Chapter 2403 - Ch: 19

Chapter 18 part 2

But are zhey not safer if they remain on his private island?"

"They might be, but how would we get there? Even if they sent back their portkey by elf…we aren't authorized to use it."

"But this place, you can plot it, and zee Headmaster can discover their location, just by addressing another letter while zhey are here," (her emotional state causing her accent to slip).

"He still couldn't touch them," Bill said confidently. "Secure floo connection, mail redirection wards, phoenix travel bans, unauthorized inbound and outbound portkey barriers, intent-based wards...and if he tries to apparate he'll bounce so hard that he'll splash down in the sea."

"But still…zhere is nothing you can do to zee ward scheme to hide zhis location?"

"I can't make this place unplottable," said Bill. "I mean, I could…but it would take a month and a small army of warders."

"Perhaps zhere is another way, then…eef Harry is here when Hogwarts addresses a letter, what would zee address be?"

Bill thought for a few moments, the said, "They use the street address, unless it's a well-known magical location that the owls would have no problem finding."

"And zhis place?"

Bill nodded his head. "The letter would most likely be addressed Cortex Gaztelua, France. And unfortunately, with all of its history, and its role in supplying world-class corks to potioneers…wouldn't be surprised if Dumbledore knows this place, and where it is at least roughly located."

"What eef we change zee magical name of this place, zhen?"

"That might be possible, but only if we were able to legally change its names in as many different ways as possible. We're talking floo address and property tax records at the French ministry, and legal documents and ownership records at Gringotts. We could never get all that done in time."

"Why do you say zhat?"

"Because it's late Friday afternoon…in August. Goblins might not go on vacation, but forget getting anything done at the Ministry."

Fleur giggled. "Eef only we knew someone in zee magical government who could help us?"

Bill looked at his fiancée for a moment, then slapped his forehead with the base of his palm.

"I am such an idiot," he muttered.

The couple were assessing the pros and cons of new place names when they received yet another message…this time, delivered by a corporeal baboon.

"Mad-Eye suggests meeting in Guernsey tonight to shite on Fawkes. Reply by patronus."

Fleur chuckled. "So your brothers…at least one is now in France?"

"Magical France, at least. And who knows, if Mad-Eye was dictating the message?"

A divide and conquer approach was quickly decided upon. Bill sent out a corporeal meeting invitation that almost screamed "Constant Vigilance!" Fleur grabbed some floo powder and headed back to her family's estate, in search of some assistance from a certain high-placed government official.

oo00OO00oo

Hidden Island

While Harry Potter was still a novice when it came to lovemaking, one thing that he knew for certain was that it was bad form for the bloke to immediately fall asleep after sex. So he cuddled, and snuggled, and held Hermione in his arms as she fell deeper into a satiated snooze.

It wasn't that hard to stay awake, as Harry was still on a bit of a hair trigger after their trip to the bank. It was actually rather enjoyable, since it gave him the chance to hear Hermione's breathing pattern slip into a delightfully rhythmic purr. It was high-value teasing material, if he knew the right recording spell, or had access to a muggle recording device.

Harry's musing about whether muggle electronics would work within his castle was interrupted by the sounds of a struggle on the other side of the bedroom door. His fight-or-flight instincts immediately kicked in, and the flick of a wrist released his wand into his grip. Harry slipped quietly out of Hermione's hug, got out of bed, and crept towards the door. His adrenalin levels stabilized after he pressed his ear to that door, and heard very distinctive voices.

When sticking his head out and trying to "shush" failed to work, Harry summoned a loose bedlinen, wrapped it around his waist, and then stepped out into the hallway.

"Quiet it you two…Hermione's resting," he hissed, closing the door behind him.

Dobby and Pebbles immediately pulled free of each other and bowed low before Harry.

"We be most sorry, Lord Potter," they apologized.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"Dobby be delivering a most urgent message from the Great Lord Harry Potter's liegey man's flower," Dobby stated. "Pebbles be keeping me from delivering it."

"Miss Hermione Miss asked for my help, because she's wanting to be ravished," Pebbles explained.

"Is that so?" Harry asked with amusement.

Pebbles nodded. "I just be making sure that Lord Potter had a proper amount of time to deliver a proper ravishment."

Harry chuckled. "Well, I certainly appreciate your help, Pebbles."

"Dobby be thinking that the ravishment be over," said Dobby.

The female elf walked up to Harry, and yanked off the sheet that was wrapped around his waist.

"Hey!"

Pebbles ignored her master's outburst as she inspected his uncovered genitals from uncomfortably close range.

"Pebbles be agreeing. Dobby be allowed to deliver his message now."

Harry was too shocked at the invasion of his personal space to react as Pebbles backed away and Dobby offered Fleur's letter. The two house elves popped away before he could say anything.

Shaking his head in disbelief, the teenaged wizard opened the letter and was skimming its contents when a woman's voice called out from behind.

"You have very interesting house elves, Milord."

Startled, Harry spun on his heels and drew his wand.

There was nobody behind him. Or, at least, no living person. There was, however, a full-length magically-animated portrait of a beautiful woman whose groping left hand was hidden inside her partially unbuttoned blouse.

"Halte au feu, milord!" she exclaimed, pulling her fingers free and extending both hands into the oil-painted sky.

The portrait's smile as she stared down at Harry's mid-section prompted him to realize that she was not a threat, and that he was bare-arsed naked. He used Fleur's letter to cover his bits as his wand slipped back into its holster.

"Erm…sorry, I didn't mean to flash you," said the blushing teen, as he squatted down to retrieve the bed sheet.

The portrait's smile grew as she lowered her hands and casually began to button up her blouse. "No need to hide anything when you are on a hidden island, n'est-ce pas?

Harry frowned as he re-wrapped the sheet around his waist.

"Then why are you covering up?" he asked.

"Force de l'habitude…the rules were different for witches in my day," the portrait simply replied. A sly smile formed on her lips as she cupped her covered breasts and winked.

"But if it would please you…there is a portrait frame within milord's private study that allows me certain…freedoms."

Harry considered the very attractive woman's obvious offer for a few moments, then tried to shake cobwebs from his head.

"Wouldn't that be just a little weird?" he asked, "given that you're probably my great-grandmother, or something?"

The portrait giggled. "I was informed that you are Harry, son of James…is that correct, milord?"

The witch's eyes sparkled when Harry nodded.

"Then I am your great-great aunt Sylvie," she stated, doing a little curtsey. "Married to Reginald, your great-great grandfather's younger brother."

"So…we are related, but not by blood?"

"Exactement!" the portrait replied. "But here I am, keeping you from both your very important missive, and also, apparently, from your very ravished lady."

Harry nodded as he glanced towards the bedroom door.

"You were so very eager to see her…and so very aroused." Sylvie stated with relish. "She must be very beautiful…and must have apparated, or I would have seen her as well."

"Travelled by house elf, actually," Harry replied, realizing that he'd been so single-minded that he'd hadn't spotted the portrait when he had first entered the bedroom. "And yes, she is very beautiful…so if you would please excuse me?"

The portrait nodded and once again curtsied. "I'll see you later, milord."

"Hopefully wearing more than I am now," Harry muttered, as he quietly re-entered the master bedroom.

Hermione was awake and sitting up.

"Oh…sorry if we woke you," he said.

"Who were you talking with?" Hermione asked, with a tone of voice that revealed more curiosity that confrontation.

"Portrait of my great-great aunt, apparently."

Hermione arched an eyebrow and skeptically asked, "A rather casual conversation, I gather?"

Harry glanced down at his knotted bed linen and shrugged.

"Didn't take the time to dress properly when I heard fighting out in the hall."

"Fighting?"

"Yeah, Pebbles was fending off Dobby's attempt to deliver this letter," Harry replied, holding up the piece of correspondence.

"Why on Earth was she doing that?"

"She insisted that Dobby wait until I had enough time to deliver a proper ravishment," Harry replied, using an over-the-top French accent to emphasize that key word.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, I tried to quiet them down, because you were sleeping, and recovering from, you know...your ravishment."

A pinkish glow grew on Hermione's cheeks. "Pebbles has a vivid vocabulary, doesn't she?"

Harry's eyes lit up as he walked up to the side of the bed, sat on its edge, and asked, "But was it really her word choice? Or was it yours?"

"Maybe…"

Harry let out a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. "Hermione…we talked about the need to communicate, and about boundaries, and consent. If you want to be ravished…"

"So who sent the letter?" Hermione asked, trying to change the subject.

"Fleur," Harry replied. "They've discovered a problem with the Cork Fort's warding, and want us to stay put until it's fixed."

"Ah…did she say how long that fix might take?"

Harry shook his head, "They think that they'll solve the problem in time for dinner, but they're not certain of it."

"Dinner their time, or our time?"

"Theirs, I imagine," said Harry. "Either way, we've got at least a couple of more hours here."

He smiled as he reached out and squeezed Hermione's sheet-covered thigh.

"So were you properly ravished?" Harry teased. "Or is there more work to be done?"

"You make it sound like a chore," Hermione whined.

"And you didn't answer the question."

Hermione chuckled and shook her head. "Well, you did promise to show me a thing or three, and I only counted two."

