Weft of Power, Warp of Blood: A Tapestry of Desire

Chapter Thirty-Four
The Phoenix in Ashes

13 July
Dear Miss Roundtree,

It is with a heavy heart, I accept your decision not to return to Hogwarts. Please remember that if you would like to return, I will be happy to immolate your previous letter and pretend that it never existed. You have been more than an asset to Hogwarts as an instructor and I would ask you to reconsider.

Please also know that, even of you choose to continue with your shop full time, you are welcome to call on me with any problems or requests. It is the very least that I can do for you, my young friend and colleague and for the memory of Edward Basilton.

Sincerely,
A. Dumbledore

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dear Kiaya,

Due to a complex set of circumstances, I will not be able to take the potion you have so obligingly been making for me. I thank you for your time, your trouble and your expense. I will, however, be sending you blood samples on the regular schedule, in the hopes that you will find them of use. I hope to be able to take the potion again soon and will be in contact with you when it will be possible.

Until then, thank you,
Remus Lupin

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Cissy, just give it to me,” the woman ordered in a tone that was still reasonable but becoming exasperated.

“Since I don’t know what you’re looking for, I don’t know where it is!” her sister replied with quiet desperation.

“Where did he keep things like that?”

“I don’t know. Can’t it wait? Lucius’s trial is in a few weeks. We both know he’ll get out then.”

“He’s still saying that I made him do it?” Bellatrix’s face lit up with glee. She looked maniacally beautiful for a moment.

“Yes, it worked last time,” Narcissa murmured. “It will get him and the others out of that dreadful place and he’ll be home in time for dinner.”

“That’s wonderful. The master will be so happy to have his Death Eaters back where they should be.”

“And it’ll all be your fault,” Narcissa said, her smile was wry but the tension in her shoulders didn’t ease.

“I am willing to be falsely accused if it means the full glory of my lord,” pronounced Bella, the insane light in her eye gleaming. She jumped up to poke through the silver bric-a-brac on display in a mahogany credenza. She opened every music box and jewelry case and huffed when it didn’t hold what she was seeking.

Narcissa poured a third cup of tea to disguise her thoughts, “I hope you’re never caught, Bella,” she said. “With the list of everything you’ve actually done and been accused of doing, I think the Ministry would kill you, if they could.” Squeezing a lemon wedge hid the expression of resigned hope that her sister would be killed, if only so that she would permanently leave her alone. She expected a hot rush of shame but was surprised when none came. There was nothing but tired resignation and the acceptance that she quietly hated her sister. Narcissa wondered if Anda had ever wished her sisters dead. Probably not. Andromeda had always been the nice one – if not confused about who one had an affair with as opposed to married.

“I would die for him with songs of joy on my lips while they shoved me through that curtain that dear Cousin Sirius fell though – and my beloved master would be proud of me.” She turned on her sister with a snarl. “It’s not here. Where would it be?”

“Try the dining room, in a trapdoor underneath the table. Get a house elf to move it for you,” Narcissa relented.

Before her sentence was complete, Bellatrix had hurried from the room, screeching for an elf. Narcissa could only hope that she’d find the stupid box and leave. The more of the Dark Lord’s possessions that left the house, the better – and the less reason Bella would have to return. Suddenly, she missed Anda. Curling up on the sofa and staring into the fireplace full of lit candles, Narcissa let her mind wander to days when she and Bella would drag their little sister off to play. It was always house and Anda was always the baby or the doggie and Bella was always the grandmother, imitating their crazy old Aunt Elladora.

Pleasant daydreams about her childhood were chased away by Bella stomping back in, yelling, “It was empty. The room under the dining room was empty! Lucius sold everything of the master’s! He sold the box!” she wailed.

Goading her sister’s frustration, Narcissa smiled sweetly and said, “It was probably taken during one of the Ministry’s raids last year. Of course, I could tell you if you would just tell me what it looked like instead of stomping about.”

“It has flowers on it and is full of hair. That’s all he told me!” Bellatrix snapped back.

Narcissa froze. How like Lucius to hide something like that in plain sight. Something like that, were it hidden in a secret room, would have been confiscated by the Ministry during one of their raids. But if it was out, on display, it would be passed over as an ugly memento of some maiden aunt or grandmother. Trying to be casual, she asked, “Whose hair is it?”

