Disclaimer: Thanks to J.K. Rowling for allowing me to take her characters for a lengthy stroll through my imagination.
Two
A Face from the Past
“So it is you!” the voice exclaimed softly as if it were afraid to trust an apparition.
Remus looked up from the parchments layered on his desk that represented a frantic attempt to catch up on paperwork while his next appointment ran late. He had expected Madame Thierry to be an older woman, an elegant aristocrat who had pulled her only daughter from the Beauxbatons Academy after only one year and insisted upon a solid English education at Hogwarts. He had not expected to be confronted by the familiar olive eyes of Seraphina Salton.
“Sera!” Remus cried out warmly as he quickly extricated himself from his chair and caught her hand. “After all these years! I see you made another life for yourself…” With true regret, his eyes clouded over. “It will have to be a different time, though. I’m in the middle of meeting with all my new students’ parents and I’ve had a devil of a time finding an opening in Madame Thierry’s calendar.”
Merlin, she looked good! Remus admitted to himself, feeling just a hint of old guilt for having abandoned her when he’d made his harrowing escape from the werewolf compound. It had been unavoidable but that had not kept him from feeling like a selfish coward nonetheless.
Tucked into an ecru hat, Sera’s dark chin-length hair framed her delicate features and drew attention to her long, smoky lashes. The simple elegance of her attire reminded him of how his mother-in-law, Andromeda Tonks, must have looked during her youthful days in Paris.
Stealing a furtive glance at the hour, Remus couldn’t help himself from prodding, “What brings you to Hogwarts today?”
With a radiant smile, Sera lingered just inside the doorway of Remus’ office, allowing her gaze to sweep the surroundings. “I have an appointment.” Peering carefully at the card she withdrew from her coat pocket, she elaborated, “With a certain Professor Remus Lupin, head of the new Linguistics Department.” Without giving him a chance to respond, she was drawn to a small shadowbox frame on the adjoining wall. “Is that truly an Order of Merlin? First class even,” she added as she peered at the tiny lettering before her.
“Sera…I’m…” Remus stammered then settled for the unvarnished truth, “Speechless.” He collapsed into his chair, suddenly seeking the familiarity of the desk between them.
“So I see.”
“You’re Madame Thierry?”
“And my daughter, Serenity, speaks very highly of her charming French instructor “ even if she feels the lessons are not remotely to her liking.”
“Too basic, I regret,” Remus admitted. “She’s quite adept with the language already. Practically talked my ear off after class when she no longer felt like an oddity among the other students.”
“Three years of schooling in France prior to Beauxbatons. She never felt like she fit in with the French girls, either. Especially after she started at the Academy.”
“Do you mind me asking why?” Remus posed with a kindly smile.
“It’s too much like a bloody finishing school, that’s why! No emphasis on anything other than deportment and social skills. I wanted her to have a solid education, to be able to make her own way in the world “ not just as an ornament on someone’s arm! She couldn’t stand those flighty females any more than I could; all they did was titter among themselves about the boys.”
“That happens here as well, I’m afraid. It’s not unusual to run the gauntlet of snogging couples in the hallways in the evenings,” Remus allowed ruefully. “Hogwarts has seven years of male students to Beauxbatons’ three since the Academy became co-educational.”
“I’m not a prude, Professor. You know that. I just want my daughter to have an education. She enjoys being challenged academically; let her discover the opposite sex when she’s ready for it. Everyone has his own timetable.”
“I’m glad to hear you’re not against young love then,” Remus noted with a wry laugh. “But, please, you must call me Remus. I’ve never stopped thinking of you as a friend.”
“The man I knew “ or thought I knew “ is not before me, Professor,” Sera noted as she unbuttoned her coat impatiently. The simple navy dress beneath contrasted sharply with the creamy cashmere. “Rather shaky ground on which to base a friendship, don’t you think?”
“I’m sorry, Sera, it was a cruel deception “ regardless of the reasons,” Remus admitted sympathetically. “The back story may have been a lie, but my interactions with you were not. Do I seem that different to you?”
“Other than the moustache, no,” she conceded. “For the longest time I thought this Lupin fellow must be a cousin, a brother even “ someone who bore an uncanny resemblance… I couldn’t envision the man I’d known could have been capable of such daring deeds… I thought you were dead, damn it! Who did you work for that could perpetrate such a lie? I saw the body myself…”
“We were at war, Sera. The mightiest wizards in the land put their heads together to defeat an evil megalomaniac who threatened to swallow all of mankind, wizards and Muggles alike. If we had not been able to outsmart our enemies, we would have never prevailed.”
