up to my quarters, we’ll use the Floo there to get her to the Ministry. She will stay there in a cell tonight, guarded by a Dementor, and will undergo her trial tomorrow. I will set about reconvening the Wizengamot—or as many of them as I can locate quickly—in order to be ready by tomorrow. They will not be told it isn’t Bella," he warned. "Only we of the Order can know that."

The three women filed out of the room and headed for the dungeons. Lucius followed them out of the Great Hall and turned to go to the Malfoy quarters. He had some Floo-calls to make if the Wizengamot was to convene with only a day’s notice.
Narcissa led Ginny and Hermione to the corridor along which most of the Death Eaters’ quarters were located, explaining to them on the way how to reach the harem. “This is our suite,” she said, indicating a door bearing the Malfoy coat of arms. “I think you should be able to find enough robes for the harem folk without having recourse to Lucius’ wardrobe; as you have better reason than anyone to know, the Death Eaters’ wives were rather...addicted to shopping.”

She indicated the other doors up and down the corridor that bore coats of arms. “These are all Death Eater quarters. It wasn’t possible for anyone to put more than a simple Alohomora on their doors because of the castle wards Bella was using. I suggest we go along and open each door and leave it open, just to make sure you can enter safely.” So they went along the row of doors, Hermione and Ginny taking one side and going in opposite directions, and Narcissa the other side.

“There! That should be enough, I would think. There are more rooms if you turn the corner at either end of this corridor, but you can probably find what you need here. I suggest you don’t wander round their rooms alone but stay together. It’s unlikely there will be any nasty surprises here in the castle—it’s not like they could bring all that much from their homes, after all—but it’s always a good idea to take precautions and watch each other’s backs until someone has a chance to go through and clear everything out. Now, if you’re all right I’ll just run along back to the Great Hall in case Lucius needs me.” Ginny and Hermione assured her they could take it from there, and Narcissa floated off.

The girls looked at each other. “Right, then,” Hermione said. “Let’s see what we can find. Twenty boys, she said—although Harry already has robes for some reason—and four men, or three really since Arthur already has clothing. So we need twenty-two sets. Hmm...that’s going to get rather heavy, I should think. Well, we can pile them up and then figure out how to get them there.”

They walked into the open door across the hall and furthest down from the Malfoy suite. It belonged to Charles Carnarvon. The girls looked around with with interest, curious as to what oddities might be found in the abode of a known Death Eater. However, somewhat to their disappointment, there was nothing that obviously pointed up the fact that someone dedicated to the Dark lived there; the décor was somewhat somber, admittedly, but that didn’t really prove anything.

“Come on,” Hermione said. “Their clothes are probably in the bedroom.” They walked over to the only other door in the suite, which indeed proved to lead to the bedroom.

Ginny approached the wardrobe and opened the left hand door, but there were only women’s clothes—and rather startling ones, at that. She pulled out one slinky red dress that was daringly cut almost to the navel, and proved to be just as low in the back.

“Wow! Wonder when Mrs Carnarvon wears something like this,” she mused.

“Oh, no, dearie,” the mirror piped up, startling the girls. “There is no lady of the house. The master wears those himself, he does. And dances in front of me in them,” the mirror added, a touch of laughter creeping into its definitely female voice. Ginny and Hermione glanced at each other and had to bite their lips to keep from laughing.

Hermione opened the other side of the wardrobe and found two sets of wizard robes hanging there, which she took out.

“Two down,” she announced. As there was obviously no more men’s clothing in the wardrobe, she turned to go.

“Here now,” the mirror protested at this blatant thievery, “where are you going with those? What’s the world coming to—wizards dancing in witches’ clothing and witches stealing wizards’ robes when they’re from home? I never heard of such—”

Hermione turned and casually pointed her wand at the mirror, effectively silencing it. “Hush!” she said. “The man who lived here—a Death Eater—is dead. We’re taking his robes to clothe some of the innocent people who are being held here in the castle, naked, as slaves. Whether or not you approve,” she said, her eyes narrowing, and she brandished her wand threateningly. “One more word out of you, and I’ll....”

The mirror gave a little shriek of alarm. “Oh! Why, yes, of course, Certainly. I had no idea—a Death Eater, you say?” Muttering and exclamations followed Ginny and Hermione all the way out of the suite.

Ginny giggled. “I’d love to have seen one of those dance sessions,” she said.

Hermione’s lips twitched. “And did you see the garter belt on the bed? All black lace, very nice!” A sudden thought occurred to her. “I wonder—do you think he wore that stuff all the time, under his robes?” Ginny’s jaw dropped, and then both of them went off into whoops of laughter.

The next room belonged to the Dunstans. Livvy Dunstan was a champion shopper; for her it was more than just something that needed to be done, or even a hobby. It was her raison d’etre. A day without shopping was like a day without—well, A Day Without. It was fortunate that the Dunstan fortune was quite large and well able to stand the expense.

Although Steven did not share her love of the “sport”, he was the recipient of her forays to the shops as often as she was herself. The Dunstans’ bedroom held not one but two wardrobes, as well as a rolling rack for hanging extra clothes on. Hermione squealed with glee when she saw it.

“Perfect!” she crowed. “Now we won’t have to carry everything!” They quickly removed the hangers full of clothing, much of which had clearly never been worn, as evidenced by the tags that were still attached. Then they loaded on the dozen or so robes from Steven’s wardrobe as well as the two from Carnarvon’s room.

“Only eight to go,” Hermione said. “This won’t take long at all.” And indeed, they found six robes in the next room and another four in the one after that, across the hall from the Malfoy suite. “Let’s take the extras, too,” Hermione decided. “In case someone can’t find a good fit.”

Their hunt concluded, she and Ginny pushed the rack through the corridors, levitating it up the stairs when it became obvious that carrying it by hand, with the unavoidable tilting that resulted, made the robes slide to the low end and fall off. Very soon they came to the harem’s reception room.

They wheeled the rack inside and stared in wonder at the marble walls, the enormous skylight, and the gorgeous chandelier. Voices were coming from whatever room lay beyond the inner doorway, but there was no one in the reception room.

“Should we just leave it here?” Ginny asked.

Hermione said, “We should let them know it’s here so they don’t have to stay cooped up any longer than necessary.” So saying, she headed for the nearest doorway with Ginny right behind her. They headed to the right, where the voices were coming from, and emerged into the main room, where Hermione stopped so abruptly Ginny almost ran into her.

It had occurred to no one—except Lucius, belatedly, and he didn’t follow through on the impulse—to tell the girls that they should, indeed, leave the clothing in the outer reception room. Because inside, in the main room, were twenty naked boys (including Harry, who had left his borrowed robes in the reception room when he returned the previous evening) and three men who, if not actually naked, certainly felt like they were when suddenly confronted with two young witches bursting into the room unexpectedly.

“Good gad,” Alfred said weakly. The eunuchs were standing nearby talking to Bill and Snape, and Lucius and Flitwick were busily removing the imprisonment wards.

When Hermione and Ginny appeared there was a sudden cessation of all conversation except for Lucius and Flitwick, who were wrapped up in their work and did not immediately notice the girls. The sudden silence was followed by an equally sudden outcry and there was a general dive for towels by the boys in the pool and cushions by those who had been sitting on them but now frantically tried to hide behind them.

Ginny’s eyes grew wide and even Hermione had to privately admit that there was more—much more, in a few cases—to her old classmates than normally met the eye.

Suddenly Bill gathered his wits about him and strode over. “Can we help you, girls?” he asked briskly, trying not to laugh as Ron and Harry desperately tried to hide behind the same towel. They were still in the pool and the towel kept wanting to float, leaving their lower halves perfectly visible under the warm water where they gave every evidence of wanting to make a good impression on the visitors.

Bill, smirking, hurriedly ushered the girls out, giving Ginny a stern look when she tried to peek over the arm he had slung over her shoulder to get a better look at Harry.

“Robes!” he exclaimed when he saw the rack. “You two are the best!” He gave each of them a smacking kiss and said, “Now, you’d better get out of here if you don’t want to be stampeded by twenty naked wizards. They’re very eager to have these robes, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Are you—er—sure they won’t need any help finding clothes that, um, fit?” Ginny asked innocently.

Bill just gave her a brotherly look. “Go on, get—or I’ll tell Mum you were ogling your own nekkid brothers,” he threatened.

Ginny snorted. “Like they have anything I haven’t seen before.” But Bill pointed inexorably at the exit and so, giggling, the girls fled.

For good measure, however, Bill wheeled the rack inside the main room so the wizards could dress without any spying eyes, and he remained in the doorway as an extra precaution. Ginny was not a Weasley for nothing, and if his family was known for anything it was their determination and persistence.