"Two for me, or for you?"

"Yes."

It was Harry's turn to chuckle.

"Is that a complaint?"

"No, just an observation."

"Observation…or invitation?"

Hermione responded by undoing the knotted sheet around Harry's waist.

"I did tell Pebbles that you wanted to ravish me," she admitted, as she took his flaccid wand in hand. "But it's not like I have bodice-ripping rape fantasies."

Harry smiled as he pulled off the sheet that had been covering Hermione from the waist down. He dragged his fingernails up the inside of her thigh and asked, "There was a tavern wench outfit in that "Frederick's of Salem" catalog…should we have ordered it?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Hermione protested (totally ignoring the "Slave Leia" costume). She gave his todger a squeeze and added, "But if you wanted to be a little more, erm…aggressive? I'm not made of porcelain, you know."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair and asked, "So what is it you want me to do?"

Hermione chewed on her lower lip for a few moment.

"We haven't done 'doing it from behind' yet, have we?"

"No, we haven't," Harry replied. He smiled, and added, "If only we had a few unplanned hours of free time to pound away at that deficiency."

Hermione giggled as she turned away from Harry and pushed herself up to her hands and knees. She wiggled her bare bum at him and asked, "Care to pound away, milord?"

Harry was going to suggest that three times in less than an hour would be a challenge, even for a horny teenaged boy.

But then Hermione buried her face in a pillow, reached back with both hands, and spread herself before him.

And there was suddenly no need for an excuse.

oo00OO00oo

Grange Lodge Hotel

St Peter Port, Guernsey

Tonks and Remus had apparated naked back to the hotel room. Remus immediately pulled free from the metamorph, stripped the duvet from the nearest bed, and covered himself as he ran to the far corner of the room. Tonks didn't bothered to cover up…at least initially. She sat on the bed, back against the headboard and knees pulled up against her chest. That position had allowed her to accidently-on-purpose flash the Marauder a few times, until she'd grown so frustrated that she'd grabbed a pillow and tried to hug the stuffing out of it.

After a bit of whining about the unannounced side-apparition, the two had waded through all of the reasons why they weren't presently going at it like bunnies. Remus started with the age-difference issue, which Tonks countered by noting that they were both adults…on paper at least…and that they would both enjoy (should they survive the war) magically-extended lifetimes. Next came what Tonks labelled "the predictable shite" about not being able to provide for someone because of his so-called condition. She reminded the werewolf that she had a job that almost paid enough to provide for him, and that all she wanted Remus to provide at the moment was a thorough shagging. The opening round of their negotiations ended with a tired song and dance routine about Remus not wanting kids because of his condition. Tonks informed him that she was on the potion, and that pregnancy was therefore off the table.

With the preliminaries settled, Remus launched into an excuse that the metamorph hadn't seen coming.

"Look, Tonks," he began, "it's not that I am rejecting you, or your tempting offers…I just don't have any interest in a sexual relationship."

"Why the hell not?" she asked. "Did you have some horrific experience that turned you off to sex?"

The werewolf shook his head. "No, more like I haven't had any experience."

"You're a virgin?" Tonks asked incredulously. She snorted in disbelief when Remus nodded.

"No fucking way…Morgana's saggy tits, Remus! You attended a boarding school for seven years!"

"Yes, I did."

"Don't tell me that you didn't have the opportunity…even with just the slightest hint about the size of your wand…should have had witches crawling all over you!"

Remus nodded in agreement. "I did have more than a few offers, and thanks to Sirius there were more than a few witches who knew about my size. But that was the problem. They didn't want me…they just wanted to shag the wolf."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"If I hadn't been bitten by Greyback, then I wouldn't be, as you've noted, hung like a hippogriff. It's the wolf that witches want to ride, not me."

Tonks paused for a few moments to think about Remus's line of reasoning. And then she shredded it.

"First off, for all of the negatives that come with lycanthropy…even if what you are saying is true…why look a gift hippogriff in the mouth?"

"Because…"

"Secondly," Tonks interrupted, "you were bitten before your balls dropped. How do you know that you wouldn't have been just as well-hung if you hadn't been bit?"

"I'll agree that it's possible, but highly unlikely… given just how much bigger I am than the average wizard."

"How do you know? Have a few dorm-room measuring contests?"

"No, but we did have gang showers in the dorm."

Tonks let out a deep sigh.

"Thirdly…"

"Is that Queen's English?"

"Sod off, Remus….thirdly, stop being so fucking self-centered. You're not the only one who has had to deal with unwanted advances because of physical features that they can't control."

The Marauder was quick to catch on.

"Your metamorph abilities," he stated.

Tonks nodded. She could have provided several examples, but was running out of time, and didn't want that to become yet another excuse.

"Let's make a deal," she suggested. "I'll admit that it's the wizard I fancy, and not his wand…although that's going to be damn fine bonus…"

"Not helping the argument, Tonks."

"Whatever…it's you I fancy, and not just your dick. Can you at least admit that it's me that you fancy…and not the fact that I can morph into whatever goddess haunts your wet dreams?"

Remus let out a deep breath as he stared at the floor.

"I fancy you just the way you are," he admitted.

Tonks threw the pillow that she'd been hugging at Remus, then threw both hands in the air and exclaimed, "Finally!"

She then spread her knees, held out her hands, and invited Remus to whisper what he had just confessed into her ear.

The werewolf threw out one last counterargument, expressing concerns that Tonks might suffer internal injuries if they shagged (given his size). She laughed out loud, and reminded Remus that she was a metamorph. When he asked how that made a difference, she made a fist.

And then she swallowed that fist without gagging.

After pulling her hand free, Tonks cheekily asked if Remus required proof for any of her other body cavities.

Her mischief was managed.

Chapter 19: The Day After, Part 3

Grange Lodge Hotel

St Peter Port, Guernsey

Hestia and Kingsley took the time to cover up before they apparated back to their shared hotel room from the nude beach. While Tonks and Remus weren't there, the evidence of their activities was obvious.

Or to be more specific, it was the complete absence of evidence that made their activities obvious.

"This room is way too sterile," Shack observed. "It screams room-cleaning, bed-making and air-freshening magic."

Hestia nodded. "Unless Tonks side-apparated Remus somewhere else?"

"They left their clothes at the beach."

"Yeah, but…it was Tonks who decided where they were going."

"Fair point."

"Well, they're both grown adults…do you want to use the shower first?"

When Shacklebolt shook his head, Hestia kicked off her shoes and stripped off her sundress. Hearing a breath catch in the Senior Auror's throat, she glanced towards him and asked, "Is something wrong? I wasn't lying back at the beach."

Kingsley shook his head and turned away from the now-naked witch before his reaction became too obvious.

"Take your time," he said, making a show out of opening and sorting through his overnight bag.

"I'll be sure to save you some hot water," Hestia replied brightly.

"No need," the Senior Auror muttered to himself, quite certain that his shower would be necessarily cold.

oo00OO00oo

Gringotts Branch Office

Marseille France

With all the spycraft and subterfuge that comes with working with Mad-Eye Moody, Fred Weasley didn't think it strange that they had side-apparated six times within fifteen minutes. Some of the intermediary arrival points were rather sketchy, but the process itself was well-established.

After receiving Dumbledore's patronus message, Fred and his brother had arrived at the hotel meeting point early, just in case. The "in case" played out when Mad-Eye jumped from a dark corner of the lounge, and whispered that he needed to send a message to their brother.

Mad-Eye's patronus was intentionally non-corporeal (so as to protect his identity), and incapable of conveying messages. So whenever he did need to send an urgent patronus message, he leaned on the nearest Order member to deliver it. McGonagall called seniority rights whenever an alternative messenger was available. So after Fred lost a game of rock-parchment-wand, he got to be the lucky wizard that side-apparated with Moody to the mainland.

First to send that message. Then twice more to reach a spot where they waited for a reply. And then three more times, before arriving at the location specified by Fred's older brother.

The wait to speak with a teller in the Marseille branch office of Gringotts was 5 seconds long. Mad-Eye and Fred were quickly shown to an empty meeting room. Thirty seconds later, Fred's brother walked in, escorted by four goblin guards, and dressed in silk robes that were embroidered with House Potter heraldry.

Mad-Eye snorted in amusement.

"Are the guards here for your benefit, Weasley, or ours?"

Bill smiled. "Do you consider me a threat, Moody?"

"Well, with some of the locations you set up on that wild hair chase…"

"It's not like I was the one that sent you on that chase," Bill countered. "Although I will admit that the tiger exhibit was a bit over the top…"

"Tiger exhibit?" Fred asked.

Bill's smile grew wider.

"Anyone seen Snape lately?" he asked.

Fred stood up from the table, just so he could bow to his brother.

"We're not worthy!" he fake-groveled.

"So you wanted to meet to talk about the old man's patronus message?" Bill asked.

Mad-Eye nodded, and asked, "Feel any compulsion to bend to that old man's will?"

Bill shrugged. "Not really rushing home, am I?"

"Same for us."

"And who, exactly, is us?"

"All of the other Order malcontents who want to abandon ship and help Potter directly, without the old man's meddling," Moody replied.