“In other words, you can’t tell me,” she remarked with a flash of indignation.
“I’m sorry. Suffice it to say that it was a ruse devised by a very savvy, very ingenious veteran.”
“And you didn’t bloody care what the enemy thought of the matter…” In a bare whisper, she inquired, “Did you stop to think that you had included me among the enemy?”
“Much of the subterfuge was completed without my knowledge. I was laid up for months recuperating from traveling cross-country in knee-deep snow.” Seeing that her expression was far from sympathetic, he added stoically, “After that, it was too much of a risk. I was too deeply involved with the final battle to do anything to undermine our chances. Forgive me if working for the greater good makes me seem callous.”
“It’s always the same with heroes…”
“I’m no hero, Sera. I’m an ordinary chap who simply felt that he had to do something. Those monsters stole my four best friends, picked them off with deadly accuracy until only I remained. I could have curled up into a ball and died inside or --”
“”or you could have fought,” she finished with sudden clarity. “What about after the war? Were the risks so great then?”
“Kingsley Shacklebolt is a close friend of mine, I entrusted him with the search since he could access restricted areas of the Ministry without raising anyone’s hackles. Those were touchy times; too many dark collaborators being unearthed throughout the various departments. The files, whole reams of them, had been destroyed, Sera. There was no paper trail to follow. I suspect they were purged by that Umbridge woman whose personal career goal was the persecution of werewolves.”
“So you encountered a minor roadblock,” she scoffed.
“Everyone had disappeared. The camps were nothing more than the derelict bones of abandoned factories. There was nothing to trace. Little by little, other werewolves returned to their homes. I hoped that you had been able to find your way also. Had I known Jeffrey’s last name, I might have had more luck among the Muggles; they’re notorious for keeping records in triplicate, I’ve been told.”
“It wouldn’t have done you any good; I was long gone by then. And I didn’t follow a predictable path,” she admitted hollowly. “That was the lesson I learned from Will’s death.”
Intrigued by her resilience, Remus delved, “How did you manage it, Sera? I had an organized band of brigands at my back, but you…”
“I had Bridget. I believe she trumps at least two or three of your freedom fighters.”
“So she landed on her feet as well? Thank goodness.” Remus had no doubt that much of his guilt over leaving Sera and Bridget behind had manifested itself in the fevered nightmares which had haunted his escape, but he kept that to himself.
“Bridget’s son-in-law showed up at the gates with so many bundles of official parchment you would have thought they were going to wallpaper the entire compound,” Sera noted sardonically. “They barely gave her time to pack her bags before they trundled her off in a dark sedan. Two months afterwards, she accompanied her family to a new diplomatic posting in France -- although she cleverly kept those details to herself.
“When she returned and told the guards she was assuming responsibility for me to accompany her for a weekend at the seashore, no one was the wiser. I was a bit unprepared when we Apparated to Le Havre instead, but by then I was out of their clutches. I took your advice and simply never came back.” She flashed him a smile tinged with forgiveness. “I’m just sorry I didn’t get a chance to see the stymied looks on their faces!”
Remus laughed triumphantly to know he had at least inspired a minor mutiny. “I believe this calls for a toast. Will you join me?”
“In the middle of the afternoon? Is that allowed?”
“If I didn’t have other appointments lined up, no one would be the wiser,” Remus noted with a mischievous wink. “As it is…” He held out his hands apologetically.
“We’ve barely touched on Serenity,” Sera gently reprimanded.
“Join me and my family for dinner tonight,” Remus proposed impetuously. “I’d love for you to meet them. By all means include Serenity and your husband as well.”
“Wouldn’t we be imposing on such short notice?”
“Amid all the chaos?” Remus chuckled good-naturedly. “Really, it’s nothing we can’t handle.”
“I can’t speak for my husband,” she demurred. “His personal timetable is maddening. But you can count on Serenity and me.” After a bit of consideration, she inquired, “Just how large is your family, Remus? I got the impression you were unmarried when I last saw you.”
“I was. It’s a bit of an extended family,” he explained. “I share the estate with my…” He struggled in vain for the proper word. “Well, you’ll see,” he offered magnanimously. “We generally eat at seven.”
