Categories > Books > Harry Potter > The Afterlife and Times of Myrtle Potter
Goblin Customs, a Proposal and a Voice from the Past
Harry pops the question, and hears from an old friend
?Blocked
Chapter 11: Goblin Customs, a Proposal and a Voice from the Past
"Narcissa Malfoy needs to stay in Azkaban and rot!" Harry growled vehemently.
"Why is that Harry?" Hermione asked, "She's never moved directly against you, and all she ever did as a death eater was try to protect her son. I don't think there's any love lost between Narcissa and Lucius."
"How do you know all this?"
"Um . . . Myrtle told me. She would hang around in the library when we were researching horcruxes. Remember, it was Myrtle who gave us the clue to the last one."
"Yeah, she really came through in that last battle too - she led the other ghosts onto the field to take over the Inferi."
"She'd be glad to hear you say that," Hermione said, blushing slightly.
"I haven't seen her since the battle; have you?"
"Oh, I'm sure she's around. Listen, about Mrs. Malfoy - if you take the position as head of the house to dissolve her marriage to Lucius then she would be your, well, warder is the best way to describe it. You could have her out of Azkaban and into Grimauld Place as, oh, I don't know, your social secretary.
"And Harry, that would make you Draco's head of family. It would drive him nuts!"
Harry grinned at the thought.
"How is it that you know so much?" he smiled and chucked her under her chin.
"I told you, I've read every book in Hogwarts!"
He took her to one side of the vault and kissed her deeply, "I love you Hermione Granger, I hope you know that."
She melted into him, reveling in the warmth of his body. "Please Harry, we're in Gringotts," she smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. "Call me Mrs. Potter."
He laughed and said, "Of course Mrs. Potter, and I'll be Mr. Potter - well, I guess I'm Mister Potter anyway, huh?" He thought for a moment. "I'll be Mrs. Potter's mister!"
"Sharpclaw." He smiled. "I think I will take that ring, after all."
"Very good Harry, and you'll be wanting these too," the goblin said as he held up the two chains. "Elf wrought platinum, but the best thing is the charm. Place one drop of blood from each of you in each vial and you'll be able to silently communicate with each other no matter how far apart you are."
"Oh that's brilliant! Hermione?"
She looked up from the book she had been perusing. "Um, yes?"
"Matching chains, will you wear one?"
"Oh sure," she said, excitedly. "They're beautiful! What goes in the vials?"
"I'll show you later," he said as he placed the chain around her neck and let her do the same for him. He loved the way the tiny vial nestled in her cleavage.
Harry's stomach grumbled. Hermione laughed and said "Must be about lunch time."
As they rode back to the main lobby, Harry said, "How do goblins greet each other when they meet?"
Sharpclaw said "With an exchange of gold: a galleon will do nicely; each goblin holds out his or her left hand and accepts the gold from the other goblins right hand. The exchange is simultaneous. When we part we use the same greeting. It's always polite to say 'may your fortunes grow' or something similar."
Harry was eager to use his newfound knowledge and as he was leaving the bank he turned to Sharpclaw and extended his hands in goblin fashion saying, "May your fortunes go!" Realizing what he said quickly added, "To where it'll earn the most interest!"
It took all the control Sharpclaw owned not to laugh hysterically at Harry's faux-paux and the brilliant way in which he covered up the error.
"As may yours Harry. I hope you'll come back this afternoon to look over those applications?"
"Two o'clock?"
"Two it is. We'll see you then Harry."
The other goblins were agog at the exchange between one of the bank's senior managers and the most recent hero of the wizarding world.
"Okay," Harry said. "Food first, then shopping; what would you like?"
"Chinese" she said, without missing a beat.
"Chinese?" he asked. "In Diagon Alley?"
"Nope, two blocks south of the Leaky Cauldron. We passed it on the way here."
Harry had never eaten Chinese, but Hermione insisted he'd love it. The name of the place was the Wok-n-Roll; it was doing a booming take-away business. They sat at one of the tiny tables and ordered from the menu. He loved every bite: shrimp egg rolls, lo mein, chicken in honey glaze, fried rice. Hermione had a simple dish with a long name - Moo-goo-gai-pan, and Harry enjoyed his taste of that as well. They made it a standing date from then on; every Thursday they would have Chinese for lunch, no matter where they were.
A very full Harry and Hermione went back into the Alley to get fitted for their new clothes. They bought simple daywear that would work in either the magical or muggle worlds: shirts, skirts and trousers, as well as shoes that were comfortable to wear and yet dressy enough to go formal. They each selected a set of dress robes; two sets of business robes and various and sundry undergarments. Hermione enjoyed trying on different lacy under things that she had never worn before. "Never had a reason to before," she whispered in her sexiest, sultriest voice to a blushing Harry.
He wanted nothing more than to take her home, or maybe into an empty fitting room right then. God, she was beautiful like this. He couldn't wait a minute more. He dropped to one knee.
"Hermione Jane Granger," he said in the middle of Madame Malkin's, with customers gawping on, "you have been my best friend since our first year together at Hogwarts. I loved you then and I love you even more now. Will you please marry me?" he pleaded as he slipped his mothers engagement ring onto the third finger of her left hand.
She yelped and dropped to her knees in front of him and shouted, "Oh yes, yes, yes!" as she peppered his face with kisses. A flash bulb went off as all the customers present broke into spontaneous applause.
"Maybe we can skip the bank and just go home?" he suggested, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
They finished their shopping and had the items shrunk to fit into their pockets. As Harry reached into his moneybag to pay, Madame Malkin herself stopped him. "Your money is no good here today Mr. Potter. Consider this our wedding present to you and the future Mrs. Potter.
"Perhaps I could be allowed to pay for my fiancée's wedding dress, Madame?"
"We shall see, Mr. Potter," she smirked.
At two o'clock, they were back in the lobby of Gringotts.
"May your fortunes grow, Sharpclaw," Harry said, passing and receiving a galleon.
"As may yours, goblin friend," the goblin replied. "If you will come this way please."
They followed him into a much nicer room with a large desk and a conference table set about with comfortable leather-covered chairs.
"These are the resumes of four of our best managers; I have condensed the particulars into returns on investment. The highest returns on investment are not necessarily the best indicator; rather the best would be the one who shows the most consistent growth over the long term."
"I'm not sure why, Sharpclaw," Harry said, puzzled, "but I seem to be drawn to this portfolio."
"Ah yes. One of Gringotts senior managers; he would be more than happy to handle your accounts, if that is your wish."
"I've come to trust your judgment, Sharpclaw: would you trust this goblin with your financial future?"
"Turn to the last page Harry," the goblin said and grinned.