"Except for Dad," Fred noted. "He's probably halfway Down Under, by now."

"Why is he travelling…oh, right, never mind," Bill replied. He let out a sigh, then added, "While I'm sure that Harry would appreciate the thought, any direct assistance is going to cause big problems after tonight."

"And why is that?"

"Did your phoenix message say something about avoiding all contact with Harry, because lives are at stake?"

"Maybe."

Bill stated that he maybe knew why.

oo00OO00oo

Grange Lodge Hotel

St Peter Port, Guernsey

Kingsley and Hestia found Minerva, George, Remus, and Tonks in the hotel lounge, drinking pints, playing darts, and exchanging whispered barbs (over who might be using wandless magic to better their aim, or who needed to use that kind of magic). The smug "cat who just caught a wolf" expression on the metamorph's face was all the confirmation that Hestia needed. She walked up to Tonks, grabbed her by the elbow, and announced that they needed to suffer the ladies' head again. Protests that the darts game hadn't finished were met by Kingsley's willingness to substitute in. Teasing about calling a land-based lavatory the "head" was met with a two-fingered salute.

There was another patron in the Ladies' washroom. Tonks almost dared Hestia to move the muggle along with a bit of magic. But they were alone soon enough, and the interrogation commenced.

"So how did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"You know what," Hestia insisted. "How did you finally wear down your wolf?"

More interested in bragging than delaying, Tonks dove into her story.

"It was tough, let me tell you," she whined. "First we had to rehash and dispose of the preliminary excuses. And then Dumbledore's phoenix tried to distract us from what was really important. Didn't work…at least not until afterwards, when I was probably glowing just as brightly as that patronus."

"So was it everything you were waiting for?"

"Everything plus a few inches, if you know what I mean."

"So now what?"

"So now you swing by the separate room that I've booked for Wolfie and me, and cast a silencing charm or three."

"What for?"

"For the howling orgasms?"

"No, I mean why do you need my help? Remus and you can cast your own charms."

"Yeah but with all those howling orgasms…overlapping can only help."

oo00OO00oo

Hidden Island

Hermione Granger's viewpoints on fashion typically favored function, and she was always good for a bit of chuntering whenever Lavender and Parvati devoured the latest fashion advice from Teen Witch Weekly. So she hadn't planned on dressing up for dinner that evening…it was more than good enough if she wore more than she'd been wearing on the outbound leg.

But then Pebbles had popped into the master bedroom, gently shook her shoulder, and announced that it was time for "Her Miss Hermione Miss" to get out of bed and get dressed. When the teenage witch cheekily asked, "Five more minutes, mum?" the house elf escalated her initiative.

The foggy headed weirdness of house elf transport while half-asleep became much more weird when the naked witch materialized above a fainting couch.

"Hey!" Hermione shouted, as she landed face-first onto the furniture.

The house elf who had popped next to the Edwardian-era divan tugged on her ears and said, "Pebbles be most sorry Miss Hermione Miss…but it be time to dress."

Hermione shook her head as she swung her legs around and sat up, facing the house elf.

"Sensationnelle!" someone declared. "No wonder milord was in such a rush!"

Hermione reflexively covered her bits and breasts as she glanced across the room towards a talking portrait.

"Excuse me?" the teen asked.

"Mais non, it is I who must apologize," the portrait replied with a smile. "This new fashion trend is a surprise…should I ask that my clothing be removed by magical paint strippers, juste pour se tenir au courant?"

"Oh, Harry would just love that," Hermione muttered. She turned to Pebbles, and asked, "Where are we, and why couldn't you have waited until I dressed to get here?"

"This be the lady's dressing room, Miss Hermione Miss, Miss. Pebbles be most sorry, but the dressing room be for dressing. The master bedroom be for ravishments, and Lord Potter said that the ravishment was completed."

"Despite the physical evidence that suggested otherwise," the portrait said with a melodic laugh.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. She whispered a request for a dressing gown, then stood and (once Pebbles produced one) tied it loosely around her body.

"Harry mentioned a portrait hung in the hallway...was that you?"

"Yes, milady," the portrait replied with a curtsey. "I have several paintings within the castle that I can visit."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Harry's Auntie, I presume?"

The portrait nodded. "Forgive my poor manners…my name is Sylvie Potter née Donnet, and I once was what you obviously now are."

"And what is that?"

"La dame du château."

"Enchanté," Hermione replied, "My name is Hermione Granger, and I would argue whether I am the lady of the castle."

"But it eez just a matter of time, no?"

Hermione chuckled and shook her head as she tightened the knot in her dressing gown's sash. Processing the portrait's accent, the teenage witch did a bit of extrapolation and asked, "Canadien français?"

The portrait nodded. "Et vous êtes une femme anglaise qui parle français, n'est-ce pas?"

"Un peu," Hermione replied, modestly underplaying her fluency. Drawing her wand from her concealed holster, she looked around the room, then found what she was looking for and levitated a table and chair to a spot in front of the portrait.

"Pebbles?"

"Yes, Miss Hermione, Miss?"

"Do you know where Harry is at the moment?"

"Yes, Miss Hermione, Miss… Lord Potter be in his office, reviewing the warding with Welly."

"I'll take my afternoon tea here, then, if you don't mind."

"Sorry, Miss Hermione, Miss…but it still be morning time here on Hidden Island."

"Then I'll take my morning tea here."

"Yes, Miss Hermione, Miss!"

It was the portrait's turn to chuckle as the excitable house-elf popped out of the room.

"Not quite zee dame du château, yet zee Potter elf obeys your commands?" she asked.

Hermione shrugged as she sat in front of the portrait.

"The Potter elves are anxious for an heir," she explained, "and eager to please."

Pebbles popped back into the dressing room with an overladen tea tray and set it on the table.

"Dinner at Corkie Place be served in one and a half hours, Miss Hermione, Miss. We be needing time for dressing."

"I'm sure we'll make it work," Hermione replied. "I just want to have a little chat over tea with my new acquaintance."

"Yes, Miss Hermione, Miss…Pebbles now be cleaning the master bedroom in case Lord Potter be wanting to do more proper ravishments."

The house elf popped away before Hermione could suggest that cleaning that bedroom wasn't an immediate need.

"I think that you are already playing zee role," the portrait declared.

"Please don't tease," Hermione asked, initiating a conversation in French.

"I could ask the same of you, with your after-sex glow and your teasing talk about being ravished by milord," Sylvie countered. "If only my Reginald had sat for a portrait, so that I could be equally aglow."

Hermione rolled her eyes as she poured her tea. She was about to ask whether animated portraits could actually be intimate with each other, before remembering the time when Lavender had gotten hold of an animated atlas of erotica, and shared it with her dorm mates.

She instead asked, "Shall we use the little time allowed us by my petite supervisor to better acquaint ourselves?"

The portrait smiled and demurely curtsied.

"Of course, Lady Potter."

"I told you that I'm not yet Lady Potter," Hermione replied. "I should be the one curtsying in front of a Lady."

"I may have been the lady of this castle, but I was never Lady Potter," the portrait sadly declared. "But enough about me…I would love to learn more about yourself, and how you've so completely enchanted my dear nephew!"

Hermione smiled. Knowing just how unlikely it was that any living person had ever called Harry her "dear nephew" made the teenaged witch a little more eager to compare notes with the animated portrait who just had.

oo00OO00oo

Château Delacour

Fleur stepped gracefully out from her ancestral home's floo connection and used wandless magic to remove the residual soot from her bias cut evening gown. Hermione's well-dressed parents where there, waiting for a ride to dinner.

"I am sorry for the delay," she said. "We needed to make an emergency adjustment to the wards at Harry's rental."

"Is everything alright?" Roger asked, at the same time that his wife asked, "Where are the kids?"

"Everything is fine, and Hermione and Harry are in Canada," Fleur replied. "Now that the wards are ajusté, I suspect they will be joining us for dinner shortly."

"That's good to hear," said Emily.

Roger gestured down the front of his tuxedo, then out towards his wife's elegant full-length gown.

"So what's the occasion?" he asked.

"Don't lords and ladies always dress like this for dinner?" Fleur asked with a smile. "You both look wonderful...I am glad that zee Delacour elves were able to rise to zee occasion."

"Thank you, you look rather radiant yourself," Emily offered.

Fleur accepted the comment with a head nod, then said, "Harry still has the portkey with him… would you mind if your first magical trip was made by floo connection?"

Hermione's parents looked at each other and shrugged.

"We were hoping to experience both," Emily replied. "The order doesn't really matter."

"The stepping into a burning fire part might matter," Roger joked.

"It might seem strange, but as long as you wait for the flames to turn green, and pronounce your destination clearly, you will be fine."

Fleur showed Hermione's parents how much floo power to throw in to the fire, then handed them each a small piece of parchment. While Hermione's parents were both nearly fluent in French, she insisted that they run though the pronunciation of their destination once or twice, just to be safe. To be even safer, the French witch gave each of them a medallion that was charmed to serve as a location beacon for the Delacour's house elves. Roger couldn't resist making a bad joke comparing the necklaces to the two other types of magical tracking devices that they had learned about. His laughter at his own joke was cut short when his wife asked if he would be more comfortable having his pubic hairs charmed.