In short order everyone had a set of robes that fit reasonably well, and as soon as the last alarm ward was removed Lucius shepherded everyone out of the harem and down to the Great Hall. One of the former House tables had been set up, and a house-elf was waiting to tell them that lunch would be served shortly to anyone who cared to partake.
Narcissa opened the door to her and Lucius’ suite and stood aside for Molly and Arthur to enter. “I do hope everything goes well for you,” she said warmly. She glanced down just then and caught sight of Molly’s feet and started to laugh.

“What is it?” Molly asked, and she, too, looked down to see her feet encased in bright pink fuzzy bedroom slippers. “Oh, heavens,” she moaned. “What on earth am I to do? I was in such a hurry to leave this morning, I didn’t even look at my feet!”

“I have just the thing,” Narcissa said. “Wait right here.” She rushed into the bedroom. A minute later there was the sound of a drawer slamming and she reappeared in the doorway holding a pair of bronze high-heeled sandals. “These will be just the thing,” she said. She knelt and removed Molly’s slippers and slipped her feet into the shoes, adjusting the buckles to fit. “There! Now you’re fit to greet a crowd as the Minister’s wife,” she said as she rose again.

“Oh, but they’re lovely!” Molly murmured, turning her ankle this way and that to admire them. “I’m not really used to wearing such high heels—oh, but I’m sure I’ll manage. Thank you so much, Narcissa!”

“Just a lucky thing we’re about the same size,” Narcissa said. “I’ve never worn them—and they look very nice with your robes. Won’t you please keep them?”

“Oh no, I couldn’t!” Molly gasped. She’d seen these very shoes in the window of Gladrags not two months ago and knew very well that they cost more than any shoes she’d ever owned.

“I insist,” Narcissa said firmly.

“Er—ladies,” Arthur said. “Do you think—er—?” He indicated the Floo.

“Oh! How silly. Of course,” Narcissa said. “You should be going.” She took down a green glass box from the mantel and held it out. “Good luck,” she said with a heartening smile.

Arthur took a handful of Floo Powder and he and Molly stepped carefully into the fireplace. “Ministry of Magic!" they exclaimed together, and they were carried away on a whoosh of green flame.

Narcissa carefully set the box of Floo Powder back on the mantel and looked around the living room, thinking how glad she was that they would be going back to Malfoy Manor soon. She missed her roses dreadfully, and although their suite was luxuriously appointed—and after all, anywhere was home as long as Lucius was there too—she couldn’t wait to be back in the spacious rooms of her own home.

Normally she and Lucius went touring in the summer, but she thought this year she would be content with themhome. Now that life could finally be something that resembled normal, even if it took something of an effort to define just what normal was, he would probably be going after a career soon, then getting married, no doubt. All as it should be, of course, but sometimes she wished things had been different; looking back, she thought she hadn’t spent nearly as much time with her son as she would have liked to.

Ah, well. Once he was settled, married and with some children, she would make sure there were frequent visits back and forth. She was rather looking forward to hearing childish voices up and down the corridors of Malfoy Manor once again.

As she thought her contented thoughts and drifted into the bedroom to decide where to start packing for their return home, she spared a thought for Arthur and Molly, wondering how their reception had gone.

Actually, it had gone thunderingly well.

The elder Weasleys popped out of the center fireplace in the Atrium at the Ministry, staggering a little as they landed. An apologetic Reg Cattermole was waiting to assist them out, brushing away stray smuts with a little whisk-broom he held.

“Sorry, Minister, sir,” he said, “on’y just got this ‘un ‘ooked back up today and it’s running a bit rough yet.” He turned around and shouted, “Here’s the Minister and his good lady!” Arthur and Molly looked up and were enormously startled to see what looked like the entire complement of Ministry personnel turned out to welcome them.

Then a familiar face separated itself from the crowd. Kingsley Shacklebolt walked up to Arthur and grinned. “Welcome, Minister!” he said heartily. He turned to address the crowd. “The Order of the Phoenix has suggested the appointment of Arthur Weasley as interim Minister until affairs can be set in order. It has been suggested that a general election be held at that time to elect a new Minister. You will be seeing more information about this coming in the Daily Prophet soon. Suggestions and nominations sent to the Ministry’s new Board of Elections will be entertained prior to the general election.”

He turned to Arthur. “Arthur, I don’t envy you the task that awaits you—putting our little world back into order to make it ready for a new government. I’m sure everyone here is as grateful as I am to you for being willing to take on this task. Please know that all of us will do everything in our power to help you put things to rights. And—er—to aid you in—drat it all, where are you, boy?”

A very red head, under which sat an even redder face, separated from the crowd, trying not to look as if it had been hiding. Percy walked silently up to his parents and Kingsley. Arthur’s mout worked for a moment and he sputtered, “Why—why, Percy! What are you doing here?”

Kingsley directed a stern look at poor Percy. “Well, he does still hold the position of Junior Assistant to the Minister,” he said. “Of course, as our new Minister—”

“Interim Minster,” Arthur murmured.

“—of course,” Kingsley continued, “you are welcome to select another assistant if you prefer. Whatever would lend itself best to the harmonious transition to a new government, you know. All you need do is say, and another job can be found for Percy. Don’t you worry about that.”

Arthur looked at his third oldest son for a long moment, during which Percy memorized every last wrinkle in the leather tops of his shiny black boots and even Molly seemed to be holding her breath. Finally Arthur seemed to reach a decision. “I should be delighted to work with Percy,” he said slowly. “That is, if he has learnt anything about thinking for himself over the last year and more.”

Percy lifted his eyes to meet Arthur’s, and there was a suspicious sheen of moisture in them. “I—I’ve learnt that humility and an open mind will take a person further than boot-licking ever could. I’m sorry it took me so long to see it. I would be honored to work with you, if you’ll have me, sir...Father.”

Molly broke down in heartfelt sobs when Arthur and Percy stepped toward each other and embraced. Colin Creevey stepped up and his flash went off several times in rapid succession as he took pictures of the happy reunion from different angles for the Daily Prophet.

Rita Skeeter stepped forward also, her Quick-Quotes Quill at the ready. “Minister!” she called, trying in vain to get Arthur’s attention amid the pandemonium as the crowd surged toward him to wish him well, everyone talking at once. “Minister, would you care to comment on life in Queen Bella’s harem?” Molly’s mouth tightened.

Rita saw that Arthur hadn’t heard her, so she tried again. “Minister Weasley! Is there any truth to the rumor that you and several other men were accused by the Queen of molesting her bed-slaves, so she had you made into eunuchs?”

Molly’s jaw dropped and she stood there speechless with fury. Unnoticed in the crowd, she moved closer to Rita. At exactly the right moment she picked up one of her bronze-slippered feet and brought that high heel down—hard—on Rita’s fashionably-clad arch.

Rita let out a piercing shriek and dropped her parchment, her Quick-Quotes Quill, and her bag; even her glasses fell off into the bargain. “My foot, she’s broken my foot,” she screeched. Molly slipped unobtrusively away and back to Arthur’s side, bowing and smiling at all the well-wishers.

But Rita was making enough noise that finally someone took notice. Griselda Marchbanks, who had agreed to come out of her retirement from the Wizengamot temporarily in order to help set up the new Ministry, planted herself squarely in front of Rita.

“What is the matter?” Griselda asked when there was enough of a break in Rita’s caterwauling that she could make herself heard.

“That bloody great cow stepped on my foot!” Rita cried, pointing accusingly at Molly as she hopped about, trying to keep her balance as she attempted to retrieve various items which were rolling out of her handbag as it was kicked about by people trying to get closer to Arthur.

Griselda snorted. “What? The Minister’s wife? She’s nowhere near you.” Her eyes narrowed. “Rita Skeeter, isn’t it? What do you mean by attempting to malign that wonderful woman?” Rita gaped at her and tried to speak, but Griselda rolled right over her stammered protestation of innocence. “Oh, innocent, are you? I know what rubbish you write—trying to sway popular opinion with your lies and rumors, twisting the truth to suit yourself. Well, you’re not going to do it here.”

She managed to catch the eye of Eric Munch, the Ministry’s security wizard, and beckoned imperiously to him. He came trotting over to the edge of the crowd, where Griselda had managed to drag Rita. “Yes, Madam Marchbanks?

“This one,” Griselda said sternly, “was trying to cause a scene and spread vicious lies about the new Minister and his wife. I think she ought to be put somewhere she can’t do any harm until the crowd disperses, don’t you? We don’t need riff-raff like her upsetting the apple cart today.”

Eric drew himself up. “Of course, Madam Marchbanks, as you say. Come with me, you,” he snapped to Rita. He grasped her arm firmly so she couldn’t get away. “I know just where we’ll put you to keep you out of trouble for a while.” He marched her off unceremoniously, heedless of her entreaties to slow down because of her sore foot.

“But I’m supposed to cover the installation of the interim Minister,” she wailed as they disappeared into one of the elevators. Griselda watched them go and then turned back to watch as Arthur was handed the key to the Minister’s office. Molly, too, it would appear, had been watching Rita’s progress out of the Atrium, and her gaze slid to Griselda for a moment. Griselda gave her a tiny wink and smiled; Molly looked startled, but then she beamed at Griselda.