Bellatrix wiped a tear away. “The Dark Lord’s, cut a long time ago, when he was young.”

Narcissa hurried out of the room; Bella followed, still sniffling into her sleeve. Narcissa asked, “Why did he save it?”

“To preserve his beauty, of course. He was a very handsome man, when he was still mortal.”

There it was, in a small anteroom that they hardly ever used off of the library. The small snuffbox was sitting on an end-table as though it had always been there. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t very old. It wasn’t anything anyone would ever look twice at. She wanted it out of her house.

“Take it and go.”


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


25 July
Dear Remus,

I must thank you again for taking me to get my apparation information and training. Once again, you’ve come to my rescue at the Ministry. Once again, I couldn’t have managed without you – as much as I would like to think that I could have. When I found out that my father couldn’t take me to the Ministry because he’s a Muggle (even though they were happy to accept his money for the class) and my mother refused to let me ask Mr. Weasley because he broke her toaster last time she saw him, I was afraid that I’d never be able to get my license.

Standing around in the Ministry foyer while I took my class and practice can’t have been thrilling. You needn’t have stayed but I am very grateful that you did. I wish you could have seen Millicent Bulstrode’s face when she ended up in the storeroom of the Sainsburys on Cromwell rather than the Harrods’ roof, where she should have been. I do wish that I’d been allowed to practice at home, but since I’d done all of the reading that I could find on apparation, I felt fairly comfortable with the class and practical. I am glad that Hannah Abbot and I did well on the practical so Pansy Parkinson wouldn’t have a single thing to say – not that she spoke to me at all.

I am happy that the Ministry will send my license to me as soon as I turn seventeen, though. Taking the class was a good idea, since I won’t have to wait until next summer to present myself at the Ministry for the exam. With Harry and Ron about, I think having a method for quick escape is always a good idea.

Thank you so much for delaying your appointment – of course I forgive you for leaving so quickly. How on earth could I blame you for going out of your way to help me? I did want you to stay for lunch; it would have been the least that I could do. Perhaps another time?

Though I was disappointed about lunch, I believe my father was relieved that I was home so early. Honestly, he was rather concerned when the ‘wizard friend from school’ knocked on the door turned out to be thirty-five, rather than sixteen. He was only slightly appeased when I told him that you had been a teacher at Hogwarts (and didn’t he remember?) but left to act as a “consultant for inter-species relations” for Dumbledore and that you own and run a successful courier service. I didn’t mention the spy work you do with the werewolf colonies (how is that going?) – not that I would mention werewolf colonies at all, come to think of it. I did point out that he ought to have more faith in my choices of friends since I did get eleven high-mark OWLS and that ought to say something about my intelligence.

You will please note that several years ago, after Harry found the Philosopher’s Stone, I decided that the more vague I am and the less magical terminology I use when discussing school and the strange events surrounding it, the better it is for all of us. Every once in awhile, I do sit down and yammer on about something completely unrelated to the trials and tribulations of Harry Potter. I do it so they are kept unawares of the true scrapes we get in (and out of) –but still feel that they are not being kept in the dark about events at school. I have found that as long as I keep exceptional marks and have at least once socially redeeming hobby that I can make a show of pursuing (in my case it is S.P.E.W.), they are happy.

In other news, I’ve heard from Harry. He said that you were taking him to Hogwarts for Bill and Fleur’s wedding. I won’t ask how he’s to get there, but I do hope you’ll be safe and have a large escort party like last time. I’m so glad the wedding is just days after the month mark that he has to stay with the Dursleys – otherwise he’d have to go back when it was all over, instead of just to Sirius’s house. (I think we should have a party for him after we all get back from the wedding.)

Over the last week, I have wondered if Harry can emancipate from the Dursleys and still have the protection of his “family connection” but not be under their thumb. He’ll be sixteen on the thirty-first. From what I gathered from Ronald’s gossip, he’s quite capable of being self-supporting. Of course, that may just be Ron’s jealousy biting again. I spent some time in the library, on the computer and in my aunt’s office (the solicitor, not the psychologist) doing some research on emancipation of Muggle minors. I’ve enclosed copies of all of my notes on Muggle law – would you please give them to Professor Dumbledore when you next see him? I’m sure he has his own plans, but it might be something to consider.

