Summary: Callie and Lia, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin. A lady and a tomboy. Two opposite souls. Two sisters. Separated at birth by circumstances they are determined to discover... and undo. Yes, after being reunited, the siblings plan to reunite their parents as well. Let’s see them accomplish House Unity, too!
“It’s our rule not to dredge up past things, remember?”
This rule is about to be broken.
~Inspired by a worldwide beloved film.
Categories: Hermione/Draco Characters: None
Warnings: Book 7 Disregarded
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 30
Completed: No
Word count: 125007
Read: 150401
Published: 11/19/07
Updated: 07/18/12
Story Notes:
Only very loosely based on The Parent Trap. Began pre-DH and continued only with HBP-compliance (regarding certain character deaths). This story has a prequel-y companion, The Abduction of Persephone
1. Callie by lucilla_pauie
2. Lia by lucilla_pauie
3. Mum by lucilla_pauie
4. Dad by lucilla_pauie
5. Their story by lucilla_pauie
6. 'Sweet sorrow' by lucilla_pauie
7. So near yet so far by lucilla_pauie
8. Omissions by lucilla_pauie
9. Friction by lucilla_pauie
10. Sibling Rivalry by lucilla_pauie
11. Family knots by lucilla_pauie
12. Family knots, indeed by lucilla_pauie
13. Alliances by lucilla_pauie
14. Hisses and Kisses by lucilla_pauie
15. Getting cosy by lucilla_pauie
16. Waxing poetic... by lucilla_pauie
17. ...and apoplectic. by lucilla_pauie
18. Halloween Scares by lucilla_pauie
19. Things and Dastardly Things Afoot by lucilla_pauie
20. Rhyme and Reason by lucilla_pauie
21. Mistletoe Mayhem by lucilla_pauie
22. Uh-oh, we're in trouble, something's come along and it's burst our bubble... by lucilla_pauie
23. Yule in the Yucatan by lucilla_pauie
24. Yule in the Yucatan II by lucilla_pauie
25. Yule in the Yucatan III by lucilla_pauie
26. Yule in the Yucatan IV by lucilla_pauie
27. Yule in the Yucatan V by lucilla_pauie
28. Fund Fiasco by lucilla_pauie
29. Dead Heads and Babies and Birthdays by lucilla_pauie
30. Vows by lucilla_pauie
~o0o~ Callie ~o0o~
He heard the sound of her slippered feet padding on the wooden floors before she reached the stone portico and spoke.
“Father?”
“Good morning, love.”
And it wasn’t enough that she was about to come to the table anyway, he turned in his seat so he could watch her approach. Though it was still too early, only going seven, and he himself was still in his dressing robe, she was already dressed of course. Smartly, too, he proudly mused, in a yellow dress and russet stockings. Her hair was twisted into its usual messy bun, two ivory sticks holding it in place. Her pink bunny slippers rather ruined the sophisticated air she had, but that was alright, she was only eleven. And he rather liked seeing her bunny slippers on her feet. It assured him she was still a child. His baby girl.
That sounded sappy and totally out of character to be in his thoughts, but he’d only scoff at any one who’d say it was sappy and out of character. Even a hag or an uncouth troll would undoubtedly be sappy over his Calliope.
“Have you swallowed your sandwich and coffee?” she asked after daintily covering a yawn with three fingers.
“I wouldn’t be talking if I haven’t.” He always spoke to her tersely, to tone down his affection a bit. He couldn’t deny her anything. “Callie, I said, good morning.” Oh, how insistent he was on these ‘manners thingies’.
“Oh, yes, good morning, Dad! You don’t have anything in your mouth at all? No beans or stringmints?”
“No. Why?” She hadn’t had her first suitors yet, had she? Even with her nose buried in books most of the time and though she was nearly always sequestered away from the rest of the world in the vineyard, boys still hounded her. He really had it in for Frenchmen.
“I got my Hogwarts letter.”
“You what?”
Explosive coughs sounded in the terrace of the charming little chateau. The man coughing received pats from his exasperated daughter.
“How did this ” you’re not ”” he sputtered.
“Why not?”
“Well, because we live here! This is Chablis! This is France! You’re going to Beauxbatons!”
“But you and Grandmother and Grandfather talked about Hogwarts and Slytherin since I was born. And you’ve only talked about Beauxbatons in the last two weeks.”
“So?”
“That isn’t an answer in intelligent conversation, Father.”
“You’re doing it again, young lady.”
And yes, she always did that. It was endearing and frightening at the same time. Well, not really frightening, per se. All the same, it never failed to make his heart skip beats when she became domineering and assertive like that. Just like her mother.
