The Really Ridiculously Long Epilogue (pt. 1)

Part Eight: The Really Ridiculously Long Epilogue (pt 1)

Blaise Zabini set the possessed teakettle of Islington folder in his outbox and looked up to find Eros sitting in his guest chair. Unsure of the proper etiquette in addressing a god, he simply smiled in welcome.

"Well, the Granger-Malfoy matter is resolved," said Cupid cheerily. "You were such a help, I thought you might be interested in a sub-contracting sideline. Seems I'm shorthanded by two workers and I've got to get through this backlog." He held up a very thick list and flexed his wings. "Won't interfere with your regular job. Nice compensation package. Whadda say?"

"Who's next on the list?" Blaise enquired curiously.

"Colin Creevey and Blaise Zabini. You know them?"

"Hmmm..." Blaise regarded his manicure intently. "Can't say that I do. I regret I won't be of help to you after all." He looked at his rather expensive Cartier watch. "Is that the time? Oh dear, I'm late for an Auror meeting. Please do excuse me." He made an uneasy bow at the hairy little winged god and strode off purposefully.

Eros chomped on his cigar and gazed at Blaise's quickly retreating figure with twinkling eyes. "Very smooth, Mr. Zabini," he chortled around the masticated tobacco. "Next time, make sure to remove your work badge first."

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

Antarctica had seemed like a good choice; no one would ever expect to find them there. Remote, somber and way too scientific a place to be for such as the Weasley twins. This was precisely why going there to hide was a horrible mistake. The French scientists had no appreciation of British humor, particularly Monty Python. They felt their national identity was being deliberately mocked every time Fred reenacted the battlement scene from The Holy Grail. This happened often as he was in charge of opening the air locked cargo doors at the supply warehouse. George had inadvertently alienated the cooking crew by requesting ketchup for his portion of the Tourtière de Charlevoix‏.

But the last straw, as far as the methodical scientists were concerned, was when the red-headed interlopers started chatting up Inga and Lucia, the beauteous Nordic lab technicians who processed the biological samples. Surely, these uncouth freckled limeys needed a lesson in proper BioBase etiquette.

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

Hermione Granger was sipping her Earl Grey tea and attempting to read chapter thirty-one of The Awakening out loud: "I feel as if I had been wound up to a certain pitch...too tight...and something inside me had snapped..." she read for what had to be the fortieth time in five minutes.

Hermione dropped her book to the table with a moan, and her head lolled forward in surrender. Draco brushed the hair up off the nape of her neck and placed teasing kisses there and along her shoulders. He let her hair fall through his fingers and again worked his hands across her shoulders and down her arms to the fingertips curling around nothing, taking care to brush against the outer swell of her aching breasts on the way.

She was just starting to melt, becoming supple to his gentle, seductive entreaties when Blaise burst into the room, saving Frank from horrible juicy embarrassment gossip. Frank glubbed miserably as Draco and Hermione groaned.

Zabini threw himself into the chair across from the frustrated lovers and yelped, "Hide me!"

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

Cupid chomped on his cigar in annoyance. Mr. Zabini was proving to be more slippery than the Weasley twins. Put together. Too bad he had done a runner, Blaise would have made an excellent operative. The surly cherub flicked a finger and held the resultant flame to the masticated Cuban he clenched in his teeth. He had definitely picked the wrong week to quit smoking.

"Pardon me." The voice was officious and patronizing. Cupid's hackles went up. He flexed his wings to their full span. The freckled prat blinked but put his nose in the air, not missing a beat. "You cannot smoke that inside the Ministry. Rule 1145, paragraph C-15. Smoking is allowed only in designated areas outside the building proper."

The cherub nonchalantly flicked some ashes on the floor. "I'm a god. I smoke wherever I want."

"I don't care if you're Lord Voldemort in a tutu," Percy gritted out, pointing his wand at the animated, flashing neon no smoking sign on the wall. "If it's written down, it's a rule. No exceptions."

The diminutive god smirked at Percy, but snapped his fingers to extinguish the cigar. No need to ruffle the natives' knickers when he still had business to conduct in the building. When in Rome... I can smoke whatever and wherever the hell I want. My people know better than to flout love.

The freckled arse smiled smugly at him, adjusted his wire-framed glasses and strode down the hall briskly.

Probably schedules when he takes a shit, too.