I look forward to seeing you in a week. Thank you again.

Hermione

*~*~*~*~*~*

Kiaya was hip deep in manure when the woman swept through the door. Tall, blonde and diamond-cold gorgeous, the woman automatically set Kiaya’s teeth on edge and made her fingers curl into the horse apple she’d been crushing. The stranger was beautifully coiffed and dressed in embroidered silk robes – there would be no déclassé Muggle trousers for this woman. Painfully aware of her ratty work robes, left over from her Hogwarts’ days for just this purpose, and the sweet smell of fertilizer ingredients, Kiaya was not up to competing with this woman in the self image department.

All Kiaya could do was smile a weak welcome and gesture toward a chair while she quickly cast a Belljar Charm on the table.

“Sorry for the smell. I’m working on making a specialty fertilizer for Abercrombie’s Apothecary. It has several different components – most of which don’t smell very good. It is very effective, though, as it has a small amount of an Inflating Draught in it – that’s the secret to it. Er…” She flicked the windows open with her wand and conjured a stiff breeze to whisk the odor of poo away. “If you look out that window there, you’ll see a test plot in my garden – it’s the ones with the cabbages, which I use as a control. Er… are you interested in gardening?”

Unfortunately, the woman was standing beside the window which the air was exiting the room. She got a face full of noxious wind, which mussed her hair and made her raise her white-gloved hand to cover her nose. She did not answer the question – not that Kiaya really wanted her to.

“Sorry about that, madam. Er… sorry.” Another flick of Kiaya’s wand cleaned her clothing and hands (but since cleaning charms weren’t exactly her forte, she remained rather dirty). She muttered her excuses, turned her back on the woman and washed her hands in the sink, as well.

Standing stick straight and looking down her nose as thought there was a bad smell (which there was -though Kiaya got the impression she always looked like that) the woman pursed her lips, smoothed her hair back and declined the seat. “I’m looking for your mistress. Please fetch her.”

Confused, Kiaya blinked. Dumbly, she asked, “Mistress?”

The woman tugged an envelope from her handbag and read the direction. “Is this not 1370 Navarre Way?”

Even more confused, Kiaya nodded and cleaned what looked to be worm frass from underneath the table.

“Then I am looking for Kiaya Roundtree,” said the woman with exaggerated patience, as though she was speaking to the village idiot.

“But I’m Kiaya Roundtree,” she said, still confused.

The woman froze. After a moment, her eyes slowly took in Kiaya’s filthy scarf, stained work robes – Gryffindor crest faded and currently encrusted with something unmentionable, sandal-shod feet and finally, her face (which Kiaya was sure probably had something disgusting still smeared on it.) Her face a mask of frozen dignity, she said, “I see.”

“Er… can I help you with something?” Kiaya asked, still uncomfortable, but getting annoyed with this ever-so-superior female who did show up without an appointment, and thus shouldn’t be looking for even ‘pretty good’, much less perfection.

“My name is Narcissa Malfoy,” the woman said, pausing as though she expected Kiaya to genuflect, “my husband asked me to hand deliver this to you.” She held the letter out, holding it with the very tips of her fingers – God forbid that Kiaya actually touch her hand, she might get a disease exclusive to hoi polloi.

“Oh,” said Kiaya, at a loss, as she took the letter. ‘Oh’ seemed to have great meaning. Oh, this is the wife of the somewhat creepy Lucius Malfoy and the mother of the “nasty little beast” Draco, as Minerva McGonagall had called him. She was the haute of the haute monde – and a savvy businesswoman, if rumors printed in Witch Weekly were correct. And ‘oh’ as in, what on earth was she doing here, acting as an owl for her husband? Kiaya slid her nail under the familiar Malfoy seal. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome,” Narcissa said and waited with an expectant expression.

Kiaya supposed she was to read the letter and respond directly.

My dear Kiaya,

As you have undoubtedly heard, I am in the unfortunate position of being a guest of the Ministry of Magic for some time. I can assure you, however, that my innocence will soon be proven. I deplore even the thought that you might see me as a monster, when in fact; I am an innocent victim of just such a beast.

