7: Hey Mister--Wanna buy a Wedding?

Disclaimer: Now, if I were J.K. Rowling, I might very well write fanfiction under an assumed name, just to let off steam. Alas, one look at my bank balance is sufficient to prove that I am not she. Reviews are my sole recompense, and I intend no disrespect in borrowing her characters. Except maybe to Rita Skeeter.

Chapter 7: Hey Mister...Wanna buy a Wedding?

---

Hermione was panicked. It didn't really show on the surface, but deep down, she was one piece of discouraging information away from vomiting. Reggie's reappearance on Monday night was not reassuring, especially since she asked more questions than she answered.

"So what happened after we left?" Reggie asked, whiskers twitching with energy.

"We had breakfast," Hermione answered primly.

Reggie snorted. "Cute euphemism."

"No, really...we had breakfast. The mood was shot to hell at that point," Hermione clarified, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Well, you'll have plenty of time to recapture it by Saturday. Don't worry about a thing...there's no investigation happening at the long-arsed-named department for monitoring magical beings. And I've got some reinforcements to help sort the Skeeter bitch for you. You've got the square root of sod-all to worry about." Reggie declined to elaborate further.

No additional information was forthcoming on Tuesday either, with both Fairy God-Jarvey and Apprentice absent well before Hermione awakened. This meant every quiet moment at work that day found Hermione's brilliant, frizz-topped mind absurdly full of images of broad-shouldered goblins or thuggish kelpies in turtlenecks, frog-marching one troublesome reporter to an unknown doom under Reggie's approving eye. Actually, it was easier for her to envision Severus supervising such a scene, but either way, she was in a state of hopeless distraction throughout her morning shift. Reggie returned that evening just in time to accompany them to the rehearsal...and gave no more detailed a report than a wicked, pointy smirk that did nothing to alleviate Hermione's anxiety.

The rehearsal itself was strained, organized insanity. Hermione felt distinctly dazed as her mother herded people around the room, telling everyone where to go, sit, stand, and so on in her brightest voice...the one that set Hermione's teeth on edge.

The world had become oddly fractured, or maybe it was just her perception of it. It was difficult to take anything in properly. What with trying to follow Mum's directions without actually listening to the annoyingly chirpy tone she was affecting, the oddest things were popping into Hermione's awareness: Dad and Severus dealing each other eerily identical glares across the length of the room, Harry talking to Luna in a worried voice, and Draco following Ginny around the room, apparently in the process of pestering the life out of her...which Ginny seemed to find unaccountably amusing rather than irritating.

Most confusing of all was the presence of people at the rehearsal who weren't actually in the wedding party. Remus had popped in with the excuse that he and Tonks were going out to dinner and the cinema with Harry and Luna afterwards, though Tonks was delayed at work for now. Harry's presence made a bit more sense; when he wasn't at work, it was practically impossible to detach him from Luna, and she was a bridesmaid. The fact that Ron had appeared out of nowhere was a little harder to figure out. He normally gave Harry and Luna plenty of space when they were in clingy-ooey-gooey-in-love mode.

Now that Hermione was paying attention, it was obvious he was giving them ample space. It was Flora that he was crowding.

"No, I didn't see your match last Saturday...I had to work. But I caught some of it on the Wizarding Wireless," Flora said to him, her sweet, patient voice impinging on the edges of Hermione's awareness, under rather than over the general din.

Oh, Ron... please, PLEASE don't tell me you're here to chat up my dearest friend and chief bridesmaid. Couldn't you at least wait until the reception?

"Did you hear the bit where..."

Before she could make up her mind to march over to them and intervene, an even more bizarre snippet of conversation met her ears.

"But am I really your type...precious?"

Hermione may have been out of it, but it still struck her as peculiar that Ginny should be calling Malfoy 'precious'...even in a slightly mocking tone of voice.

"I don't suppose you'd actually care to tell me how I could prove to you that I'm not gay," Malfoy said, his voice thick with exasperation.

Somehow, linking 'gay' and 'Draco Malfoy' did not seem the least bit peculiar. It was, however, suggestive of things she preferred not to contemplate, especially in light of her weekend conversation with Ginny. At that precise moment, Hermione discovered that becoming a Healer did not 'Evanesco' all traces of squeamishness from one's psyche.

Luna came over, radiating serenity, and struck up a distractingly off-kilter conversation. It was either Luna just being Luna, or a very canny attempt to calm Hermione down. No one could ever really tell, not even Harry. Either way, Hermione appreciated it. At this point, anything was better than listening to her mother's Lady Bossyboots impression, another blow-by-blow Quidditch match description, or anything whatsoever pertaining to the earth-vexing ferret, whom she would quite probably slap again for no better reason than the fact that mention of his anatomy had disturbed her domestic tranquility. Alas, even that outlet was denied her. If only the insufferable prat hadn't been responsible for her getting reacquainted with Severus in the first place, and if only Severus hadn't unaccountably chosen Malfoy to stand up with him during the ceremony...