It read, "Submitted on this date by Senior Account Executive, Sharpclaw."
Harry extended his hand, which the goblin took very carefully - lest they exchanged blood again - and shook once.
"Harry, if your portfolio does not increase by fifty percent by the end of this calendar year, I will remove myself from your accounts and find a better manager; this I vow!"
A wizard's oath was made on his magic; a goblin's oath was made on his life.
As the young newly-engaged couple walked home they enjoyed a companionable silence. Rounding the corner to Grimauld Place, the shadow of the dementor seemed to hover near the front door. Harry whipped out his wand but saw that it was only a long shadow cast by a tree across the street. As they neared the door Harry noticed two symbols, runes perhaps, written in chalk on each of the steps leading up to the landing of Number 12.
"Funny I didn't see those before," Harry mused. "They are runes, aren't they?"
Hermione nodded. "The first one, the one that looks like a capitol letter 'M' with long legs, is 'Ehwaz,' which usually means friend or friendship. The other one, that looks kind of like a small letter 'n' squared off, with one leg longer than the other is 'Uruz,' which means courage."
"Or bravery?" Harry asked.
"Um, yes, so friendship and bravery, is that important somehow?"
"It is to me," Harry said, "you said it to me our first year, "there are more important things, friendship and bravery and-'. You never did finish the sentence, but I think you were going to say love."
Hermione nodded. "Yes, friendship and bravery and love." She looked up at him with bright shinning eyes. "That's you Harry - to the core."
"That's the second time in as many days someone has given me that message. Any ideas why?" he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders and said, "Let's go in."
As they neared the door Harry picked her up, fumbled with the door handle and carried her across the threshold.
"Silly, that's supposed to wait until after the wedding."
"Hey - according to the goblins, we're already married!"
"We certainly had a honeymoon last night," she said with a smile.
"We need to tell your parents, love," Harry said. "In fact, I should have asked their permission first."
"I'm already at the age of consent in both worlds Harry, but it's sweet of you to want to ask." They stepped into the library. "Um, would you mind sending them a message by Hedwig? I think it would be smashing if the groom-to-be were to tell them!"
"I have a better idea," he said as he sat down at the writing table. "I'll invite them to dinner and we can tell them then. How about tomorrow?"
"Sounds good," she agreed with an unreadable expression, a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Just then Meacham announced dinner.
After dinner they retired to the library and snuggled together on the big comfy couch and read. Hermione was lying on her back, her head in Harry's lap as he balanced his book on the armrest. His free arm caressed her flat stomach, eventually coming to rest on her right breast.
"Ummmm," she murmured. "This is nice. I could definitely get used to this."
"Well," he mused, "seeing as how witches and wizards live two to three times longer than non-magical folk, we could be doing this for about another hundred years or so."
"Promise?" she asked.
"Promise," he kissed the top of her head. "Never doubt that I love you, Mrs. Potter."
Inexplicably both Hermione's eyes filled with tears, which ran freely down the sides of her head.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked, concerned.
"I just don't deserve you is all," she choked.
He let his book fall and bent down to kiss her with all the tenderness he could muster.
She gave in to his ministrations and unbuttoned her shirt to place his hand on her lace bra.
"Oh this is nice," he said, coming up for air. "Who would have thought that sheer lace could be so soft?"
"It's a matched set," she cooed, dragging his hand down while simultaneously pulling her skirt up. She rested his hand over her warm, wet cleft and gyrated her hips suggestively.
"Hooo kay!" he said, sitting up smiling. "My, my. Look at the time! Bed time already; where did the time go?"
He lifted her into his arms again and nearly ran up the stairs to the master bedroom, kicking the door shut on his way in. Once inside he let her feet drop gently to the floor and gently pushed the white blouse off her shoulders and let it drop. She unbuttoned the side button at her waist and slid the zipper down so that her charcoal grey skirt pooled around her ankles. She took a step back and struck her best Morgana's Secret pose.
Harry felt as though he couldn't breathe. He started taking long, slow breaths as he surveyed the beauty before him. She was in a rose-red demi-bra which accented her cups nicely. His eyes traveled down past her waspish waist to the swell of her hips sporting the matching high cut knickers. His eyes then followed her shapely legs down to her red leather ankle wrap sandals with the four inch "fuck me" heels.
He wanted to say how beautiful she was; that he wasn't worthy of her; that he could spend the rest of his life trying and still not deserve her. What came out was a cross between a sigh and a groan.
She was ecstatic. Hermione saw his eyes take on that glassy look that meant his higher brain functions were shutting down, so she unfastened the front clasp on her bra and turned around to slide the panties off her bum. She knew that if she didn't take them off that he was about to rip them off, and she wanted to wear them again at least once!
While Hermione was bent double from the waist she started to undo the leather wraps on her high heels when he growled out, "No."
Hermione's eyebrow arched upwards. "No?" she repeated.
"Leave the shoes on," he ordered hoarsely.
He moved to capture her, but she put both her hands on his chest and said, "One of us has on entirely too many clothes."
"Give me a hand?" he asked.
She slid around behind him so that she could reach around with both arms and unbutton his shirt. As she did, this his hands came around to caress her bum.
She unbuckled his belt then unbuttoned his trousers, pulling the zipper down as well. While her hands were in the neighborhood, she reached into his boxers to grasp his bone-hard erection.
"Oh, I'd say we're ready," she cooed.
She reached under his T shirt and pulled it up over his head, then wrapped her arms around his chest for a soft, warm bare hug. She hooked her thumbs into the elastic of his boxers and pulled down stopping only long enough to say, "Shoes."
He kicked off his shoes, then stepped out of his trousers and boxers. He reveled in the heat of her. Her heels put her wet center near his bum cheeks and he could almost imagine the musk rising as steam from the juncture of her legs.
She grasped his erection, frog-marched him to the bed, then said, "Turn around."
When he did, she pushed him back onto the bed before falling on top of him, trapping his boner between them. She slid up on his abdomen until her steaming entrance was just beyond the end of his cock, and then she reached behind herself to guide him in as she slid into place.
She was so wet that, tight as she was, he went in easily. She reveled in the feel of his length and girth filling her, the paradoxical softness and firmness of him as she began to rise and fall and grind his member into herself. Up, down, a little wiggle as she bottomed out on him, then up and down and grind, and again, and again, and again. Hermione's body felt the familiar tingle that had been denied to her for so long, she moaned, "Oh Harry, oh baby, oh fuck me oh fuck me oh fuck oh fuuuuuuuuck!" After that she alternated between screeching and moaning and shouting "oh fuck" repeatedly.