The medallions proved unnecessary, as Hermione's parents safely stepped out of the Cork Fort's floo connection and into its drawing room. The term "drawing room" was relative, of course, given the age of the fortress. Fleur and the Gringotts house elves had worked hard to convert the twelfth-century structure into a more comfortable living space, but their remodeling efforts leaned more towards twentieth-century living rooms than a Victorian-era space for entertaining guests.

Fleur followed behind Roger and Emily, joining Bill (who was wearing formal dress robes) for pre-dinner cocktails. The four toured the fortress with drinks in hand…while it would have normally been Harry's job to offer a home tour, Bill and Fleur knew the building far better than he did, and it was a good way to defer important conversations while they waited for Harry and Hermione to arrive.

The two couples were considering expanding the tour to the grounds when Jetson (the Potter elf who had taken the lead role on work within the Cork Fort) popped in and announced that Harry and Hermione were about to depart Hidden Island. The Grangers, Fleur and Bill returned to the drawing room just in time to watch the two teenagers emerge from a cascade of bright lights, each with a tight grip on their mini-hockey stick portkey.

"Sorry that we're late," Hermione announced, as she slipped the portkey into an elegant clutch, and pulled out a pair of elbow-length gloves. The teenaged witch was wearing an Edwardian-era evening gown made of duchess silk satin. The bodice had overlayers of white and black tulle that was studded with thousands of silver sequins, while the full-length skirt featured an incredibly narrow waistline.

"Oh, Hermione you look gorgeous!" her mother declared.

"Did we pronounce the floo destination wrong and end up in Downton Abbey?" Roger quipped.

"Where's Downton Abbey?" Bill asked.

"On the tellie," Roger replied.

"Sorry for the bother," said Harry, as he removed his black silk top hat. "It's been a while since the Potter elves have been able to cook a formal dinner, or, for that matter, help someone dress for that dinner."

Harry's attire, if not as elaborate as Hermione's, was period-complimentary…white tie and waistcoat, black trousers, and a black jacket with tails. The only bit of color was found within a rampant lion lapel pin that was fashioned from diamonds and rubies.

"Well those house elves did well," Emily declared. "Jack and Rose would have had nothing on you two."

"Jack and Rose?" Bill asked.

"It's a movie reference," Roger explained.

"Ah…I'm once more at a loss," the curse breaker admitted.

Roger chose not to comment when Jetson the house elf popped in to serve glasses of wine to the two teenagers. They were in France, after all, and he needed to pick his battles. Instead, he asked, "So why the vintage look?"

"The last time that anyone formally entertained or lived full-time in that castle was a century ago," Hermione explained. "And the closets were never cleaned out."

Fleur smiled as she asked, "But enough about clothing...you two had an interesting afternoon, no?"

Harry let out a deep breath as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, you could say that."

"What happened?" Roger asked.

"Portkey mishap," Harry replied, throwing a sheepish look towards his girlfriend.

"And a spot of trouble at their bank?" Bill asked.

"Identification mishap," said Harry. "That one wasn't my fault, though."

"Is everything okay, now?" asked Emily.

"It's fine, Mum," said Hermione. "No spells were cast, no knives were thrown, and Harry got the financial records that he needed."

"Oh yeah, that reminds me," said Harry, as he slipped a hand into his suit jacket. He pulled the jeweled dagger and sheath from an inside pocket, and offered it hilt first to Bill.

"Peace offering for poor customer service at Gorechunks," the teenaged wizard explained. "I'd just hurt myself trying to use it...do you want it?"

Bills eyes went wide.

"Milord, that's...the jewels alone have to be worth...and if it's goblin-forged?"

"They said it was, but how would I know?" Harry asked. "Would you get into trouble at work if you used a dagger forged by their enemies?"

Fleur chuckled. "Quite the opposite, milord."

"It's Harry, Fleur."

"The title is appropriate in this instance, milord," Bill insisted. "You can't just give something like this away."

"Fine," said Harry. "If anyone asks, it's another boon from your liege."

Bill shook his head in disbelief as he pulled the knife free and inspected the blade. "Thank you, milord...I promise to wield it well under your service."

Fleur smiled as she walked in front of Bill and inspected his dress robes.

"We must find the right belt, so as to show your liege lord's generosity to all."

A Potter house elf popped into the sitting room, squinted at Bill's robes, then popped away without saying a word.

"Who was that?" asked Emily

"Erm...he's one of ours," said Harry. "His name's Barney, if I remember right."

The house elf popped back into the room with a Dragon-skin leather belt. He offered it to Fleur, and in flawless French said, "This should work for the liegeman." The house elf then turned to Harry, nodded in respect, and popped away.

Bill once again shook his head in disbelief as Fleur attached the dagger's sheath to the front right side of the belt, and cinched it around his waist.

"Magnifique!" Fleur declared, pulling Bill into a kiss. She pressed her lips against his ear, and whispered, "This spoil of war should shut zee mouths of those bâtards from zee House of Greed, no?"

The curse breaker grinned as he imagined walking into the curse breakers' canteen and waving the jeweled dagger under their noses.

When Fleur pulled back from the embrace, she turned towards Hermione. Crookshanks had sauntered into the sitting room, and the teenaged witch was squatting down gingerly to rub him behind the ears.

"Speaking of zee waistlines, Hermione...eez yours constrained by magic?"

The teenager glanced up towards Fleur and rolled her eyes, saying that she wished that there was magic that would make her corset more comfortable. Fleur offered to magically alter the dress's waistline and vanish the corset, but Hermione politely declined. This provided Harry another opportunity to tease his girlfriend over just how tightly she was wrapped around a little house elf's little finger.

When Emily pulled out her mobile to take some pictures, Hermione noted that a house elf had already taken pictures of them back at the castle. At Harry's suggestion, that same house elf popped into the sitting room armed with both a magical camera and vintage Leica. The house elf looked around the room, then looked at the three couples, and shook her head.

"This be needing to be perfect," the house elf declared.

"What do you need us to do, Wilma?" Harry asked.

"Nothing, Lord Potter, we be taking care of things," the servant replied.

Pebbles popped into the room to touch up Hermione's makeup and hair style, then did the same for Hermione's mum. A Delacour elf popped in to help Fleur before a Potter elf could do the job. Welly popped in and said that he would take charge of the men, only to have Dobby appear unannounced and insist that he be the one to help Harry. The teenaged wizard worried that he might have to break up another house elf fight, but Welly graciously turned his focus towards Roger. The house elf snapped his fingers and "downdated" Roger's tuxedo to match Harry's vintage formal wear. At the same time, Roger's cufflinks were upgraded with white gold and half-carat diamonds. He thought them a bit much, until he glanced at his wife and realized that they matched the tiara that had just been placed on her head.

When Dobby spotted the jeweled dagger on Bill's belt, he shook his head, declared that "the Great Lord Harry Potter Sir be needing his great lordie sword," and popped away.

At that very moment, Albus Dumbledore was responding to a call of nature. He was therefore not well positioned to notice when the Sword of Gryffindor was nicked from his office.

Dobby popped back to France, placed the sword and scabbard on Hermione's lap, and said, "Dobby be thinking the Great Lord Harry Potter, Sir's Hermione be wanting to doing honors."

Hermione waved off Pebbles' attempt to tame her hair and asked, "Harry? Is this what I think it is?"

The teenaged wizard glanced over towards his girlfriend and shrugged.

"Looks like it," he calmly replied. "Mind the blade...probably still has basilisk venom on it."

Bill shook his head and chuckled. "Yours just had to be longer than mine, didn't it?"

"Well I am the lord, aren't I?"

"Boys!" Hermione hissed. She turned the scabbard over, spotted the frog stud, and called out, "Some help, Barney?"

The Potter family armorer popped back into the room with a much nicer ceremonial belt and placed it on Hermione's lap.

Questions about the sword's importance, and whether the egg-sized jewel on its hilt was really a ruby, were asked and answered as Hermione wrapped the belt around Harry's waist and cinched it tight.

"I feel like there ought to be royal trumpeters serenading us right now," Roger quipped.

Two seconds later, two Delacour house elves appeared with trumpets that were twice as long as they were tall.

"I was only joking," Roger insisted, as the elf trumpeters launched into a fanfare.

"Be careful what you wish for when there are house elves around," Harry shouted with a smile.

While the horns were blaring, Wilma guided everyone to just their right places in front of the fireplace (which now sported an ornate Potter family crest above the mantle). She then had to redo everything when Harry insisted that all of the house elves be in the photo as well. She was eventually able to take several pictures with both cameras, then rearranged everyone to new positions and repeated the process. She would have tried for a third time had Jetson not appeared and announced that dinner was ready.

Once all of the other house elves popped away, Jetson provide a short tutorial on how the procession into the formal dining room should proceed. The teenaged "master of the household" was at the lead, with Hermione's mother (the most 'socially important' female guest) on his arm. Bill and Fleur were next, with the teenaged "hostess" last in line, escorted by her father (who was declared by the elf to be the most 'socially important' male guest). Crookshanks wanted to get in on the act, so he summoned two of his clowder concubines and they joined the parade behind Hermione.