“I was only saying,” with a graceful flick of a gold-bangled wrist, “not only have I been brought up thoroughly English, I’ve also been prepped thoroughly for Hogwarts, not Beauxbatons. Perhaps they knew that? Or is it because I went to London with Aunt Pansy the week they were probably addressing the letters?”
“And I thought your return from that book-signing unscathed was enough to cover any damages you might have done by sneaking.”
“I didn’t sneak. It’s not my fault if Aunt Pansy was too much in a hurry to tell you. I told her to do it while I packed.”
This conversation was fast going downhill on her favour. As always. He never won with her. But he wouldn’t lose over this one, no. He couldn’t afford to. He had to think fast. “Well... that was last week. It’s our rule not to dredge up past things.”
Merlin’s pants, his daughter beamed. That always preceded his defeat. He looked away resolutely, which only made her skip over to his other side, her skirt flouncing. “So when do we get my books?”
He could feel a muscle ticking in his neck from his effort not to return her smile, or look at her or allow her to infect him with her delight. He grabbed the French Wizarding paper on the table (Le Magique Miroir), something he’d never done before when breakfasting with his daughter. “You haven’t gotten your Beauxbatons supplies list yet.”
“I’m not waiting for it. I’m going to Hogwarts.”
“No, you’re not.”
“But you’ve practically raised me on Hogwarts stories!”
“Hey, that’s unfair. It’s our rule not to dredge up past things, remember?”
He could feel her gaze practically burning through the paper with which he’d covered his face. And then he heard her settle rather loudly into the cane chair next to him in the round table. Her teaspoon rattled against china as she stirred her sweet cream tea. Silver tinkled against glass as she uncovered the dishes, one after the other.
He lowered the paper just as she was about to slam another dish cover on the tabletop.
“You know Grandmother will never forgive you if you break this porch set, Callie.”
Her response was to open her own book. The Lord of the Flies. Where did it come from? He could swear his daughter seemed to pluck books from thin air.
They sat in silence. Father fidgeting, daughter reading, one or the other occasionally reaching for a forkful of omelette, a bite of scone or a sip of coffee or tea.
At last, the father succumbed. He crumpled the paper to his lap. “Callie ””
“I know.”
“What? You know what?” And then he quickly rearranged his face, wondering if , and fearing that, his authority and reliability might diminish if he looked that gormless and bewildered before his daughter too many times in a half hour.
“That Beauxbatons doesn’t have Quidditch.”
“What are you talking about, Callie?” He probably looked gormless and bewildered again, he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t keep up half the time with her, truth to tell. “Of course, they do. And you don’t care about Quidditch anyway, do you?” He sounded almost hopeful, he wanted to slap himself.
“What are you talking about, Dad? Of course I do. You even made sure your favourite team is my favourite, too. The Pride of Portree, see?”
“Yeah, the Isle Highlanders ” wait a second ” well, they have Quidditch in Beauxbatons, too, love, don’t worry.”
“They don’t have Houses, so they don’t have teams ””
“Yes, they do have teams ””
“It’s not the same. The spirit won’t be the same, Father. Where’s loyalty in that? You can switch teams any time! Isn’t that ridiculous?”
She was parroting him. Incredible, really. And how stupid of him.
“I mean, if I make it to the Slytherin team, I might, you know, reclaim glory from the Gryffindors ””
“Callie, don’t go there.” But he was grinning widely, and she was grinning back, damn her. She knew his buttons. He sipped coffee and bit his cheeks to hold in his grin. “Um, I don’t want you concentrating on the house rivalries. What’s good about the Houses is your house becomes like your second family.” He snorted in his mind, remembering his own ‘second family’. But from what he’d heard, Hogwarts was different now. “Yeah, they teach you about loyalty, they boost you to do your House proud, that’s all. But you don’t necessarily have to ‘reclaim glory from Gryffindors’. If you’re meant to, then you would, but I don’t want you obsessing over it the way you obsess over the piano””
“I promise, Daddy.”
In spite of himself, he smiled at her. It felt silly to him, but he didn’t care. He always didn’t care when she called him that, and with that sweet lilt in her voice he hoped she wouldn’t outgrow.
When she turned back happily to her omelette, he froze.
Had he just implied she was indeed going to Hogwarts?
“Do you want a refill, Daddy?”
Callie poured another round on his demitasse, grinning from ear to ear.
He supposed he had. Merlin.
Draco Malfoy cursed inwardly.
“Daddy?”
He looked at his child, and her image flickered in his mind, her grey eyes became brown, her hair became bushier and she was a woman, her expression reproachful, even vindictive. But he blinked and Callie was Callie again, not her mother.
