One

Chapter 1

25 April, 2014

1.1 - The Potters' house, Godric's Hollow

"Why do we have to do this again?"

There were only four more days until Beltane, and Harry sighed at the petulant tone in Ginny's voice as he came into the spacious kitchen from inspecting the back yard. He wasn't quite uncharitable enough to call it a whine, but ... did they really have to have the same argument over and over again?

"Because this is a time for family." As far as he was concerned, it was the only reason that counted – or was needed. Ginny knew how much 'family' meant to him, and that he'd take any opportunity to gather those he'd chosen as such around him. And if Harry's family nowadays included more than just his wife and children, Hermione, Ron, and however many other Weasleys who could manage to come, so much the better. Why can't Ginny accept that? "Besides, it's our turn this year."

It wasn't as if she minded hosting large parties; he knew that, if anything, she was far more of a social animal than Harry. Only, Ginny preferred going out, attending glamorous social events whereas Harry detested those with a passion. Meeting with family and friends here, at the restored house in Godric's Hollow, was what he liked, and he was damned if he'd let his wife's grumbling spoil the occasion for him!

"It's also traditional," he added more quietly. "You should know."

Ginny did know; after all, she'd grown up in a Pureblood family, even if the Weasleys as a whole paid little more than lip service to the traditions. Sure, they'd have bannocks for Beltane, and roasted chestnuts at Samhain, but Christmas mince pies and Easter eggs always had been more special as treats ... and with seven boisterous children to look after, Molly had had little time to observe all the niceties and trappings.

She shrugged. "We were never observant, and I really don't see why you should be," she groused. "After all, it's not as if you've grown up with it." As soon as the words left her mouth, Ginny winced and cast a guilty look at her husband. "Sorry, I –"

Harry had paled at her careless remark. "Has it ever occurred to you that I might have, if my parents ... or even Sirius! ... had been around to raise me?" he finally said, the effort it cost him to keep his hurt and anger in check clearly noticeable in his stiff posture and overly-controlled voice. "It's not my fault I didn't know any of the traditions until Andromeda taught me."

Ginny turned away to hide her scowl. Damn that woman anyway! She knew very well that the erstwhile Andromeda Black was the reason Harry had become interested in the old ways initially. It hadn't been surprising that Mrs Tonks wanted to teach Harry's godson about 'good' wizarding traditions; what had raised more than one eyebrow within their circle of friends and family was how much Harry had involved himself with the concept and procedures.

If it weren't for Andromeda, none of this would be happening! 'This' did not only mean the upcoming Beltane celebration; truthfully, Ginny rather liked having a party at their home, even if it was only for family and required some specific preparations. She usually enjoyed setting up seasonal activities for the passel of children that would be attending these events. But Teddy was at Hogwarts, sitting his O.W.L.s and unable to come, and fine, as the boy's grandmother Andromeda was welcome at the Potters' house whenever, but did Harry have to include the rest of Andromeda's family?

The War may have been over for fifteen years, but it was only recently that Andromeda had fully reconciled with her one surviving sister. Ginny supposed having Narcissa Malfoy over wasn't all that bad, given that she had saved Harry that night in the Forbidden Forest, but must she really bring the Ferret and his family along, too? Worse, Albus and Rose were ecstatic at the idea of having the youngest Malfoy come along.

Never in a million years had Ginny expected that friendship to develop when the children met at preschool. She sighed. What was done, was done, and she'd just have to make the best of it. She'd survived one year at school under the Carrows; she could survive one day with the Malfoys in her home. Even if she would've preferred to attend the Ministry Spring Ball, wearing a new designer gown and sipping champagne. Maybe I could even have persuaded Harry to dance with me ...

"Tell me again why we can't just attend the bonfire up on the Common?"

Harry sighed. "Gin ...I told you why. Several times, if I recall. It's more than dancing around the fire; it's about the blessings and everything else."