It was almost enough to distract her from the knowledge that there was an invisible Jarvey in the room, hovering like some sort of foul-mouthed guardian angel. Though nothing could quite efface the knowledge that everywhere that Reggie went, mayhem was sure to follow.

---

It was quite unprofessional to bait one's business partner, Ginny admonished herself. Still, they were as off the clock as co-owners of a company could be. One could argue that a little ribbing was actually in order, especially when one's business partner seemed intent upon quite unnecessarily proving his sexual orientation to her. With physical evidence, if necessary, which would actually be rather tempting if not for the whole professionalism thing.

She wondered whether he would tire of chasing her around offering proof of straightness before she tired of him doing so and simply conceded his point. It was, after all, slightly jarring to be pounced on immediately upon leaving the lav.

"You've kissed your share of men before...surely you could tell if a chap were just feigning interest in the proceedings," Draco said, an apparent non sequitur to anyone unfamiliar with the situation. His fixation was rather hilarious, especially considering how deadly serious he was.

Ginny snorted. "Assuming that I thought it would be good for our business relationship, I don't kiss just any bloke. I have standards that need to be met."

"For instance?"

"Well, he has to be clever enough to keep up with me."

"I've managed so far."

Ginny allowed that was more or less true. Draco may have been a bit late to rise and crap with numbers, but he wasn't exactly dim.

"I suppose you're hardly going to stand in the way of my career," she said with a laugh.

He smiled a bit ruefully. "Not if I want to keep making a profit."

Okay, this was back on friendly ground. "Bad breath is a deal breaker, of course."

"I'm quite as attentive to my teeth as I am to the rest of my personal hygiene and appearance, thanks very much."

"Well, no problems there, then. But really...can you kiss?"

"Try me."

Ginny blamed her inner Gryffindor for piping up in a brash voice just then with a pert, 'Oh, why the hell not?' She really had no one to blame but herself, though, for shrugging slightly and grabbing Draco's face in both hands to pull him in for a kiss.

---

For a brief moment, while their lips were still closed, Draco reflected that he had excellent taste in business partners. Then their lips opened, and the thought quickly evolved into, 'I have an excellent-tasting business partner,' and then to, 'Oh, yeah...'

Ginny was in charge of the kiss, and he wasn't inclined to object. After all, she pretty much ran everything they were mutually involved in, anyway. He provided the classy finishing touches that made it all work...in this case, his adept contribution to their tongue wrestling match, and his hands on her slender, flatteringly nipped-in waist, pulling her close enough that they could enjoy the warmth of each other's bodies. After an agreeable passage of time, the kiss came to a natural conclusion, and they separated slightly, looking at each other.

He really blamed Ginny's eyes for what happened next. They were as languid and warm as cinnamon...perfect bedroom eyes. Naturally, this evoked thoughts of his bed, and how exceptionally elegant she would look with her red hair cascading over his set of green silk sheets, which led to the memory of the one time she had been in his room. In all truth (a truth Draco was not yet prepared to acknowledge) his mouth held some of the blame for what followed. He really should have discouraged it from voicing the conclusion resulting from his train of thought. "So, you have been looking at my arse."

And even he had to admit the smug tone probably didn't help.

The next thing Draco knew, he was looking up. There appeared to be stars on the ceiling. And far from looking at his arse, his lovely and very strong-armed partner had just knocked him flat onto it.

"What the fuck was that for?" Draco shouted at Ginny's rapidly retreating back as he struggled to his feet.

"The kiss or the punch?" Severus asked.

Draco whirled around, threw up his hands, and yelled, "Both! Either! How the hell should I know? Wait, you saw all of that?"

"For the most part. If you want privacy, you should really find a better place to snog than right in front of the door to the public lav."

"Sod privacy! Why did she need to hit me?"

"I find your amazement puzzling. After all, you rather seem to have that effect on witches...Gryffindor witches, in particular." With that, Severus pushed past Draco to access the previously mentioned door.

"Well, if you're the expert on Gryffindor witches...what am I doing wrong?"

Severus sighed impatiently. "You might want to start by connecting your brain to your mouth the next time you address her, which means no talking immediately after a snog. The last time I tried to address Hermione with so little oxygen and blood flow to my brain... " He shook his head and let the door shut unhelpfully on whatever that unfinished thought might have been. A final remark filtered through the door. "Being smug probably didn't help."

Yeah. Worked that one out on my own, thanks.

---

They made it through a single run-through, with Dad looking daggers at Severus, Ginny directing a similar glance at Draco (who was nursing both a wounded expression and a wounded jaw by the look of him), and Harry practically twitching with the urge to ask Luna, "What's wrong?" for the millionth time. Hermione thought the last was rather justified, considering how pale Luna looked. Flora was an island of calm amid the lapping waves of discontent and anxiety, and it was all Hermione could do not to cling to her friend for dear life.