The table was almost as elegantly dressed as Hermione, and loaded down with all kinds of bone china and crystal stemware. Hermione winced a little when she picked up a handwritten menu from her place setting and scanned through the ten different courses.

"Fleur?" she asked. "I've changed my mind about that corset."

oo00OO00oo

Hogwarts

Canipsy the house elf had been ordered by Albus Dumbledore to obtain an addressed envelope for Harry Potter and Hermione Granger every five minutes, until the enchanted quill wrote out an address that was more than "unknown." This was an extraordinary demand that required the assistance of the "Quill of Addressing," the lesser-known enchanted cousin of the Quill of Acceptance (that wrote the names of magic-capable children into the Book of Admittance).

The Quill of Addressing sat inside a locked black box that was stored inside a locked room within the same small locked tower that was home to the Book of Admittance and that other quill. The color of the black box was appropriate, given that nobody could actually see the Quill of Addressing do its assigned task. The box had thin slots on opposite sides, and a conical tube that jutted out from the third. When a letter or booklist needed to be sent out to either an active or prospective Hogwarts student, an envelope was pushed into one of the slots, and the student's name was spoken into the tube. The quill's magic would confirm that the student's name was written down on the Book of Admittance, then use a type of scrying to determine that student's current location. Once the quill wrote down that location, the addressed letter would spit out of the other slot.

Three house elves were needed to address letters when booklists were delivered to the entire school population. But for this special job, only one elf was needed, and only for a few seconds at a time. With replicate letters addressed at a five minute pace, there was little need for Canipsy to be idle. For four and three-quarters minutes, the house elf would find something else to do in the castle, then pop back in to the hidden tower and pop two letters in to the black box. Canipsy would then quickly check the output for something new, banish the letters that didn't have something new, and pop away, starting the cycle over again.

The cycle was finally broken when letters for Harry and Hermione were addressed with a location that was different from "Address Unknown." Canipsy scooped up the two letters and immediately popped to the Headmaster's Office. Dumbledore was behind his desk, silently sucking on a lemon drop as he waited for a response to the urgent patronus messages that he had sent to the Order.

Canipsy announced that he had the newly-addressed letters, placed them on the desk, and asked if he should continue to feed blank envelopes into the black box. Dumbledore spread the envelopes out and noticed that they were addressed to the same location. He then gave Hermione's letter back to the house elf, and instructed him to continue the operation at a three-minute pace until either the address changed again, or he was summoned back to the Headmaster's Office. Canipsy bowed, and popped away.

Dumbledore frowned as he re-examined the elegantly-written address on the remaining envelope:

Harry Potter

The Dining Room

Au-delà de la Portée du Proviseur, France

The country wasn't much of a surprise, given his suspicions that Fleur Delacour had helped Harry and Hermione escape the country (save for the fact that they had apparently been in North America just a few hours previous). But the rest of the message was beyond his understanding…although he was fluent in both Mermish and Gobbledygook, Dumbledore could only speak and read a handful of words in French.

The Headmaster glanced towards the wall and took note of which portraits hadn't been covered by his massive pube-tracking world map.

"Headmaster Dippet?" he asked.

The portrait of Dumbledore's predecessor opened its eyes and yawned.

"You have need of me?" the portrait asked with chagrin.

"Yes, yes…if I recall correctly, you spoke French fluently?"

"Oui."

"Excellent…would you please translate something for me?"

The portrait rolled his eyes when Dumbledore held the addressed letter an inch away from his enchanted canvas.

"Would you hold it further back?" Dippet scowled. "My oil paint eyesight isn't any better than when I was alive."

"Ah, my apologies."

The portrait did a double take once the envelope was held far enough away to be read. And then it did something that his live counterpart rarely did...and giggled.

"What is so amusing?" Dumbledore asked.

The giggles grew into more of a chortle as the portrait shook his head.

"You've lost."

"Lost? Lost what?"

"Perhaps my painted eyes are failing, and the phrase 'Au-delà de la portée du proviseur' means something different?"

The portrait had intentionally raised its voice when speaking the French words, so as to share it with the other remaining portraits. The fact that more than a few of them started to laugh suggested both that he had spoken loud enough, and that at least some of his predecessors shared his language skills.

"Quelle délicieuse blague!" a portrait gleefully proclaimed.

"C'est seulement ce que le fou mérite!" declared another.

Dumbledore let out a low growl of disapproval.

"You are all charged with serving the current Headmaster," he declared. "Speak so that I understand!"

"Now that's a tall order," a portrait muttered.

"What does that address mean, in English?" Dumbledore demanded.

The portrait of Headmaster Dippet let out a snort.

"It quite literally means…beyond the reach of the headmaster."

Dippet's translation brought his non-Francophone counterparts in on a joke. Only a few failed to see the humor.

"It must a prank," Dumbledore declared.

Dippet shook his head.

"You know how the Quill of Addressing works, Dumbledore. It has to be a real address…which is makes it all the more amusing."

"But how could a location actually have that as a name?"

"With the approval and support of the French magical government, is how," a different portrait called out.

"The boy has friends in hault places, and they're on to your games," Dippet stated. "Do you want my advice?"

Dumbledore really didn't want to hear what his predecessor had to say, but knew that he should at least consider it.

"You treat friends and allies like pieces on a grand chessboard," the portrait noted. "Pieces that you move from square to square, and, when necessary, sacrifice in order to achieve victory."

"I do not!"

"Greater good, Albus?" Dippet countered. "And when you play that kind of game, for that kind of stake? You have to accept the possibility that your next best move is to gracefully topple your own king."

"How could gracefully losing to Voldemort ever be for the Greater Good?"

"Who said anything about him?" asked Dippet. "You've been outplayed by the French…by the NAC...by the boy himself, even, or at least by his closest friends and allies. You've been outplayed in matches you didn't even know you were playing. Consider the possibility that losing with grace to them is your best remaining move in the chess game against Voldemort."

Dumbledore shook his head in disagreement. The idea of surrendering power and control to others in order to defeat the Dark Lord was anathema. Only he was capable of leading the Light. But as he turned his back on the portraits, he caught sight of his withered hand, and was reminded of his mortality. Who would be capable of leading the fight against evil once he had passed on to the Next Great Adventure? The French? The Colonials? Two teenagers?

A thin smile formed on the Headmaster's lips as he silently answered his own question. Whether his end came that night by broken vow, or came within the year from the curse placed on Gaunt's ring, he would not allow Death to topple his king.

Dumbledore walked back to his desk, pulled out the Elder Wand, and countered a complex locking charm that he'd placed on a lower desk drawer earlier that Summer. Inside that drawer, a shallow bronze bowl sat on top of a children's storybook. Within that bowl sat a ring, a snitch, and his deluminator.

The Headmaster sighed as he placed the ring and snitch on his desk top, closed the drawer, then grabbed his wand. It would take some work to encapsulate the Resurrection Stone within the snitch, and to apply the necessary enchantments, but if things went well the task would be completed prior to the prisoner exchange.

And if things really went well, there might even be time for him to update his portrait.

o00OO00oo

Back in France, beyond the reach of the Headmaster, Emily Granger smiled as she watched her host tackle the dinner's game course.

"Always selecting the right silverware, and drinking from the right glass, Harry? One might assume that all of your dinners are this elegant."

The teenager chuckled. "First time, actually. I'd be at a complete loss without Hermione's 'work from the outside in' advice," he admitted. "And I also have some invisible helpers."

"How so?"

Harry wiggled the knife and fork in his hands.

"Watch my silver when the next course is served...the correct pieces will sparkle for a second or two."

"That sounds right useful," said Roger. "Wish I could get my spanners to do that when I'm working in the garage."

"I can ask if any of the Potter elves have spent time under the bonnet," Harry suggested with a smile.

Another Potter house elf popped up tableside, announced that he would be very happy to maintain "Lady Potter's Pater's vehicles," then popped out.

"There you go," Harry said with a smile.

Bill cleared his throat, "If it pleases milord…"

"The name's Harry, liege."

"Sorry…Fleur told me that I'm not supposed to talk business until after dinner drinks, but I have a meeting scheduled with some potential allies this evening, and at the pace of these dinner courses, I'll have to leave before dessert."

"No need to apologize, Bill," said Harry. "I'm sure that Jetson knows a good stasis charm."

"It would be a crime to put food and drink zhis good under a stasis charm." Fleur stated.

"Zhat and zhee's, Fleur," Hermione teased.

"Who are these potential allies?" asked Harry.

Bill started to reply, but paused when he looked at Roger and Emily.

"We are all close friends and allies here, Bill," said Harry. "No need for secrets at this table."

"Is that so?" Roger asked with a wink. "Then perhaps you'd be willing to share what our daughter and you were doing…"

"Daddy!" Hermione hissed. "Don't you dare dignify that with a response, Harry."

"I was only going to ask what you two did this afternoon!" Roger gently protested.

"Would you want to share with us just what you and mum got up to this afternoon at that private beach?"

"Does that mean that there's a comparison to be made?"

"Stop it, Roger," Emily interjected. "Before we debate whether you sleeping on the couch for the next month or two is appropriate dinner conversation."