Cupid shook his head pityingly, perusing his list. He finally found Percy Weasley at the bottom. Furthermore, he noticed that Percy's original intended had been magically erased. Sloppily, since Eros could see faint traces of it under the substitute. The new name read Dolores Umbridge in what appeared to be Fred Weasley's messy scrawl. Cupid couldn't say he was surprised. He didn't see any reason to change it back, either. After all, if it was written down, it was a rule; no exceptions. The mildly annoyed cherub sauntered down the hall toward the break room. Onto Mr. Zabini, he thought. Time to have a chat with a bosom buddy.

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

The fireplace in the Deputy Chief Auror's office flamed a brilliant green. Harry and Ron looked up from their usual ham butty and Ministry paperwork luncheon to see Ginny's head in the fire.

"Hey, love," greeted Harry with a crooked smile. Ron just nodded at her as his mouth was extremely full.

"Good lunch?" Ginny quirked an eyebrow at the bottomless pit otherwise known as her favorite brother. Her favorite brother to tease, that is.

He flushed a light red and swallowed quickly. "Seen Hermione lately?" he asked with feigned nonchalance.

Ginny wasn't fooled. "Any particular reason you want to know?" She was also a good deal more patient than Ron, who took after their mother in that respect.

Twenty-seven years on the planet and he still couldn't spot when she was taking the piss.

"Harry said there's something funny going on with her and Malfoy," he replied after a ten second pause, during which her darling husband had wisely kept silent. Although, the Molly look™ she gave him probably helped.

"Don't you fret about that, Mollywobbles. I took care of it."

Ron turned a brilliant shade of puce and sent a stinging hex her way, which she neatly avoided. Harry clapped loudly, his eyebrow quirked in amusement.

"As much as I love watching you wind Ron up, Ginny love, we do need to get back to work soon. Is there something you need, besides a glimpse of the dead sexy savior of the wizarding world?"

"I work at Hogwarts, remember? I can see him in the Headmistress's office anytime I like." She rolled her eyes at Harry, but blew him a kiss. "Have either of you heard from Fred or George lately?"

"Nope," Harry replied as Ron shook his head, his mouth full again. "Aren't they at the shop?"

"Ah... well... they went on a little holiday. They've been Flooing me about Wheezes every day or so, just to keep in touch. But I haven't heard from them since Tuesday."

Harry swiftly added two and two, getting a sum of five. "Hiding from Hermione and Malfoy, are they? Good preservation instincts, those two have." He paused to look at his owl-a-day desk calendar. "So, it's been three days, then?"

"I'm getting worried," Ginny said as she nodded. "No one is answering when I Floo, not just Fred and George."

"Where are they?" asked Ron.

"Antarctica."

Harry and Ron shook with laughter, sending several incident reports to the floor.

"It was my suggestion. They wanted to go to Australia, the pricks."

Ron snorted derisively. "Hermione would have found them quicker than a Niffler can spot a Knut." Ginny grimaced in response.

"We'll check into it, love." Harry knelt on the hearth and gave his wife a tender kiss, massaging her shoulders briefly. "Don't let any Bludgers sneak up on you." His voice dropped low and he teased, "What does Snape got that I haven't?"

"A really big nose," Ginny giggled at Harry's puzzled expression. "You know what they say –- big nose, big... "

"Oi!" Harry and Ron chorused indignantly, drowning Ginny's last word as she flashed out of sight.

Harry turned to Ron. "Your sister should have been sorted into Slytherin."

"The twins, too." Ron nodded. "Ginny's downright vicious, sticking Hermione with Malfoy like that. But she shouldn't have locked you two in the kitchen at Grimmauld."

Harry's eyes glazed over. "You won't hear me whinge about it."

"Oi! You better not do a bunk tonight. We're supposed to go to the Leaky with the lads."

"I'll be there," Harry muttered reluctantly.

"For five minutes, maybe." Ron's expression exuded suspicion.

Harry just grinned and mouthed: Slytherin.

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

"Ow!"

"Sorry. Here, let me kiss it better." Hermione wiggled a little and Draco sucked in a breath. Not of pain, she noted. She smiled as her lips found his chin, soothing the scratch mark her fingernail had made. It's his own fault, really, for insisting on the broom closet across from her desk. She sighed as he tilted his chin down and captured her lips with his, thrusting his tongue in her mouth for a dizzying duel. She wasn't even wearing the leggings of stealth.