Tonks showed up, smelling faintly but unpleasantly of cabbage and sporting hair that was an angry, eye-searing shade of red. Tonks' face was only a few shades lighter than her hair, and she was uncharacteristically muttering angry epithets, which Remus' arm around her shoulders did nothing to slow down. At first Hermione chalked it up to whatever had kept her out late on assignment, until she caught something about 'effing reporters' and 'why don't newspapers have to tell the truth' and 'who in the nine hells is safe if they won't leave a pair of war heroes alone?'

Flora tried talking over Tonks, possibly to distract Hermione from thinking about the article, which was, of course, what they were all talking about when they thought Hermione wasn't listening. "The wedding is going to be so beautiful, Hermione. So nicely arranged. Of course, I wouldn't have expected anything less from you...you've always been so very good at everything." Hermione didn't have the heart to admit that remarkably little about the wedding had anything to do with her abilities. She wondered how many generations of Randolphs had been Hufflepuffs. Flora's sweet sincerity would have made Helga look like an unfeeling cow.

"I know if Harry and I ever get married, we're not going to have anything half as nice. We'll probably end up in a courthouse in some remote country, in disguise. Otherwise the reporters will outnumber the guests," Luna said, contributing her own two Knuts.

Great. I really needed the guilt from receiving an undeserved compliment and from having something a good friend of mine would appreciate much more, to add to everything else on my plate at the moment.

"Okay, everyone, that was very nice, but I think we should go through it just once more," Jane said brightly.

"Why?" Hermione asked. Actually, to anyone within the sound of her voice, she whined. This caused all eyes to turn to her, and all expressions within her immediate vicinity to shift to some permutation of, 'Who are you, and what have you done with Hermione?'

Jane's smile went slightly brittle. "Because, my dear, it could go a little more smoothly. So, let's all take our starting places again, and have another run through."

"No."

Now, even to her own ears, Hermione sounded petulant. The assembled wedding party and onlookers began looking at each other instead of at her, and it was the sort of look people got just before suggesting a quick walk over to the spell damage ward.

"Hermione, dear, are you feeling well? Would it help to take a little rest?" Her mother was using that voice reserved for toddlers up past their nap time. It was the final straw. There was no other way to describe what happened next except to say that Hermione snapped.

"NO, I am NOT feeling well. No, it would NOT help to take a little rest. I have not been feeling well since my simple little wedding was kidnapped and brainwashed into becoming something that needed to be run by an all-powerful triumvirate, aligned with the moon, stars, growing seasons for exotic flowers, and I-have-no-clue-what-else, because for the past month I've been on autopilot, just waiting for it to be over! And I'm sick of it!" At this point, she turned from her mother and towards Severus, because she didn't really want to watch Mum's eyes pop out of her head and need to be retrieved from the floor, which seemed to be a very real possibility at the moment.

"I never wanted it to be a big production. I never wanted to be the center of so much attention! But I also don't want it to be a carbon copy of Mum and Dad's wedding, either. I don't want the Registrar's Office any more than I want a hotel ballroom. I want this to be ours, and instead it has everyone else's mark on it, and you won't give me any input, anywhere!"

Snape sagged. It was as if he was made of wax and the room had abruptly grown too warm for him to remain entirely upright. "And you complain that I never tell you what I'm thinking."

"Well, I'm telling you now! So, what are you going to do about it?"

Severus just stared at her, his eyes boring into hers, and for the life of her she couldn't read him at all. Which made it all the more surprising when he practically engulfed her in his embrace right in front of everybody. "I'm going to tell you to do what ever it is that you want to do with this ridiculous wedding, because all I want is you in your ring and that gorgeous gown you were wearing the first night we were together. And the damned gown is optional," he muttered against her ear, deliberately loud enough that he could be overheard.

"I didn't need to know that." Draco addressed his pained remark to the ceiling.

Ginny looked between Hermione and Draco with a slightly incredulous expression. "You know, the irony might just kill me," she said, to no one in particular.

"But whatever it is you want to tell these gape-mouthed dunderheads, make it quick...because this is the first time I've really seen my Hermione in months, and you have a maximum of fifteen minutes before I Apparate home with you, directly to our bedroom," Severus finished, fixing her with a very readable gaze.

Hermione almost jumped when she felt something fuzzy brush against her ankles. Reggie kept her voice low enough that that only Severus and Hermione could hear her say, "Mija, do what you have to do. I can fix the food and invites for your amigos if they want to invite more guests. I promise, you'll have a wedding on Saturday, it'll be a blast, and it won't be anything like your parents'. Trust me."

"I hate to be the one to interrupt this beautiful moment of clarity, but what about all these very elaborate wedding preparations? Preparations, I might add, which cannot be canceled so soon before the ceremony without significant financial repercussions." Ginny sounded just a bit whiny.

"Sensible girl," Alexander said, quite loudly and pointedly.

Hermione glanced meaningfully at Luna. "I can think of at least one person here who would like a wedding exactly like this one."

That was as close as she would ever get to admitting that there had come a point when she had simply let Luna plan the entire event, just to avoid having to think about it any more and to give the poor thing a chance to have a vicarious wedding experience.