I plead with you to accept my apology for missing our proposed lunch date. I was the captive and unwitting participant in a terrible plot forced upon me by my own sister-in-law, Bellatrix Lestrange, whom I am sure you have heard of. My own family disowned her long ago but she has come back to haunt us, acting as the Hand of Evil. She cursed me to do terrible things, including attacking the Ministry. While under the Imperious Curse, my body and mind resisted, but she is a terrible woman and used the Cruciatus Curse on me, to weaken my body and spirit. In my weakness, I succumbed to the vile commands forced upon me. I had no choice – I can only pray that I can recover from the physical and mental pain of being cursed so.

It is that very pain which leads me to beg for your help. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his loyal followers use these with such painful regularity that my body is wracked with pain if I make the wrong move. A turn of the head or a lifting of my leg to take a step sends shards of agony down my spine. Kiaya, upon my very knees, all Malfoy pride aside, I beg you to please take mercy on me. If you know of - or if you can create a potion to ease the agony of the Cruciatus Curse – or better yet, to combat it completely, please soften your heart to the pleas of an innocent man and help me in my time of need. There are so many of us who have been struck down by this terrible creature, and we all live with the pain left from our torture. You are our only hope for peace – for pain-free lives.

Kiaya looked up, slightly sickened by the sheer pompous drama of the letter. Personally, she thought the man probably had been guilty of everything he’d been accused of. She wondered if he believed everything he was so virtuously claiming or if he was trying to gain sympathy so he could get her to work on a dubious potion. Glancing at the woman, Kiaya saw that she was still looking expectant. She continued reading.

I would never ask for that which I am not willing to pay for – for you are a businesswoman, and I, but a man at the mercy of your kindness. Name a price for your expertise and I will pay it. If it is a simple furthering your reputation as a genius in the potions field, I shall beat the drum of your glory until all of our world lies at your doorway to bask in your knowledge. If it is money, just say the word and a bank draft will be written immediately. If you desire social connections, my wife will escort you into the highest echelons of our society – as will I, when I am free from this onus of criminality. If you want business contacts or advice, the woman before you, my wife, is the most brilliant mind in the wizarding business world today. Simply name your price and I will make sure that you get everything you desire – and more.

Kiaya looked up at the woman and wondered if she knew that her services as hostess and financial advisor were being offered to a complete stranger. A tiny, nasty voice in the back of her head wondered if the woman knew that her husband had been so very… charming to another woman. She also wondered if, for her “price”, if Kiaya was expected to prostitute herself to Malfoy – and wondered if it might be worth it. She continued reading, sure she was blushing but did her best to ignore it.

I have but one other request, though I fear that you will think me demanding when in truth, I am but seeking succor. My trial is on Tuesday, as I’m sure you have read. (I know the Daily Prophet is trumpeting information on the investigation.) If you could see it in your heart to attend my trial, I would be beyond grateful. With so many seeking to destroy me for past mistakes, imagined grievances and now this terrible crime for which I am not guilty - though the people must have a scapegoat to pay for the crimes of the Dark Lord and I am terrified that I have been nominated to play the role.

I know that, when examined, it will be proved that I have been under the influence of the Imperious Curse and I shall be set free. It is in the court of public opinion that I will be convicted, however. Please, help to turn that tide of public outrage to the side of justice by coming to the trial. You are not only a friendly face that would give me such joy to see, you are unbiased in the petty games of politics and press. Your voice of logic could make those who doubt see reason. Your nod of support could make those who doubt the science of spell tracing see the sense in what is proven. Please come. I will be forever in your debt.

Your beauty has haunted me, your smile has enchanted me and your brilliant mind has placed you on a pedestal in my affections – one that will ne’er be toppled. I beg of you to consider my pleas and take pity on this poor soul whose only hope lies in your delicate hands.

Your humble servant,
Lucius Malfoy

“I… erm… well, thank you for bringing this,” Kiaya said, looking anywhere but at Narcissa Malfoy. She didn’t really want to talk to the woman at all. Her husband was… pushy, her son was slimy and she was… expensive. Kiaya didn’t want to go to the man’s trial. She figured that, after McGonagall’s warnings, the man was probably guilty as sin – of something.

“My husband requested that I wait for a response – and reiterate his offer to you with one of my own,” the woman said, her voice smooth and cultured – it made Kiaya feel gauche with her Yorkshire accent. “I am rather good with financial matters and would be most happy to assist you with any investments, financial dilemmas or planning that you may require.” Her smile was rather shark-like, though Kiaya was sure that she meant it to be trustworthy and sincere.