He couldn't seem to keep his hands off her. He blamed Pinocchio. He blamed the broom closet of lust. He blamed the scent she wore and those irresistible sighs of hers. He loved everything about her. He could eat her up with a spoon, like the rich chocolate pudding Dobby used to make for him. Wait just a second there. Time-Turner, please? Love? He... loved... her? Pinocchio trilled a scale in affirmation. He mentally shrugged and shelved that revelation for later inspection. Right now, he had a feel to cop.

Goddess above, who taught this man to kiss? Draco devoured her mouth as if it was one of those rich chocolate puddings that Dobby used to make, nibbling her lips and licking inside her warmth, seeking every bit of flavor. His hands had ceased gliding over her back from the nape of her neck to the fullness of her bum and were slowly, relentlessly, creeping toward her chest. Hermione's nipples, as swotty as the rest of her, tightened joyfully in anticipation. His clever thumbs had just flicked across those turgid crests, causing both of them to moan, when the broom closet door was suddenly flung open.

Colin Creevey stood there, slack jawed with amazement. He stammered awkwardly, "Get a room!"

Draco quirked an eyebrow at him as Hermione hid her blushing face in his chest. Tightening his embrace of her protectively, he drawled, "Can I help you with something?" He infused this enquiry with as much of the Malfoy condescension™ as he could muster on such short notice.

"Unh... I was looking for Blaise," Colin said, paling dramatically under the blast.

"And Zabini would be in the closet because?" Draco drawled again, ratcheting it up a few notches. Hermione giggled helplessly at his double entendre. He was definitely keeping her.

"Unh... well... I didn't know he was in the closet." Hermione's giggles erupted into whoops of laughter. She clung to Draco's robes, jiggling her breasts against his torso in a most distracting manner, of which Pinocchio thoroughly approved. "It's just that we had lunch planned, and he never showed up." Creevey? Really, Zabini, I didn't know you'd scraped bottom. Draco shuddered. He really hoped Zabini hadn't scraped this bottom.

Hermione stopped jiggling and calmed down enough to answer Colin, since Draco didn't seem inclined to. Pinocchio was extremely disappointed. Depressed, really. Deflated, even. "No, we haven't seen Blaise, Colin. There's barely enough room for us in here."

"Why are you in here?" Colin, over his awkwardness, was now intrigued.

Gormless Gryffindors, the three in the closet unknowingly thought in concert.

"Inventory," snapped Draco, and with a flick of his wand, slammed shut the door in Creevey's face.

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

Fred waddled toward a break in the ice, attempting to ignore George's monologue of whinge.

"... I miss Mum's cooking. It's colder than Umbridge's tit out here. I think my nut sack froze and fell off two miles ago. A polar bear is probably using it for an ice cube." Wrong continent, George. In fact, wrong hemisphere, thought Fred. And don't flatter yourself, the bear would probably mistake it for a mushy pea. "'Let's go to Antarctica,' you said, like Ginny suggested. 'We can build pervy snowmen and rub noses with desperately lonely lab assistants named Inga and Lucia.' Ha. Raw fish is truly disgusting, mate. 'I'm bored,' you said, 'let's just play one little prank. Everyone will love it...'" George paused to draw in a breath.

"Who knew the froggy boffins were territorial? I didn't see a property stamp on Inga's knockers. And lacking in humor?" Fred shot back, tired of the endless whingey litany

"They revere Jerry Lewis as a national treasure." George flapped his wings uselessly and squawked. "Of course they lack a sense of humor."

Fred started to reply, but took a good look around instead. The air smelled dangerous, too still, as if it was holding its breath. Probably can't stand George's stinky fish mouth either. "Hey. Where did all the other penguins go?"

"I dunno." George stared at a rapidly approaching blob over Fred's shoulder. "Do you remember what the French prats said an emperor penguin's natural enemy was?"

"Erm... leopard seals... kind of look like Crabbe or Goyle, but with tons of black spots?"

"Slide!" yelled George in a panic as he flopped to his belly and pushed against the hard snow with his feet.

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

The sleek new espresso maker, all polished chrome and sexy black rubber trim, sat proudly on the counter of the break room in the Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. She shimmered with caffeinated effervescence. Her aroma was driving him mad.