Luna gazed wistfully at the blue roses in the practice bouquet that went so perfectly with her golden hair and silvery eyes, then turned to Harry.

Harry looked longing, but hesitant.

Severus grimaced as if looking at both of them was giving him a serious pain, and broke the pregnant silence. "Oh, just propose to her already, you twit."

"I'm going along with Snape on this one, saving the 'twit' part," Ron added.

Harry glanced around. Draco and Ginny threw up their hands in remarkably similar gestures obviously meaning, 'Don't ask me,' and Hermione and Flora smiled encouragingly at him. That encompassed everyone within line of sight over Luna's shoulder (except Snape, whom he never looked at if he could help it), and it probably would have looked like stalling had he stopped to scan the rest of the spectators for reactions. He turned all his attention back to Luna.

"Luna... Forgive me for not saying this, years ago. Forgive me for having the silly superstition that if you took my name, you'd fall prey to some sort of horrible fate. Forgive me for dragging you into the godforsaken spotlight that seems to follow me everywhere. And if you can forgive me all that... will you agree to marry me?"

"Someone check and see if that's really Potter," Draco muttered to Ginny. "That was... almost smooth."

"Maybe you could ask him for lessons," she whispered back sarcastically. Unsurprisingly, he responded with crossed arms and a massive sulk.

"Oh, of course I will," Luna said, her voice pleasant and faraway, as usual. Her eyes, however, were more than usually luminous. "It's a good thing you finally got around to asking, dear. Otherwise there might have been some awkward questions when the baby came."

In the stunned silence that followed, it was quite easy to discern the sounds of several people swallowing heavily. Harry, in particular, did so several times.

"Baby?" he finally asked in a low, frail, quavering voice.

"Yes, dear. I took the test twice yesterday; there's no doubt about it. And if you will all please excuse me, I have to go vomit now," Luna said agreeably. She turned and rushed off to the loo.

"Um... Congratulations?" Ron said, his smile more sympathetic than laudatory.

Were it not for Remus' quick thinking, Harry might have been injured upon fainting dead away. Fortunately, Remus had quite a lot of practice casting cushioning charms in a hurry, what with Tonks being Tonks.

A 'Rennervate,' an obliging run by Flora to check on Luna, and a whole lot of awkward glances later, Jane was still stubbornly trying to retract Hermione's gift. "They can't actually get married. It will be a nice party, but nothing legally binding. After all, the paperwork is in Severus and Hermione's names. Harry and Luna can't get a license on such short notice."

"Mum, I love you with all my heart. Now, please, if you love me, deal with it," Hermione said, with infinite patience and affection.

Alexander cleared his throat. "It's going to be a very nice party, indeed, if the bills are anything to judge by."

Hermione sighed. "Dad, I'm sure that..."

Harry interrupted her. "Tell me how much, and I'll pick it up from Gringotts first thing tomorrow."

For the first time in about six months, Alexander Granger smiled broadly. It lasted about one minute. "Why couldn't you have married someone of substance, like Harry?" he asked Hermione, with no attempt at discretion whatsoever.

Jane buried her face in her hands. "Oh, for God's sake, Alex."

"Do you get the feeling we're looking at a preview of Severus and Hermione about the time they have a child who's old enough to get married?" Remus whispered to Tonks, who snorted and toned down her hair color a couple of shades in agreement.

Luna, somewhat recovered from her nausea, was perched on Harry's lap. He looked quite as if he had no intention of putting her down any time within the next nine months, despite Flora's assurance that there was nothing abnormal about 'morning sickness' occurring at any time of the day at all. "We were so close," Luna sighed. "If only we had another week."

"Actually, what you need is a well-placed Ministry official with an authorized Time-Turner," a vaguely familiar voice interrupted from the back of the hall. "Which is a description that happens to fit me." It only took a moment to realize who the witch speaking must be, considering her companion's identity was unmistakable.

"Penelope? Percy?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "Why didn't we hold this rehearsal somewhere with less traffic...perhaps the platform at Hogsmeade station, end of term?"

"What are you doing here?" Ron asked, not bothering to hide his hostility.

"As it happens, Penny and I were thinking of having a ceremony to renew our wedding vows, and the manager of the hall said tonight would be a good time to see what the place looked like all fixed up for such an occasion," Percy said. He even had the grace to say it a little awkwardly, seeing as he and Penelope hadn't invited any of his family to the original ceremony.

Harry finally seemed to have recovered. Despite roughly a half-decade of stalling on the matter of making an official proposal of marriage, the prospect of an immediate wedding and rapidly looming fatherhood actually agreed quite thoroughly with him. "In that case... how about we make it a double? Remus, Tonks...do you feel up to having a little larger ceremony than you'd planned?" he asked brightly. He still wasn't letting go of Luna, though.

Tonks' hair turned a fairylike pearlescent pink as Remus' arms tightened around her. "Can that be managed? The restrictions..."