“Thank you. I haven’t really thought about that kind of thing. Gringotts had handled Mr. Basilton’s affairs for years. I’ve just let them keep at it.”

“The Gringotts goblins are not known for complete disclosure on their prospectuses, Miss Roundtree. You should keep a close eye on them. I can certainly help you do that if you have no experience with reading their paperwork.”

“I’ll certainly look into that. Thank you for making the offer. I really appreciate it,” said Kaiya, wishing that she could have penned a simple thank-you note and hoping the woman would leave soon.

“You’re most welcome. What shall I tell Lucius about seeing you on Tuesday?”

“Er…” Kiaya didn’t have a response to that. Shuffling to her desk, she riffled through papers and came up with an appointment book, which, she prayed, would hold her salvation. “I have several appointments and projects coming due this week, I’ll have to look and see what exactly is going on Tuesday.” Just in case the book was blank, Kiaya kept it closed.

“I certainly do understand, Miss Roundtree. He does look forward to seeing you, as do I,” said Narcissa.

“You do? I mean, thank you,” replied Kiaya with a blush. They both wanted to see her? Kinky.

“Of course. Any friend of my husband’s should be counted as one of my own. You seem like a lovely young woman, Miss Roundtree – and by all accounts, you are intelligent and rather prominent in the field of potion making.”

“Er…”

The woman kept speaking, “’I hope, also that you’ll join us for a small, celebratory soiree’ after Lucius returns home? It’ll be next Saturday, I believe. I want to give dear Lucius time to recover from this horrible ordeal.”

“I’ll look…”

“Excellent. I’ll send you an owl with a reminder. If you’ll excuse me, I simply must return back to dear Lucius and let him know what you’ve said.”

“Alright, er… thank you for… stopping by.”

“Of course. Do forgive me for earlier. I had forgotten that to actually be a master in one’s field, someone one must actually practice it. You really should get an apprentice or two – or at least a house elf to muck around with such things, though.” With that, the woman sailed out and disapparated.

Kiaya flopped into her chair and stared at the letter she still held. He wanted a treatment for Cruciatus and Imperious? That was impossible – there simply wasn’t one. How unusual that he would ask her, though, instead of St. Mungo’s. The hospital had prescribed a standard set of potions and spells to treat such damage. It was by no means a routine treatment, but it did exist – so why come to her looking for a fix-all? Why promise to move heaven and earth at her whim, when he could have just paid for a proven treatment? Seemed odd.

More odd was that Lucius Malfoy apparently wanted her to ‘make an appearance’ at his trial. She had no clout, nor did she really have enough notoriety to provide a distraction to the proceedings. Why on earth would he want her there – somehow her very presence lending credence to his claims of innocence seemed ridiculous. She sighed and reread the letter. His claims seemed … she didn’t know, but his language was far too flowery for the tastes of a plain baker’s daughter. Kiaya felt like he was working far too hard to win her over – she wondered why.

Questions still filling her head and a hunch that perhaps a letter and visit such as this one was just what Dumbledore had been talking about, Kiaya reached for quill and parchment.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Just as she wrote the salutation, Kiaya realized that her dirty hand and sleeve were dragging manure all over the piece of paper. She sighed and went upstairs to wash. She’d write the letter as soon as she was clean – the manure could wait.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Molly climbed off the Knight Bus after her sons and sniffed, for perhaps the fifty-millionth time that day and said, once again, “I can’t believe my baby is all grown up. It seems like just yesterday…”

Stepping down from the bus, Ginny yawned and parroted, “… like just yesterday that my little Bill was born and look at him now...”

“…like just yesterday that my sweet Bill was a babe in arms, and look at him now,” finished Molly glaring at her daughter under the weak streetlamps.

Feeling like the eternal peacemaker for the Weasley women, Hermione started the sleepy twittering again, “Fleur looked so beautiful.”

The Weasley females started cooing again through the din of the other people leaving the bus, each stepping over the other’s words as they trudged up the sidewalk to the late Sirius Black’s house. Each thanked Remus as he held the gate open with a pleasant, tired smile.

“Her dress was so pretty and she’s so petite and beautiful…”

“I don’t think I’ve seen Bill wear dark blue before, he looked so handsome…”

“It’ll be so weird having Bill as the new defense against the dark arts teacher.”