Seeing that Rita was nowhere in sight, Colin decided to try his hand at playing reporter as well as taking photographs. “So what do you think of Arthur Weasley as interim Minister, Madam Marchbanks?” he asked politely.

Griselda smiled and graciously allowed him to snap her photograph. “Charming,” she said. “I think Arthur Weasley will surprise us all with his capability and sense of fair play. In fact—” she leaned closer— “if you keep your source anonymous, boy, I’ll tell you I believe there is a very good chance he’ll be voted in as the first elected Minister in British wizarding history!”

Colin’s eyes twinkled and he mimed locking his lips shut and throwing away the key. “You can count on me to not attribute that statement to anyone in particular, ma’am,” he said sincerely, and he kept his word.

In days to come Rita Skeeter could be seen hanging about the Ministry, her foot in a heavy cast, telling anyone who would listen of Molly’s perfidy. Finally it came to the ears of Kingsley Shacklebolt, who confronted Rita in the staff lunchroom, where she was trying to spread her poison among the junior aides, all of whom were friends or acquaintances of Percy’s.

Kingsley bowed politely to the group and took Rita’s arm. “I beg your pardon for interrupting,” he said, “but I believe we have some business to discuss.” He dragged a limping Rita away, out of the lunchroom and down one hallway after another until she was hopelessly lost. Finally he opened a door that proved to lead into his own office and tugged her inside and closed the door.

“Sit,” he barked, shoving her none too gently in the direction of a hard wooden chair that sat before his desk.

Rita looked at it disdainfully. “Why, I never—” she began in a highly offended tone, but Kingsley hadn’t had the best of days so far and he was in no mood to put up with her nonsense.

“SIT!” he thundered—and Rita sat.

Kingsley could have sat behind his desk, but instead he chose to loom over Rita for maximum intimidation value. For a few moments he just stood glaring down at her, fists on his hips. Rita batted her eyes at him and crossed her legs, allowing her tight skirt to ride up. When this had no effect she squirmed uncomfortably.

“Just what did you think you were doing out there?” Kingsley finally asked, his tone chilly.

Rita feigned confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I want you to tell me what business you have here at the Ministry today,” Kingsley said.

“Business? I don’t see how that’s any con—”

“Everything that goes on here is my concern,” Kingsley said sternly. “Including the fact that you appear to have no legitimate business of any kind here but have spent the entire time since your arrival a couple of hours ago wasting the valuable time of Ministry employees as you attempted to find champions for your dislike of the Minister—and his wife, of all things! Well? Do you deny it?” His eyes narrowed, daring her to do so.

“Oh, tosh, Kingsley, don’t be silly!” Rita exclaimed. “I’m just getting a feel for what the Ministry employees feel about their new boss—nothing wrong with that, is there?”

She whipped a pad out of her bag, and a Quick-Quotes Quill appeared in her hand as if by...er...magic. She licked the tip and said, “As long as we’re on the subject, why don’t you give me a quote yourself? Just to show you how nonpartisan I am.” She looked at him expectantly.

Without warning Kingsley lunged and grabbed the pad out of her hand. Rita leapt up with a shocked gasp. “You can’t do that!” she screeched. “Give that back right now!” She tried to jump up but the much taller Kingsley held the pad well out of her reach as he thumbed through the pages, his scowl growing with each one he turned, and the heavy cast on her foot, the weight of which had been calculated to a nicety so as to wring sympathy from the hardest heart, hampered her efforts.

His eyes hard, Kingsley flipped the pad shut and put it in an inner breast pocket of his robes. “Sit down and stay put,” he snapped, and he wrenched the door open, stepped outside, and closed it firmly behind him. Rita could hear the rumble of his voice, followed by feet running away down the hall. Kingsley abrouptly opened the door again and came back inside.

“You can’t just keep me here,” Rita said, with a hint of a whine in her voice. “I’ve done nothing wrong, I tell you!” Her voice turned menacing. “You can’t keep me from reporting the truth.”

Kingsley let out a bark of laughter. “The truth! What would you know about the truth?” He snorted. “We’ll soon see what kind of truth you’re reporting in here.” He tapped the pocket where he’d put the pad.

“Wh-what do you mean?” Rita asked,the first hint of anxiety showing on her face.

There was a brisk knock on the door and Kingsley smiled grimly. “Oh, you’ll see. Come in!” he called, raising his voice. The door opened and Kingsley’s assistant stood there, panting. Behind him were five other Ministry employees, including Percy.

“Come in, come in,” Kingsley said. They all filed into his office, straining the available space rather severely. “You’d better keep the door open,” he said, “so we can spill out into the hallway. Now—I have a particular question for each of you, and then you can return to your work. I promise to keep this brief.

“Miss Skeeter here has attributed some very interesting quotes to the lot of you on the subject of our new Minister and Mrs Weasley,” Kingsley said solemnly. “However, knowing her as I do, I suspect she has taken the liberty of rewording your statements to give them quite a different slant—in fact, to make it appear as if you support her petty, vindictive attempts to malign the Weasleys in order to retaliate against them for some imagined ill she feels they have caused her.”

“Imagined!” Rita stuck out her foot in the cast. “You call that imaginary, do you?” She fell silent when Kingsley pointed one thick finger at her in warning.

“You have been a thorn in the side of the Ministry, not to mention various and sundry private parties, with your snooping and prying and outright lying for long enough. Well, I’ve had it. Today sees the end of it.”

He took the notebook out of his pocket and opened it. Rita’s eyes fastened on it with a look of longing mixed with apprehension.

“I will read your statements out one at a time,” Kingsley said. “Then I should like to hear what you really said, if—as I suppose—it differs significantly from what Miss Skeeter has recorded.” He cleared his throat and said, “Mr Weasley, let’s begin with you, shall we?”

Before he could say anything else there was a little pop! and Rita was no longer sitting in her chair. In her place was a large, bright magenta beetle with an oddly disfigured back leg.

Kingsley muttered an imprecation and shouted, “Quick, close the door!” There was a panic as those standing in and around the doorway, who had not seen Rita change into her Animagus and were uncertain whether he meant for them to move in or move out before closing the door, dithered. While they did, Rita rose quickly into the air, buzzed several of the employees, and headed straight for the door.

“Stop her!” Kingsley roared. Finally Percy, nearest the doorway, saw what was going on and ruthlessly shoved people out of the way and reached for the doorhandle and flung the door shut as hard as he could.

There was an incredulous silence for a moment and then, from outside the door, a woman’s voice could be heard squealing in disgust. “Eeuwww, that’s disgusting! It’s squashed right in the door!”

Percy and Kingsley stared at each other, their mouths hanging open, and then Percy quickly reached for the handle. Kingsley held up a hand to forestall him but it was too late, and he knew he would have to open the door eventually in any case.

There on the door frame, smashed into the bend of it, was a bright magenta smear, liberally splashed with acid-green guts. Or part of a smear, anyway—Kingsley noticed the other half of her was stuck to the door itself.

“Er—that will be all, thank you,” he said quickly, and the employees scattered with many backward glances, buzzing among themselves with gleeful-sounding voices about Rita’s untimely end. Percy remained behind.

“I’m most awfully sorry, Kingsley,” he began, speaking to Kingsley’s back. The man’s shoulders were shaking slightly, his head bent, and Percy felt lower than the scum on the belly of the lowest toad in the bog. “I never meant—I never thought—”

Kingsley turned and Percy saw with a start that he was laughing, not crying. Kingsley tried valiantly to keep a straight face, but it was a losing battle. “Merlin!” he gasped. “Have you ever in your life seen a more fitting end for anyone? Poof! Smashed like a bug on a wall!” His eyes streamed with tears as he chortled, and Percy began to feel rather uncomfortable.

“Are—are you quite all right, Kingsley?” he asked.

Kingsley quieted. “Yes, Percy, I’m fine,” he said. “I suppose that was inappropriate...but Merlin, it felt good. I’ve been waiting a long time for her to get her just desserts—I just never thought it would happen accidentally.” He shook his head. “The paperwork on this one is going to be a right pain in the arse, I can tell you. Still—and I know I shouldn’t let the bloodthirsty part of me show too often—I’m not sorry it happened. Not for anything.” He patted Percy on the shoulder.

“Would you see Derek about digging up some, er, rags or something and getting rid of that?” He waved at the Rita-bits on his office entrance.

“Of course,” Percy assured him. He glanced at the pad that sat temptingly on the desk. “Kingsley—did she really twist everything we said—everything I said?”

Kingsley nodded. “I don’t think you need to read it, lad, but yes, she did. I’m sure of it. You’ve reconciled with your family, haven’t you? I’d heard that you had.”