She shot him a look. "Yes, but you have yet to convince me," she said crossly. "I just want to know why we can't just once have a small family gathering at home and then go out – say, to the Ministry Spring Ball, maybe?"

"You know I hate these formal affairs. It's bad enough that I can't get out of the annual New Year's bash; I won't waste my time with more if I can help it."

"Has it ever occurred to you that I might like to attend more than one grand function a year?" she asked, trying to keep unnecessary sharpness out of her voice. "You barely accompany me to my job-related parties‒"

"You cannot honestly believe that I'd ever enjoy being in the same room with a bunch of journalists!" Harry exclaimed.

"Not all of us are like Rita Skeeter," she replied, stung. While retiring from the Holyhead Harpies had been the right decision for the sake of her marriage, herself and the children, Ginny had to admit that writing about Quidditch wasn't half as grand or exciting as actually playing the sport had been ... and that sometimes, she missed the public attention.

Harry inclined his head in apology. "Granted, but way too many of your colleagues hang around me – okay, us – at these shindigs, just waiting for me to say or do something they can print the next day." He took a deep breath. "I know that I can't help being in the public eye due to my job, and I know you've earned your own celebrity, but let's please keep our private life just that – private." He smiled a little at Ginny's rebellious expression and reached over to touch her cheek.

"Gin, if it's dressing up and a fine dinner you want, Seamus mentioned the other day that a new hotel opened last year in Connemara; apparently they have a very good restaurant." His smile deepened, became cajoling. "There may even be a bar with a dance floor. For afterwards."

Ginny huffed. "As if you'd ever make use of it."

"Well ... I just might be persuaded," Harry murmured, dropping a kiss on her hair. "Please, Ginny? Just the two of us, or maybe Ron and Hermione, or Neville and Hannah, if you'd rather have them ..."

"I'll think about it," Ginny conceded. It wasn't what she really wanted, not the big, glamorous affair that the star-struck little girl still lurking somewhere in her psyche craved, but she'd take what she could get. If that meant an out-of-the-way place in Ireland, no matter how exclusive, rather than an elegant establishment in London or one of the capitals on the Continent, so be it. Harry was such a homebody, and so leery of his barely-diminished fame, she knew it was a major concession for him to offer her even that much.

This is his dream – family and home. But what about mine?

Reluctantly, Ginny left Harry to his preparations, declining his help in the kitchen and the offer of hiring a Free Elf for the day. They could have refreshments catered – she was a working woman, after all – and there'd be help available for the asking. Her mother's May wine was always delicious, and Molly would be glad to provide it. As for the rest ... she may not be a 'domestic goddess' like Molly, but Ginny was her mother's daughter. She had her pride. If Harry wanted a homemade party, that's what she'd give him to the best of her ability. And if I say so myself, my best may not be perfect, but it's still pretty damn good!

She started to gather ingredients from her cupboards. With close to thirty people expected on Beltane and an article on the new coach of the Wimbourne Wasps to finish before then, it'd be best to get her baking out of the way as soon as possible. Proper bannocks could be done the night before, but Ginny rightly suspected that no matter how many she made, a good portion would disappear in the hollow legs that were their children's stomachs. Beltane bread it is.

With a determined yet slightly rueful grimace, she flicked her wand at her kitchen mortar to set almonds to grind and started to measure and sift flour into a large bowl.

¨·..·¨·..·¨·..·¨

27 April, 2014

1.2 - Diagon Alley, Gringotts

Two days later, Harry was still brooding over Ginny's careless remark despite himself. Sure, she'd apologized properly later that night, and he'd told her it didn't matter and had already forgotten about it... but it did, and he hadn't, not really. He'd never expected to become so invested in rather ancient wizarding traditions that not many families still observed fully, but when Andromeda had told him she planned to teach Teddy as soon as he was old enough, he'd agreed readily. After all, it was part of the boy's heritage – and a way for Harry himself to learn what he'd most likely would've been taught by his father and godfather.

