A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to Jo.

This is un-betaed, so any mistakes are my own. See one? Please let me know.

It's been a while. I hope you all had a wonderful holiday season. Here is my gift to you. Thank you for being loyal readers and for putting up with my extremely sporadic updates. A special shout-out goes to user Rainbow Prime, because her message spurred me to finish this before the end of the year, and also for making me shed a few tears at the words she sent me. Sometimes, that's all it really takes. Thank you, so very much.

=========MM/HG=========

"Hermione," a voice called questioningly from behind her as she was walking down Diagon Alley. She stopped and turned, seeing a familiar face wearing a decidedly friendlier look than it ever had before.

"Parvati?" she addressed her former room-mate from Hogwarts.

The woman smiled softly, looking down. "No, it's Padma, but it's an understandable mistake."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Padma," Hermione greeted again, feeling a wave of relief wash over her. While she'd never been overtly hostile with the former Ravenclaw's twin, they'd never had what could be classified as a friendly relationship either. "I'm sure you get that far too often. What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you had a few minutes to spare for a cup of tea. I've a project I'd like to speak with you about."

Hermione glanced down at her watch. "Sure, I've got some time before I'm expected. Shall we?" She motioned toward the café that, a few decades earlier, had been where she'd first met the waitress who was engaged to Tom Riddle. Her brow furrowed as they walked and she bit at her lip, realizing she never had looked into what had happened to her.

"Are you sure you have the time? Is something wrong?"

Hermione looked up at her walking companion, surprised at the question and at her concerned expression. "Of course."

"You just had this look on your face… I wanted to be sure I'm not being an imposition."

"No, no, not at all," Hermione smiled, setting the past behind her. "Just a stray thought."

They reached the café and grabbed a table out on the patio. A few minutes and a couple of drink orders later, Hermione picked up her cup of tea and raised it to her lips. Before taking the first sip, she prompted, "Now, about this project."

=========MM/HG=========

A week later, Hermione swore as she read the eleventh negative reply out of a series of twelve inquiries she'd sent out. "How bloody hard can it be to find a Pensieve for sale?"

In an effort to vent her frustrations, she threw on her workout kit and went for a run. As she ran the familiar route, the gears in her brain spun and whirred. The conversation at the café had started out fairly simply; Padma Patil, who was working as a reporter for the Daily Prophet, was writing an in-depth book on the war with Voldemort, and she was talking to as many people who had been part of the Battle of Hogwarts as possible, trying to get their perspectives in order to make the narrative as accurate as possible. She wanted everything, down to smells and tactile sensations, especially for the parts of the battle for which only Hermione had been present.

Padma had a long list of people with whom she wanted to speak, but had begun with Hermione, thinking that if she could use the name and influence of someone so integral to the war efforts, it may open doors with some of the more reclusive former Order members. Hermione had agreed that her logic was sound in using herself as a starting point, and had offered to help as much as she could.

There had been many reports on the war since it had ended, but most had been little more than gossip rags, more akin to Rita Skeeter's "exposé" on Dumbledore after his death at the tail end of the war. What Padma wanted was a real, down to earth accounting of what had happened. She wanted future generations to know what had led to such conflict and separation of the populace. She wanted them to be able to see exactly where that conflict and separation had led; a massive death toll and the end of several ancient Pureblood Houses, not to mention the numbers of Half-blood and Muggle-born children whose potential had been ended before it had even begun. She wanted to have at least one accurate history out there to at least try to stop any future recurrences.

Then, with the depth of the information Padma was trying to gather, Hermione had come up with a brilliant idea; rather than getting a verbal retelling from people, have them extract their memories of the battle into vials and use a Pensieve to go back and look at the events from as many different angles as possible. It would provide Padma with as much information as she could ever want or need, and extracted memories were much harder to falsify than mere words in an interview.