Percy nodded. “Yes—well, we’re still working on it, but yes. Things are quite definitely looking up.”

“Well, then,” Kingsley said frankly, “she told a whopper. Just the opposite, and mean into the bargain.”

Percy flushed and eyed the magenta smears malevolently. “She did, did she? I’m starting to think I don’t regret it one bit after all.”

Kingsley chuckled. “Nor should you. Now, go—let’s get this mess cleaned up before too many people notice it, shall we? I’ll write my report to the Wizengamot and the Minister, but the fewer people I have to explain to, the better.”
Alecto Carrow, dosed with Oblivion potion and Obliviated, and further dosed with Polyjuice potion that contained a piece of Bella’s hair, awoke in one of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s holding cells on the lowest level of the Ministry. There was nothing in the cell except a bunk with a dilapidated mattress and thin blanket, a battered toilet and sink, and a mirror protected by anti-shattering and anti-removal charms.

Alecto sat up and looked around. “What a dreary place,” she said aloud. It was somehow comforting to hear a human voice—even if it was her own—when no sounds from outside penetrated the thick wooden door. She was feeling rather lonesome and, when it came right down to it, picked on. She had tried to open the door and found it locked; and no one came when she knocked politely or called out. Therefore, obviously someone was making her stay somewhere she didn’t want to be. She didn’t know why, or who the unknown person or persons were, or where she was (or even who she was), but she knew she didn’t like any of it.

She stood up and found that her legs were a little wobbly. As she yawned and stretched to work the kinks out, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and gasped. The Queen—I’m Queen Bella! she thought. So there’d been a coup, had there? She didn’t remember a thing about it, but that was the only possible reason she could be here. She’d been ousted from her throne, no doubt by one of the other Death Eaters hungry for power.

Lucius would have been appalled to know she had reached this conclusion; Alecto should not have been able to remember anything about a Queen, a throne, or Death Eaters. It would seem the Oblivion potion was used infrequently enough that Alecto’s dose, which Snape had not noticed was from a considerably older batch than Bella’s, was only about halfway effective.

A knock came at the door, and Alecto stood back. “Well, come in if you’re going to,” she muttered. The door opened to reveal Lucius on the threshold, accompanied by a smaller man bearing a tray with covered dishes. Alecto’s mouth watered at the smell of food. Now that she thought about it, she was actually quite hungry.

Lucius said mildly, “Good day, madam. Archie here has brought your lunch. Before you eat, I’m afraid I must insist that you take a potion. You—er—haven’t been well, you know.” He brought a vial out of his pocket, ostensibly full of some sort of replenishing potion but really containing Polyjuice. “Must keep up your strength, you know!” His attempt at jocularity fell a bit flat—Lucius didn’t really do jocular—but Alecto didn’t seem to notice.

“My strength? Have I been ill?” Alecto took the potion from him and eyed it with misgivings. “It looks nasty.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure the Healers know best,” Lucius lied. “First the potion, then you may have your nice lunch.” He gestured to the smaller man, who set the tray down across the sink and removed the covers. “We didn’t know how hungry you’d be, so there’s a variety to suit any appetite.” There was a small stack of turkey sandwiches on bread that looked lovely, the wheaty fragrance drifting up irresistibly to mix with the sweet-sharp smell from the bowl of fresh raspberries next to it. A thick brownie with fudgy frosting sat, temptingly pristine, on a demure white doily. And a fat brown teapot steamed with freshly brewed tea.

Alecto eyed it hungrily. “Fine,” she snapped, “give me the potion.” Lucius unstoppered the vial and handed it to her, and she sighed and downed the contents in one gulp. “Faugh!” she snarled, wiping her lips on her sleeve. “That was foul.” Lucius breathed a quiet sigh of relief as the Polyjuice went safely down.

He picked up the tray and set it on the bed, and Alecto eagerly approached and sat down. She picked up a sandwich and stuffed it into her mouth, ripping off half of it in one go. She chewed it with gusto, bits of turkey and bread flying as she smacked her lips. Her eyes closed in ecstasy, as if she hadn’t eaten in days. Lucius knew this wasn’t the case, at least not technically. Alecto had been in the castle dungeons briefly before being moved to the Ministry holding cell, but the house-elves didn’t like her (with good reason) and saved the moldiest, toughest, oldest, hardest bits of everything they could find to serve to her at mealtimes.

“I will return to fetch you shortly after you finish your meal,” Lucius said. “There are some people who very much want to meet with you.” He had decided it would be best to treat her as if she were a guest of some sort rather than keeping her chained and downtrodden as she surely deserved to be. He wanted to keep her cooperative until she was brought before the Wizengamot, and whatever served his purpose he would do with a clear conscience.

“Ah, but do I want to meet with them?” Alecto said coyly, poking a sandwich at him.

You don’t have a choice, you ruddy idiot! he thought.

“After all, I’m a busy person. I can’t waste my day seeing just anyone.” Alecto was greedily addressing herself to the bowl of raspberries, so she missed the startled look that flashed across Lucius’ face.

Busy person? Just who does she think she is? Lucius began to have a very bad feeling. Damn it, he’d told Severus that Oblivion potion looked a little off compared to the one they’d given Bella. Still...never let them see you sweat, right?

“Oh, I think you’ll find it well worth your while, er, madam,” he said smoothly. And if she didn’t, he’d simply drag the blasted woman there in chains, if he had to. “I’ll allow you to get on with your luncheon, then, shall I? I’ll return for you in half an hour.” Alecto nodded graciously, not really paying attention, and Lucius motioned to the other man that it was time to leave. As he walked up the stairs to the courtroom to ensure the Wizengamot was ready for him to bring in the prisoner, he wondered who Alecto, in her at partially Obliviated state, thought she was.

When he returned to her cell she was sitting cross-legged on the cot, humming to herself. She leaped up when she saw Lucius. “There you are!” she cried, as if he’d been missing for hours. “We have a lot to do; you can’t be gadding about all over the place, you know.”

“Indeed,” he said, mystified, but unwilling to delay the proceedings by indulging her apparent madness and asking questions. “Shall we go, my lady?”

“I’ve been ready for hours,” she informed him. “Come on!” She swept out of the cell and he hurried out behind her to make sure she went where he wanted her to, rather than wherever she might think she was heading.

They arrived at the courtroom with very little sidetracking. Lucius wasn’t sure how well Alecto knew her way around the Ministry but she seemed, oddly, to have a general sense of where they were going and led them in fairly short order to Courtroom Ten. As they entered, Lucius scanned the faces of the Wizengamot who sat in the tiers of seating above. Their ranks were greatly reduced, owing to Voldemort’s predations during the war and the purge of Dark sympathizers that had taken place just recently.

Andromeda Tonks looked very dignified, albeit rather surprised to find herself among this august gathering, let alone at its head as Chief Warlock. Er, Chief...Witch? Lucius supposed if the appointment were made permanent, and he had no reason to suppose it would not be, a bit of modernization would be needed. The others, more like twenty instead of the usual fifty, stared in cold fascination at the woman who strode forward to the chair and stood there like she owned the place.

“A-are you ready to begin, Mr Malfoy?” Andromeda asked.

“I am, Your Honor,” Lucius replied. He indicated to Alecto that she should be seated.

“What?” she asked, bewildered. “But I—this isn’t—”

“Sit!” Lucius thundered, and she sat. As soon as her arms crept onto the armrests, the chains rapidly slipped around and held her tightly.

“Prisoner, state your name for the record,” Andromeda instructed.

“Wha—prisoner?” Alecto gasped. “Now see here. There must be some—”

Lucius’ hand descended on her shoulder and squeezed. “State. Your. Name.”

“But—oh, very well. My name, as you very well know, is Bellatrix Black Lestrange. You may call me Queen Bella,” Alecto said blithely.

“Bellatrix Lestrange, you stand accused of blackest treason against the Ministry of Magic and the government of wizarding Britain,” Andromeda intoned. “Do you deny that you have acted with treasonous intent?”

Alecto tittered. “Nonsense. Everyone needs a change now and then. You’ve never had a Queen before; how do you know you won’t like it? Just think of the things we could accomplish—the worlds we could conquer!”

Andromeda continued relentlessly. “You have told Mr Malfoy of your plans to vanquish and then exploit or enslave, one by one, the other magical species of the world. These notes—” she brandished a wad of parchment— “are in your hand. Do you deny making these plans?”

“If you say so, I must have,” Alecto went on, unfazed. “It sounds like a good idea to me. Just think of all the free labor we could get out of them! After all, it’s not like they’re wizards, is it?”

“You have delineated plans to bilk the British wizarding populace out of their hard-earned incomes by way of a tax plan to fund a Royal Treasury, the purpose of which seems to be to supply any items you decide you want to possess that magic can not procure for you. Were you truly a monarch, you would thereby be robbing your own subjects to satisfy your personal whims. Do you deny this intention?”