Harry had both hands full of bum cheek as she bounced and he thrust in counterpoint trying for that extra penetration. He had been without for so long, without physical intimacy to be sure, without love in all of its connotations. Now he had a goddess bouncing on his balls and he loved her will all that he was. As the familiar pressure began to erupt from the base of his cock he cried, "I love you, Hermione!"
And that said it all. They might have been fucking rutting like a pair of stoats but they were first and foremost making love.
They continued to dance the dance of the ages throughout the night, napping for an hour or so before starting again. They never really separated; Harry's cock never completely softened and Hermione's 'kitty' wasn't about to let him go.
The next morning came way too early, but they hunkered down into the duvet still coupled like a pair of Siamese twins joined at the sex. Hermione was spread eagle across his body as Harry lay on his back.
"Bollocks," she said.
"What?"
"Need the loo, really need the loo!"
Harry threw off the duvet, and then carefully slid to the side of the bed, keeping his 'morning wood' inside Hermione. He sat up and she wrapped her legs around his middle. He stood up taking her with him and she thought, 'Oh, I love being with an athlete!'
He walked into the bathroom and started the shower, which magically produced hot water instantly. Harry stepped into the shower and said, "You can go now if you want."
She groaned in relief as she let her bladder empty. The smell of ammonia filled the shower for a few moments as she let go a long golden stream all over Harry's cock and balls. When she was done she said, "Thank you love, you're a life saver," and kissed him. He responded by putting her back against the wet tiles and sawing in and out of her as she was pinned against the wall. The pent up fluids from their 'all nighter' drained out of her as he continued to pump and she produced even more lubricant as she began her "fuck me" mantra yet again.
Harry loved it when she screamed his name and "fuck me" in the same sentence. It was always a turn on for him. He rammed into her, reveling in the warmth and the tightness of her. He had numbed slightly from all their exertions the night before so it was a good fifteen minutes before he groaned her name yet again and shot ropes of sticky come into her.
After that his legs felt like rubber and he reluctantly let her down, where she found she was equally wobbly. They soaped and rinsed each other thoroughly, then just to be sure, did it again before leaving the shower very clean and refreshed.
Harry's accio pulled soft towels from the shelf that kept them magically warmed. He wrapped Hermione in one like a balmy terrycloth hug.
"Oh baby," she cooed. "You're hired!"
"For you, Mrs. Potter, I'd gladly work for free."
"You just want to have your wicked way with me." She smirked.
"I just want to be with you," he said with such sincerity that she began to tear again.
"You don't know how long I've waited for you to say that to me," she choked.
"Now, now" he said, pulling her into a gentle embrace. "No tears today: you're here, that's all that matters."
The were still locked in their embrace when they went back into the bedroom to find the bed made up with clean fresh sheets and their clothes laid out for them cleaned and pressed. They reluctantly released each other and dressed, then explored the master bedroom for the first time.
Hermione squealed in delight as she saw the dressing table, complete with combs and brushes and with enough drawers and cubbies to accept even Lavender Brown's extensive makeup collection.
Harry opened up the wardrobe and was surprised to see all of their purchases from the previous day hanging neatly, his to the right and Hermione's to the left. It was, of course, a magic wardrobe in that the inside was much larger than the outside so that it was, in effect, like walking into another room.
"It's bigger than the bedrooms at Privet Drive," he mused.
"Oh Harry, its brilliant! There's more than enough room for all my things - and then some!"
They were startled from their explorations by the sound of an elf clearing his throat. "Good morning sir, ma'am. Sorry to intrude, but I need to know if you'll be wanting breakfast or lunch as its past eleven of the clock."
She looked up at her fiancé and asked, "Pancakes?"
He smiled back at her and said, "Meacham, can we have pancakes with black currants?"
"Very good sir. This morning's Prophet is on the small dining room table as is the reply from Miss Granger's parents and a note from a 'Gred and Forge' Weasley."
"Thank you Meacham," Harry replied. "Have you picked out a room?"
The little old elf smiled and said. "Yes, sir; a proper room with a real bed and dresser and wardrobe and even my own bathroom. Apparently this house was built with human servants in mind, so I've moved into the butler's quarters on the kitchen side of the coach house."
"We have a coach house?"
"Yes sir. Would you care to see it after breakfast?"
"I'd like that very much. Thank you."
The little man bowed and faded from sight.
"It's a little disconcerting the way he does that," Harry said.
"It's his way, he's a house-elf and they are always there, never seen."
"You don't suppose he's, y'know, there when we're, um . . ."
"No Harry, good house elves always turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to the intimacies of the master and the mistress of the house."
He was obviously relieved.
"To breakfast, Mrs. Potter?"
"To breakfast, Mrs. Potter's mister!"
As they entered the small dining room they saw the mail and paper laid out on the table. The wizard photo on the front page showed Harry on one knee placing a ring on Hermione's finger and then her falling to her knees to hug him fiercely; the sequence of events seemed to be in an endless loop.
Harry groaned. "I'd hoped to break this to our magical friends, well, /gently/."
The headline read, "Man Who Triumphed Engaged! by Rita Skeeter."
Harry read the first page of the article with Hermione reading over his shoulder.
Yesterday the Man Who Triumphed startled onlookers at Madame Malkins by proposing to his long time friend Hermione Granger - fellow Gryffindor and a girl that has been rumored to be romantically linked to Mr. Potter, as well as Victor Krum, world cup seeker. Miss Granger had most recently been romantically linked to Ronald Weasley, described by those in the know as 'Harry's best mate.' Mr. Weasley, the youngest of the Weasley clan, was an unfortunate casualty of the final battle with Voldemort, nee Tom Riddle, earlier this week.
Some readers might say that it is too soon after the war's end and that these young people are rushing headlong into a lifelong commitment. These gentle beings should remember that these two young warriors of the wizarding world have been friends for the better part of a decade and have surely seen each other at their best and worst.
This reporter is delighted at the announcement, which in no small way vindicates my report from the Tri-Wizard Tournament that recognized the sparks in the air when these two are anywhere near each other (story continues on page 3).
"Well she got a couple of points wrong, that's to be expected," Harry said, shaking his head. "Ron is not the youngest Weasley and we didn't become romantically involved until, let's see, today is Saturday?"
"I know I've fancied you since our first year Harry. I'm sure anyone with eyes could have seen that."
"I wish I had known then. Think of all the time we've wasted! I would have loved taking you to the Yule Ball, and as my date on Hogsmeade weekends."
She smirked. "Exploring broom cupboards, the astronomy tower."
"The prefect's bath . . ." they said simultaneously, and laughed.
They read the note from Hermione's parents. They were delighted to come, asking for directions and asking if they could bring anything for dinner.
They opened the letter from 'Gred and Forge' and were startled by a loud bang and the sound of noisemakers and confetti, which fell into the butter dish and syrup pitcher.
