Back home, Flavia would've had everything at her disposal to make Miss Granger--Mrs. Weasley, now, she corrected herself--the most wonderful of wedding presents. She'd been reading up on the science of pyrotechnics before her untimely departure from Buckshaw, thanks to Tar's extensive scientific archive.

As it was, she had an envelope in the pocket of her dress, enclosing a certificate written in Flavia's best handwriting and promising the bearer a Rocket of Honour in the colors of their choosing (within chemical reason). It might take a while to get the supplies here in Darrow, but she hoped Hermione would understand.

She laid the envelope on the gift table--trying to ignore how measly and meager it looked among the other beautifully-wrapped presents--before turning to rejoin the festivities. There was going to be cake, after all.