"Yes, Dear," Roger quickly replied. "Sorry for the bad joke, everyone."

"And for the 'Overbearing Father' routine, as well?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, for that too."

"So…these potential allies, Bill?" Harry asked.

The liegeman paused for a moment, before saying, "It isn't a matter of trusting Roger and Emily, milord…it's that I also trust Dumbledore to use Legilimency on them if given the opportunity."

"You aren't the only one with that worry," Roger replied.

Hermione's mum explained that they had discussed this topic with Hermione in London, when they had spent the weekend with Fleur's family. At the time, Roger and Emily didn't know Harry's and Hermione's plans, so their lack of Occlumency wasn't a risk. But they now knew a lot of things that they themselves didn't want the headmaster to know…not just where Harry and Hermione were, but who had helped them get there. So they had no desire to return to England if that put their friends and family at risk.

Hermione's desire to smother her parents with hugs was almost as strong as her desire to have them become more involved in their operational plans. So she settled (for the moment) on reaching out and squeezing her father's hand while she suggested that Bill carry on with his talk of potential allies.

"So they are the better part of the Order of the Phoenix," said Bill. "And I was told that Harry and Hermione might understand better than me why they are calling themselves 'The Calendar Club'."

Harry laughed so hard that he almost choked on a piece of pheasant.

Explanations about the origins of that group name generated chortles and choking hazards that carried into the palate cleanser.

o00OO00oo

Gringotts, London Branch

Molly Weasley had never seen the need to fuss with a Muggle timepiece when a Tempus charm was available. Unfortunately, that wasn't a viable wand-waving option inside the walls of Gringotts (unless you wanted a halberd point placed against your neck), and the clock that she held to her chest wasn't functional. So she really had no way of knowing whether she had been holding Dumbledore's place in line for more than five hours or less. The Weasley matriarch could have used her youngest son's fits of whining to keep track of the time earlier in the afternoon, when they were occurring at regular intervals. But now that they were somewhere around the dinner hour, the pace of Ron's complaints had picked up exponentially.

"Mum, I'm starving!"

"Stop it, Ronald! We're almost to the front of the line, and I'll not have you causing a disturbance that risks our place!"

"But why did we have to be here all afternoon?"

"The headmaster asked for our help. Nothing more need be said."

"He didn't need all of us to hold his place in the queue, did he?" asked Ginny.

"If you think that I was going to leave you two alone, with your father away on business and with the family clock not working right..."

"But I haven't eaten in hours, mum!" Ron whined. "Why can't Ginny and I stand in line while you go home and cook some takeaway for us?"

"And trust that you'll be safe on your own? Trust that you won't wander off on your own, and lose the Headmaster's place?"

"Where is the old coot, anyway?" Ginny muttered under her breath.

"Ginerva!" Molly hissed. "You will show your Headmaster the respect that he deserves!"

Molly's daughter was smart enough to keep her belief that she was doing just that to herself.

A goblin teller barked out, "Next!"

Ginny winced as the wizard at the front of the line was grabbed roughly and dragged towards two hobgoblins that stood ready to whack the wizard's body with thin silver rods. Bill had told her that these rods were called "Probity Probes," and were magical artifacts that identified anyone who entered the bank with ill intentions or under false pretenses. This wasn't cause for concern, if all Ginny's mum was doing was holding Dumbledore's place in line. More problematic was the artifact's name...she had looked up the word "probity" in the family's dictionary, and learned that it meant "having strong moral principles, honesty, and decency."

So what if these probes looked beyond whether a witch or wizard was trying to get one by the goblins, and instead made a broader assessment of your inherent levels of honesty and decency?

Unlike her mother, the teenaged witch was just self-aware enough to recognize the risk.

Having seen some of the seedy-looking witches and wizards who had past the test that afternoon, Ginny could only hope that these probity probes were calibrated on a sliding scale.

o00OO00oo

Beyond the Reach of the Headmaster

Hermione and Harry had previously agreed not to reveal to anyone just how revealing the Calendar Club pin-up photographs had been. They therefore based their dinner table descriptions of what the Calendar Club members had probably thought they had revealed. Roger and Emily still thought it scandalous that a teacher would flash her breasts to a student, even if they were magically pixelated. Hermione revived her "What if you were on a French beach and ran into McGonagall?" argument, and Harry suggested that it was probably far less scandalous than hiring a DADA instructor whose magical eyesight could fully penetrate clothing worn by their students. Hermione's parents agreed, but were willing to defer elaborating on their outrage until after Bill got the input he was seeking for his meeting with the Calendar Club.

Bill quickly recapped both his meeting with Mad-Eye and the shared intelligence from the NAC's London spymaster.

"So Bill," Hermione's mum asked, "Does the reach of Dumbledore's vow extend to Fleur and you?"

"We think so," the curse breaker replied. "Although the penalty for breaking the vow only applies to Dumbledore."

"And what's that penalty?" asked Roger.

"Death."

"Ouch!"

"So why did he do that?"

"Because he wanted Snape released from NAC custody, and didn't know at the time that Harry holds duel British-NAC citizenship."

"Why was Snape…?"

"It's a funny story that's best told when there's more time," said Bill.

Harry frowned. "Does this mean that I have to completely avoid you two until September?"

"We're not sure," Bill admitted. "There is some ambiguity within the wording of the vow. It might cover any kind of interaction, or it might only apply to any contact that is initiated with the aim of encouraging you to attend Hogwarts this fall."

"What about the liegeman bond?" Hermione asked. "If that was strong enough to trump your oaths to Gringotts...?"

"Another good question," said Bill. "Chokebar is convinced that Dumbledore's vow doesn't apply to me, since a sworn liegeman has to be able to freely offer advice to his liege lord."

"But Fleur?" asked Harry.

"It would be simpler if I was head of my own family and could offer Fleur a betrothal bond. But since I'm not…"

"Fiancées aren't covered by a liege man's oath?"

"Consensus opinion is that they are not."

"Just to be clear," Roger asked, "We are all trying to figure out a way to keep Dumbledore from being killed by his ignorance, right?"

"Yes."

"Wouldn't the safest solution just be for Bill and Fleur to avoid any kind of contact with Harry over the rest of the month?"

"Safest for Dumbledore, but…that would arguably have a negative impact on my liegeman's oath. And no, milord…I have no interest in being released from my oath."

"Would the middle ground be just interacting with Harry when liegeman's duties were involved?" Emily asked.

"That might work," said Bill, "as long as I knew that the four of you were protected."

"Why is that?" Roger asked.

"Bill is sworn to protect Harry, daddy," Hermione noted.

"As am I, because of my oath to the Order," Fleur insisted.

Hermione nodded in agreement. "If Bill and Fleur can't risk staying with us because of Dumbledore's oath, then us staying somewhere safe is the next best way to satisfy those oaths."

"Somewhere like Harry's island across the pond," Bill stated.

"Even after all the work you put into the wards here?" asked Harry.

Bill nodded. "You would have the full protection of your new country, an unplottable location, and a short commute if you wanted to learn how to apparate."

"But Dumbledore would know we were in North America if he searches while we're taking those lessons outside of the island's wards," Hermione reasoned.

Bill shrugged. "He already knows you travelled there today…and he also knows that the NAC is aggressively protecting your interests. And he still couldn't reach out to you, even if he knew exactly where you were taking your apparition lessons."

"And I would not despair of the work done on the wards here, even eef you two spend zee month in Canada," said Fleur. "Eet has a lot of potential."

"Well that's true enough," Hermione reasoned. "Even with the ruined cork plantation...how many rental properties sit on top of magical ley lines?"

"Those lines definitely made it easier for me to build strong wards," Bill added.

Harry hummed under his breath as he thought about these points. He then asked, "Can we just decide for now that Hermione and I will return to Canada sometime tonight, and the four of you return to Château Delacour? We still have to decide on what to say to the Calendar Club."

The rest of the dinner party agreed, and began hashing out ways that the Calendar Club could actually help Harry over the next several weeks without actually coming into contact with him.

oo00OO00oo

Gringotts, London Branch

The triumphant shout that erupted from Ron's mouth when they moved to the front of the line was stifled by his mother's beefy hand.

"Not a word!" she hissed, as they watched a probity probe invade the left ear channel of the elderly wizard who'd stood for hours in front of them.

"But what if they call next and the Headmaster isn't here?" Ginny whispered.

Molly let out a deep breath and shook her head.

"We were planning on avoiding this line by having Bill withdraw enough galleons to cover your school expenses," she replied. "Booklists have to be sent out any day now...If the Headmaster doesn't return in time, we'll just visit our vault ourselves."

"That makes sense," said Ginny. "So you brought the vault key, then?"

The sharp intake of breath and the panicked look in her mum's eyes provided all the answer she needed.

"Next!"

Molly let out a deep breath and approached the guard.

"Excuse me...erm...Sir...would it be possible for me take an identity test to gain access to my vault?"

"No key, no access."

"Ah...well, then...we'll just let the person behind us go, while we wait for someone else to arrive."

"Not allowed...either submit to the probes now, or go home."

"But..."

"No buts!"

Having completed their testing of the wizard in front of them, the probe-wielding hobgoblins began to stalk towards Molly and her children.