“Well, how else am I to get any money?” Alecto pouted. “It sounds like a wonderful plan to me.”

“You have kidnapped and falsely imprisoned several young men and forced them to perform intimate acts with you for your own pleasure, and to live confined to a small area of the castle set aside as a harem. You have removed their liberty to seek new lives after the war, holding them instead at your own will and pleasure. Do you deny it?”

Alecto seemed a little fuzzy on the young men thing—not surprisingly, thought Lucius, since she herself had not been the one to use the harem slaves. “I do so love pretty men,” she offered, batting her eyelashes coyly. Lucius barely resisted the urge to smack her.

Andromeda said, “You have caused four innocent men to become eunuchs—” much buzz amongst the members of the Wizengamot, and Lucius motioned for Andromeda to lean down while he whispered hastily in her ear— “ah, that is, to temporarily become eunuchs,” Andromeda amended, “and have falsely imprisoned them in this harem, as well, to look after the boys. Do you deny it?”

Alecto’s interest in the proceedings appeared to be dimming, and she just shrugged.

“To summarize, you have singlehandedly toppled a government, plotted against its citizens and allies, and deprived a good number of these citizens of their liberty—all so that you might...what? Have a good time?” Andromeda asked helplessly. Alecto nodded agreeably. Andromeda looked at Lucius, and he just stared back at her.

Andromeda’s face hardened. “Do you have anything to say for yourself before you are sentenced? I must tell you that sentencing is bound to be harsh, considering your apparent lack of remorse.”

Alecto shook her head. “Time for sentencing!” she cried. She seemed not to understand that she was the one about to be sentenced.

“Very well, then. The Wizengamot will deliberate—I feel certain this will be brief; we wouldn’t want to keep you, my lady—and we will return to pass sentence.” With that, Andromeda rose and the entire Wizengamot filed out.

Lucius paced back and forth, and Alecto finally snapped, “What are you doing back there? Come here where I can see you!”

“I do beg your pardon, my lady,” Lucius said politely. He resumed pacing, this time in front of her. Alecto proceeded to hum to herself some more, a little half-smile on her face as she regarded the empty seats above.

In a very short time the Wizengamot returned and was seated. Andromeda rose, and Alecto looked up at her expectantly. Of the two of them, only Andromeda seemed affected, and she looked as if she was about to faint. Lucius could only be glad it was not truly her sister whose life she was sentencing away.

“Bellatrix Lestrange, you have been found guilty of grievous treasons and outrageous acts committed against wizarding Britain and its people. Had you shown any remorse whatsoever, we might possibly have shown some leniency in your sentence. As it is—we cannot.”

Her fingers white where they grasped the edge of the railing, Andromeda pronounced, “You are hereby sentenced to the Dementor’s Kiss, to be administered immediately, after which you shall live out the rest of your days in Azkaban Prison. Your only release will come through the kind offices of death.” Although she knew it was not Bella who stood there, Andromeda knew she would have pronounced the same sentence just as readily if it had been.

“Dementors?” Alecto cocked her head interestedly. “What are—”

She broke off when a sudden wave of dark and cold, which seemed to ring with the cries of lost souls, swept across the room and down to where she sat. A Dementor appeared behind the Wizengamot and floated spectrally down to where Alecto sat in irons, the members of the Wizengamot cautiously sliding the edges of their robes away as it passed. Lucius marveled at how a single Dementor could make a room feel so completely different.

The Dementor hovered above Alecto and drew closer, until its unspeakable face was before hers. She said nothing, merely looked at it with a rather distasteful expression on her face. The Dementor bent its head, almost lover-like, and began to suck. Too late, caution awoke and Alecto opened her mouth wide to scream. But the Dementor pinned her in place, sucking out the goodness, every ounce of happiness she had ever felt, every moment of pleasure, however fleeting...until all that remained was a husk. Her body seemed almost to dry up, too, as they watched.

Eventually the Dementor straightened. Lucius motioned to it to take Alecto. “To Azkaban,” he said brusquely. “Life sentence.” The Dementor’s head swung back toward Alecto and the chains released her arms suddenly. The creature motioned with one hand and Alecto’s body rose out of the chair and followed the Dementor, levitating back up into the general chamber and out the door.

After a moment Andromeda spoke. “Well,” she said. “After that I expect everything will be a bit anticlimatic, yes? I suggest we recess and meet again tomorrow morning at ten. There will be other matters to dispose of, although none quite so...drastic.”

“Thank you, Madam Warlock,” Lucius said. “I know it was a most difficult duty for you to discharge, especially as your first.”

“We won’t speak any more of it,” Andromeda said, her voice dignified. “Time to move on with our lives, eh? See you tomorrow, Lucius.”
Lucius heaved a sigh of relief when he reached the Apparation point at Malfoy Manor. It had been a long day, what with the trial of “Bella” and then a long meeting with the Hogwarts Board of Governors. They were eager to set the castle to rights in readiness for the next school year, which all were overjoyed to know would proceed after all.

The castle ghosts and portraits had returned, as had the House point counters, and the castle was re-forming itself into familiar, long-held patterns. Lucius had been back to the harem, more out of curiosity than anything else, and found the wardrobe, sleeping room, enema rooms, and marble reception room gone. The Prefects’ bathroom now looked much as it ever had. The stained glass mermaid was performing joyous leaps in the water around her rock, stopping when she spotted Lucius to throw a flirtatious glance over one shoulder and then zooming off again.

A pile of towels beside the pool drew Lucius’ eye. Instead of the usual white, they were a rainbow of bright colors, tending heavily to shades of green. He grinned. Apparently the thrifty house-elves had gone through the harem wardrobe and been unable to resist doing some Transfiguring, in the spirit of “waste not, want not”.

Now, home again, he breathed deeply of the country scents of grass, flowers, soil, and lake, and thought with satisfaction that nothing could be finer. He proceeded into the house, which seemed strangely empty.

“Narcissa!” There was no answer.

Suddenly a house-elf came scampering—that was really the only word for it—out from a side corridor and slid to a halt some way past Lucius, panting and with a shy smile on his face. “Master is looking for the mistress?” he puffed.

Lucius nodded, unfamiliar with this particular specimen. It—he, presumably—looked rather younger than the average, run-of-the-mill house-elf, but although Lucius had never seen a young elf he supposed they had to come from somewhere, after all. “Yes. And you would be...?”

The elf, shorter than average even for an elf, bowed nearly in half, his head dusting the floor. “Pibbits, sir, at your service, sir.”

“Pibbits? Hmm. Where is your mistress, Pibbits?”

“The mistress is out of doors with the young master and his visitor,” Pibbits said importantly.

“Outdoors? What visitor?” Lucius asked, his curiosity piqued.

Pibbits’ face fell momentarily, as he didn’t know the visitor’s identity. “A—a gentleman,” he said finally. His face crumpled and he twisted his ears. “Pibbits does not know his name, oh, Pibbits will have to punish himself. Pibbits is sorry, master, sorry! He will do better, truly he—”

“Enough!” Lucius said, rolling his eyes. Pibbits stopped in mid-wail and looked at him cautiously. “Truly, there is no need to punish yourself for not knowing his name,” Lucius said. “Where outside are they? I’ll go see for myself.”

“Er—Pibbits will take the master there directly!” the elf said, seeing a way he could redeem himself. He dashed ahead of Lucius down the corridor, peeking back around corners to make sure Lucius stayed in sight, until they came to the doors leading from the conservatory out to the terrace.

“There!” Pibbits announced grandly, arm outstretched to indicate the trio down at the lakeside, as proud as if he had put them there himself.

“Thank you...Pibbits,” Lucius said. “That will be all.” The elf stood, ears drooping disappointedly. “Oh, very well—you may take my cloak.” Pibbits perked up considerably and tenderly took charge of Lucius’ traveling cloak and sword cane, swearing to see to them as if they were his own.

Lucius strolled across the terrace and down the lawn to where Draco and Narcissa sat facing the lake with a third person he couldn’t quite make out. When he drew under the shade of the willow he could recognize the graying hair and beard of Marshall Abbott, and he wondered what Marshall could be doing here.

“Don’t you all look comfortable!” Lucius said lightly as he came around in front of them. He bent to kiss Narcissa.

“Darling! I was hoping you’d be home soon,” she said, reaching up to smooth a cool hand over his cheek. She glanced over at Draco and then at Marshall. “You—er—you know Mr Abbott—”

“Marshall,” that worthy reminded her quietly.

“—er, yes, Marshall, don’t you, dear?” she asked.

Lucius nodded. “I do indeed. Abbott,” he said, inclining his head just enough to be polite. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Unexpectedly, Draco spoke up. “Me. You owe it to me, Father. Marshall is here because of...me.”

Lucius raised his eyebrows. “Do tell,” he said; not much of an invitation, as invitations go, but Draco was not a Malfoy for nothing.