There it was again, the soft trilling notes he’d come to associate with the presence of his father, James. They had been coming more frequently since the renovation of the old nursery that imploded in the final duel with Bellatrix Lestrange. Out of the rubble that also represented the site of Lily Potter’s last stand, Harry had built a reliquary of sorts for his parents. The shelves which once housed baby toys had been reconfigured to hold the photographs he’d found lovingly preserved atop the old piano in the ballroom. Their collection had expanded as friends and acquaintances brought additional photos, laying them reverently among the shelves of the Memory Room, as they had come to call it.
It had become a fitting tribute to the heroism of James and Lily, a place to pay respects to those who had never been allotted a proper burial. Long protected by a Fidelius Charm that endured unbroken, his parents’ bodies had lain undisturbed and uncollected within the walls of the crumbling Potter estate for most of Harry’s young life. All remains had long ago crumbled into dust to be whisked away by the gentle spring breezes and freezing gales of winter alike.
Harry had not protested when Tonks added a small childhood photo of Bellatrix seated between her two sisters. Despite the family acrimony, Andromeda had never ceased to care for her sister and Tonks’ had not held back her tears when her aunt had died in the collapse of the nursery walls.
After all, Tonks was part of his extended family now, even if she and Remus had renovated the other wing for their use. Everyone still shared the common areas of the large drawing room, dining areas and kitchen in the main part of the house much as his parents had done in the past. Remus had transformed the billiard room leading off the main foyer into a library and office, leaving the old billiard table on the first floor sitting room he had once shared with Sirius in the heady days after leaving school. With a comfortable bay window that bathed the room in light, it had become the unofficial playroom for the Lupin children ever since Harry and Ron had taken to shooting billiards when they babysat.
With no one to play the beautiful grand piano which had been situated in the ground floor ballroom, Remus had suggested removing it to the Memory Room. From the start, the piano looked perfectly at home in the middle of the room, patiently waiting for a visitor to reawaken its song. But other than an occasional foray by young Teddy who had been told he could begin lessons at age seven, the ivory keys remained silent.
It was not long after that Harry had begun to hear the haunting piano music, often as an accompaniment to his thoughts when he was alone. The melodies were soothing and sad at the same time, but never familiar enough for him to be able to name them or coherently recall the notes later. They were like wisps of memory; the comparison had come unbidden into his mind.
Recalling that Remus had said it had been James’ habit to play as the others lounged on the shady patio, Harry gingerly broached the subject of the mysterious serenades.
“Sorry, Harry. Can’t say that I’ve heard a thing, but I wouldn’t expect to in the other wing. Piano music wouldn’t travel that far.”
“Could it be a ghost?” Harry asked tentatively, hating to think his father had been so troubled in death that his spirit had remained tied to the earth.
“Others would have seen it then, don’t you think?” Remus replied kindly. “It’s only Muggle ghosts who are shy; wizards reveal themselves with gusto. Have you forgotten that from your years at Hogwarts?”
“I suppose Ginny would have seen him then,” Harry acknowledged Remus’ wisdom. She certainly spent the night often enough, Harry thought to himself “ leaving the works unspoken even though Remus and Tonks were both fully aware of the situation.
“You think you’re losing your mind, don’t you?” Remus posed with a compassionate smile.
Smiling sheepishly in return, Harry nodded. Just sharing his fears with Remus had already made him feel infinitely better.
“Would it surprise you if I told you that I, too, have experienced something similar? It was during my escape from the werewolf camp.” At Harry’s look of wide-eyed surprise, Remus confessed in a whisper, “If either of us were to confide in a Muggle Healer, the phenomenon would be classified as an auditory hallucination.”
“Something tells me you have an alternate explanation.”
With a small shrug, Remus admitted, “When I brought my concerns to Dumbledore, he professed he had not encountered anything remotely comparable in all his years “ then stressed that he was by no means an authority on the true nature of reality. Believe whatever feels right to you, Harry. That’s essentially the advice he gave me.”
“What would you conclude if the music came to your ears on a still night?”
“Did it feel spooky or threatening in any way?”
“That’s just it, Remus. It had a calming effect, almost as if the notes had been hanging in the air just out of my range of hearing for months.”
“And you’re afraid you may actually be welcoming neurosis with open arms?” Remus postulated with a wry chuckle. “This entire estate is alive with memories; I see them every day, in every shadow and movement. But they’re happy memories. The few short years that Sirius and I lived with James and Lily “ and then with you as a baby “ were filled with sunny days full of music and joy. You’ve seen the old photos. Since you can’t recall your first year of life, I think you’re feeling it in a different way.”