The not-quite-a-howler but just as loud announced:
"Congratulations you two, and congratulate us too! Padma and Pavarti are the newest members of the Weasley clan! Take it from us mate - elope! No muss, no fuss, no bother!"
The message ended with another bang and more confetti, which Meacham magically dispelled. A written note was included:
Mum and Saas (mum in law) Patil are furious of course. They wanted to have a big to do over the brides' dresses and such. Dad thinks it's great and Susar (dad in law) Patil is beside himself with relief because he's not going to have to put out for two very expensive weddings.
On a more serious note, tread lightly around mum: with Ginny in jail and Ron in St. Mungo's, she's about ready to explode. She turned an interesting shade of white when she saw the evening edition of the Prophet announcing your engagement. Mum's getting herself worked up about you and Hermione and Ron and Ginny, and you don't want to be there when she explodes. All we ask is that you try to understand where she's coming from in all this. She has, essentially, lost her two youngest children.
As for the rest of us, good on you mate - you too Hermione! Everyone knew you two belonged together; well, almost everyone. Some people are delusional.
Party at the Burrow - next Saturday, starting at six. Be there or we will come after you!
Lurve and such,
Mr. and Mrs. and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley-Patil
"Sweetheart," he asked. "How do you feel about eloping?"
"You find a suit and I'll ring up the vicar, priest, rabbi, bishop or the captain of the ship we're sailing on," she said with a broad smile.
"Oh, you're all right with it then? Good." He returned her smile. "But I still want to let your parents know. Speaking of which, what should we serve? Is there anything they don't like, food-wise I mean?"
"Oh, um, just about anything. We could do a roast and potatoes and they'd be fine, lots of fresh veggies, and um, a nice dessert, maybe a trifle?"
"Did you get all that Meacham?" Harry called out over his shoulder.
"Yes, sir. May I suggest a London broil?"
"Sounds good, Meacham."
"Very good, sir."
"Hey, let's check out the carriage house," Harry said expectantly.
"Through the back door in the kitchen, sir; past my quarters and the basement steps."
"Thank you, Meacham."
They walked into the old style carriage house to find not a carriage, but a workroom or rather a hobby room. The walls were covered in tools, both familiar and unfamiliar. Workbenches were covered in dust cloths and in the middle of the floor was the unmistakable shape of a motorcycle under a heavy canvas cover.
"That must be Sirius' old motorcycle," Harry whispered.
He drew the cover off to reveal a 1969 Triumph Trident, the 750cc three cylinder classic. It sported a midnight blue gas tank and matching side covers and had evidently been charmed to repel dust and rust; it looked like a new bike on the showroom floor.
Harry whistled. "I'm gonna need lessons before I can ride this."
He eased himself onto the seat and checked the fuel tank; it looked about three-quarters full. Harry saw the key in the ignition and turned it to the run/start position. He moved the bike slowly forward and back, to make sure it wasn't in gear, then put his left foot on the kick-starter and gave it a quick push down. The three cylinders thrummed into life and rumbled at idle like an oversized jungle cat. He set the key to the off position and the sound seemed to echo in the carriage house for a while.
"Definitely need riding lessons!" he enthused.
"You do all right by me," Hermione said with a smirk. "Riding, that is. . ."
Harry smiled. "I'm so glad you're with me woman, because you're insatiable and I just can't get enough of you."
"Y'see", she said smiling as she sat on the seat behind him, "we're perfect for each other."
"Can we go back to Madame Malkin's today, sweetheart?" Harry asked. "She said our clothes would be ready by now."
"Okay" she agreed.
"And while where there, why don't we pick out a nice white dress for you?"
"Um, okay," she said, a bit confused. "But why white?"
"Isn't that the traditional color for a wedding dress?"
She squeezed him from behind and buried her head in the juncture of his neck and shoulder. "Don't you ever change, you wonderful man!"
They decided to floo to the Leaky Cauldron first, and then walk into Diagon Alley from there. When they arrived at Madame Malkin's, their purchases were indeed ready.
"Madame," Harry asked, "could you show us some of your bridal, um, dresses and stuff?"
The good madam let them into her bridal shop where half a dozen stunning designs were already on display.
"Mr. Potter, would you care to look at our catalog while we discuss Miss Granger's measurements and preferences?"
"Um, sure," he answered. He hadn't thought about looking through a catalog, but it seemed like a good way to pass the time.
Bridal dresses, it seems, were designed to be worn only once. Not that Harry minded, but an awful lot of work went into making something that was so . . . temporary. It would be better, he thought, to just transfigure an everyday outfit; then, when it reverted to form, it was still wearable. He thought this while looking through the catalog, seeing dresses that were too long, too short. One had a neckline that went down to the navel. One had a ridiculously long train, one had a silly pillbox hat, and one was . . . familiar?
"Where have I seen this before?" he thought.
Then he remembered. Pictures. Wedding pictures. His parent's wedding. His mum, Lilly, was wearing a dress like this; she would dance with Sirius in a never-ending cycle in his beloved family photo album. He looked up to see both ladies looking back at him.
"See, my dear," Madame Malkin was saying. "It never fails - the groom-to-be always finds a style to his liking. It's part of the 'charm' of my catalogue."
"Can you do this?" he asked, his voice cracking with emotion.
"In a trice," the good dressmaker said. "Now shoo! You do not get to see the bride in her gown until the wedding!"
"But I found the dress!" he protested.
"And for that we are very grateful Mister Potter, now, shoo! Quality Quidditch Supplies it four doors down, good day!"
And so it was that Harry found himself walking down the Alley when he heard what sounded like a sob coming from a side alley.
"Hello?" he called.
He drew his wand and heard what sounded like a little girl sobbing in a large empty room.
"Hello?"
"You're a great wizard Harry," the little girl's voice said.
"Not as good as you," he replied, knowing those were the words he must say.
"Books and cleverness, there are more important things. Friendship, bravery and-"
"Lumos!" Harry cried.
The dementor seemed to flow like oily water into the open window of a cellar before Harry could call forth his patronus.
He knew that voice.
It was the voice of an eleven year old girl.
It was the voice of Hermione Granger.
_____ooo000ooo_____
Author's note: As always, thank you Great Writer Sarah for being the better beta, someday I'll actually pay attention to comma usage. . . For you motorcycle aficionados out there the Triumph's of the 1960s, even those sold in the U.S. had kick starters, and they were on the left. Everything was reversed, throttle on the left, clutch on the right, foot break on the left, gear shift on the right; going back and forth from my buddy's 69 Triumph Bonneville to my 74 Honda 500 4-cylinder took some getting used to. Great bike though. I still ride. I ride a Honda V 45 Magna that was built in 1986, which makes it officially old enough to drink in the State of Florida. Still runs great.