“I will tell you, Father—everything. I would have before, only, well, there really wasn’t anything to tell yet, and then the war—and the harem—” He broke off. “Maybe I should start at the beginning.”

“Please do,” Lucius said, uncomfortably certain of what was coming even though Draco hadn’t said it yet. He had intercepted one or two telling glances between his son and Marshall in the harem of late, and he supposed now they were free of Bella, they had Made Plans. Almost certainly not the plans he and Narcissa had had in mind for their son, the scion of the Malfoy estate.

Draco bravely met his father’s eyes and told him everything—well, omitting one or two things that had taken place in the harem, but he didn’t really need to know every little detail, did he, Lucius was a busy man, after all—and then stopped and waited.

“And now...?” Lucius prompted, looking at Marshall directly.

“We intend to be together,” Marshall said evenly. “Draco may pursue whatever directions his interests take him in, but we will be together.”

“I see. And this—” Lucius gestured between Draco and Marshall, but addressed his son— “is what you want?”

“Yes, Father. It is most assuredly what I want.”

“How will you live? Where will you live?”

Marshall cleared his throat. “Ah—Lucius—I’m not exactly destitute, you know. I have a nice little estate of my own. It’s not Malfoy Manor, but it’s home. Draco would never want for anything.”

“Draco can speak for himself,” Draco muttered, but he patted Marshall’s arm and added, “but thanks.” He looked at Lucius. “I don’t know if you plan to disinherit me, Father, but I’m sure I can make my own way if I need to. I’m rather interested in curse-breaking. Bill Weasley says he’ll put in a good word for me if I want to train at Gringotts. I’m sure I can make a respectable living doing that. Or any number of other things.”

Lucius looked appalled. “Disinherit you? I have no intention of doing such a thing. It would be irresponsible of me, however, not to make sure you have some way to support yourself. You are, of course, entitled to continue receiving your quarterly allowance...should you wish to do so.” He tried to sound unconcerned about it one way or the other.

“I—yes, I would like that, if you’re sure, Father,” Draco said. He was no fool, and Lucius’ allowance was a generous one. There were any number of ways it would come in handy, even if Draco had the best job on the planet, even if Marshall was as wealthy as Midas. Draco didn’t intend Marshall to bear the burden of his upkeep.

“And someday, of course, you’ll inherit this old pile,” Lucius said, waving toward the house behind them. “If you want it. Although it sounds as if you, er, don’t have plans to carry on the family name, so I suppose the Malfoy line will end with you.” He fell silent, musing on the outrage his ancestors’ portraits would no doubt heap on his head when they found out about this.

“Does that bother you? You know I never could have married Pansy anyway, Father. That was never on.”

“No, no, it doesn’t bother me particularly. I’ve been thinking lately that perhaps genealogy is overrated anyway. So, Cissy—what do you think about all this? You’re awfully quiet.”

Narcissa looked at him rather mistily. “I think it’s a good thing, Lucius. We’ve been talking, and I can see there is real caring between them.” Draco smiled at Marshall and reached over to take his hand. “I had always dreamed of having grandchildren someday, but that was more for me than for Draco. Somehow—” she looked fondly at her son for a moment, musing— “somehow I never could quite see Draco as the fatherly type.” She shrugged. “Maybe this is why.”

Lucius looked at his son and Marshall, who at that moment had eyes for no one but each other, and cleared his throat loudly. They jumped and looked at him sheepishly. “Do I take it, then, that you intend to begin this...new arrangement straightaway? That you will be leaving home, Draco—today?”

Draco took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, Father. We were only waiting until you came so we could tell you first. But yes, I’m going to live with Marshall, and I start my training at Gringotts on Monday.”

“I see.” Lucius held out his hand. “Then this is goodbye, for now at least?”

Draco took the offered hand and hauled himself to his feet, leaning down to help Marshall up as well. “Yes. We—Marshall will tell you how to get to his house, as it’s Unplottable, of course, but we’d like you to feel welcome to visit us any time, isn’t that right, Marshall?”

“Absolutely,” Marshall averred. “We would be happy to welcome you any time.”

Draco looked at him. “Or—well—maybe not for a day or two. I mean, there’s unpacking to do and....” He colored. “You know.”

Lucius bit his lip so he wouldn’t smile. “Not until at least three days from now. Understood.”

Draco said anxiously, “Maybe a week. A week would be good—give us time to—er—”

“Unpack?” Lucius said, feeling rather mirthful all of a sudden as he teased his son.

“Exactly!” Draco said, relieved.

Narcissa said, “I think you two had better go. We’ll see you soon enough. Let us know when you’re ready for visitors, why don’t you?” She rose effortlessly from the ground to bid them goodbye.

“Thanks, Mum.” Draco kissed her on the cheek, and she caught him up in a hug that threatened to choke him. Then Marshall bestowed a kiss on her hand, and she squeezed his hand briefly.

“Welcome to our family, Marshall,” Narcissa said. “I wish you both every joy together.”

Draco and Marshall walked back up to the house while Lucius and Narcissa watched, waving when they reached the terrace and turned back for a final look.

Then Draco said, “Race you to the Apparation point!”

Marshall snorted. “Last one there bottoms.” It didn’t matter to him who was where as long as the other person with him was Draco, so Marshall really didn’t care much who won.

Good thing, as it turned out.
Narcissa leaned into Lucius’s strong frame as she watched her son walk away, about to enter the world as a man, making a stand for the things—and people—he cared about. She was so proud of him she was almost bursting.

At the same time, she felt an odd sense of loss and wanted to cry.

Suddenly she became aware of Lucius’ rather pointed regard and looked up. “What is it?” she asked.

“You, my dear, are wearing far too many clothes,” Lucius said, tapping a finger on his lips as if thinking about it very carefully.

Narcissa looked down. “Well, it’s just my day robes—” She gasped, because her robes had suddenly disappeared. She stood under the willow tree completely naked. Her eyes flew to Lucius’. “What—what are you doing?”

“Doesn’t that feel good?” he asked. He stepped closer, crowding her.

“Er—yes, I suppose so.” Actually it felt heavenly. She loved being naked out of doors, but the opportunities had been few and far between in the Death Eater years.

“I know how much you like swimming in the nude,” he said smoothly. “Draco’s not here. We have no visitors. How about a swim?”

She eyed him more cautiously now and began to back away. “Lucius, wait. What are you—oh, no!” she shrieked as he picked her up and flung her upside down over his shoulder, her tempting bare ass snugged alongside his face. He turned and delicately bit the cheek nearest him as he headed for the dock. “Oh, Merlin!” Narcissa wailed. “Lucius, you must be joking!”

But apparently he wasn’t. He stopped at the end of the dock and flipped her, and for a moment she thought he was going to throw her into the water, but he was only repositioning her in his arms in front of him. She glanced down at the water and back up at him. “Please?” she pleaded. Her hands were clasped at the back of his neck in a death grip.

Lucius pretended to consider, and suddenly his clothing disappeared. Narcissa flung an arm around and felt the hot, hard length that was poking her in the thigh. “Oh, my,” she said. “Perhaps I’m not the one who needs cooling down, eh?” She looked at him and grinned. “You do know I’m not going in there alone, don’t you?”

Lucius heaved a put-upon sigh. “The things I do for love of you, woman.” He grinned. “Deep breath, love.” Instead, she shrieked, and he roared with laughter as he plunged them into the still rather brisk water. They both came up sputtering and gasping, but laughing.

All in all, not a bad way to start Life After Children.
Harry combed through the Daily Prophet but there was a strange silence where Rita Skeeter’s daily column of vitriol used to reside. In the last couple of days he’d found himself almost getting used to the peace and quiet; he’d nearly stopped expecting it to be ruined at any minute by Molly’s furious outcry from the kitchen as she read the morning paper and exclaimed over Rita’s vicious comments.

He was about to put the paper down when he noticed a small item just inside the back page, at the bottom. It read:

REPORTER DIES
MLE Declares Death Accidental, Unavoidable

“Rita Skeeter, noted reporter for this august publication, died this morning in an accident as regrettable as it was unavoidable. Skeeter, who it turns out was an unregistered Animagus, was in the office of Kingsley Shacklebolt, Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, apparently eavesdropping on a top-secret meeting taking place there. When the door to the office opened, Skeeter, in her beetle Animagus, flew up suddenly, alarming several participants, and was crushed in the ensuing confusion.

“No blame is attached to Skeeter’s death; although regrettable, as would be the death of any young, productive member of society, Skeeter was clearly where she did not belong and was using her unknown Animagus talent to acquire information not meant for her ears. The Ministry is hopeful that this circumstance will prove a cautionary tale for other Animagi who choose not to register.

“The Prophet’s sympathies go out to the family of the deceased, etc., etc.”