“So you think it’s James trying to reach out to me?”
“Are you so certain such a thing is impossible?” Remus countered softly.
“Perhaps we should have listened to those who insisted the entire estate was cursed. Bulldozed all the buildings and built from scratch, at the very least.”
“Since neither of us held with such superstitious drivel at the time, what makes you think that now?”
Harry took a moment to consider. What exactly had unsettled him? That others would think him a nutter? Not really, he’d dealt with that enough during his school years to realize the world around him was full of crackpots just begging to be recognized as visionaries. All they needed was a lectern and a rapt audience.
“Why haven’t I heard from my mother then?” Harry prompted with sudden insight.
“What makes you think you haven’t?” Remus returned cryptically. “Just give yourself time to see it. Lily was always the more subtle of the two.”
“Then you don’t think I’m going crazy?”
“They’ll have to lock us both away,” Remus attested with the lopsided grin he reserved for family members.
As the silent house wove its relaxing spell around him, Harry heard the music again. It was louder this time as if the melody was pouring in through his bedroom door. Experience had taught him that if he raced towards the Memory Room, the notes would die away as soon as his steps touched the hall carpet. It was best just to relax and enjoy the luxury of an afternoon nap mid-week. The hallways would be alive with the ringing laughter of everyone returning from Hogwarts soon enough.
As his limbs relaxed into the mattress, he felt his ambivalence fading for the new modified workweek that had been instituted in the Auror Department. Kingsley Shacklebolt had been quick with the innovations when he’d been appointed Department Head on the eve of Gawain Robards’ retirement. Why anyone would need an afternoon off at the expense of working an extra hour on the other days had come as a complete mystery to most, Harry included. The Ministry atrium rang hollowly with the footsteps of the small cadre of Aurors who left later each day than the workers in other departments. One more bit of evidence that Kingsley was either ahead of his time or a raving lunatic, depending upon which camp you found yourself in. Harry had always considered Kingsley an affable sort who was always on top of things despite his casual manner. Close ties with Remus during their days in the Order of the Phoenix meant that he was a frequent visitor to their home. Wisely, Harry had refused to weigh in on the debate, concluding that he would let Kingsley make his mark in whatever way the man thought best, reserving judgment for the day in which something truly earth-shattering came to pass.
Tonks held her two exuberant children back to keep them from racing up the stairs. She was tired from a long day of teaching, but they seemed to get a second wind the minute they set foot on their home turf.
“Now you know Wednesdays are Harry’s early day,” she cautioned them in a whisper. “I’m sure he won’t mind if you two seek him out. But remember: if he’s taking a nap, please wake him gently.”
Nodding eagerly, they both shoved their coats into their mother’s arms and tiptoed with exaggerated movements up the short stairs leading to the room that had once belonged to Lily and James. With a loving sigh, Tonks levitated their discarded clothing onto the proper pegs in the adjoining mudroom they had fashioned from the hall closet. She would probably never become as adept at household spells as her mother who would have had the coats mounted on hangers with a flick of her little finger. The row of hooks was more practical as the children could reach and stow their own belongings, sitting down on the adjacent bench to secure galoshes when needed.
Keeping an ear out for overly boisterous activity, Tonks left her outdoor shoes just inside the mudroom door and followed up the stairs at a more measured pace. Hearing the muted voices from the far bedroom, she ducked into the Memory Room across the hall.
Among the overflowing bookshelves, she located the small corner that had been allotted to the Black family. True to his generous nature, Harry had not balked when she had suggested placing a small family portrait in memory of her aunt, Bellatrix, in one corner. Taken while they were still at Hogwarts, the photo showed off the resemblance of the three sisters in the days before Bella had joined Voldemort’s fanatical inner circle and before her own mother’s elopement had categorized her as a pariah. Bella’s funeral had been nothing more than a furtive ceremony, Tonks’ father, Ted, being certain that they would be ambushed by errant Death Eaters at any moment. Despite Andromeda’s best attempts to mend the rift with her remaining sister, Narcissa Malfoy had been too distraught over Draco’s fate at the hands of the Dark Lord to think of anything else. Her husband, Lucius, had swept her away with a glacial look, all the while making the word ‘murderess’ reverberate inside Tonks’ skull.