"Narcissa Malfoy needs to stay in Azkaban and rot!" Harry growled vehemently.
"Why is that Harry?" Hermione asked, "She's never moved directly against you, and all she ever did as a death eater was try to protect her son. I don't think there's any love lost between Narcissa and Lucius."
"How do you know all this?"
"Um . . . Myrtle told me. She would hang around in the library when we were researching horcruxes. Remember, it was Myrtle who gave us the clue to the last one."
"Yeah, she really came through in that last battle too - she led the other ghosts onto the field to take over the Inferi."
"She'd be glad to hear you say that," Hermione said, blushing slightly.
"I haven't seen her since the battle; have you?"
"Oh, I'm sure she's around. Listen, about Mrs. Malfoy - if you take the position as head of the house to dissolve her marriage to Lucius then she would be your, well, warder is the best way to describe it. You could have her out of Azkaban and into Grimauld Place as, oh, I don't know, your social secretary.
"And Harry, that would make you Draco's head of family. It would drive him nuts!"
Harry grinned at the thought.
"How is it that you know so much?" he smiled and chucked her under her chin.
"I told you, I've read every book in Hogwarts!"
He took her to one side of the vault and kissed her deeply, "I love you Hermione Granger, I hope you know that."
She melted into him, reveling in the warmth of his body. "Please Harry, we're in Gringotts," she smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. "Call me Mrs. Potter."
He laughed and said, "Of course Mrs. Potter, and I'll be Mr. Potter - well, I guess I'm Mister Potter anyway, huh?" He thought for a moment. "I'll be Mrs. Potter's mister!"
"Sharpclaw." He smiled. "I think I will take that ring, after all."
"Very good Harry, and you'll be wanting these too," the goblin said as he held up the two chains. "Elf wrought platinum, but the best thing is the charm. Place one drop of blood from each of you in each vial and you'll be able to silently communicate with each other no matter how far apart you are."
"Oh that's brilliant! Hermione?"
She looked up from the book she had been perusing. "Um, yes?"
"Matching chains, will you wear one?"
"Oh sure," she said, excitedly. "They're beautiful! What goes in the vials?"
"I'll show you later," he said as he placed the chain around her neck and let her do the same for him. He loved the way the tiny vial nestled in her cleavage.
Harry's stomach grumbled. Hermione laughed and said "Must be about lunch time."
As they rode back to the main lobby, Harry said, "How do goblins greet each other when they meet?"
Sharpclaw said "With an exchange of gold: a galleon will do nicely; each goblin holds out his or her left hand and accepts the gold from the other goblins right hand. The exchange is simultaneous. When we part we use the same greeting. It's always polite to say 'may your fortunes grow' or something similar."
Harry was eager to use his newfound knowledge and as he was leaving the bank he turned to Sharpclaw and extended his hands in goblin fashion saying, "May your fortunes go!" Realizing what he said quickly added, "To where it'll earn the most interest!"
It took all the control Sharpclaw owned not to laugh hysterically at Harry's faux-paux and the brilliant way in which he covered up the error.
"As may yours Harry. I hope you'll come back this afternoon to look over those applications?"
"Two o'clock?"
"Two it is. We'll see you then Harry."
The other goblins were agog at the exchange between one of the bank's senior managers and the most recent hero of the wizarding world.
"Okay," Harry said. "Food first, then shopping; what would you like?"
"Chinese" she said, without missing a beat.
"Chinese?" he asked. "In Diagon Alley?"
"Nope, two blocks south of the Leaky Cauldron. We passed it on the way here."
Harry had never eaten Chinese, but Hermione insisted he'd love it. The name of the place was the Wok-n-Roll; it was doing a booming take-away business. They sat at one of the tiny tables and ordered from the menu. He loved every bite: shrimp egg rolls, lo mein, chicken in honey glaze, fried rice. Hermione had a simple dish with a long name - Moo-goo-gai-pan, and Harry enjoyed his taste of that as well. They made it a standing date from then on; every Thursday they would have Chinese for lunch, no matter where they were.
A very full Harry and Hermione went back into the Alley to get fitted for their new clothes. They bought simple daywear that would work in either the magical or muggle worlds: shirts, skirts and trousers, as well as shoes that were comfortable to wear and yet dressy enough to go formal. They each selected a set of dress robes; two sets of business robes and various and sundry undergarments. Hermione enjoyed trying on different lacy under things that she had never worn before. "Never had a reason to before," she whispered in her sexiest, sultriest voice to a blushing Harry.
He wanted nothing more than to take her home, or maybe into an empty fitting room right then. God, she was beautiful like this. He couldn't wait a minute more. He dropped to one knee.
"Hermione Jane Granger," he said in the middle of Madame Malkin's, with customers gawping on, "you have been my best friend since our first year together at Hogwarts. I loved you then and I love you even more now. Will you please marry me?" he pleaded as he slipped his mothers engagement ring onto the third finger of her left hand.
She yelped and dropped to her knees in front of him and shouted, "Oh yes, yes, yes!" as she peppered his face with kisses. A flash bulb went off as all the customers present broke into spontaneous applause.
"Maybe we can skip the bank and just go home?" he suggested, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
They finished their shopping and had the items shrunk to fit into their pockets. As Harry reached into his moneybag to pay, Madame Malkin herself stopped him. "Your money is no good here today Mr. Potter. Consider this our wedding present to you and the future Mrs. Potter.
"Perhaps I could be allowed to pay for my fiancée's wedding dress, Madame?"
"We shall see, Mr. Potter," she smirked.
At two o'clock, they were back in the lobby of Gringotts.
"May your fortunes grow, Sharpclaw," Harry said, passing and receiving a galleon.
"As may yours, goblin friend," the goblin replied. "If you will come this way please."
They followed him into a much nicer room with a large desk and a conference table set about with comfortable leather-covered chairs.
"These are the resumes of four of our best managers; I have condensed the particulars into returns on investment. The highest returns on investment are not necessarily the best indicator; rather the best would be the one who shows the most consistent growth over the long term."
"I'm not sure why, Sharpclaw," Harry said, puzzled, "but I seem to be drawn to this portfolio."
"Ah yes. One of Gringotts senior managers; he would be more than happy to handle your accounts, if that is your wish."
"I've come to trust your judgment, Sharpclaw: would you trust this goblin with your financial future?"
"Turn to the last page Harry," the goblin said and grinned.
It read, "Submitted on this date by Senior Account Executive, Sharpclaw."
Harry extended his hand, which the goblin took very carefully - lest they exchanged blood again - and shook once.