Harry’s lips rounded in a silent whistle. So that was why Rita had been so little in evidence lately! He could hardly believe she was dead; somehow he had almost resigned himself to the fact that she would be there forever, on the periphery of his life, digging up facts and twisting them to suit her own idea of newsworthiness. It was interesting that the paper seemed more censuring than sympathetic about her end.

Just then the back door blew open and Ron came in, at top speed as usual. “What’s to eat? I’m starving,” he announced to the world in general, and he marched over to hang his head in the food cupboard to see what there was to snack on.

“Don’t fill up on snacks before dinner!” Molly’s faraway voice floated down the stairs.

“Ha! As if.” Ron’s voice was somewhat muffled by the fistful of crisps he’d just stuffed in his mouth. “Hey, Harry, how was your day?” he asked, inelegantly spraying bits of crisp over Harry and the paper as he pulled out the chair next to him and sat down.

Harry shook the paper off and folded it, looking at Ron in fond amusement. “Git. Don’t get food all over me, I just washed.”

Ron looked at him in horror. “What—washed? In the middle of the day? Are you crazy? Why’d you waste time doing that, anyway?”

“I dunno...because I like being clean?”

“Mate, face it, it’s dinner-time. More like the end of the day than the middle, really. If you haven’t washed by now, save it for the next day.” He crammed more crisps into his mouth and held out the bag to Harry. “Want some?”

Harry shook his head. “No thanks.”

“Thought maybe you were getting all spiffed up for Ginny,” Ron said, clearly understandable this time as he was between bites of crisp.

“Ginny? Why? Did she say something?”

“Nope. But she’s out there in the garden.”

“She’s home?” Harry leapt out of his chair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Just told you.” Another handful of crisps gave their lives for the cause. “She’s out in the garden.”

“What?” Harry whirled to look out the door, but he didn’t see Ginny anywhere. “Are you sure?” In one long stride he was out of the door. He went round the shed, taking the path toward the orchard, where Ginny liked to spend time alone. He heard a faint exclamation from Ron as he left, but he ignored him. Ron he could talk to later. He needed to find Ginny.

He heard her laugh before he saw her, and his heart beat faster. He burst through the gap in the hedge into the orchard and stopped abruptly, his smile and the words of welcome that hovered on the tip of his tongue dying unspoken.

Ginny was kissing Neville. Ginny Weasley—and Neville Longbottom. Together. Kissing.

Somehow his mind just couldn’t quite wrap around it.

A last little piece of something in his heart let go with a sad sigh, which must have actually made a sound because suddenly Ginny turned to look at him. And smiled.

“Harry,” she said. “We—we were going to come find you in a minute.”

“You were?” he asked stupidly, not sure what to say or how to act. Ginny Weasley, his almost-sort-of-someday-girlfriend, was kissing someone else and he wasn’t sure how he should feel about it. What was she saying?

“Yes.” Ginny walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “Harry, you know I’d never in the world do anything to hurt you.” He nodded dumbly. “And for a long time I thought it was going to be you for me. I did. And maybe if things had gone differently and we’d been together all along, it would have been. But now....” She looked at Neville and Harry knew what she was going to say; he just had to wait for her to get the words out so this ghastly, weird moment could be over. “Now I’ve got Neville. And we seem to both be what the other needs, Harry.” She looked at him and picked a bit of chip out of his hair. “You never really needed me. It was pretty one-sided, I think. Maybe you were just too polite to tell your best friend’s little sister to buzz off.”

She was smiling when she said it, but Harry automatically shook his head. “Ginny—no, I never once—”

“Shh, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter now anyway,” she said. “I just want to know you don’t, well, hate me for seeing Neville behind your back. I mean, I know we were never formally promised or anything, but still I’ve been feeling bad about it.”

Suddenly an overwhelming feeling of something lifting off his shoulders swept over Harry. It was almost euphoric. To think poor Ginny had been feeling badly all this time over her romance with Neville. Well, that shouldn't be.

“You mustn’t worry about it any more,” he said. “I think you’re absolutely right. We didn’t ever make a real commitment to each other—it was all pretty vague. I hope you’ll be happy, Ginny. After all I’ve put you through, you certainly deserve someone who will make you happy. If that’s Neville, well, then—” He grinned and held out his hand to his friend, who closed the gap between them and took it with a decided air of relief. The butterflies in Harry’s stomach were no slouches, but the ones in Neville’s had been holding a full-on clog-dancing championship for days now in anticipation of this meeting. It had been worse, even, than when he’d been late with his homework for Snape’s Potions class in school. And that was saying quite a lot.

Harry felt positively avuncular as he sent them off to find Molly and break the news to her. He stayed behind in the orchard because it was so nice and green and shady and he wanted to be alone for a bit to assimilate the news.

Funny he’d never realized that Ginny’s expectations—or were they just his own?—for them had been such a burden. He thought he’d been keeping her in reserve, as it were, for when they could return to normal life and good times. Then Harry-and-Ginny would pick up where they’d left off; no doubt marriage would follow, and children in time. Holiday and summer visits to the Burrow, work, the children going off to Hogwarts—a normal, regular life like everyone else had. He’d more or less taken all this for granted; it was what everyone seemed to expect.

It had never really occurred to him to wonder what his life would be like if Harry-and-Ginny were not a couple, did not end up spending the rest of their lives together...did not really belong together. Because he realized now that they didn’t. At one time they had filled a need for each other, but they had long since outgrown that. Ginny, at least, had been intelligent enough to see it. Apparently hexes weren’t the only thing she excelled at.

He wondered vaguely what he would do now as far as a relationship went. Something teased at the edge of his mind, but it rolled away when he tried to look at it head-on so he left it alone and just sat there on the spreading trunk of the gnarled plum tree, waiting.

He heard swift footsteps approaching and looked up to see Ron coming through the gap in the hedge and striding through the long grass toward him. “Harry—can you believe it? Ginny and Neville! Did you know? I was never so surprised! Mum was a bit upset it wasn’t you, Harry, but I think Neville will win her over. He’s a good chap, really, maybe even good enough for Ginny, I dunno, but she likes him anyway so I guess she’s happy. Sure you don’t want to become part of the Weasley family, Harry—officially, I mean? I really thought it was going to happen.” He flung himself down at Harry’s feet and leaned back against Harry’s leg. He plucked a piece of grass and began to nibble absently at the stem.

Harry looked down at the bright head; the sun shone down through the plum branches and glinted off the curls that were as unruly as his own straight mop, and he ran his fingers through it, abstractedly noting the way the sun created tiny rainbows among the strands of red and gold. He didn’t notice that Ron had frozen, or closed his eyes almost as if he was in pain, or that he was clutching the piece of grass so tightly that it was rapidly becoming a wilted ruin. He did notice that Ron’s weight against his leg was comfortable, familiar. Beloved.

Beloved? Harry’s hand stopped, resting on Ron’s head like a benediction while he thought about that.

Actually, it made sense. Not that he cared whether it was sensible or not, really. Because the thought of Ron Weasley as his beloved just...felt right. Suddenly Harry’s heart began to pound furiously, punctuating the outlandish idea he’d just had. It wasn’t possible. Not really. Was it?

Well, he’d never know if he just sat there like a lump.

“Er, Ron,” he said casually, moving his hand down to Ron’s shoulder in a friendly, I’m-just-resting-my-hand-here-for-a-minute type gesture.

“Y-yeah?” Ron sounded a bit breathless, Harry thought. Probably busy thinking about dinner. He smiled fondly.

“I have to report to Hogwarts next week,” Harry said. “Professor McGon—I mean, Minerva...gods, I don’t know if I can call her by her first name with a straight face!—anyway, she says the staff always come back a week before the students so as to set up their classrooms and work on lesson plans and stuff. I get the DADA classroom, of course, but Minerva’s moved into the Head’s suite so I’m to move all my own stuff into hers. Can you believe it?” He shook his head. “Me—Head of Gryffindor House! It’s just so...wild.”

Ron remained silent. He plucked a new blade of grass and went to work nibbling at the end. Harry nudged him with his knee. “So...what do you think?”

Ron shrugged. “Dunno. Sounds okay, I guess. Don’t know how much I’ll—” he cleared his throat— “get to see you if you’re way up at Hogwarts and I’m stuck down here at the Ministry.”

Okay, Harry thought. That didn’t really go anywhere. He tried again.

“So, met any new girls at the Ministry lately?” he asked lightly.

Ron turned slowly and looked at Harry in disbelief. “Girls?” he repeated. “You—you’re joking, right?” He shoved away from Harry’s leg and stood up. “Have I met any new girls lately? Oh, go on, Harry, why don’t you just say it? No need to step lightly around my feelings, eh? I’m only your best friend! Girls!” he said in a tone of deep disgust.

Harry jumped up. “What are you on about?” He was puzzled and somewhat disgruntled that the romantic moment he’d been leading up to had been spoilt. “I was just asking how your love life is. No need to bite my head off.”