She represented the only viable line of the Black family now, Tonks noted grimly as she stared into those three hopeful faces. There was little doubt that Draco’s death had cut a deep hole in Narcissa’s heart. Andromeda had been right to insist that Cissy was not too old to have another child; the new joy being the surest antidote to unending sorrow. Despite the aid of the best Healers, though, Cissy had suffered miscarriage after miscarriage leading her deeper into despair. Finally one had postulated that no pregnancy would be successful until she stopped feeling the need to punish herself for the past. Taking the Healer’s insight to heart, the Malfoys ceased their efforts to recreate their family.
Harry had gone out of his way to give due credit to Draco’s memory, often repeating the tale of how the lad’s ghost had come to him in the heat of the final battle and helped to end the stalemate with Voldemort. Yet Tonks wondered how much solace that truly gave the Malfoys. As a mother herself, she was certain Narcissa would have preferred her son alive and breathing, faults and all, to a plaque that memorialized his heroism in a museum.
It had not helped, either, that Tonks and Remus had found the promise of peace in those shaky days after Voldemort’s downfall to be fertile ground on which to start their own family. First Teddy, then two years later, Phoebe, had demonstrated conclusively that the infusion of Muggle genes from the Tonks side had greatly improved the pure blood of the Black dynasty. Andromeda ignored all of her sister’s barbs insinuating that Metamorphmagi and other aberrations could hardly be considered improvements to their family line; she was wise enough to see that it was envy more than anything fueling her sister’s remarks. Despite her best efforts to include Cissy in family events, all invitations had been coldly refused.
Ironically, Phoebe had clearly taken after the Black side of the family. With her long flaxen locks, she was so much like her Aunt Cissy that it was hard for anyone, even those who knew of the family rift, to keep from making the comparison. Tonks herself made it each time she looked at the school portrait, wishing there was some way to heal old wounds.
Harry heard them trying to sneak up the stairs long before they entered his bedroom. Not to spoil their fun, he feigned to be sleeping soundly as he felt the small dip in the mattress from Phoebe.
“Dormez-vous?” she inquired as she peeked at Harry’s face, making quick note that his glasses were still folded neatly on the nightstand.
Harry made a big production of opening first one eye and then the other and then pretending to clutch his chest in shock at the blond haired munchkin who was straddling his knees. Phoebe giggled happily as she relaxed her hold on the ears of the stuffed rabbit she carried with her everywhere. Now was his chance, Harry thought slyly as the hand he’d casually tucked under his pillow made contact with his wand.
Levicorpus! he intoned silently as his god-daughter was hoisted bodily into the air above the large four-poster bed. High-pitched laugher accompanied the outstretched clutching of her small hand as she valiantly tried to summon her toy. Soundlessly, Harry aided the rather threadbare yellow rabbit to float into her fist.
For the hundredth time, Harry wondered why Remus had not dubbed her Pooh Bear or some other variant, perhaps even Piglet, in recognition of her constant companion. But she had vehemently resisted any such nicknames, finally allowing that they could refer to her simply as ‘Rabbit’, preferably with the guttural French ‘r’ sound that her brother liked to demonstrate.
“One of these days, she’s going to wake you up just like that,” Teddy announced matter-of-factly from Harry’s other side. After years of practice, Harry had learned to mask the involuntary start Teddy’s soundless appearances often invoked. Small wonder his father had dubbed him ‘Spook’ despite the bright shock of turquoise hair his son preferred.
“He’s going to be a natural at Stealth and Tracking,” Tonks had beamed proudly. “Once he learns to control his appearance enough to blend in with his surroundings, that is. No clumsy bones in that one; not like his old mum, not at all.”
Aiming a reproachful look in Teddy's direction, Harry warned, “I better not catch you teaching it to her. I’ll freeze the hair right off your head if you do.”
Nonplussed, Teddy returned, “I’ll just change it right back.”
“Not if you’re too busy shivering in the depths of an Antarctic snowdrift!”
“You’re not that good with long distance Apparition,” Teddy scoffed in an authoritative tone.
“Want to bet your father is?” Harry shot back, flashing his godson a wicked grin.
At Phoebe’s appreciative giggle from the rafters, Harry released the spell without looking in her direction, knowing the moment of wide-eyed shock would be appeased by much giggling as she bounced safely on the mattress.
“Tell him,” Phoebe urged from Harry’s other side.