Hermione, with her new-found wealth from selling the Basilisk parts in the past, had offered to fund the purchase of the Pensieve in return for allowing Hermione to view the collected memories as well. It would solve both of their problems in one fell swoop; Padma would have the accurate histories she needed for her book, and Hermione would be able to use the memories to pull together the timeline and information she had been seeking since receiving the letter from herself denoting the need to go back and relive the battle in order to save Remus and Tonks with the Draught of Living Death before Bellatrix and Dolohov could kill them.

The only remaining problem was that she couldn't find a gods-be-damned Pensieve anywhere. She'd known they were rare and expensive, but she'd no idea that putting her hands on one would be this difficult, especially with the contents of Morgan's vault behind her. She'd contacted twelve possible dealers of rare magical antiquities, and eleven had now replied to let her know that due to a shortage following the war, they had none in stock, and didn't know when they would possibly have another one to sell.

As she returned home and jumped in the shower, Hermione hoped she would have better luck with the final dealer. It was tough to be so close to finding what she needed to be able to save the Lupins, but not be able to get ahold of the key.

Hopefully, an affirmative answer would come soon.

=========MM/HG=========

"I've checked with twelve different dealers, Minerva, twelve! Nobody has one!" Hermione paced around Minerva's sitting room, arms flailing about as she ranted, having gotten the last rejection notice before leaving for her regular meeting at Hogwarts. "It's for a really good cause, and yet nobody seems to have even a line on where one might be, for sale or lease!" She pulled at her hair, trying to quell the sparks that had begun to appear as her frustrations grew, and flopped into her normal chair by the fire.

Minerva watched the scene with amusement on her face, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Have you thought to ask anyone outside of dealers if there's one you might simply borrow, Hermione? You know quite a lot of people who are likely to own a Pensieve."

Hermione mumbled something low that sounded like, "No, I hadn't thought about that, but it's a good idea and I don't know why I didn't have it," but it was so low that Minerva only caught a few words, filling in the blanks on her own.

A moment later, Hermione spoke again, louder and more clearly, but obviously still talking to herself more than to Minerva. "Who all do I know who might have one? I don't think Harry does, although he did mention years ago that Dumbledore had one. I wonder what ever happened to his."

A low cough-turned-snort interrupted her musings, and she looked up at Minerva, who was sitting across from her, hand over her mouth as she tried in vain to hide her amusement at Hermione's predicament. "I'm glad that I'm entertaining you as I struggle with this." Hermione fought the urge to stick her tongue out for a moment before giving in, crossing her eyes as she did so. At this, Minerva stopped trying to hide her laughter and let loose with a loud guffaw.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," she sputtered out between laughs. Calming down a bit, but keeping a smile on her face, she added, "I don't mean to make light of your troubles, but you've been going on about this ever since you showed up an hour ago, and have you not even once thought about asking if I might own a Pensieve?"

Hermione straightened from her slouch at this, eyes brightening and smile growing as hope took hold. "Do you? Have a Pensieve, that is?"

"I do. It's actually the one Harry used with Albus back then."

"Oh! Did he leave it to you in his will? And may I borrow it for this project?"

"He did not. He borrowed it from me to help himself clarify his thoughts after the Chamber of Secrets was opened and continued using it as the war picked back up." Her smile no longer reached as far as it had a moment earlier. "I did not get it back until after his death. It still held a few of his memories within, and there were several more in vials stored with it. I moved the memories from inside into more vials, and haven't been able to bring myself to look at what they contained."

"I'm sorry, Minerva." Hermione reached across and placed her hand on Minerva's where it rested on her knee.

"Oh, it's alright," Minerva assured her. "I've had a long time to mourn the passing of Albus Dumbledore."

The two sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, each thinking about the former Headmaster, before a question formed in Hermione's mind. "Minerva," she started, pulling her hand back to her own lap, "where on earth did you get a Pensieve?"

Minerva's smile crept back up toward her eyes as she laughed. "Morgan. It was a gift, many years ago."

Oh great, Hermione thought. I can't find one now, and now I have to try and find one in the past? And just when am I to give it to her once I do make the purchase? Despite the added complication to her future in the past, she was grateful to have access to the memory receptacle for the book project as well as for her timeline plotting for saving Remus and Tonks. It was just one more thing to add to her mental to-do list. Maybe Ragnok could help?