"Harry, if your portfolio does not increase by fifty percent by the end of this calendar year, I will remove myself from your accounts and find a better manager; this I vow!"
A wizard's oath was made on his magic; a goblin's oath was made on his life.
As the young newly-engaged couple walked home they enjoyed a companionable silence. Rounding the corner to Grimauld Place, the shadow of the dementor seemed to hover near the front door. Harry whipped out his wand but saw that it was only a long shadow cast by a tree across the street. As they neared the door Harry noticed two symbols, runes perhaps, written in chalk on each of the steps leading up to the landing of Number 12.
"Funny I didn't see those before," Harry mused. "They are runes, aren't they?"
Hermione nodded. "The first one, the one that looks like a capitol letter 'M' with long legs, is 'Ehwaz,' which usually means friend or friendship. The other one, that looks kind of like a small letter 'n' squared off, with one leg longer than the other is 'Uruz,' which means courage."
"Or bravery?" Harry asked.
"Um, yes, so friendship and bravery, is that important somehow?"
"It is to me," Harry said, "you said it to me our first year, "there are more important things, friendship and bravery and-'. You never did finish the sentence, but I think you were going to say love."
Hermione nodded. "Yes, friendship and bravery and love." She looked up at him with bright shinning eyes. "That's you Harry - to the core."
"That's the second time in as many days someone has given me that message. Any ideas why?" he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders and said, "Let's go in."
As they neared the door Harry picked her up, fumbled with the door handle and carried her across the threshold.
"Silly, that's supposed to wait until after the wedding."
"Hey - according to the goblins, we're already married!"
"We certainly had a honeymoon last night," she said with a smile.
"We need to tell your parents, love," Harry said. "In fact, I should have asked their permission first."
"I'm already at the age of consent in both worlds Harry, but it's sweet of you to want to ask." They stepped into the library. "Um, would you mind sending them a message by Hedwig? I think it would be smashing if the groom-to-be were to tell them!"
"I have a better idea," he said as he sat down at the writing table. "I'll invite them to dinner and we can tell them then. How about tomorrow?"
"Sounds good," she agreed with an unreadable expression, a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Just then Meacham announced dinner.
After dinner they retired to the library and snuggled together on the big comfy couch and read. Hermione was lying on her back, her head in Harry's lap as he balanced his book on the armrest. His free arm caressed her flat stomach, eventually coming to rest on her right breast.
"Ummmm," she murmured. "This is nice. I could definitely get used to this."
"Well," he mused, "seeing as how witches and wizards live two to three times longer than non-magical folk, we could be doing this for about another hundred years or so."
"Promise?" she asked.
"Promise," he kissed the top of her head. "Never doubt that I love you, Mrs. Potter."
Inexplicably both Hermione's eyes filled with tears, which ran freely down the sides of her head.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked, concerned.
"I just don't deserve you is all," she choked.
He let his book fall and bent down to kiss her with all the tenderness he could muster.
She gave in to his ministrations and unbuttoned her shirt to place his hand on her lace bra.
"Oh this is nice," he said, coming up for air. "Who would have thought that sheer lace could be so soft?"
"It's a matched set," she cooed, dragging his hand down while simultaneously pulling her skirt up. She rested his hand over her warm, wet cleft and gyrated her hips suggestively.
"Hooo kay!" he said, sitting up smiling. "My, my. Look at the time! Bed time already; where did the time go?"
He lifted her into his arms again and nearly ran up the stairs to the master bedroom, kicking the door shut on his way in. Once inside he let her feet drop gently to the floor and gently pushed the white blouse off her shoulders and let it drop. She unbuttoned the side button at her waist and slid the zipper down so that her charcoal grey skirt pooled around her ankles. She took a step back and struck her best Morgana's Secret pose.
Harry felt as though he couldn't breathe. He started taking long, slow breaths as he surveyed the beauty before him. She was in a rose-red demi-bra which accented her cups nicely. His eyes traveled down past her waspish waist to the swell of her hips sporting the matching high cut knickers. His eyes then followed her shapely legs down to her red leather ankle wrap sandals with the four inch "fuck me" heels.
He wanted to say how beautiful she was; that he wasn't worthy of her; that he could spend the rest of his life trying and still not deserve her. What came out was a cross between a sigh and a groan.
She was ecstatic. Hermione saw his eyes take on that glassy look that meant his higher brain functions were shutting down, so she unfastened the front clasp on her bra and turned around to slide the panties off her bum. She knew that if she didn't take them off that he was about to rip them off, and she wanted to wear them again at least once!
While Hermione was bent double from the waist she started to undo the leather wraps on her high heels when he growled out, "No."
Hermione's eyebrow arched upwards. "No?" she repeated.
"Leave the shoes on," he ordered hoarsely.
He moved to capture her, but she put both her hands on his chest and said, "One of us has on entirely too many clothes."
"Give me a hand?" he asked.
She slid around behind him so that she could reach around with both arms and unbutton his shirt. As she did, this his hands came around to caress her bum.
She unbuckled his belt then unbuttoned his trousers, pulling the zipper down as well. While her hands were in the neighborhood, she reached into his boxers to grasp his bone-hard erection.
"Oh, I'd say we're ready," she cooed.
She reached under his T shirt and pulled it up over his head, then wrapped her arms around his chest for a soft, warm bare hug. She hooked her thumbs into the elastic of his boxers and pulled down stopping only long enough to say, "Shoes."
He kicked off his shoes, then stepped out of his trousers and boxers. He reveled in the heat of her. Her heels put her wet center near his bum cheeks and he could almost imagine the musk rising as steam from the juncture of her legs.
She grasped his erection, frog-marched him to the bed, then said, "Turn around."
When he did, she pushed him back onto the bed before falling on top of him, trapping his boner between them. She slid up on his abdomen until her steaming entrance was just beyond the end of his cock, and then she reached behind herself to guide him in as she slid into place.
She was so wet that, tight as she was, he went in easily. She reveled in the feel of his length and girth filling her, the paradoxical softness and firmness of him as she began to rise and fall and grind his member into herself. Up, down, a little wiggle as she bottomed out on him, then up and down and grind, and again, and again, and again. Hermione's body felt the familiar tingle that had been denied to her for so long, she moaned, "Oh Harry, oh baby, oh fuck me oh fuck me oh fuck oh fuuuuuuuuck!" After that she alternated between screeching and moaning and shouting "oh fuck" repeatedly.
Harry had both hands full of bum cheek as she bounced and he thrust in counterpoint trying for that extra penetration. He had been without for so long, without physical intimacy to be sure, without love in all of its connotations. Now he had a goddess bouncing on his balls and he loved her will all that he was. As the familiar pressure began to erupt from the base of his cock he cried, "I love you, Hermione!"