“Don’t rush me, Rabbit,” Teddy moaned playfully as he artfully intoned the French pronunciation he knew neither Harry nor Tonks could duplicate. Taking inspiration, he took off in a long string of French sentences to which Phoebe nodded happily.
He should have been expecting it, Harry thought to himself. It was always the same after the children returned from spending a day with Victoire, the daughter of Fleur and Bill Weasley. Aided by Remus’ tutoring at home, Spook had been chattering away with Victoire like a native for years now. Fleur had been delighted with Remus’ suggestion that the children spend at least one afternoon a week together, insisting on rearranging her work schedule so she could watch them. With the addition of Phoebe and two-year-old Yvette into the mix, the children had whispered to Harry that they had learned a secret language.
Harry would have given anything to see the shocked looks on their faces when they had first attempted to outwit Minerva McGonagall and she responded in kind. When Remus and Tonks had come to retrieve their children at day’s end, the Headmistress had given Remus a reproachful look.
“You could have at least warned me, Remus,” she’d admonished him.
“And ruin such a useful object lesson about assumptions?” Remus responded mischievously.
“You’re just lucky my school-girl French can handle the vocabulary of a five-year-old!”
“Now you’ll have chance to practice,” Remus replied with a smile as he tried to avoid looking in the direction of Poppy Pomfrey who was laughing silently in the background.
Mr. Filch, the grizzled caretaker of Hogwarts castle, had been less generous when he’d found his cat being dressed in doll clothing. “Get away from her, you miscreant!” he’d snarled as he clutched a mewling Mrs. Norris to his chest. “This cat’s an employee of Hogwarts, not a plaything or a pet!”
Minerva had smoothed things over with Mr. Filch, but not before Teddy had overheard the man grumbling about how such a child shouldn’t grace the halls of Hogwarts when he was old enough; he should be shipped off to Durmstrang where such reprobates were tamed.
It had been to shocked faces all around that Teddy had later posed blithely, “Where’s Durmstrang?”
Out of earshot, Minerva had whispered, “I’m certain he overheard a suggestion made by Mr. Filch.” Her look conveyed that Durmstrang had actually been Mr. Filch’s second choice of where to send Teddy.
“No one knows for sure, Spook,” Remus answered his son honestly. “Somewhere that the climate is much colder than in Scotland.”
“The North Pole?” Teddy suggested merrily.
“Possibly,” Tonks allowed calmly. “Someplace mountainous, I think.”
But Teddy had not missed the shared looks between his parents and it wasn’t long before he snidely brought up Durmstang whenever anyone mentioned what a scamp he was turning out to be. He reveled in the shocked looks on the faces of the adults around him as his parents interceded with some joke or another. Every child knows that anything which generates such consternation among adults has got to be especially good.
So when Harry’s school chum, Ron Weasley, had called him incorrigible, Teddy volunteered, “They’re sending me to Durmstrang, you know.”
“That’s not true, Spook,” Remus spoke up with a wry grin. “Hogwarts hasn’t rejected you “ yet.”
“After all,” Harry’s fiancée, Ginny, remarked, “Hogwarts accepted Fred and George.”
“Yes, but they’re still rethinking that one,” Harry interjected.
But it had been Ron’s pregnant wife, Hermione, who had absolutely floored Spook with her comment. “It’s not so bad, Teddy. I once knew a rather nice chap from Durmstrang. He was a Quidditch champion and everything.”
“Not that he doesn’t have a paunch and a receding hairline these days,” Ron breathed in Harry’s direction. Harry nodded his assent, having seen the same magazine photos of Viktor Krum’s retirement from the Bulgarian team.
“Is it true about the beatings?” Teddy urged, eager that he had found an adult who didn’t summarily shut the door on all issues related to Durmstrang.
“He overheard Filch grumbling,” Tonks supplied.
“Well, it’s actually Mr. Filch who’s such a big fan of corporal punishment,” Ron elaborated to Teddy’s delight. “Always threatened that he had the necessary paperwork to hang us from our ankles in the dungeons. Didn’t he, Harry?”
“Thanks to his deplorable filing system, he could never lay hands on the permission slips,” Harry attested.
“Otherwise you might be taller today,” Ginny quipped in Harry’s ear amid much background laughter.
“Don’t let those threats of Durmstrang get to you,” Hermione confided to Teddy. “There’s something to be said about a school that instills such gentlemanly manners in their students. Why Viktor escorted me to the Yule Ball and proved to be the most accomplished dancer. I felt as weightless as a feather when he twirled and lifted me into the air,” she finished dreamily.