Penelope gave Percy a subtle yet significant glance. He looked cornered, then thoughtful and a little worried. He also glanced very briefly into an out-of-the-way corner of the room, though that didn't necessarily mean anything. "Well... fortunately, you also have an in with the head of the Department for Monitoring Potentially Dangerous Magical Beings."

Ignoring for a moment his mate's odd happy dance, Remus walked over to Percy and held out his hand. For the third time that night, Percy shocked the hell out of everyone and actually took it.

"We'll take that to mean, 'Yes, we will take this unwieldy wedding off your hands,'" Hermione said, her voice crisp and business-like for the first time in a long time, and quite loud enough to cut through the sound of Tonks' squealing. Severus never bothered to check if fifteen minutes had passed. He grabbed her and Apparated them both home to their bedroom, as promised. His lips were on hers so fast, it was almost as if the kiss started while they were in transit.

"You seem remarkably calm, considering we'll be sharing our wedding date not only with Remus and Tonks but with Harry and Luna. Not to mention there's going to be yet another Potter in the world in short order," Hermione said once they came up for air.

"Of course I'm calm. We now have a perfectly valid excuse for never attending their anniversary celebrations. And as for whatever your annoying friend has spawned, I will never have to teach it." And that was his last coherent utterance for the night.

---

Reggie remained after everyone else cleared out in the wake of Severus and Hermione's departure. She figured Jane would get over it, Alex didn't want to get over it, and Luna, Tonks, and company were over the moon, so there was no need for her to intervene there. She trotted over to the corner of the room. Observant creature that she was, Reggie had picked up on Percy's occasional glances in that direction. It didn't hurt that she could actually see who he had been looking at.

"I see you got through to the wanker," she said to Pip. "But how? And how did you get the missus on board without breaking secrecy?"

"You do realize that every administrator actually has to become a field-proven Master first," he answered cryptically.

"Ever think of going back to field work, Pip?"

"I speak bureaucrat; you speak mayhem. Let's stick to what we're good at," Pip said. "And until this mess is resolved favorably, I'm going to reserve judgment on how effective the mayhem approach is. Thanks for keeping those two clear of Percy, by the way."

"No problemo, jefe."

Reggie decided that someday, when all pertinent parties were living happily ever after and she was no longer on Pip's shit list, she would have to convince him to tell her how he'd done it.

---

Meanwhile, Rita Skeeter was in ecstasy. It didn't really show on the surface, but deep down, she was one particle of tawdry information away from peeing her pants in sheer joy. All it had taken was a single minor gossip item from her mighty quill to set the Ministry of Magic shaking in its boots. Once she intercepted this important, top-secret evidence, she'd be unstoppable.

Those weren't quite the words she used when she convinced her editor that she needed to spend part of the day in Amsterdam tracking down information for a really promising story, but the point was made. The secretary in charge of the foreign news bureau had given her a bored, slightly dubious look and an international press pass and sent her on her way. The boss' good will did not extend to paying for the Portkey journey, but that was a negligible expense. Her pass would get her in the front door, and it was always easier to convince people you had business in an official building once you were well within it.

Of course, it was easier to convince people of anything if you actually spoke the same language. Rita cursed inwardly as she went through another round of trying to convince the sober, portly officer at the counter that she was a messenger from Britain's Ministry of Magic and that there was an important parcel she needed to retrieve. The only thing that seemed to penetrate was 'parcel,' and he kept trying to give her directions to the post office in a combination of slow, loud Dutch and stilted, pidgin English that was strictly for the birds.

That young bloke who left just before I walked up looked as if he spoke English, she thought irritably. Damned inconvenient of him to take a tea break just now.

In reality, it only took about twenty minutes to secure her prize. Subjectively, it felt like half a lifetime. Rita was so pleased to make her escape that she never noticed the old man dart away from the desk and into the loo with remarkably youthful speed. She certainly didn't remain to mark that no elderly officer ever re-emerged.

Back home, Rita was now shaking with anticipation. She'd spent the last hour in a moderately successful attempt to use translation spells on the report accompanying the parcel. The spells hadn't worked perfectly, but she had managed to read enough to know that there were two Thestrals missing from a herd in Austria, and the evidence related to their possible presence last Thursday night in Amsterdam. The label on the evidence package had proved disappointing...it was just a reference code linking it to the case file. So she resigned herself to spending the next hour carefully dismantling the magical seals in such a way that she could put it all back together again with no one the wiser.

She looked into the package and saw, for all her exhausting efforts... nothing.

Rita could have almost screamed in frustration. She was about to throw the apparently empty parcel across the room when she realized two things: one, it felt too heavy to be empty; and two, her various tests had revealed there was a stasis charm on it. Not the sort of thing one puts on an empty container. Perhaps there was an incorporated Invisibility Charm of some sort for added security?

With trembling fingers, she raised her wand, cancelled the spell, and reached into the package.

She felt something... warm. Squishy. And, with the stasis charm cancelled, it smelled really, really...

She actually did scream, this time. Though it was from abject disgust rather than frustration.