Molly had just enough parental concern to give up the game before her children were subjected to probing for no purpose. She tucked the fake clock under her arm, and dragged Ron and Ginny by the hand out of the bank, cursing Albus Dumbledore under her breath, using words that would have earned any of her children a soap washed-mouth jinx.

oo00OO00oo

Castle Cornet

St Peter Port, Guernsey

Mad-Eye Moony watched with interest as Bill Weasley emerged from the rear bench of a Land Rover dressed in muggle clothing. The vehicle's tinted windows were no match for his magical eye, giving the retired Auror a clear view of just who had brought the curse breaker to the designated meeting place.

And also a clear view of just how heavily armed the other passengers were, with weaponry both magical and mundane.

Alastor checked the three locations where he'd spotted the advanced guard of French Aurors. They were also armed with handguns and wands, but at least their weapons were holstered underneath their dress suits. These lookouts held their ground as Bill crossed the courtyard that the vehicle had driven into, and climbed the set of stairs that led him directly their way.

The Calendar Club members were hiding within the shadows of the sea-facing rampart of Castle Cornet, which had guarded St Peter Port for centuries. Originally built by the Normans on a tidal island, the castle now anchored one of the port's breakwaters, and was a popular tourist attraction.

Once Bill reached the rampart, he called out, "Olly Olly Oxen Free!"

"Aren't we a bit old for hide and seek?" Fred Weasley called back, as he emerged from the shadows.

"Says the youngest of us," Minerva muttered.

"Am not," Fred replied. "George over there is ten minutes younger than me."

"Likely story," his twin replied. "Mum couldn't tell us apart from the start."

"Enough, boys," Mad-Eye chided, as he walked forward and stopped ten feet in front of their older brother. Hestia, Fred, George, Remus, and Minerva formed a loose semi-circle on either side.

"Rather dramatic location for a meet-up," Bill noted. "Scripting out scenes for a WWN panto?"

"I enjoy the fresh air," Mad-Eye said with a shrug. "The fact that this is the closest spot on the island to the mainland is just a bonus."

Bill smiled as he squinted past the retired Auror's shoulder.

"Line of sight apparition not the easiest when you can barely see that mainland in the twilight."

Fred and George chuckled as they launched into twin-speak.

"Good thing, then..."

"...that we ate...

"...our takeaway dinner..."

"...here an hour ago."

McGonagall scowled.

"Leave it be, boys...that's no less annoying outside of Hogwarts."

"Yes, Mum."

"Don't you..."

Mad-Eye held off Minerva's complaints with a raised hand. He nodded towards Bill's escorts and asked, "These Frenchies as friendly as your goblin minders in Marseilles?"

Bill replied with the same kind of shrug that he'd given Mad-Eye earlier that afternoon.

"Don't know if they're just as friendly, but they're damn sure just as competent," he replied. Raising his voice, he added, "So you might as well come out, Tonks and Shack...those red laser spots marking your locations aren't decorative."

"Thought this was supposed to be a friendly meeting?" Tonks whined, as she emerged from the shadows with her hands raised.

"No need for it not to be," said Bill. "They're just rather annoyed with your unsanctioned wand-wielding presence within their magical jurisdiction," he explained. "And rather concerned with any potential threats you might pose to a close friend of their magical first family."

"Which friend is that...you or Potter?"

Bill laughed. "Take your pick, Mad-Eye."

"So this is a set-up, then?"

The red-haired curse breaker emphasized his second shoulder shrug with half-raised hands.

"You wanted some input from Harry, right?" he asked. "Well, he suggests that you don't worry the locals."

"Is that right?" asked Kingsley, and he joined the group with his wand holstered and hands clearly in sight.

Bill nodded. "We're all on the same page, Shack...or at least I think we are. Our French friends are willing not to arrest you lot...if you're willing to graciously accept a ride home tonight."

The gaze from Moody's one good eye narrowed, as his magical eye began to twirl in threat assessment mode.

"Is that ride home going to involve our Ministry?" he asked.

Bill shook his head and snorted.

"Now how would that help Harry...much less you lot?" he asked.

Bill pointed towards the harbour, where a single-mast sloop was anchored a hundred meters off of the breakwater.

"Once our meeting is over, that boat will take you across the Channel to the Isle of Wight," he explained. "I was told that my brothers are familiar with the drop-off point."

Fred and George looked first at each other, then towards the boat.

"Couldn't be the same crew, could it?" asked Fred.

"Be nice if it was," George replied. "About ready to toss those infertile tribbles into dad's gnome launcher."

"Are we going to have a chance to check out of the hotel, at least?" asked Tonks.

Bill shook his head. "Afraid not. They'll settle your room charges, and arrange for your things to be sent on. Stuff might even be waiting for you tonight at the joke shop."

The Calendar Club members looked at each other for a moment, then huddled for a quick (and quiet) discussion. When they broke up, Moody turned back to Bill and said, "As long as they can get us back to magical Britain with our wands in hand and without Ministry alerts, we're in."

"Brilliant."

Minerva sighed. "So with that out of the way, did you speak with your liege lord and lass about the situation?"

"I did, actually," Bill said with a smile. "They came up with three things where you lot might be able to help. First off...they want you to compile a list of every muggleborn witch or wizard in magical Britain."

"You mean every muggleborn student?" McGonagall asked.

"No, every muggleborn...full stop," Bill replied. "Current Hogwarts students, former Hogwarts students...future students too, if you can swing it. Basically anyone that the Ministry of Magic might identify as a muggleborn witch or wizard."

McGonagall shook her head in disbelief. "How would we even begin to do that?"

Bill snorted. "Hermione anticipated that question, and suggests that it might be worth considering one of her own."

"Well, then?"

"Right...her question was, 'How did Professor McGonagall know that she needed to hand deliver my Hogwarts invitation?"

"Well that's easy," Minerva replied. "It's the same every year...the names of each new student are read from the Book of Admittance into the black box, and the Quill of Acceptance addresses their invitations. We review the invitations that have muggle street addresses, and weed out the children that we know had a parent that attended Hogwarts."

"Do you keep track of those home visits?" Bill asked.

"No need for that," Minerva stated with confidence. "You give me a student's name and I can tell you whether I hand-delivered their invite."

Hestia Jones shook her head and smiled. "So does the Assistant Headmistress of Hogwarts have access to the school's enrollment records?"

"Well of course I...ahh, never mind," Minerva said with a sigh.

"Why does Harry Potter want a list of British muggleborns?" asked Hestia.

"Have you ever asked Dumbledore why he needs you to do something for the Order?"

Remus shook his head. "But I thought they were setting out to be better than him?"

Bill nodded. "Here's a clue, then... their second request is for you lot to work out how all those muggleborns and their families can safely leave magical Britain without the Ministry knowing about it."

"Oh, shite," cursed Mad-Eye. "They aren't coming back, are they?"

"Would you?" Fred asked.

"Surely things aren't that bad," said Tonks. "Dumbledore might be a right bastard, but at least he's a bastard for the Light."

"And what if he's off the table?" asked Bill. "How long would the Ministry stand?"

"You know something that we don't?" asked Moody.

Bill shook his head. "Yeah, probably...but not about what you're thinking."

"What do you think that I'm thinking?"

"Dumbledore cursed himself in the foot with that vow, and I've been told that his cursed arm doesn't look any better," explained Bill. "Might ask him about his long-term prognosis."

"As if we'd get a straight answer from him," Tonks whined.

Kingsley let out a deep breath. "So if Dumbledore is gone, or weakened to the point that he can't block Voldie and his pure-blood synchophants from taking over the Ministry, then I could see muggleborns being at risk. But if they need to escape, wouldn't it be better and safer for them to use muggle transportation?"

"Yes, of course," said Bill.

"So what makes us experts on muggle forms of transportation?"

Moody rolled his non-magical eye. "How did we get here today, Shack?"

"Exactly," said Bill.

"So does your liege and liege-ette think we should get the muggle government involved?" asked Tonks.

Bill shook his head. "Not right now...no telling where the Ministry may have ears or eyes."

"You mean like the magical portrait that hangs in 10 Downing Street?" asked Kingsley.

"There you go," Bill replied. "We're just planning for the worst."

"Got some place in mind to evacuate all these muggleborn refugees?" Hestia asked.

Harry's liegeman smiled as he waved back towards the port town. "If only there was a part of muggle Britain that wasn't under Ministry jurisdiction, right?"

Mad-Eye chuckled. "And if the Channel Islands get too crowded, there's always the EC?"

Bill shrugged. "Something like that...let's just hope that any plans you come up with don't need to be enacted."

"So you said there were three things they wanted?" asked Mad-Eye.

"Yes," the curse breaker replied. "For the third task, Harry would like the Calendar Club to find out what you can about a certain charitable organization. It's called 'Friends of the Flobberworms'."

George laughed. "Friends of the...really?"

"What the hell is that?" asked Fred.

"That's exactly what Harry wants to know."

"Give us a minute," asked Mad-Eye, as he brought the other Calendar Club members back into a huddle.

Thirty seconds later, the group broke up and McGonagall stepped forward.