“Love life? Ha! That’s a good one. Love life, is it?” Ron muttered. “First you let me think you’re still stuck on Ginny, then you’re pushing strange girls at me left and right—don’t think I didn’t notice that blind-date suggestion at the market the other day,” he said, waving an accusatory finger at Harry. “I have no love life, Harry. And it’s all your fault.”

“My fault?” Harry laughed, taken aback. This was so not how he had envisioned this afternoon going. Then the penny dropped. “Wait. Wait a minute.”

“What?” Ron looked defensive and admittedly a bit sullen. Not the most attractive combination, but Harry hardly noticed.

“You thought I was hanging about because I wanted to marry Ginny.” Ron nodded. “Um, no. I don’t wanted that, Ron, I haven't for a while now. I was going to finally tell her this afternoon but she sort of saved me the trouble when I found her out here with Neville. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with someone else, though, so it’s just as well.”

Ron looked at him, dazed, his mouth open a little bit, and Harry thought if he was allowed he would like to just swallow that lower lip whole, right then and there.

“And for your information, I’m not pushing anyone at you. I was just trying to see if there was anyone you were interested in—anyone I had to clear out of the way before I could do this.” He took the one not-so-large step that separated them and wrapped his arms firmly around Ron and kissed him. It was a rather businesslike kiss, as kisses went, at least at first. Then, then...finally...it softened, and Ron made a little noise in the back of his throat and Harry almost cried, it was so perfect.

“I love it when you make that noise,” he said. Ron just grasped his head and pulled him back to finish the kiss.

When they finally came up for air Harry’s glasses were askew and the back of Ron’s shirt was pulled right out of his trousers. He looked at Harry with eyes that were suspiciously bright. “So you—you really do want me?” he asked in a barely audible voice.

“I do. I always will,” Harry said solemnly. “It just took me a while to figure it out.”

Ron made a face. “You know, this is going to take a little getting used to, Harry. I mean, this isn’t how I always thought it would be, you know?”

“I do know. I didn’t think so either, for a long time. But when we were in the harem, well...I started to hope a little. Just a little—I mean, you were so...you know.”

“So what?” Ron asked, tilting his chin with an echo of his characteristic belligerence.

“Well,” Harry said loftily, his lips twitching in a way that told Ron he was about to be made fun of, but in the best possible way, “I seem to remember someone telling me that just because he kissed me, he didn’t want me thinking he was hot for me. Or if he were to, say...s-suck me off. Or anything.” He looked up at Ron through his eyelashes, ready to run if it seemed wise. “And, well, we’ve already kissed, and I’m fairly sure I’m going to want to s—”

“Gods, stop talking about it, will you?” Ron wailed.

“And probably even fu—”

“Gah! Harry! We’re in my parents’ orchard here!”

“Or,” Harry said generously, “of course, if you prefer, you could always f—”

Desperate to shut Harry up, Ron did the only thing possible. He kissed him. Harry moaned into Ron’s mouth and swayed against him. One hand found the gap between shirt and trouser and snaked inside and down to cup Ron’s warm ass cheek and give it a squeeze.

“So, Ron, as I was saying before, I started to hope that maybe you felt for me even a tiny part of what I felt for you. And I thought—”

“GGUH,” Ron grunted loudly, and he put a restraining hand on Harry’s. “Gods, I can’t th-think when you do that.” He looked up at Harry and asked, “Why do you always do that?”

Harry looked at him blankly. “Do what?”

“Why do you always assume that what you feel is so much more than what everybody else feels?” Ron asked. “I mean, I’d really like to know. Because it’s not, you know. You’re no different than the rest of us, Harry.” Harry just watched him, so Ron continued.

“You assume you have—what—this huge load of feelings for me, and maybe I can squeeze out one tiny bit for you. Right? Well, you’re wrong, mate. It’s not like that at all. Harry—” he looked into Harry’s eyes solemnly— “I would be willing to bet you every last Knut in the Potter family vault that you couldn’t possibly love me any more than I love you.”

He rolled over Harry’s surprised look with a dismissive wave. “Oh, you were going to say it eventually, you know you were. After you gave your big noble talk about how you’d wait for me if I couldn’t quite bring myself round to it yet, or whatever. Weren’t you?” He looked at Harry, confident of his answer.

“I—well—yes, actually. But you don’t need to make me sound so pompous. After all, I didn’t have any idea what was going on in your head, did I? It wasn’t that long ago we were visiting Bella’s suite together and you were shagging her for all you were worth. For all I knew that was what you wanted—well, not Bella exactly, but some girl. I mean, when I was getting you off you seemed to enjoy it well enough, but I wasn’t sure what would happen when all that was over and we were back to real life.” He leaned over to plant a gentle kiss on Ron’s lips; somewhere in the background a tiny pop sounded, but Harry and Ron had eyes only for each other and didn’t notice. “I mean, go easy on me. Have you even considered what your parents will think about all this?”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I know what they’ll say,” said Fred from his perch above them on a spreading branch of the plum tree. Harry and Ron could only stare in shock at his sudden appearance. Fred smiled down at them cherubically. “You two really could find a better place for that, you know,” he said mildly. “Mum’s looking everywhere for you, Ron, and it’s only a matter of time until she looks here. Or sends Ginny, which I’m thinking would be even worse. If you want the chance to break the happy news yourself, you’d better leg it.” On that note he Disapparated.

“I suppose he’s right,” Ron said. “Damn him.” He turned toward the house, but Harry caught his arm suddenly.

“Wait. Let’s make this formal, so there’s no question about what anyone means,” Harry said, sounding determined. “Ron Weasley, I love you with all my heart. I can’t imagine loving anyone else. I want to spend my life with you. I hope to be able to make you happy, because you are someone who deserves to be happy. I want to be there for every new thing that happens in your life, and I want to be there for you when you have sad times. I want everything—with you. Will you be with me?”

Ron stood there, his face growing increasingly red. His mouth worked, but no sound came out. He held out his arms to Harry, who went into them willingly enough.

“Really, Harry? For always? You’d really do that?”

“Well, I certainly hope to,” Harry said. Ron ducked his head against Harry’s shoulder, and Harry let him. “Well?” he asked patiently.

Ron surfaced after a moment, trying manfully to make his sniff macho enough that it would impress rather than just sound pathetic. “Harry P-potter, I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve known you. You were kind to me, and then you were like a brother. Er—well, but I don’t love you like a brother, exactly—um, well, like the twins do, maybe, but—” A hand brought his face back around to face Harry, whose eyebrow was raised inquisitively. “Oh, right. Well, I think it was something else all along, and I’m just glad I found out before it was too late and you were married to Ginny and I was married to—”

His head jerked up and a look of horror crossed his face. “Oh, Merlin—Hermione! What’s she going to—” Once again the gentle hand redirected his attention. “Well, but—oh, all right. Yes, Harry. If you really want me, I can’t imagine anything better than a lifetime with you. And I can imagine some pretty good stuff,” he added in a normal voice.

Harry laughed. “Git. Thought you’d never choke it out. All right then. Maybe we should go talk to your parents, yeah?” Ron nodded unenthusiastically. “Cheer up. It’ll be okay. I’m the one who’s not officially part of the family. If anyone can still get the boot, it’s me.”

“Over my dead body,” Ron muttered.

“That’s more like it,” Harry said cheerfully, and Ron elbowed him. They proceeded to the Burrow, bickering good-naturedly, their hands tightly clasped in an unbreakable link, the first of many they would forge.
Far to the north, on a small freeholding in the Scottish Highlands, another couple walked out of a chapel holding hands. They were dressed in modest wedding finery; the bride’s hair was black as a raven’s wing, and the man who held her arm looked proud enough to burst. A small congregation filed out behind them into the bright sunlight, tossing flower petals at the couple.

“Yes, the small cottage, I was thinking,” a prosperous-looking man was saying to his neighbor. “We’ve no use for it, they might as well have it. She may be a bit beyond the point of wantin’ bairns by now, hard to say, but her young man’s as lusty as they come so one never knows. Look at him—can’t takes his eyes off her!”

“Best of luck!” the minister was saying. “God go with you, Isabel, and you, Ronnie. May you prosper!”

A cry of “Ronnie and Isabel!” went up among the onlookers, as the groom helped his slender bride into the little gig he had borrowed for the occasion. “Ronnie and Isabel! Luck to ye! A happy life!” The groom beamed, and the bride looked at him as if he’d hung the moon.

She took his arm and leaned over to whisper something to him, at which he blushed a bright pink. The bride patted his arm and, a bit pink around the cheeks herself, seemed eager to be on their way. There was much cheering and laughter, and as the gig began to move the bride threw her bouquet and kiss after kiss to the well-wishers, looking joyous as befit the day.

Well.

Sometime, somewhere, somehow...everyone gets what he—or she—deserves. We could bicker amongst ourselves all day as to just what that is, but in the end fate decides for all of us; we must be content with that.
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Bella's Harem