Hermione hadn’t expected the look of revulsion that screwed up Teddy’s face. With a makeshift belch of utter contempt, he fled from the room.
Long after the children had been put to bed, Harry discovered Tonks in the kitchen offering hushed congratulations to Hermione for finally setting Teddy straight.
Was it any wonder that since the birth of the Lupin offspring, Harry had honed his ability to sleep with one eye open? Not that such a development hadn’t delighted Alastor Moody, his steadfast mentor in the Auror Department.
Bringing his thoughts back to the present, Harry demanded of the devilishly bright lad before him, “Could you give that to me in simpler terms? I’m not sure my brain is totally awake yet.”
With an exaggerated roll to his eyes, Teddy repeated the sentences again more slowly with overly precise enunciation “ and still in French. His eyes looked challengingly at Harry.
Not to be out-smarted by a five-year-old, Harry took a moment to review. The only words he recognized were père, ami, and manger. “Your father is bringing a friend to dine with us?” he ventured, thinking to himself that it was usually Tonks who brought old friends home.
Teddy nodded eagerly as Phoebe added, “Tonight.”
“It’s true,” Tonks affirmed from the doorway. “That’s why Remus had me retrieve the children early today. Otherwise, he’d still be chattering away with Fleur himself. You know how they get.”
Harry nodded as he thought what an unexpected development that had been. He’d had the distinct impression Remus considered Fleur to be a frivolous waste of time much as Ginny had in the beginning. Somehow conversing in her native tongue had convinced Remus otherwise and it was not unusual for him to return quite late on those evenings when he retrieved the children from her care.
“Who’s the guest?” Harry asked of Tonks.
“Remus wouldn’t say.” She shrugged. “I was just to tell Dobby that there would be two more at the table tonight.”
“Good thing Dobby’s not prone to last minute panics.”
“Not even when I relayed Remus’ request for chocolate soufflé for dessert,” Tonks remarked.
Must be someone truly special indeed, Harry noted as he sent along a Patronus message to Ginny.
“Did you find a dress finally?” Harry posed as Ginny rummaged through his tie drawer.
“Is there something wrong with what I’m wearing?” she queried as she checked the deep violet suede of her blouse in the mirror.
“I meant for the wedding,” Harry added only to catch on that she’d known what he meant all along. “It’s less than two months away,” he added in a vain attempt to save face. He didn’t mention that their long engagement had given her ample time to settle on something.
“I think so,” she admitted as she sank back in the armchair, lazily watching Harry knot the tie she’d chosen. “If I can get Mum to approve. The color for one thing.”
“How unconventional is it?” Harry’s fingers stopped in mid-stream, well aware that wizards didn’t always hold with Muggle ideas. He wasn’t that big of a traditionalist himself, but he wanted to be prepared if Ginny decided to wear emerald green, for instance.
“It’s sort of a silvery grey,” Ginny replied. “Andromeda described it as oyster.”
“That shouldn’t be so bad,” Harry asserted. “Dare I ask how much? I know you don’t want to burden your fam--”
“A bargain really,” Ginny confirmed in a tone that made Harry exceedingly nervous.
“You’d better tell me the whole story,” Harry urged as he leaned his hip against the over-stuffed arm of the facing chair.
“There’s not much to tell,” Ginny admitted with a small shrug. “After all those months of searching through wedding establishments which rolled out their most hideous and over-wrought monstrosities the minute I arrived, Hermione found just the thing in a vintage fashion magazine. I didn’t want to jinx it by showing you. Even with a photo in hand, no one could help. They suggested I have someone make it for me.”
“I thought Tonks nixed that idea early on as rather risky.”
“She did. But she also suggested that I enlist her mother’s assistance, claming that Andromeda’s contacts in Paris could work miracles. But then Hermione pointed out the price for Parisian couture and, well, we tried to make another stab at stores that just sold party dresses.”
“Any luck there?”
“Lots, if I wanted to be married in black or even navy blue. Hermione found this smashing plum number…”
With a deep sigh, Ginny continued how she had finally capitulated and agreed to meet Andromeda for lunch, just the two of them. In despair, she had convinced herself to abandon all preconceived notions and just put herself into the woman’s hands. After all, Tonks always looked fabulous when she sought her mother’s assistance. Sensing the desperation in Ginny’s tale, Andromeda had surprised her by noting that Tonks really had no idea what she wanted most of the time.