“Daddy, it’s okay. It’s our rule not to dredge up past things, remember? Other people should learn it, too. And I think, if they’re decent, they already know it.”
Author’s Note: Calliope was born in England, so the magic quill recorded her birth in the Hogwarts register. *wink* I like to think that magical schools keep track of their children, wherever they go to live after being born.
Well? Do you like? Do you? Do tell, thank you. ^_^ It seems I always swallow my own words as soon as I say them. I’ve just posted in the Beta Guild that I like finishing my WIP’s before starting another but here I am with this when Then Somebody Bends is still about to reach its own climax! *is proud of ability to plug subtly*
~o0o~ Lia ~o0o~
“Thalia, Thalia, Thalia.”
“Mum!”
Along with the sound of curtain rings rasping open, sunlight flooded through the bay windows, revealing a lovely room furnished and papered in cornflower blue and hazel. It was rather cluttered, with the desks strewn with everything from books to paint brushes to little balls of clay in every colour imaginable, but cosy. The plump cushions on the window seats matched the sleigh couch beside the brimming walnut bookshelf and the bed. On this bed was a large lump beneath the covers. Beside this lump sat a woman looking around at the mess with rueful and bemused affection.
“Come on, we’ve talked about this. And don’t ‘Mo-o-o-om’ me. What have I told you about whining? It isn’t becoming.”
“Don’t ‘Thalia’ me. It isn’t becoming.”
“Oh, tush. You’ll appreciate it when you’re older.”
“So you admit you used to hate your name, too?”
“That’s only because people never know how to pronounce it correctly.”
“Ditto.”
“That’s because you keep introducing yourself as Lia. Serves you right for disdaining the name your mother gave you.”
As she said this, the woman tugged on the comforter, but it was held fast.
“Honey, we had a pact to get you out of bed by seven. It had gone now. It’s nearly eight! I’ve been lenient already.”
There were only faint whimpers behind the quilt.
The woman laughed. “This is why we have to do this, Thalia! Or else you’ll suffer at Hogwarts. Get up!”
“We can start it next month, Mum.”
“No. We’ll start now, today. I made s’mores.”
“As if you’ll let me eat that for breakfast.”
“Try me.”
The quilt went flying. The woman dived down before she could be warded off, to plant a kiss on the girl’s cheek. She held on and nuzzled her daughter’s head. “I can’t believe you’re off to Hogwarts this September. It seems only yesterday when your Uncle Ron used to ””
“Balance both my wee feet on his palm and throw me around with Uncle Harry like a Quaffle, I know. Mum, you’re strangling me.”
The woman laughed and with another kiss on her daughter’s flaxen locks, let go. “You’ve been using my shampoo again.”
“I like it.”
“I thought you don’t like apricots.”
“I don’t like eating them. Why are you snuggling under my blankets?”
“Because I’ll nap here while you make this room resemble something belonging to a girl I raised.”
“Oh, Mum, can’t you do it? Just this morning, come on. I love seeing you do it. You’re so good. I bet the teachers still remember your name.”
“Aren’t you such a sly vixen!” Laughing, the woman kicked her daughter gently off the bed. The girl landed with a thump on her rug, pouting. “You won’t get away with flattery and that pout this time, Thalia. Tidy up! Goodness, we’ll have to practice on your organization, too. You’ll have roommates. You can’t leave your things and junk just anywhere.”
Huffing mockingly, Thalia got up and began stuffing things pell-mell into drawers. Her mother watched her, not at all napping as she’d said. Instead, memories were rolling like film in her mind, very vivid ones, and with Lia’s back turned, and with her blonde mane resting on her back just like that, the memories became images, of a man with that same hair.
“...might just be in Slytherin. Mum?”
“What? I’m sorry, honey. I was about to nap there.”
“You’re never capable of napping in broad daylight, Mum. I was saying, since you all say what a sly vixen I am, I might just become a Slytherin.”
The woman blinked at her child. Of course, Thalia was a Slytherin, a chip off the old block. But a chip polished and lovingly shaped to be loved and lovable, never to hurt anyone.
“Well, if you go there, you know what to do,” she said fondly, focusing on her daughter’s eyes and seeing herself there in those cinnamon depths. She was confident in Thalia.
“Hold sway and hold regular s’more parties?”
They hadn’t been together half an hour for the day and the woman could no longer count how many times she’d laughed. Thalia always made her laugh. Or was it amazement, that she had such a feminine and angelic version of that man, which never failed to make her rather giddy?