And that said it all. They might have been fucking rutting like a pair of stoats but they were first and foremost making love.
They continued to dance the dance of the ages throughout the night, napping for an hour or so before starting again. They never really separated; Harry's cock never completely softened and Hermione's 'kitty' wasn't about to let him go.
The next morning came way too early, but they hunkered down into the duvet still coupled like a pair of Siamese twins joined at the sex. Hermione was spread eagle across his body as Harry lay on his back.
"Bollocks," she said.
"What?"
"Need the loo, really need the loo!"
Harry threw off the duvet, and then carefully slid to the side of the bed, keeping his 'morning wood' inside Hermione. He sat up and she wrapped her legs around his middle. He stood up taking her with him and she thought, 'Oh, I love being with an athlete!'
He walked into the bathroom and started the shower, which magically produced hot water instantly. Harry stepped into the shower and said, "You can go now if you want."
She groaned in relief as she let her bladder empty. The smell of ammonia filled the shower for a few moments as she let go a long golden stream all over Harry's cock and balls. When she was done she said, "Thank you love, you're a life saver," and kissed him. He responded by putting her back against the wet tiles and sawing in and out of her as she was pinned against the wall. The pent up fluids from their 'all nighter' drained out of her as he continued to pump and she produced even more lubricant as she began her "fuck me" mantra yet again.
Harry loved it when she screamed his name and "fuck me" in the same sentence. It was always a turn on for him. He rammed into her, reveling in the warmth and the tightness of her. He had numbed slightly from all their exertions the night before so it was a good fifteen minutes before he groaned her name yet again and shot ropes of sticky come into her.
After that his legs felt like rubber and he reluctantly let her down, where she found she was equally wobbly. They soaped and rinsed each other thoroughly, then just to be sure, did it again before leaving the shower very clean and refreshed.
Harry's accio pulled soft towels from the shelf that kept them magically warmed. He wrapped Hermione in one like a balmy terrycloth hug.
"Oh baby," she cooed. "You're hired!"
"For you, Mrs. Potter, I'd gladly work for free."
"You just want to have your wicked way with me." She smirked.
"I just want to be with you," he said with such sincerity that she began to tear again.
"You don't know how long I've waited for you to say that to me," she choked.
"Now, now" he said, pulling her into a gentle embrace. "No tears today: you're here, that's all that matters."
The were still locked in their embrace when they went back into the bedroom to find the bed made up with clean fresh sheets and their clothes laid out for them cleaned and pressed. They reluctantly released each other and dressed, then explored the master bedroom for the first time.
Hermione squealed in delight as she saw the dressing table, complete with combs and brushes and with enough drawers and cubbies to accept even Lavender Brown's extensive makeup collection.
Harry opened up the wardrobe and was surprised to see all of their purchases from the previous day hanging neatly, his to the right and Hermione's to the left. It was, of course, a magic wardrobe in that the inside was much larger than the outside so that it was, in effect, like walking into another room.
"It's bigger than the bedrooms at Privet Drive," he mused.
"Oh Harry, its brilliant! There's more than enough room for all my things - and then some!"
They were startled from their explorations by the sound of an elf clearing his throat. "Good morning sir, ma'am. Sorry to intrude, but I need to know if you'll be wanting breakfast or lunch as its past eleven of the clock."
She looked up at her fiancé and asked, "Pancakes?"
He smiled back at her and said, "Meacham, can we have pancakes with black currants?"
"Very good sir. This morning's Prophet is on the small dining room table as is the reply from Miss Granger's parents and a note from a 'Gred and Forge' Weasley."
"Thank you Meacham," Harry replied. "Have you picked out a room?"
The little old elf smiled and said. "Yes, sir; a proper room with a real bed and dresser and wardrobe and even my own bathroom. Apparently this house was built with human servants in mind, so I've moved into the butler's quarters on the kitchen side of the coach house."
"We have a coach house?"
"Yes sir. Would you care to see it after breakfast?"
"I'd like that very much. Thank you."
The little man bowed and faded from sight.
"It's a little disconcerting the way he does that," Harry said.
"It's his way, he's a house-elf and they are always there, never seen."
"You don't suppose he's, y'know, there when we're, um . . ."
"No Harry, good house elves always turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to the intimacies of the master and the mistress of the house."
He was obviously relieved.
"To breakfast, Mrs. Potter?"
"To breakfast, Mrs. Potter's mister!"
As they entered the small dining room they saw the mail and paper laid out on the table. The wizard photo on the front page showed Harry on one knee placing a ring on Hermione's finger and then her falling to her knees to hug him fiercely; the sequence of events seemed to be in an endless loop.
Harry groaned. "I'd hoped to break this to our magical friends, well, /gently/."
The headline read, "Man Who Triumphed Engaged! by Rita Skeeter."
Harry read the first page of the article with Hermione reading over his shoulder.
Yesterday the Man Who Triumphed startled onlookers at Madame Malkins by proposing to his long time friend Hermione Granger - fellow Gryffindor and a girl that has been rumored to be romantically linked to Mr. Potter, as well as Victor Krum, world cup seeker. Miss Granger had most recently been romantically linked to Ronald Weasley, described by those in the know as 'Harry's best mate.' Mr. Weasley, the youngest of the Weasley clan, was an unfortunate casualty of the final battle with Voldemort, nee Tom Riddle, earlier this week.
Some readers might say that it is too soon after the war's end and that these young people are rushing headlong into a lifelong commitment. These gentle beings should remember that these two young warriors of the wizarding world have been friends for the better part of a decade and have surely seen each other at their best and worst.
This reporter is delighted at the announcement, which in no small way vindicates my report from the Tri-Wizard Tournament that recognized the sparks in the air when these two are anywhere near each other (story continues on page 3).
"Well she got a couple of points wrong, that's to be expected," Harry said, shaking his head. "Ron is not the youngest Weasley and we didn't become romantically involved until, let's see, today is Saturday?"
"I know I've fancied you since our first year Harry. I'm sure anyone with eyes could have seen that."
"I wish I had known then. Think of all the time we've wasted! I would have loved taking you to the Yule Ball, and as my date on Hogsmeade weekends."
She smirked. "Exploring broom cupboards, the astronomy tower."
"The prefect's bath . . ." they said simultaneously, and laughed.
They read the note from Hermione's parents. They were delighted to come, asking for directions and asking if they could bring anything for dinner.
They opened the letter from 'Gred and Forge' and were startled by a loud bang and the sound of noisemakers and confetti, which fell into the butter dish and syrup pitcher.