Frank stared longingly at her out of the corner of his tap and sighed. He might as well face facts. She was way out of his league. Such a gorgeous creature would certainly sooner fancy an Italian panini-maker or at the very least, a souped-up digital slow cooker. She would never notice the likes of him, a mere water dispenser. He wasn't a postmodern cylindrical model, all tarted up in glossy candy-apple red paint. He didn't even have a chiller or the optional on demand hot tap some of the other cooler coolers did. He sighed again and risked another glance. Every once in a while, she perked a little, keeping her water hot. It was the cutest sound he'd ever heard.

A set of fluttering wings shook Frank from his reverie. They were no longer alone.

"Oh, dear," he said. "I'm ever so sorry. I didn't see you standing there. Would you like a cup of water?"

"Thanks, Frank. I'm parched," the little god croaked. "Picked the wrong week to kick the nectar habit. It is Frank, isn't it?"

Frank gurgled his affirmation as he watched Cupid cast a Muffliato with a flick of his wrist.

"So, Frank." He took a sip of water and continued, "Good water. Refreshing. You're friends with Zabini, aren't you?"

"Yes..." bubbled Frank, hesitantly. "But we haven't been properly introduced..."

"Cupid. Or Eros. I answer to either. I'm the god of love, damn glad to meet you." He tapped Frank's cap ring in a friendly way.

"Most honored, sir. Er, Your Highness. Unh... Your Holiness?"

"None of that now, Frank." Cupid frowned at him, chomping on his cigar. "Don't grovel! If there's one thing I can't stand, it's people groveling. Only Dark Lords with self-esteem issues like that crap." He paused to smile slyly. "Besides, I want to be your friend. So, no formality please."

Frank gushed, "What can I do for you, friend?"

"Well," the cherub replied. "It's not so much what you can do for me, as what I can do for you."

"What do you mean?"

Cupid's eyes glanced over at the espresso maker, though he spoke to Frank, "I can help you with the pretty little signora."

Frank had spent a significant amount of time with Mr. Zabini. "What do you need?"

Eros eyed the water cooler appreciatively. Him, I can work with. "Just a few hints regarding Zabini's possible whereabouts."

Frank thought of Blaise's stalwart friendship. He thought of the brainstorming session he and Mr. Zabini had with Ms Granger and Mr. Malfoy not more than two hours ago. The little espresso machine perked saucily.

"I'll draw you a diagram."

"Her name is Flo, short for Florence." Cupid nocked an arrow and took careful aim. "She's been trying to catch your attention all morning. This is just a little boost tipped with a Babel fish potion. Right now, she speaks only Italian."

Frank rippled worriedly. He was still having nightmares about the French Incident.

"Don't worry. You're getting one, too."

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

It took four international Floo calls, a top level Magi-pol request, and two war hero autographs "for the kids" of the Antarctica Floo operator to find out what happened to Fred and George.

"Priceless," gasped Ron, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Ron, they barely escaped being eaten by a leopard seal," Harry said, biting his check to keep from laughing.

"I know... Hahahahaha... That's horrible!" Ron exclaimed. "I wonder if Yamagushi's House of Sushi delivers to Diagon Alley," he wheezed. "Do you think we could slightly modify some of their Canary Creams? Into Penguin Puffs?"

"They are family, Ron, show some concern." Harry was a skosh from losing it. If he got going, he was afraid he might never stop laughing.

"Harry." Ron sobered. "Those wankers turned my teddy bear into a spider. A spider, Harry."

Harry shrugged at his best mate and said, "Maybe we can cast glamors on their dates, to make them look like..."

"...leopard seals!" They finished together and nearly pissed themselves laughing.

"What's so funny, lads?" Dennis Creevey, assistant to Head Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, stood at the door, bemused.

"Emperor penguins," Ron choked out.

Dennis contemplated Ron, not getting the joke. He shrugged it off, though. He was used to not understanding Ron.

"Chief Shacklebolt wants you two to go to Islington, stat. Seems there's a possessed teakettle you need to deal with." Dennis' voice dropped to a whisper. "You-Know-Who."

"We looked into that days ago." Harry was irritated. "The old biddy was lonely and confused, probably ate some moldy rye bread."

"That old biddy," replied Dennis, "is the great aunt of the Minister for Magic. She says he's back and she won't have anyone but you."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Better jump, then."

"How high?" Harry smirked. "On our way. We just need to go by the Department of Mysteries first."

Dennis nodded and headed back to his boss. That went better than Kingsley expected it to. Usually, anything that smacked of toadying to the Minister resulted in a pig's tail for the messenger. Dennis resolved to tell a joke first next time he drew the short straw.