With the ease of long practice, he suppressed the slight pang thinking of Sirius still caused him even after nearly two decades. He'd had his fill of Purebloods right after the War, and had embraced the rather casual approach the Weasleys took, but as the trauma slowly receded and he matured, Harry had become interested in the traditions Andromeda observed. He'd learned to value them over time and discovered that some of the spirituality actually enriched his own life.

It wasn't like joining a specific religion, not the way he understood it, but there was something about the special magic and being connected to the land that spoke to Harry. It went beyond his oaths to serve and protect the wizarding world he'd sworn as an Auror; it was also more than the civic duty he owed the state of Great Britain and the Crown as a whole. Harry couldn't define it, but despite the Dursleys' attempts to crush any kind of belief in the supernatural or spiritual out of him, he accepted that there just might be forces at work in the world – and even the universe – that could and should be honoured throughout one's life ... if only to give thanks for gifts one had received in life.

Besides, the rituals and traditions are wholly benign. There's nothing to be afraid of, or unnatural about them. Not like the crimes against nature Riddle committed that were solely for his own benefit.

Even Hermione, determined part-agnostic though she was, had come around to his point of view eventually, and was seriously considering starting a campaign to introduce a Wizarding Customs class at Hogwarts, to be made as compulsory as Muggle Studies were nowadays.

Of the four major feasts, Harry enjoyed Beltane the most, with its connotations of rebirth and renewal – even more so, in a way, than Yule. How could he not, after seeing his family's spirits when he'd walked to his death in the Forbidden Forest, and afterwards having Dumbledore's ghost, or whatever it was, send him back from that eerily-white King's Cross station to live on ... and win? It was in no small part because of those encounters that he'd been able to do away with Voldemort for good fifteen years ago ‒ only a day after the holiday!

He'd also realised that he liked Samhain the least. It was the time his parents had been killed, after all, and while he was all for honouring one's beloved dead, he'd seen enough funerals to last him several lifetimes. So, small wonder, really.

Stop being maudlin, he admonished himself. It's only two days until Beltane, and you have ladies to meet. He couldn't help smiling as he walked up the steps to Gringotts' front entrance. The goblin guards scowled at him, but he only inclined his head politely in passing. It had taken some effort to get back into the goblins' good graces after the War, but time – and sharing the secret of what exactly he'd removed from the LeStrange vault with Ragnok, Chief of the Horde – had eventually smoothed things over so that Auror Potter was once more a valued customer. Not that owning two of the oldest, and well-filled, vaults in the bank has anything to do with it, nooo.

Harry hid his cynicism behind a cheerful smile as he greeted both Andromeda and Narcissa in the marble entrance hall. The Sisters Black had become a formidable force in society in recent years, and Harry was well aware that one crossed them at one's own peril. In truth, he quite liked both of them if for different reasons. Andromeda surprisingly had become a second mother figure to him, always ready with well-reasoned advice if he asked for it. Harry honestly appreciated Molly's generosity and effusive affection, but sometimes couldn't shake the feeling that she still saw Ginny as her baby girl and him as the scrawny eleven-year-old she'd first met at King's Cross Station all those years ago. He wouldn't want to miss Molly's unstinting love for the world, but sometimes he couldn't help wishing she'd remember that Ginny and he were in their thirties, seasoned professionals and had three children of their own.

Andromeda, on the other hand, had met him when he was already of age, been heavily involved in fighting a war, and afterwards was sharing the upbringing of her grandson. To her, he was an adult, and got treated as such. Harry found it quite a refreshing contrast.

As for Narcissa ... well. He'd spoken out on her behalf at the Death Eater trials and achieved a suspended sentence for her. Furthermore, due to his testimony Draco had been sentenced to just a year's prison term and another three under house arrest. Only Lucius was still in Azkaban and would remain there for five more years. What had begun as a civil exchange of thank-you notes in the aftermath of the trials had slowly evolved into a surprisingly cordial association with the Malfoy family.