The not-quite-a-howler but just as loud announced:
"Congratulations you two, and congratulate us too! Padma and Pavarti are the newest members of the Weasley clan! Take it from us mate - elope! No muss, no fuss, no bother!"
The message ended with another bang and more confetti, which Meacham magically dispelled. A written note was included:
Mum and Saas (mum in law) Patil are furious of course. They wanted to have a big to do over the brides' dresses and such. Dad thinks it's great and Susar (dad in law) Patil is beside himself with relief because he's not going to have to put out for two very expensive weddings.
On a more serious note, tread lightly around mum: with Ginny in jail and Ron in St. Mungo's, she's about ready to explode. She turned an interesting shade of white when she saw the evening edition of the Prophet announcing your engagement. Mum's getting herself worked up about you and Hermione and Ron and Ginny, and you don't want to be there when she explodes. All we ask is that you try to understand where she's coming from in all this. She has, essentially, lost her two youngest children.
As for the rest of us, good on you mate - you too Hermione! Everyone knew you two belonged together; well, almost everyone. Some people are delusional.
Party at the Burrow - next Saturday, starting at six. Be there or we will come after you!
Lurve and such,
Mr. and Mrs. and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley-Patil
"Sweetheart," he asked. "How do you feel about eloping?"
"You find a suit and I'll ring up the vicar, priest, rabbi, bishop or the captain of the ship we're sailing on," she said with a broad smile.
"Oh, you're all right with it then? Good." He returned her smile. "But I still want to let your parents know. Speaking of which, what should we serve? Is there anything they don't like, food-wise I mean?"
"Oh, um, just about anything. We could do a roast and potatoes and they'd be fine, lots of fresh veggies, and um, a nice dessert, maybe a trifle?"
"Did you get all that Meacham?" Harry called out over his shoulder.
"Yes, sir. May I suggest a London broil?"
"Sounds good, Meacham."
"Very good, sir."
"Hey, let's check out the carriage house," Harry said expectantly.
"Through the back door in the kitchen, sir; past my quarters and the basement steps."
"Thank you, Meacham."
They walked into the old style carriage house to find not a carriage, but a workroom or rather a hobby room. The walls were covered in tools, both familiar and unfamiliar. Workbenches were covered in dust cloths and in the middle of the floor was the unmistakable shape of a motorcycle under a heavy canvas cover.
"That must be Sirius' old motorcycle," Harry whispered.
He drew the cover off to reveal a 1969 Triumph Trident, the 750cc three cylinder classic. It sported a midnight blue gas tank and matching side covers and had evidently been charmed to repel dust and rust; it looked like a new bike on the showroom floor.
Harry whistled. "I'm gonna need lessons before I can ride this."
He eased himself onto the seat and checked the fuel tank; it looked about three-quarters full. Harry saw the key in the ignition and turned it to the run/start position. He moved the bike slowly forward and back, to make sure it wasn't in gear, then put his left foot on the kick-starter and gave it a quick push down. The three cylinders thrummed into life and rumbled at idle like an oversized jungle cat. He set the key to the off position and the sound seemed to echo in the carriage house for a while.
"Definitely need riding lessons!" he enthused.
"You do all right by me," Hermione said with a smirk. "Riding, that is. . ."
Harry smiled. "I'm so glad you're with me woman, because you're insatiable and I just can't get enough of you."
"Y'see", she said smiling as she sat on the seat behind him, "we're perfect for each other."
"Can we go back to Madame Malkin's today, sweetheart?" Harry asked. "She said our clothes would be ready by now."
"Okay" she agreed.
"And while where there, why don't we pick out a nice white dress for you?"
"Um, okay," she said, a bit confused. "But why white?"
"Isn't that the traditional color for a wedding dress?"
She squeezed him from behind and buried her head in the juncture of his neck and shoulder. "Don't you ever change, you wonderful man!"
They decided to floo to the Leaky Cauldron first, and then walk into Diagon Alley from there. When they arrived at Madame Malkin's, their purchases were indeed ready.
"Madame," Harry asked, "could you show us some of your bridal, um, dresses and stuff?"
The good madam let them into her bridal shop where half a dozen stunning designs were already on display.
"Mr. Potter, would you care to look at our catalog while we discuss Miss Granger's measurements and preferences?"
"Um, sure," he answered. He hadn't thought about looking through a catalog, but it seemed like a good way to pass the time.
Bridal dresses, it seems, were designed to be worn only once. Not that Harry minded, but an awful lot of work went into making something that was so . . . temporary. It would be better, he thought, to just transfigure an everyday outfit; then, when it reverted to form, it was still wearable. He thought this while looking through the catalog, seeing dresses that were too long, too short. One had a neckline that went down to the navel. One had a ridiculously long train, one had a silly pillbox hat, and one was . . . familiar?
"Where have I seen this before?" he thought.
Then he remembered. Pictures. Wedding pictures. His parent's wedding. His mum, Lilly, was wearing a dress like this; she would dance with Sirius in a never-ending cycle in his beloved family photo album. He looked up to see both ladies looking back at him.
"See, my dear," Madame Malkin was saying. "It never fails - the groom-to-be always finds a style to his liking. It's part of the 'charm' of my catalogue."
"Can you do this?" he asked, his voice cracking with emotion.
"In a trice," the good dressmaker said. "Now shoo! You do not get to see the bride in her gown until the wedding!"
"But I found the dress!" he protested.
"And for that we are very grateful Mister Potter, now, shoo! Quality Quidditch Supplies it four doors down, good day!"
And so it was that Harry found himself walking down the Alley when he heard what sounded like a sob coming from a side alley.
"Hello?" he called.
He drew his wand and heard what sounded like a little girl sobbing in a large empty room.
"Hello?"
"You're a great wizard Harry," the little girl's voice said.
"Not as good as you," he replied, knowing those were the words he must say.
"Books and cleverness, there are more important things. Friendship, bravery and-"
"Lumos!" Harry cried.
The dementor seemed to flow like oily water into the open window of a cellar before Harry could call forth his patronus.
He knew that voice.
It was the voice of an eleven year old girl.
It was the voice of Hermione Granger.
_____ooo000ooo_____
Author's note: As always, thank you Great Writer Sarah for being the better beta, someday I'll actually pay attention to comma usage. . . For you motorcycle aficionados out there the Triumph's of the 1960s, even those sold in the U.S. had kick starters, and they were on the left. Everything was reversed, throttle on the left, clutch on the right, foot break on the left, gear shift on the right; going back and forth from my buddy's 69 Triumph Bonneville to my 74 Honda 500 4-cylinder took some getting used to. Great bike though. I still ride. I ride a Honda V 45 Magna that was built in 1986, which makes it officially old enough to drink in the State of Florida. Still runs great.
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