---

It was a struggle...but Reggie, Fred, and George managed to 'poof' out of Rita's flat before dissolving in hysterics.

George wiped his eyes, gasping for breath. "You know, Reggie, being able to watch the result makes it a thousand times more worthwhile." He turned to Fred. "But next time, brother, let me play the obtuse clerk. You would have blown the whole thing if Skeeter had known any Dutch."

Fred ignored the last comment except to punch his twin in the arm, opting instead to address Reggie. "Yeah... we could have actually seen Percy's face when he opened the dragon dung we sent him, if you'd been around back then," Fred added, coughing a little as he choked on his own laughter.

Reggie finally got her squeaking under control and gave them one of her famous grins. "Well, thanks, lads. Damned if I don't want a hat right now, so I could take it off to you two. If I ever settle down, it'll be with the sort of bloke who can get his mitts on a steaming-hot, fresh Thestral turd at a moment's notice."

---

After intense hand washing, many, many 'Scourgify's, and a blisteringly hot shower, Rita Skeeter was obliged to spend the rest of her morning carefully reconstructing the various seals on the evidence package. She made another dizzying Portkey journey, dropped it casually at one end of the desk from which she had taken it, and hoped quite fervently one Mr. Percy Weasley would be in charge of opening that particular parcel. She wouldn't want to deny him the pleasure.

Thursday was absolute crap. Her editor was fast losing patience with her stopgap items and refused to reimburse any travel or lodging expenses until she had an actual story in hand. There was no help for it; she would have to scrounge some gossip, eke it out into a Thursday and Friday columns, then travel on her own time and Sickles. Her efforts yielded less than sizzling information without the aid of her Animagus form; for some reason, all attempts to turn into a beetle resulted in an uncontrollable urge to take a shower. It was Friday before she could act on the information in the report.

It really wasn't much. Two Thestrals had apparently been stolen from a licensed breeder in Austria. Evidently he stabled his beasts in part of the old salt mines of Hallstatt and was almost as elusive as the creatures he raised; the best chance of catching him for a comment was to find one of the neglected mine shafts that intersected with his stables and sneak in through the back door. Rita set about looking up Portkey times again, and groaned at what she found. Hallstatt was too small a town to have direct Portkey service. She would have to make a transfer in Salzburg.

There was nothing for it. Back to the salt mines.

---

Everywhere that Rita went, the Kappa was sure to follow.

Motoyoshi had a talent for following people. This came as a relief to him. If he ever managed to make it past third-class Journeyman, he might have a future in the Office for Identification of Worthy Projects. Observing while unseen went smoothly; it was only when he tried to intervene that things became awkward. Even so, he deemed it prudent to intervene once in the course of his wanderings with Rita, when he discreetly banished the package she took so much care to deposit in the police station. After all, it wasn't quite fair for some innocent officer to be surprised by its contents.

Moto reflected that it did not take the cunning of a Kitsune to divine that the world was not safe for anyone so long as the Weasley Twins, Reggie-san, and invisible excrement all coexisted in it.

He was disappointed that the Skeeter woman failed to transform into a bug at any point on Thursday. They had given her several opportunities to do so, but she had failed to take advantage of any of them, electing instead to go about her business in a depressingly legitimate manner. The thought of what the twins might do to speed things along as the wedding date loomed worried him. He'd had enough trouble keeping them from having a reaction reminiscent of the effects of Erumpent horn fluid upon discovering that Skeeter actually used their extendable ears in lieu of her Animagus form.

Still... they had to do something. It was imperative that they keep Skeeter under wraps, lest she discover who was actually getting married on Saturday and turn it into a circus. Reggie-san was depending on him, since she was far too busy making alternate arrangements for Severus and Hermione's ceremony.

That was how he found himself actually considering the proposal with which the twins were presenting him.

"Don't worry, Moto. The cave-in will be completely fake. We'll be using your illusions, remember?"

"Yeah, we don't have time for anything clever at this point. We just need to force her to make the change."

Moto hedged a little. "Jorge-san, are you certain that she will attempt to free herself by transforming rather than by using any other form of magic?"

"There are anti-Apparition wards throughout the mines because the sound of Apparition risks the stability of the mine shafts. All the information on the mines warns visitors to leave attempts to escape or to move fallen materials to the experts, so that they don't risk a worse cave-in. And we made sure she has plenty of time to read the booklet while she's waiting for her connecting Portkey."

"Very well, Rico-san. I will consent to your plan."

It was thus that three invisible beings came to be trailing after one visible yet unobtrusive (for her, anyway) Rita Skeeter.

The humans were beginning to zone out during the safety speech, delivered in charmingly accented though slightly monotone English by their guide, when the word 'Animagus' penetrated the consciousness of one visible and two invisible tourists.

