Midnight Confessions : Signs and Portents.

By alloy

The brightness of the old man frightens me.

He’s older than Dumbledore. A blind cripple who shines brighter than any wizard I’ve ever known, save one.

Even here in this house, a home filled with wizards and witches, on a mountain; a nesting ground inhabited by hundreds of magical Firedrakes. The two, locked in duel, shine too bright to tell apart by magic alone.

A wand is lost, another turns toward me, a wry smile purses thin lips.

“Avada Kedavra.”

The green bolt of the killing cursing shatters into a million shards of rainbow against my golden cocoon.

In anger, one wizard grows brighter.

Waves of magical energy overwhelm the older man and he begins to slump in his chair.

Donovan Weasley leaps forward only to have his vast frame flung effortlessly back.

This is not how wizards duel, this is how Weasleys fight!

I step out of my cocoon and send forth my patronus.

“Ronald!” My otter shouts shrilly. “I’m alright, I’m fine! It wasn’t even a killing curse, it was an illusion.”

“Stop!” My patronus and I scream in unison.

Ron stops.

I hear the sharp cry of a Drake in the distance and Donovan Weasley hoists Ron into the air.

“Stupid bloody idiot, you could have killed him, You’re a bloody menace. You could have killed him.”

Ron is shaken like a rag doll. Magic forgotten, I grab the bear like man’s arm, it makes no difference.

“Don’t you know your own strength?!” Donovan roars.

“He does now,” comes a tired voice echoing through our minds. “Let him be, son. He only did what I wanted him to do.”

“Da?”

“I’m alright, Donovan. Put the boy down before you shake the magic out of him.”

Ron finds himself on his feet. “I, I…”

I steady him. The boy I fell in love with, the man who is my husband and lover, the mage who almost killed his Great Uncle over me.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“What did you do, boy?”

“I almost killed you.”

“No! That is of no consequence. What did you do before that?”

“I protected Hermione from the killing curse. You tried to curse Hermione….”

“Hush, Ron,” I say trying let calm flow though my hands on his chest. Trying to will his rapidly beating heart to slow. “It wasn’t real, Ron. It was an illusion, a trick.”

“It was a ward raised without blood, nor piss, nor spit,” Old Hugh Weasley chuckles. “I couldn’t have done it better myself.”

“But surely…” I say. “Surely any Weasley can do that….surely Ron can’t be the only one.”

“Ah, lass,” Donovan sighs and gestures to his grandfather. “The only other sits right there. You’ve married a ‘Wardmaster,’ you have.”

“Can’t be!” Ron says.

“Wards brought forth without blood, nor piss, nor spit--” Hugh intones, “--brought forth from the heart.”

“Albus would have been rather please to see this.

A cold chill runs through me. “He planned this? The Headmaster, did he plan this?”

“You do him a disservice, Hermione. The fact that he and I suspected, does not mean we planned it.”

“But you knew!”

“We knew that the chosen one was destined to have companions.”

“That we were to be those companions?”

“A prophecy told of your birth, Hermione, yours and Ronald’s.”

“What prophecy?” Ron asks.

“That, I cannot say.”

I feel an anger echoing Ron’s rise up.

“I refuse! I refuse to believe that Ronald and I are somehow being controlled by destiny.”

“Yet you believe your friend Harry to be governed by them.”

“I won’t!” The tears begin to well. “I won’t have my choices taken away from!”

“Prophecies only come true if people make choices, Hermione. Some of those choices were made before you were born.”

“I didn’t make them!”

“They were not yours to make.”

“But still….”

“Hermione? Are you going to stop loving me because it’s the opposite of a silly prophecy?”

Damn him! Damn him! Damn him!

I bury my face in his chest inhaling hard to let his scent calm and protect me. Damn him! Nothing in the world could make me stop loving him.

“Love can never be forced, Hermione,” Hugh says, “Though sometimes it can be destined.”

The old man shudders. “I’m tired,” he says. “I need my supper.”

“Wait!” I say. “Does this mean Ron can raise wards anywhere?”

“Anywhere child, and any size to the limits of his will and strength, though he won’t find it so easy off Weasley land.”

I raise my hand to touch Ron’s cheek. “I love you, Ronald Weasley, I still don’t like being a pawn of prophecy, but I know I love you.”

He grins, the lopsided genuine grin that’s even been known to win over McGonagall.

“I reckon any prophecy that says I end up married to the smartest witch of our age has to be a bloody good prophecy.”

"Any prophecy's good lad, so long as it gets ya into ya lass's knickers."

“Donovan!”

Sally Weasley is taller than Molly, her hair like her daughter’s is black, though her sons carry the same Ginger mops as my Ron.

“There’s no need to be rude!”

Donovan laughs, a bellyful affair and the tension eases from all of us.

“She’s of age, Sally, and married to boot. I reckon she enjoys the Weasley magic as much as you.”

“I feel my cheeks burning, and Ron wraps his arm around me. I know he’s blushing too.”

Sally winks at me. “Would that be the Weasley magic young Charlie and Chris would have been practicing in Romania?”

“I damn well hope not!” Donovan roars. “I’ll knock his block off.”

“Well Chrysthanemum is older than Hermione,” Sally says.

“I mean nothing by it, lass.”

“It’s alright Uncle Donovan.”

“It will be, lass, but I’m worried about y’r now.” The big man scoops something of the ground and slaps 14 inches of willow into my palm. “Call it a sign girl, call it a portent; it’s a poor wife to be forgettin’ her husband’s wand so quickly.”

He chuckles.

“Especially one this big.”

Fin