As Hermione was mulling over thoughts of trying to find in the past what she'd been unable to find in the present, Minerva was watching the younger woman's face. Her eyes were sparkling in her excitement of finally having found the item she was seeking, and she could almost see the wheels in her brilliant mind turning. Her heartstrings tugged momentarily at the thought of, yet again, loaning out the priceless gift from Morgan, but just as she'd known Albus would take proper care of it when he'd taken it, she knew that Hermione would treat it with all the respect it was due, especially as she knew some parts of Minerva's history with Morgan, and would understand the emotional weight of the loan and the amount of trust it took to part with it.

In that moment, her eyes caught Hermione's, and her sad thoughts seeped through the gaze. Hermione reached back across the space between them and put her hand back into its previous position. "Thank you, Minerva." She squeezed lightly at Minerva's fingers, grazing at the knee beneath it. "I know how much such a gift from your long-missing partner must mean to you, and I appreciate your trust in me. I'll treat it as the precious item that it is."

After the shared moment, the women relaxed into their chairs and conversed by firelight until the hour had grown late. When it was time for Hermione to leave, Minerva retrieved the heavy stone bowl from its home and placed it in a shallow box. Her fingers traced over the runes carved into the top edge, and she remembered her shock and awe at having been gifted with such a treasure. It was not like other Pensieves she had seen or heard of, and she had no idea where Morgan had gotten it. She never had told Minerva, only giving her an enigmatic smile whenever she'd asked.

Hermione took the box from her, all due reverence for the item showing plainly in her features. They said their goodbyes and Hermione gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, again thanking her for the loan.

She had made it only a few feet down the corridor when she bumped into Madam Hooch coming around the corner.

"Oof, sorry there, wasn't watching where I was going," Ro apologized before looking up. "Oh, Hermione. Didn't realize it was you I bumped into."

"I wasn't really paying attention myself," Hermione replied.

"On your way home from your monthly visit with Minerva?"

Hermione nodded in the affirmative, wondering how the Quidditch coach knew about her regular trips to see the Headmistress.

Ro glanced down at the box in Hermione's hands. "Oh wow, she's loaning you her Pensieve? She must trust you a great deal. I only ever remember her loaning it out once before."

"Oh. Yes. I have a project I'm working on and I was lamenting the lack of availability on the market when she offered to let me borrow hers."

"Sounds like Minerva," Ro smiled.

Hermione yawned widely, unable to cover her mouth while holding the box with both hands. "I'm sorry. It's been a long few days, and it is getting rather late. I should be on my way home."

"Oh, certainly. My apologies for having kept you. I'm just on my way for a nightcap with Minerva."

Hermione's brow furrowed slightly, wondering how often the two of them shared a drink before bed. The image of Minerva and Ro dancing at Harry and Luna's wedding flashed through her mind, and her curiosity over their relationship piqued again.

"Good night," Hermione bade her farewell.

"Good night," Ro replied with a smile.

Hermione nodded and resumed her walk down to the front gates, mind going over and over the little information she had on Rolanda Hooch. Just how close were she and Minerva? How long had they been friends? Were they only friends? Had she, as Morgan, been betrayed over the years? She didn't want to believe that of Minerva, given how she had reacted to Hermione's advances, but there was something between the two women that she didn't know or understand, and it was bothering her.

=========MM/HG=========

Eight days later, Neville Longbottom stood in his childhood bedroom, looking through the window. He could see people and House-Elves dashing about the lawns, getting all the last-minute details sorted before the wedding guests began to arrive, which should be happening soon, he noted as he glanced down at the pocket-watch Uncle Algie had given him on his seventeenth birthday. Tucking the watch back into his bureau drawer, he turned and looked at the dress robes he would be wearing for the ceremony.