“I think it’ll be great. I’m sure he’ll teach us loads of curses to use against Malfoy and his lot.”

“Hopefully he’ll teach you new ways not to get killed this year!”

“Did you notice that the blue exactly matched her eyes?”

“Can I vote not to do anything exciting this year – please?”

“You’d best not do anything exciting this year, miss – or you’ll be out of there faster than you can say…”

“Gilderoy Lockhart?”

“Cheeky – get inside, the lot of you. We’ll not discuss this tonight. It’s well past bed time.”

“I didn’t think anyone could be that skinny and not look like a skeleton, but Fleur didn’t.”

“Neither did her cousins, did you see the one in the green?”

“And in the pink?”

“And the twins,” Fred and George said together.

“I’ve never seen him look so happy! I think his face might have split if he smiled any bigger.”

“Fleur’s little sister was really pretty, too. That charm she was doing, to make the rose petals float around.…”

“Oh yes, that was so pretty. We’ll have to remember that for your wedding, Ginny.”

“Mine? Mum, I’m only sixteen. Can we wait on the wedding bells, please?”

“Well, if you keep having little adventures like you do, you’ll never find a nice boy who’ll want to marry you, then you’ll end up an old maid like your cousin Delilah.”

Harry and Ron were the last off the bus. “Oi, mate, those half- veela twins, did you see Fred and George all over them?”

“Molly,” this time it was Arthur Weasley breaking up the women, “did you pay Stan?”

“No, I thought you did, dear,” Molly said, digging into her purse.

“No, no, I have it,” Arthur called, jogging back to the Knight Bus. As soon as he stepped back down, the triple-decker zoomed away.

Harry nodded and muttered something about being amazed that girls could be that pretty. He didn’t move closer to the house, though. He didn’t even look at it. Instead, he watched the Weasley twins as they crowded around their mother, bussed her cheeks and disapparated to a chorus of goodnights while she was still clucking. The boys were still talking about the blonde twins – and the date their mother didn’t know they had set up with them when they disappeared.

Ginny leaned over and whispered to Hermione, “Cousin Delilah died when the entrance to a brothel collapsed onto her head. She was paying for services rendered when it happened, but Mum has conveniently forgotten that part of it.”

Hermione giggled and tried not to look scandalized. Instead of commending on the late cousin and possibly brining the wrath of Molly Weasley down on her head, she asked, “Did you see Madame Delacour’s shoes?”

“With the live butterflies in the heels? Oh, my, yes, those were just amazing but I’m sure they cost a fortune. I’m sure there are other things to spend that kind of money on, don’t you girls?”

“I wouldn’t mind a pair. Maybe with little fish in them?”

“That’s just wasteful. I am glad that Dumbledore allowed us to have the wedding at Hogwarts. Oh my, I just don’t know what we’d have done otherwise, but the lake was so lovely and the squid behaved itself so well.”

“Up until George passed it some wedding cake.”

“I thought it was Fred.”

Charlie held the door open for his mother and diffused the oncoming lecture, “I’ve made a mental note,” he grinned, “to never give the squid sugar.”

“I’m sure Madame Delacour will get over having her silk robed drenched,” whispered Hermione as they tiptoed past the portrait of Mrs. Black and into the kitchen, glad that the twins had left so that Molly couldn’t castigate them for the fifth time about ruining the wedding .

“We can only hope so.”

Harry was the last into the house.

“Did you hear Percy yammering on about the flying carpet they came on? I can’t believe he cornered Monsieur Delacour to lecture him on flying carpets and import regulations,” Charlie said, shaking his head.

Ron plunked into a kitchen chair and rolled his eyes. “I can – remember when…”

Molly interrupted, “Enough of that. We’re all lucky that Percy decided to come to the wedding at all.”

Ginny leaned over again to Hermione and muttered, “He’s lucky that he was invited at all.”

Molly pursed her lips at the interruption. “That’s quite enough all of you. You all need to get off to bed.”

“Before they do,” Charlie began, looking rather sheepish but still very handsome in his formal best-man robes. The tips of his ears blushed and it quickly spread to the rest of his face and neck until his freckles were barely visible. “I didn’t want to say anything, what with Bill having his day, but I have an announcement, too.”