"Why the D.o.M., Harry?" Ron yelled over the whoosh of the Floo.

"Luna asked me to drop by," answered Harry. "She said she has something I'll need for Islington."

They stumbled out of the Department of Mystery's fireplace.

"When?" asked Ron.

"Yesterday," a dreamy voice replied. Luna blinked at them myopically. "Should I send someone to Transfigure Fred and George?"

"Er... Yes, Luna. Thanks," Harry said. She really weirded him out, sometimes.

"You're welcome, Harry," she chirped airily and turned to Ron. "The god of love is here."

"You don't say," squeaked Ron. He eyed the distance to the Floo. Harry was smothering a laugh. The prat.

"Yes," breathed Luna. "After he's finished with Blaise and Colin," she purred, edging closer to the twitchy redhead, "it'll be our turn."

Ron's freckles really stand out when paled like that, Harry observed. He took pity on his frightened friend and cleared his throat, drawing Luna's attention.

"You have something for me, Luna?" he prompted.

"Oh..." She reached inside her robe and drew out a Black and Decker dustbuster mini. She caught Ron goggling and said, "Bottomless pockets."

"No. The Muggle whatsis." He gestured at the dustbuster. "Harry needs that in Islington?"

Her demeanor became icily professional. She turned to Harry, showing Ron her back. "This dustbuster is modified with the essence of a Dementor. It sucks bits of soul out of things."

Harry looked deeply into Luna's diamond sharp eyes. "Back then, is he?" She nodded grimly. "Works in the usual way?" he asked, taking the device from her. His aunt, Petunia, had made sure he was well-acquainted with this particular piece of equipment. Amazing Dudley got as fat as he did, the amount of crumbs he left trailing is his wake.

"Wouldn't recommend looking into it, though," she responded.

"Why not?" asked Ron. Luna just looked at him. She really weirded him out, sometimes. Then her eyes went dreamy again. He swallowed noisily. Why did those misty aqua eyes always make his stomach twist, like that time with the slugs?

"Come on, Spoon," said Harry, all business. "We've a date with the teakettle of evil."

Their pops of Apparition kept them from hearing Luna say, "Tea pot of evil."

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

A/N:

Monty Python and the Holy Grail excerpt (Fred is fond of reenacting):

GUARD: Of course not! You are English types-a!

ARTHUR: Well, what are you then?

GUARD: I'm French! Why do think I have this outrageous accent, you silly king!

GALAHAD: What are you doing in England?

GUARD: Mind your own business!

ARTHUR: If you will not show us the Grail, we shall take your castle by force!

GUARD: You don't frighten us, English pig-dogs! Go and boil your bottoms, sons of a silly person. I blow my nose at you, so-called Arthur-king, you and all your silly English kaniggets. Thppppt!

GALAHAD: What a strange person.

ARTHUR: Now look here, my good man!

GUARD: I don't want to talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough whopper! I fart in your general direction! You mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.

GALAHAD: Is there someone else up there we could talk to?

GUARD: No, now go away or I shall taunt you a second time-a!

*~*~*~*

I feel as if I had been wound up to a certain pitch...too tight...and something inside me had snapped; supple to his gentle, seductive entreaties – From chapter 31 of The Awakening by Kate Chopin.

*~*~*~*

He had definitely picked the wrong week to quit smoking./ To kick the nectar habit [bastardization] – From "Airplane".

*~*~*~*

Boffin - 1. A person involved in scientific/technical research, usually associated with the wearing of white laboratory coats, glasses, and carrying a clipboard. (source: http://www.peevish.co.uk/slang/b.htm)

*~*~*~*

Damn glad to meet you. – From "Animal House"

*~*~*~*

"Don't grovel! If there's one thing I can't stand, it's people groveling." – From "Monty Python & the Holy Grail" (again!)

*~*~*~*

Signora – lady (Italian)

*~*~*~*

Moldy rye bread- a reference to Ergotism

*~*~*~*

I was recently informed that a television show called "Reaper" (now cancelled) features a dirt devil soul sucker. I had never watched, nor had knowledge of the series, but their use of said object does pre-date my independent use. No plagiarism or theft was intended.

*~*~*~*

To my beta, Elyaeru, for making me feel as old as the guy in the Bring Out Your Dead cart (I feel happy! I think I'll go for walk!) when she asked who Jerry Lewis was. Click to find out: Why do the French love Jerry Lewis?. Click for: A clip of Jerry Lewis in his prime.