They were just classic dress robes, he mused, not too dissimilar to Muggle tuxedos. Yards of black fabric in the cape, thin satin stripes down the legs of the black trousers, and a stiffly starched white shirt with a high collar and a black satin vest and bow-tie. Tugging at the collar of his tee-shirt, he stepped through the door into the corridor, suddenly finding his bedroom stifling and claustrophobic.

As he walked, he slouched, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his ratty pajama bottoms. He could see yet more people scurrying about, making sure every surface gleamed and shone in the stately old mansion, and sighed deeply, wishing the day was over already.

"Should you go and check on him?"

A familiar voice floated from the room to his right, and he made his way closer to the door, recognizing the voice as belonging to his boss at Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall.

"I probably should, but he still has some time. I'll go in directly," his grandmother responded.

He pushed the door to her sitting room open and shrugged into a chair, putting one leg up over the arm and leaning back to thump his head against the headrest.

"No need to come babysit me, Gran," he sighed. "I'm doing fine."

"I'm glad to hear it, Mr. Longbottom," Minerva spoke up. "Congratulations on the day."

"Thanks, Profess… Gran!" Neville exclaimed as his pajamas – top and bottom – disappeared with a wave of her wand, leaving him in only his boxers for a moment until his clothes were replaced with khaki trousers and a yellow polo.

"I understand that it is your wedding day today, but that's no excuse to be walking around the house in faded, stained, and holey clothing." Augusta was matter-of-fact in her tone, brooking no argument.

"What if I hadn't been wearing pants?" Neville was mortified.

"Pish-posh," she replied. "It may have been some years, but I've seen you streak through this house after a bath more times than I can count. You have nothing I haven't already seen, boy."

Neville's face colored brightly. "Aw, come on, Gran. Is it really necessary to embarrass me in front of my boss on my wedding day?"

Augusta chuckled. "It's nothing compared to what happened at my own wedding, so buck up. Between myself and Molly Weasley, nothing would dare go wrong today."

Minerva sputtered out a laugh before covering her mouth with her hand, thinking back to Augusta and Lupercus' wedding and the incident in question. Her hand fell back to her lap and she smiled softly and sighed.

Neville wondered briefly at the circumstances, but let it go as he smiled, eyes crinkling up in the corners. "You simply wouldn't stand for it, would you?"

"Absolutely not," she exclaimed, looking affronted at the mere thought. "Everything will be perfect. That is, assuming we have a groom?"

"We will, Gran," he answered, going back to her original question as well. "And no, I'm not having second thoughts about marrying Ginny. I love her, and as shocked as I am at the notion, she loves me back. There will be a groom and a bride today and there will be a wedding. It's just all so…"

"Overwhelming?" Minerva interjected.

"Yes!" He pushed himself out of his chair and began pacing around the room, arms moving furiously as he spoke. "It is overwhelming! There are just the right flowers in just the right shades, and fixing the patchy grass on the lawns, and having arches and trellises built to just the right specifications, and the carpets because 'As much as I love Harry and Luna, I'm bloody wearing shoes at my wedding!' and she can't possibly wear those shoes walking through the grass that we've worked so hard to fix, only to cover most of it with the carpets!" He stopped to breathe for a brief moment before continuing. "It's having to find just the right number of male friends to escort all of her bridesmaids, and make sure that they go in the right order so nobody's paired up with someone who's too tall or too short or has…" He threw his hands up and slouched back into his seat. "It's too much, Gran. Why couldn't we have just had a few friends over, some good food for after, and then waved goodbye to everyone as we left? Why did it have to turn into this society circus?"

Augusta said nothing, waiting to see if he was done.

Minerva looked off to the side, eyes unseeing for a moment as she envisioned the plans she and Morgan had so often conversed about with their limbs intertwined as they lay in bed discussing the future and what it held. Neville's idea as presented was very similar to what they'd wanted but never had. She deeply regretted the fact that she and Morgan had never gone through with it, and that if her lover ever showed up and they were able to have a wedding, her dear friend Filius wouldn't be able to attend.

Her musing was interrupted as Neville spoke up again. "I don't even like dress robes," he whined, sounding like nothing more than the fourteen-year-old awkward boy who attended the Yule Ball with the girl he would end up marrying today.