"It is not in the guide because there are not so many Animagi. But we must warn any Animagi who may take this tour not to assume their animal forms in the event of a cave-in. It is very possible for small creatures to be lost in the rubble, especially as our efficient rescue persons rapidly make their way to you. We want you to enjoy your visit to our humble mines and not share the fate of the field mouse a few years ago, who was eventually revealed to be an Italian alchemist on holiday. Please, do as your guidebook says and call upon the nearest ghost for aid. Our deceased miners are very conscientious about summoning rescue personnel immediately. Thank you very much. Please enjoy your tour."

Once inside the mine, Reggie, Fred, and George hung back from the group for a whispered conference. "This may be a problem, Jorge-san," Motoyoshi said, rather unnecessarily. He, of course, had diligently listened to the entire presentation.

"No shite."

"Quoting Reggie-san won't help."

"Okay, wait, George...all we need to do is make her so desperate to get out, she'll change anyway," Fred said, pacing and thinking aloud. "We know she doesn't have much patience for talking to people she can't understand."

"Like old Austrian ghosts?" Motoyoshi asked.

"Perhaps very old... even Visigothic ghosts..." George said speculatively.

Moto could almost hear the twins grinning. He sighed.

"Hai...two ghost glamours, coming right up."

---

Rita hung back behind the group, scanning the tangy, harshly salty-smelling walls for promising side passages. Some were too huge and well-traveled to look like a plausible back corridor to a hidden Thestral stable. Others were too tiny and obscure. Finally, she ran across one that looked just about right...mainly because it was half-obscured by a clumsy disillusionment spell.

She pulled her wand and checked carefully to make sure she could find her way back to the entrance using a direction-finding spell if necessary. Satisfied it would work, she entered the passage.

"'Lumos,'" she said, lighting the crystalline walls with an eerily white glow. She began to walk.

And walk... and walk... and walk. Pretty soon, Rita was convinced the next bend in the tunnel would reveal an exit into China. She sat down on a convenient boulder (they seemed to pop up obligingly every so often) and attempted a direction finding spell to get her bearings. This didn't seem to be the right tunnel, and she wanted to get back to the main shaft and resume her search before any more time was wasted.

She didn't think she had spoken the spell too loudly. Obviously, the tunnel thought otherwise.

"Merlin!" she shrieked, instinctively ducking to the ground and covering her head. Her wand fell from her hand and rolled away, temporarily lost in the noise and dust.

After several moments of cowering, Rita noticed the tunnel was quiet. She also noticed that there was a faint light at ground level. She followed it gratefully to her dropped wand, which she picked up to assess the situation. It proved to be straightforward enough: wall of rubble in front; wall of rubble a few steps around the corner. With one Rita Skeeter stuck like a rat in a trap between them...and yelling definitely not an option. Rita sat down and whispered some very, very nasty words.

"Problem, Fraulein?"

Rita jumped. A short, stocky, palely-glowing young man in ragged coveralls, with a decidedly flattened helmet, was addressing her politely. YES! she thought in relief. The tour guide wasn't kidding about those helpful miners' ghosts.

"Oh, yes...please, could you get help for me, right away? My name is Rita Skeeter, and I'm a reporter on a VERY important assignment right now, so I MUST..."

"You are reporter, fraulein? For a newspaper?" he interrupted, his polite tone now slightly interested.

"Yes, that's usually where reporters work," she retorted in a sarcastic whisper.

"Jah, very good. I get Otto for you." He drifted through the wall of rock, leaving Rita to sincerely hope he hurried with the rescue party. He was back even more quickly that she might have hoped, with a very unusual ghost in tow. The haunt was built like an oversized Pogrebin: hairy of body, bald of head, and she was willing to bet his muscular body would measure exactly the same on four sides if his head were left out of the equation.

"This is Otto. At least, that is what we call him. He was miner here many centuries ago, in the Roman times. He tries to tell the workers and guides he was murdered rather than dying in an accident, but no one listens to poor Otto. Not even other ghosts. But you, fraulein reporter, will tell Otto's story! He speaks Visigoth, so I will translate for him. Then we get rescue party for you."

"Wh-wh-what?" Rita was aghast. Paying no mind to her stammering, the loincloth-clad ghost sat on the dusty floor and began to drone on in a harsh, angry language. His polite companion began to translate.

"Otto grew up in the village below here when it was only huts made of mud. The wife of the sheepherder was making eyes at him. Otto says how can he help it if he is like catnip for a sheepherder's lonely wife? Did it mean the skinny little man had to..."

The young ghost's provincial accent quickly became grating rather than endearing, and 'Otto'... Merlin's arse, Otto made the average half giant come across as the epitome of sophisticated charm. It was enough to make one wonder if that Umbridge cow who used to work for the Ministry was a descendant of his, considering certain eerie similarities in their looks. Speaking of looks, the expression on the older ghost's face suggested that Rita strongly reminded him of a sheepherder's lonely wife.

She couldn't bear it any longer. She had to get out of there now. It only took a moment's concentration, and she was skittering across the floor to the little gap in the stone from which a current of cool air issued.

In another moment, everything went black.

---

Motoyoshi ended the cave-in illusion and 'poofed' them all back to the twins' flat, the place of their strategizing sessions. The co-conspirators contemplated the jar of unconscious insect with a great sense of accomplishment.