He and Draco might never exactly be friends, but their sons were ... and Narcissa was still helping him navigate safely through wizarding society. His smile widened as he noticed the unobtrusive once-over she gave him as they shook hands. It had taken a lot of effort and subtle guidance on her part, but it had finally penetrated his thick skull that proper manners and a neat, dapper appearance wasn't something to haul out just for official functions, weddings and funerals. Regardless of Lucius' politics, Narcissa had moved in the top circles, and the lessons she'd taught him since the War were still standing him in good stead now that he was yea-close to becoming the youngest Head Auror in living memory.

"Shall we go, ladies? I'm afraid my time is rather more limited than I'd hoped," he said after exchanging pleasantries with both women, politely ushering them towards the carts. They'd come to Gringotts to check the Potter and Black vaults for items to use in the Beltane ritual. Narcissa already had promised to bring flowers from the Manor's gardens, Andromeda was providing the athame she and Ted Tonks had bought when they'd first married, and Molly had volunteered to make the May wine. The Potters' was a young household, after all, and it was perfectly acceptable to supplement heirlooms they might find today with loans from friends and family. But Harry still hoped his parents and Sirius might have left him things that would suit.

¨·..·¨·..·¨·..·¨

In the Potter vault, Harry went directly to a rosewood box he'd discovered on a preliminary foray. From it, he carefully unpacked a pale-green tablecloth made from finest Irish linen, edged all around by three inches of Chantilly lace and showing a simple cross-stitch pattern of yellow and white daffodils. "I found this among my parents' effects," he said, "and thought it would work for the altar. What do you think?"

Narcissa inspected the cloth. "This is rather lovely," she murmured. "Somewhat simplistic, but a fine fabric and very nice craftsmanship."

"My grandmother Evans made it," Harry explained quietly. "She used to keep a journal ... The fabric comes from her grandmother's trousseau, the lace edging is from her mother's wedding veil, and she herself did the embroidery when she was pregnant with my mum. She was sick a lot of the time and needed something to keep her busy. She wrote that she always put it out for family gatherings at Easter."

"So it has family history, the colours are right, and while the flower motif is a bit of a stretch, season-wise, it's still appropriate for spring. It'll do," Narcissa declared.

"So will this," Andromeda said, coming over with a large, heavy-looking vase she'd retrieved from a glass-fronted cabinet in one corner. It was made from a milky yellow material and was decorated with a relief of near-nude women. "Some good crystal here, and it's a wonderful colour."

"It's also somewhat risqué," Narcissa commented. "Really, Andi – dancing nymphs in a state of near-undress? There'll be children present!"

"Oh, pish. They've likely seen their mothers wearing as little or less on the beach; technically, they're bacchantes, not nymphs, and what could be more fitting for a Beltane fertility symbol?"

"Maybe, but still ..." Narcissa frowned, turning the vase this way and that.

"You've turned into a prude, Cissy."

"Better that than corrupt innocent minds!"

Harry decided to intervene before the sisters could seriously get into one of their frequent arguments where Andromeda's more liberal views clashed with Narcissa's Pureblood notions of propriety.

"The vase belonged to my mum's other grandmother," he said. "It was one of her wedding presents back in the 1930s and was handcrafted by a famous French designer. Hermione looked it up and told me it's quite valuable nowadays."

Narcissa paused in her tirade and lifted an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Uh huh," he nodded. "I gather that they're still being manufactured and are rather expensive even when new, but an original, and in this particular colour ... I think she mentioned the value's at least in the four figure-range. Galleons, too, not just pounds." Harry hid a smile when the polite look she'd given him so far turned calculating. He'd had a feeling that bit of information would impress Narcissa. Carefully avoiding Andromeda's dancing eyes, he added ingeniously, "Besides, I doubt the kids will look at the vase closely anyway. Well, Teddy might if he were coming, but he's fifteen already, so ..."