"We, the self-organized members of the Calendar Club, agree to work on the tasks that you've described tonight," she declared. "On one condition."

"What's that?" asked Bill.

"That you become the leader of our club."

"What? Really?"

"Is there anyone else better positioned to act as a go-between between your liege lord and us?" Remus asked.

Bill thought for a few moments, then nodded in agreement.

"Just so long as I don't have to pose for a pin-up."

The jokes about Bill's modesty, and the teasing about what he might expose behind a Praetego spell, were tempered when he reminded the group that his fiancée could shoot fireballs from her fingertips.

oo00OO00oo

Cork Fort, France

While Bill was meeting with the Calendar Club, the rest of the dinner party discussed longer-term housing options over after-dinner drinks.

"So Hermione," her dad asked, "who will be staying at the castle in Canada with Harry and you tonight?"

"I imagine that one or two of the Potter house elves will be there," the teenaged witch replied.

"That's it?"

"I thought we decided that Bill and Fleur should steer clear of Harry tonight," Hermione replied. "And that Canada is a safer place for us than France right now."

"Us, as in all of us?" her father asked. "Or just Harry and you?"

Harry tried to guide the conversation towards a less-stressful place.

"Mr. Granger, I would love having you and wife return with us tonight, and stay on the island as long as you like," he insisted. "Merlin knows the place has enough bedrooms. But right now the portkey is only cleared for use by Hermione and me, and we've seen first-hand what happens when someone who isn't pre-cleared tries to tag along."

"Not eager to visit that detention center again," Hermione muttered.

Fleur let out a sigh. "What eef the four of you stayed here, beyond the reach of zee headmaster, until the portkey could be modified?" she asked. "Bill and I could return to the château so as to avoid Harry."

"That's fine with me," said Harry, looking to keep on the good side of his girlfriend's parents. "Hermione, what do you think?"

The muggleborn witch chewed on her lower lip for a few moments before turning towards her parents. "I think that would work, although it might be safer if you two flew…F-L-E-W flew…to Montreal, and then used magical transport from there to the island."

Fleur nodded in agreement "Long portkey trips are supposed to be especially hard on muggles."

"And we could use magic travel once we touched down and got our passports stamped?" Roger asked.

Harry nodded in agreement. "I talked with Welly about that this afternoon," he noted. "Hidden Island isn't connected to a floo network, but he can transport people back and forth from Montreal, one at a time. We also have family portkeys on the island for group travel to Montreal, Salem and New York City."

"We do?" Hermione asked.

The teenager's choice of pronouns brought a smile to Fleur's lips. She asked, "Must you be family to use these family portkeys?"

"Kind of," said Harry. "According to Welly, for the portkeys to work, at least one person on the trip has to be kin or clan."

Fleur smiled, and asked, "How is it known whether a person is one or the other?"

Harry chuckled nervously as he reflexively rubbed the back of his neck. He then gathered some courage, took a breath, and caught Hermione's gaze from across the table before turning towards Fleur.

"Funny you should ask," the teenager replied. "Welly was kind of vague on the details, but assured me that the portkeys would work for anyone at this table."

"Really?" asked Hermione (in a near-whisper).

"Isn't that lovely!" Emily declared.

"Bon," Fleur said brightly. "Tomorrow we can make arrangements for zee trip by airplane, and my leetle seester can travel here by floo to provide her tutelage to Harry."

"And Harry can break the crushing news to her that he won't be staying in France," Hermione teased.

"Better him than me," Fleur declared with a smile.

Harry took in a sharp breath.

"I could still portkey back and meet Gabrielle here each day for the language lessons, right?" he asked.

"Of course," Fleur replied.

"Are you afraid of breaking your French teacher's heart?" Roger teased.

"More afraid of her expressing her disappointment with pint-sized fireballs," Harry replied.

"Speaking of lessons," said Roger, "Bill mentioned that you two could learn how to apparate over there?"

"That's right," said Hermione.

"Do you have to be enrolled in their version of Hogwarts to do that?"

Hermione shook her head. "There are private instructors you can hire...similar, I think, to hiring a driving instructor in the muggle world."

"What are you two thinking, then, in terms of full-time enrollments?" Roger asked. "Not that we're going to force you to return to Hogwarts..."

"It's a good question," said Harry, as he caught Hermione's eye.

"Now that we've passed our OWLs, there no requirement that we continue on at Hogwarts for our NEWTs," Hermione explained.

"Short of the Ministry passing some last-second, half-arsed law at Dumbledore's request," Harry interjected.

"You don't want to continue your magical education, Hermione?" her mother asked.

"Of course I do," Hermione replied. "It's just a matter of where and when."

"So now you're willing to consider transferring to another school?" Roger asked. "What's changed since second year?"

"Well, lots of things," Hermione replied, reaching out for Harry's hand. "The main problem, especially back then, is Dumbledore."

"When is he not the problem?" Harry snarked.

"How so?" asked Emily.

"We learned some interesting things from Bill during our talks about lordships and emancipation," said Harry. "Turns out that once a muggleborn student accepts their invitation to Hogwarts, the headmaster becomes their magical guardian."

"Really?" asked Roger. "We were never told that!"

"Doubt they thought you needed to know," said Harry.

"What kind of powers does a magical guardian have?"

"Basically, full decision-making authority for anything involving the wizarding world," Hermione explained. "Regardless of what the parents might want."

"How could they do that?" asked Roger.

"They think that muggle parents aren't competent to make decisions on magical matters," Harry explained.

"So...if we had decided to pull Hermione from Hogwarts after she was petrified?"

"Dumbledore would have overruled that decision," Hermione said. "And if you didn't pay my third-year tuition and if I didn't show up on September 1, they would have tracked me down and forced a decision.

"What decision?"

"Return to Hogwarts or see my wand snapped and magic bound," Hermione replied.

"They would have done that, even if you had been accepted into Beauxbatons?" asked Fleur.

"As long as the magical guardian believes it to be in the best interests of the child," Hermione replied.

"Talk about conflict of interest," Roger whined.

"But you said that's changed, now that you've passed your OWLs, right?" Emily asked.

"Partly," Hermione replied. "They can't break my wand or bind my magic if I drop out of Hogwarts. But Dumbledore is still my magical guardian, so he could still block my enrollment in another magical school."

"Until she turns seventeen next month," Harry added.

"And it will be too late to start at another magical school by then," Hermione noted.

"This is unbelievable," Roger said with a huff. "What else does a magical guardian do? Can they control a muggleborn's finances?"

"Not directly," Harry replied. "I was really worried about that, but the goblins won't allow that kind of interference with Gringotts accounts."

"What's the indirect control, then?" asked Roger.

Hermione shook her head in disgust. "Mum and Dad, did you know that Hogwarts tuition for muggleborn students is fifteen percent higher than tuition for purebloods or half-bloods?"

"We most certainly did not!" Roger hissed. "How could they even begin to justify that?"

"Goblins told Bill that it's a guardianship administration fee," Harry explained, shaking his head. "Excess goes right into Dumbledore purse."

"That's a criminal conflict of interest!"

"Not in the wizarding world, apparently," said Harry.

"And they didn't need to break down these charges to the parents?"

"Why would they?" asked Harry.

"I imagine that they would say that they are providing a beneficial service," said Hermione. "This way, muggleborn parents don't need to maintain a Gringotts account for monthly fee payments, and only need to convert pounds sterling into galleons once a year."

"And nobody thinks this is wrong?" asked Roger. "Doesn't Hogwarts have a Board of Governors to keep tabs on the Headmaster?"

"I'm sure that they think it's a fine idea," said Harry. "They don't need to pay a proper salary to the Headmaster when the job comes with a separate income stream."

Emily shook her head. "This is one more reason why we need names and addresses of British muggleborns and their families...even if they don't need to be evacuated, someone needs to tell them the truth about those Hogwarts invitations."

"So, just to confirm," said Roger. "You two have no intention of returning to Hogwarts on September first?"

Harry and Hermione looked at each other and nodded in agreement.

"And until Hermione turns seventeen, Dumbledore can legally block a transfer to Beauxbatons, or any other magical school?"

"That's right."

"But Harry could still transfer?" asked Emily.

The teenaged wizard shrugged. "I could, but my French isn't nearly good enough yet, and I wouldn't enroll unless Hermione could as well."

"So, what then...an early gap year?" asked Roger.

Hermione shrugged. "We were hoping to sort that out over the next month...with your help, of course. I haven't forgotten that the age of majority outside of the wizarding world is eighteen."

"That's good," Roger replied with a smile.

"Should we head back to Fleur's parents' house, to pack our things for the night?" Emily asked.

Fleur shook her head. "I'm sure zhat the house elves would be happy for that work."

On cue, Pebbles popped into the room.

"Pebbles be most happy to make up another bedroom here at Corkie Fort."

Hermione's eyes widened just a smidge.

"Pebbles, please bring my parents' things to the bedroom that's next to mine...you remember the one that's down the hall from the master?" she asked. "And then bring my things to my bedroom, and arrange to have Harry's things delivered to the master."

The young house-elf caught herself from saying anything too incriminating. But she couldn't keep from glaring a bit at Hermione's parents as she curtsied, and popped away.