"Nobody really does," his gran said softly. "Oh, it's fun to look nice when you're all dressed up and going for a night out. Dinner, dancing… the look on your husband's face when you finally take the blasted things off at the end of the night." She glanced over at Minerva and the two of them smiled wistfully, memories of such nights flashing in front of their eyes.

Neville blushed again at that thought, then turned a light shade of green when he considered who was talking, and about what. And that look between the two of them!

Augusta snorted quietly when she noticed his color. "The thing is though, that as much as we don't enjoy the dressy clothes for themselves, we do normally enjoy the effect we have on others when we're wearing them, and that's never more true than on one's wedding day. I remember the day I married your grandfather. I," her eyes softened as she thought back, "I… I turned everyone's heads that day. I was always pretty, but that one day, I felt beautiful. Every eye was on me, and my eyes were on Perc. Dress robes were a bit different for Wizards in that day, but not terribly, and he was so handsome, standing there waiting for me as I slowly made my way up the aisle.

"I won't lie to you, Neville, I did have second thoughts. I had them all through our engagement, and I had them up until that moment when I saw him waiting for me, a wide smile on his face and love in his eyes. It was then that I knew I had made the right choice."

Minerva, who knew the history of the choice she was discussing, raised an eyebrow questioningly at her and got a miniscule headshake in return, the long-accepted sign of "We'll talk about this later."

Neville inwardly questioned what had caused her doubts, but he had never seen his Gran like this, and he wondered at how in love his grandparents must have been, and how much she must miss him. He'd been gone before Neville had been born, so he'd never known Lupercus Longbottom. He'd always wondered what kind of man he'd been, and in this moment with his grandmother, with that look in her eyes, he hoped he could be as good a husband as his grandfather apparently had been.

"Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that you put on the clothes, you put up with the parts of the ceremony and reception you don't really like, and you keep your eyes on your bride, because she's what matters today, son. You'll forget about the robes and having to fix the grass and the trellises and the flowers and the carpets, and what you'll remember is her, shining in white as she walks toward you, love in her eyes. Concentrate on that, and you'll be just fine."

"Thanks, Gran." He stood and helped her to her feet before wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. "I love you."

"I love you, too. I only wish Frank and Alice could be here to see this, to see you, to know the incredible person you've become."

"Me, too," he agreed, releasing her from the hug and wiping away the tears on his face with his sleeve.

Neville left, heading back to his room to get ready. He still had some time before he had to get into the robes he didn't like and didn't want to wear, but his Gran's words kept reverberating in his mind, and he accepted that he wouldn't have to wear them too awfully long, and the thought of the look on Ginny's face when she saw him in the hated garments… it was enough.

After he was gone, Minerva turned to Augusta with a nearly feral grin on her face. "Now, Gus, about those doubts you mentioned to Neville…."

"Aw, hell."

=========MM/HG=========

Not too long after, Minerva found herself being seated in a comfortable chair on the lawn, eyes still sparkling with amusement at the embarrassment her query had caused her old friend. They'd never been terribly close, but they had known each other an awfully long time, and living through two wars with Voldemort and his followers, not to mention being both Head of House and educator to all of Augusta's progeny, had brought them closer than they might otherwise have been.

"And there was that other business," Minerva mused silently with a slight smirk on her lips.

As she sat, waiting on other guests to take their places, her eyes darted about, taking in her surroundings. Her smirk grew to an outright smile as she saw the immaculately landscaped lush lawns, the rows of carpeting laid out, creating walking paths, and the trellised arches, covered thickly with twining vines and climbing flowers, all of which had been so bemoaned by the groom earlier. The folding chairs, set out in perfect rows, were soft enough to allow one to relax, but yet hard enough that they weren't difficult for the creaking joints of older guests to use. There was an almost obscene amount of lace and tulle tied into bows on the chairs at the ends of each row, atop each archway, each lamp post, and the ends of all the rectangular tables set out for the following reception, further down the park from where the ceremony was taking place. All-in-all, the effect was nearly ostentatious, but toned back just enough to keep it tasteful.