"I don't want to know what my grandson may or may not be familiar with in regards to semi-nude females," Andromeda said primly, blithely ignoring her sister's muttered "Hypocrite!". Her lips were twitching, though. "We'll take it."

And that was pretty much that.

Harry bit back a grin of his own. "Right. Shall we go on then?"

They packed up both items and stepped back out into the drafty tunnel. The goblin steering the cart quickly transported them even deeper until they reached the Black vault, number 711. Once inside, Harry stood back and let the two women search through the treasure trove of heirlooms.

"I seem to remember something ..." Andromeda mused after a while, closing a domed iron-banded trunk with a loud 'snap' after a cursory glance-through. "Cissy, help me look for a small oak chest with brass fittings. You should remember which one I'm thinking of – grandfather Arcturus always kept it on the mantelpiece in his study."

Narcissa looked up from her own inventorying. "Hmm ‒ about the size of a lap desk, with ebony inlays?"

"That's the one." The two started to rummage through the items in the vault's far-right corner.

"I think I've found it," Narcissa said at last. "Is this the chest you mean?"

"It looks to be the right size and age, anyway. Harry, some help lifting, please?"

"Sure."

As the retrieval of Hufflepuff's Cup had taught Harry, they couldn't use their wands to Summon things in a high-security Pureblood vault, so he had to shift chests and books by hand until he could physically pick up the small box and carried it to an old trunk close to a sputtering torch. The wood was old and weathered, the metal bindings dull with age, but it was not terribly heavy, and the sliding lock opened with very little effort. Inside, on a bed of faded velvet, lay a chunky golden chalice.

The three of them bent over the open chest to take a closer look. The cup was maybe ten inches high altogether and stood on a short, stocky base. The bowl was roughly tulip-shaped, had uncommonly thick walls compared to its overall weight, and the only adornment were some vaguely floral etchings on the inside and a narrow band of faded script around the rim that seemed to have been inlaid with now-tarnished silver.

"I don't know," Narcissa said dubiously. "It's certainly an antique, but looks rather crude; I find it not very attractive, to be honest."

Privately, Harry had to agree

"Fourteenth-century work, if I'm not mistaken. Aunt Walburga locked it up here as soon as she could," Andromeda murmured. "I don't know what it is about this chalice, but ..." She held her wand hand above it, careful not to touch, and let out a little surprised gasp. "Oh!"

"Careful, Andi!" Narcissa exclaimed, but when she saw that her sister wasn't being hexed or worse, she, too, let her hand hover over the chalice. "Merlin," she whispered. "There's some very powerful magic in this!"

Curious, Harry stretched out his own hand. As far as he was concerned, anything that Walburga Black had rejected almost had to be something positive, but he'd learned the hard way to be wary of magical artefacts. Memories of wearing Slytherin's locket still had the power to make him break out in a cold sweat. He let his senses and magic flow towards the vessel and almost immediately felt a wash of ... Well, goodness was the only way he could describe it ... seep into his body.

"Yeah," he breathed. "But I'd bet my Invisibility Cloak that whatever magic's in here won't harm us."

"Oh, definitely not," Andromeda said. "Cissy?"

"Indeed," Narcissa agreed after a few seconds before she reluctantly stepped back. "Shall we take it, then?"

"By all means!"

"Please."

Harry gently closed the wooden box again and tucked it under his arm. The vase had been wrapped into the tablecloth and put into a padded satchel for safe transport, and he held all three items carefully on his lap as they rode the cart back to the surface.

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A/N: A picture of the 'Bacchantes' vase Harry found in the Potter vault can be seen here. It's vintage Art Déco, was made by René Lalique, and the median value of a signed 1932 original is $15,000/£10,000 ... which, estimating a rough conversion of £5 to a Galleon, equals 2,000 Galleons. Expensive, indeed!

Bacchantes are priestesses of the God Bacchus

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