“On the other hand, I sense you just haven’t found something which you specifically want,” Andromeda observed. “Give me something to go on.”
Unlike the salespeople who had totally ignored the photo that Ginny shakily unfolded, Andromeda smiled knowingly as she gazed at the long, unadorned gown of golden satin, its lush train laid out elegantly against ebony marble tiles.
“Surely it’s not the color?”
“No, it’s the shape, the simplicity. A girl won’t need a bevy of attendants to secure an endless row of Victorian buttons.”
“But a strapless gown for a wedding? Even if it is modestly cut.”
“That part’s negotiable also,” Ginny affirmed. “I just like the way the gown makes me feel every time I look at is. Almost as if its magical.”
“I have an idea.” Andromeda winked. “If nothing more, it will be a starting point.”
Without further ado, they had Apparated back to the Tonks residence and Andromeda returned with a long silver gown from her own closet. “Is this more to your liking? Tonks always claimed it was much too drab for her, but I just couldn’t bear to part with it. It no longer fits me after bearing a child, I’m afraid.”
Trusting in Andromeda’s vision, Ginny had tried on the dress, reveling in the soft fabric and the way in which it gracefully draped across her hips, accentuating the curves with its narrow cut.
“If you’ll allow me,” Andromeda suggested, having slipped noiselessly into the room.
With a few swipes of her wand, she created the illusion that the dress had been altered more in keeping with Ginny’s petite frame. The hem no longer dragged the floor as the elegant pleated train moved in tandem with her body. It was the sort of dress movie goddesses had once worn in the days when they graced unattainable pedestals.
“Where can we get such a gown today?” Ginny breathed in reverence.
“Alas, the gentleman who designed it has long since passed away. Squibs don’t live as long as the rest of wizarding kind, I’m sad to say.”
“Anyone who could design something like this could hardly be classified as a Squib,” Ginny protested. “He just worked his magic in another medium.”
“I tend to agree, dear. Why don’t you take this gown? Have it professionally altered; I can recommend someone who won’t let you down. Let it be my wedding gift to you. The color suits you more than I would have ever supposed.”
Suddenly self-conscious, Ginny had raised her left hand to her breast to keep the surprisingly heavy neckline from slipping too low. As the light caught the long, marquis cut amethyst in her engagement ring, she was surprised to note that there were underlying lavender tones in the grey fabric as well.
“See how it shows off the stone in your unconventional ring?” Andromeda urged. “It’s a shame more wizards don’t hold with such a delightful Muggle custom.”
“You don’t think it’s an archaic manner of marking one’s territory?” Ginny replied with a pithy giggle.
Andromeda laughed in return, her velvety voice making Ginny feel at ease. “I don’t suspect you do, either. Despite the best efforts of my daughter to place such doubts into your head.”
Ginny acknowledged the other woman’s acumen with a wordless nod. “Harry said he couldn’t tear his eyes from me the first time he’d seen me wear purple. The jewel was just a pale echo of that.”
“Did you agree?” Harry inquired as he took in the dreamy look that had come over Ginny’s face.
“Only if Mum approves,” she answered as his words pulled her into the present. “If anything I should be wearing her gown; only Mum got married in a rather frumpy suit, if we’re being perfectly honest. And it’s not like it was Andromeda’s wedding dress, either. It was designed as a ball gown.”
“Ginny, at the risk of raining bad luck upon us, do you have a picture?”
Ginny looked at him quizzically before she surmised, “That’s just Muggle superstition. Wizards don’t think in those terms!”
Summoning a small folder from the stack of papers she had deposited on the dresser, Ginny withdrew two photos. One of a twenty-something Andromeda and an instant photo of her in the same general position.
“I just learned this spell, so please be patient,” Ginny pleaded as she quickly superimposed her photo over the one of Andromeda among a group of people at a lavish party.
With a muttered incantation Harry thought might be in French, Ginny placed the sandwiched photos tenderly on the adjoining table. Before their eyes, the lines of the underlying photo twisted themselves onto the image of Ginny as if she were being draped in layers of ethereal fabric. When the movement finished, they both gasped at the full effect. Ginny seemed to be clothed in a shimmering grey waterfall, small pools and eddies undulating across her body as she breathed. Harry did not have the words to describe it.
“I’ll help you to convince your mother,” he breathed in her ear.