The subtle purple accents in the flowering vines and the thin ribbons holding the white and cream bows together were just what was needed to maintain the taste without making the whole thing gaudy and overdone.

The softly playing music shifted soon after the last guests were seated, and Neville and the officiating Wizard came in first, taking their places under the largest of the arches, standing proud at the end of the aisle. The boy – no, she thought to herself – the man may not have liked the dress robes he had to wear, but he wore them well, looking quite dapper, in her opinion. She could see Augusta surreptitiously dabbing at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief on the front row.

In pairs, the groomsmen and the bridesmaids came down then, beginning with Harry in his capacity as Best Man, escorting his new bride, skin glowing the way most women in Luna's stage of pregnancy tend to, followed by Ron and – Minerva gasped quietly, throat swallowing reflexively – Hermione, looking so beautiful in the pale lavender satin dress, a spray of the flowers used on all the trellises tucked behind her ear and into her hair that Minerva couldn't take her eyes off of her. She was so enthralled by watching Hermione's slow walk to the front of the aisle that she completely missed out on the two couples who followed before the music changed again, heralding the bride's entry on the arm of her proud father.

The sound of Molly loudly blowing her nose from the other side of the front row finally tore Minerva's eyes away from Hermione and on to Ginny, resplendent in white as she slowly made her way down the carpet, Arthur beaming at her side, his hand nervously patting his daughter's where it rested in the crook of his arm. Again, Minerva swallowed thickly, thinking back for the second time that day to the plans that she had made with Morgan, those lazy musings while lying in bed of a simple ceremony with none of the fancy frippery that most employed, and of a good meal afterward, spent in the company of their closest friends and family, before heading off to a honeymoon somewhere exceedingly private. When they'd been younger, these musings had always included Minerva's wishes to have her own father walk her down and give her away to Morgan, Albus Dumbledore standing as officiant and binder, but as they'd gotten older and she saw both of her parents pass away, her dreams had shifted to allow for Malcolm to hand her off instead, the change bittersweet, and after so many years of not knowing Morgan's status, followed by the death of Albus in the last war, she'd set aside her dreams of a wedding, wanting only to know if Morgan was alive or dead, and whether or not they would ever just have a simple life together, regardless of marriage.

But seeing Hermione all dressed up, so close to the last wedding she'd had to witness after realizing that she was attracted to the young woman, and watching Arthur escorting his only daughter to the altar had brought it all back in a rush, and it was all she could do to hold onto her legendary control and keep the tears from flowing freely. Unlike Augusta or Molly, it would seem out of place for her to cry at this wedding, and so she choked back her tears for as long as she could manage, making her excuses and escaping most of the reception to apparate home to seclude herself away for the rest of the day.

=========MM/HG=========

Hermione hadn't missed the stunned expression on Minerva's face as she and Ron had passed by her seat at the beginning of the ceremony, but was kept so busy with her duties that it was halfway through the reception before she was able to start meandering around, trying to seek her out.

She spent a few moments talking with the other members of the wedding party, a group she didn't know very well, apart from Harry and Ron and Luna. One of the other two bridesmaids was one of Ginny's teammates from the Harpies, the second one of Neville's American cousins. She'd only briefly met the other two groomsmen, and couldn't for the life of her remember how they were related. They were all friendly enough, but after kissing Luna on the cheek and giving Harry and Ron each a hug, she got up and began scanning the crowd for Minerva.

She worked her way slowly around the reception area, speaking briefly to those she called friends, exchanging pleasantries with her acquaintances, and sharing a smile from a distance with those for whom she didn't have even a name, of which there were plenty. In an effort to expand her professional network, Ginny had invited certain members of every Quidditch team in the U.K., and the teams' owners as well. She was happy with the Harpies for now, but that could change at any time, she'd explained. It was how Draco Malfoy had ended up on the guest list, despite the old feud between the Malfoy and Weasley families; he had bought out a couple of the nation's teams.