"That was brilliant, Moto! I still wish I could figure out how you made her circle the same huge crystal formation for twenty solid minutes."

"Thank you, Rico-san. But misdirection and illusion are the commonest of fairy powers. I merely apply them with a certain creativity. Believe me when I say Reggie-san's abilities to confuse are far more impressive than mine."

George twiddled the jar thoughtfully. "Hmm. We could just turn her in as an unregistered Animagus."

"That we could George... that we could. And yet..."

"There is a 'yet,' isn't there, dear brother?"

"It's rather a bland option, isn't it?"

"Less than vanilla, I'd say."

"It goes without saying that she needs a punishment of some sort."

Motoyoshi found this conversation worrisome. "I have a very useful Karaoke Curse you could try," he offered helpfully.

"We could turn her loose in the Bowtruckle sanctuary..."

"Nah, they'd never mistake her for a woodlouse. But there's always the Fwooper room in the Magical Creatures House at the Royal Zoo."

"Please permit me to remind you that the consequences of harming another living being while deputized are quite grave, indeed," Moto said, wondering if he needed to attach them to a wall again.

"Believe it, wankers," Reggie said, appearing out of nowhere. Moto heaved a sigh of relief. "Besides... I have a better idea."

"You didn't even hear our ideas so far."

"The hell I didn't. I've been spying on you, amigos, just to make sure all went as planned. Those ideas are pants, the lot of 'em. No physical harm, no endangering of life or limb...not even of one limb out of six...on the insect bitch here. What she needs," Reggie pulled herself up to her full height (sixteen inches, if she strained on tiptoe), "is a bit of carefully applied psychology."

---

Hermione was practically giddy. It was all she could do to refrain from engaging in a silly little happy dance in reality, as she was doing internally at the moment. Helping Luna with the last-minute changes was a delight, since there was no more pressure. It wasn't her problem anymore.

Reggie had quickly picked her brains of all the features she had wanted to keep from the original wedding and 'poofed' off to accomplish what needed to be done. The Jarvey said 'trust me,' and, Severus' misgivings aside, Hermione did. Besides, it was easy enough to distract him now that she was properly relaxed. Reduced stress facilitated getting in the mood.

By Saturday afternoon they were assembled in the hired hall which Hermione had never liked, awaiting passage to the promised substitute wedding. Reggie sauntered in, sans tutu, carrying a sack in her teeth. She spit it out at Hermione's feet. "Okay, mija, here are Portkeys for everyone, and all the arrangements are squared away. You just gather up your wedding party, and we're set."

"Where's Motoyoshi?"

"He's handling a couple of last minute details for me. Don't worry, he'll join us later," Reggie said. "Oh, and since you can't talk about my line of work, if anyone asks, I'm Sev's familiar."

Snape was having none of that. "The hell you are. Who in their right mind would believe I would keep company with such a rude little rodent as yourself?"

"I love you too Prince Snarking. All right, you can say you met me through Fred and George, and I'm here for good luck at the wedding. Better?"

"With the exception of the bit about luck, that is a frighteningly plausible story," he answered.

Reggie drew a few curious glances as the Portkeys were distributed, but everyone was too absorbed in contemplating the mystery of their destination to ask about her.

It suddenly occurred to Hermione to ask, "Wait... how do you know about Fred and George?" But the Portkey activated before she could get an answer.

The whirling darkness was replaced by glaring sunlight at a low, early-morning angle, intense heat that was shocking for such an early hour, and a view of a bizarre assortment of soaring buildings. The wedding party and guests shielded their eyes with their hands, looking around in confusion.

Severus squinted at Reggie suspiciously. "Do I dare ask where the hell we are?"

Reggie turned to Snape with a toothy smile. She'd conjured and donned a wee pair of sunglasses against the hazy brightness. "Vegas, baby."

---

Author's Notes:

This was a difficult chapter to write. Not because of plotting intricacies, stopping to research various locales in Austria, or even good old-fashioned writer's block (all of which made appearances). This chapter proved exceedingly difficult to finish because it is impossible to type when, every fifteen minutes or so, one can't help but throw one's arms in the air and do a happy dance at the thought of Rita Skeeter unknowingly plunging her hand into a heap of Thestral manure. (Invisible horses... invisible poop. Logical, isn't it?)

Thank you, my darling husband, for the idea that Rita Skeeter might encounter the ghost of a garrulous miner by way of additional annoyance. (And, while I'm at it, thank you for tolerating my constant hogging of the computer!)

For the record: I looked up UK marriage license regulations, which vary by region. I decided to go with the idea that, even in the Ministry of Magic's jurisdiction, there is a waiting period. Call me a sap, but I had to give Percy a shot at redeeming himself. For you more vindictive types, I solemnly swear I will not extend the same courtesy to Rita Skeeter.

It's getting fun now, isn't it, Tempest? Thanks for holding on to this rollercoaster ride, even when it made a detour through the manure pile!