Halfway through the crowd, she spotted Ron speaking with Malfoy, and was surprised how at ease they seemed to be with one another. Ron was clearly in the middle of a Quidditch story, judging by the excitement on his face and the gestures he was making with his hands, and Draco was laughing at him, appearing to enjoy the tale. She huffed in amusement. If anything could get those two past their long-standing rivalries in life, it would be the popular Wizarding sport.

Shaking her head with a smile, she continued her search. Finally, she came across the remaining contingent of Hogwarts professors in attendance, able to ask them about Minerva without raising suspicions as to her motivations for the inquiry. Madam Hooch informed her that Minerva had ducked out early, claiming a mild headache. She frowned at the notion of having missed getting to talk to Minerva, but understood what a literal pain the music and din of conversation at these functions could do to even a light headache.

Hermione finished making her rounds of the crowd and sank back into the seat she'd been assigned, reaching to grip lightly at Luna's hand. They talked for a few minutes before Luna asked Harry if they could leave.

Before Hermione could even ask if she was alright, Luna headed her off with a weary smile. "It's probably something I ate not sitting well with the baby," she said with a wince. "I'm just suddenly very tired."

Harry whisked her away home, and after seeing the Longbottoms off on their way to their honeymoon, Hermione left as well. It had been a long day, and she was ready to be out of the fancy dress.

=========MM/HG=========

Harry sat on the bench at the foot of his bed and reached down to remove the shiny shoes he'd been obligated to wear for the wedding earlier. Setting them aside, he disrobed wearily and pulled on a pair of worn pajamas before sinking back down onto the padded bench, waiting for Luna to get out of the en suite bathroom. He yawned and banished the pile of discarded clothing to wherever the dirty laundry got sent for the Elves to take care of. Even years after his time with the Dursleys, it was sometimes shocking to remember that he didn't have to do the cooking and cleaning if he didn't want to, and did not, in fact, know exactly where the laundry went to in this house once he was done with it. Tonight, however, he was just too tired to care, as long as he didn't have to deal with it.

Harry's eyes moved tiredly around the room as he waited for Luna, not wanting to crawl into their bed without her, and caught on the white chest he'd moved to make way for the bench once he and the new Mrs. Potter had returned from their honeymoon. He hadn't spared it a thought since then, but now, his boredom compelled him to give it another look.

Kneeling in front of the chest, he traced over the inscriptions with his fingers, realizing what it must be. He opened the catch and lifted the lid, carefully resting it all the way back. The top item on the left side was a lacy white dress that he supposed had been his mother's wedding gown, neatly folded and preserved. He lowered his face near to the cloth and inhaled, pleasantly surprised to find it lightly scented with what had to be her perfume. The top item on the right, he discovered, was a large square photo album, similarly inscribed as the outside of the chest with James and Lily's names and the day they'd married.

He pulled the album out, set it to the side, and closed the chest again. He brought the book back to the bench, and opened the cover with shaking hands. The first page contained a single Wizard's photograph of James and Lily, dancing in their wedding finery. He watched them spin around, younger then than he currently was, gazes locked on each other, love shining clearly through. Harry sniffled, unable to prevent a few tears from spilling down his cheeks as he watched these two people who he'd never gotten the chance to know.

"Harry?" Luna's voice called from the bathroom.

Forcing himself to look away from the image, he turned his head to face the open door leading into the next room. "Yeah, love?"

"I think you'd better come in here," she said, voice wavering slightly.

"Is everything alright?" He was worried at her tone.

"No… I'm not sure it is."

He jumped to his feet, setting the book onto the bench and sprinting toward her voice. What he saw when he reached the door made his face lose all color, and he rushed to her side. A moment later, the crack of disapparation echoed loudly in the now-empty room.

The long-deceased couple on the page in the bedroom danced on, oblivious to the perils of the living.

=========MM/HG=========

A/N: I would apologize for the cliffy, but well … it's me. I don't do that. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Best of luck in the new year, and hopefully I update sooner than another year. Thank you all again for sticking with me. It means a lot.