When she had been younger, she’d always envisioned herself as a strict mother, the kind who shushed jokes and threatened punishments at the drop of a hat. But Thalia was more like her friend than her daughter, a friend she listened to and who listened to her, a friend she went to ice cream splurges with and raced to the tub with on Saturday nights.
She bit her lip. All that was about to end. Thalia would be at Hogwarts in two months’ time.
“Mum, did you eat something? You’re making faces. And did you hear what I said about the s’more parties? I mean it, you know. Does Hogwarts have a steady supply of grahams?”
“I heard you. Goodness, your sweet tooth is appalling. Nevertheless, I don’t complain. Your teeth are nicer than mine already.”
Thalia smirked. Gods, she stood there leaning on one hip with her feet apart, her head tilted to one side, and she smirked. Hermione gasped at the resemblance. She’d always known Thalia took after her father, but the similarities always struck her. Jabs to the heart almost painful in their intensity.
Perhaps it was the Hogwarts business triggering these things. That, and a certain grey-eyed girl with brown tresses down her back, whom Thalia had been next to in the queue last week at Flourish and Blotts. Joanna Bowling, that phenomenal author of Wizarding children’s literature, had been signing her new book. And there Thalia was, awaiting her turn to meet and greet her one favourite author. Hermione had been in the second floor balcony looking down. Her eyes were trained on her daughter. But photographers upset the line and several people stumbled. Thalia helped the girl next to her and they both pressed themselves against the wall, side by side, while the photographers did their thing.
Hermione had stared, because abreast, the two girls only differed from each other in the colour of their hair and eyes. And clothing. The other girl was in a chic knee-length red skirt, silk cream blouse and matching stockings. Her ankle boots were red suede, whereas Thalia was in a pair of tan jeans, a simple blue tank and sneakers splashed with paint.
They looked quite a pair.
But no, it couldn’t be, because Thalia’s pair was across the channel. That was the agreement. And though just the memory of the agreement sliced through her like a knife each time it crossed her mind, it was better this way.
She nodded resolutely to herself and held out an arm to lead Thalia out of the room and downstairs.
“Now, make no mistake, this s’more breakfast is only for today, your first day of waking up early.”
“That’s okay, I can have a s’more lunch or tea or dinner, right?”
“Thalia!” Hermione laughed. “You never give up, do you? Do you never tire of them? Honestly!”
“I never tire when it comes to getting what I want. And I’m persuasive.”
Hermione shivered. She’d heard of those exact same words years and years ago.
“Mum! It’s the middle of July! How could you be cold?”
“Sorry. You just scare me sometimes.”
“Me? You’re the one who sleeps in a library!”
They both laughed again as they sat down in their breakfast booth by the kitchen’s picture window. The sun was already bright in their ‘backyard’, which consisted of a patch of a tidily kept lawn, and beyond it, a wilderness of heather and honeysuckle on ash trees. This house used to belong to Hermione’s maternal grandparents and she and Thalia liked the rusticity around it. And they were only a town and a village away from the Burrow.
“No, I mean it. Promise me you won’t become a Dark witch, okay?” Hermione said in mock fervent tones.
“Sorry, Mum, I don’t promise anything for less than a promise of a lifetime of s’more meals.”
“Ugh. By the time you graduate from Hogwarts, you’ll be wearing false teeth.”
“I do brush, you know. Unlike Uncle Ron.” Thalia punctuated this statement with chocolate syrup dribbling down her chin.
For a moment, Hermione stared, remembering a long-ago incident of chocolate on just such a chin, too. And then she shook herself and wiped her daughter.
“You put on airs and swaggers but you’re still such a baby, you know that, my love?”
“If you insist. I tolerate it ‘cos we’re alone and ‘cos you’re so sweet giving me a s’more breakfast.”
“Oh, Thalia.”
Author’s Note: Thalia: thә-LĪ-ya (that’s a schwa sound ” as how you pronounce the verb ‘does’” after a soft TH, as in thrill, and a long I, as in kite) Calliope is pronounced the same, with a long I and with the stress in I. Ka-LĪ-yopee. Nice, aren’t they? Calliope and Thalia are two of the Muses, with Calliope as Chief Muse, the Muse of Epic Poetry, while Thalia presides over Comic and Lyric Poetry. The nine daughters of Zeus with the goddess of memory, Mnemosyne, the Muses inspire artists. *wink*
Okay, now, Greek phonetics aside, Callie and Lia’s father and mother had been revealed... *dun dun dun!* What’s that you said? Type it in the box, please, thank you! ^_^
~o0o~ Mum ~o0o~
Callie reached over and touched the tip of her middle finger to her lamp. The rosy light revealed her clock’s hands pointing in an obtuse angle at the numbers one and seven. She moaned and gingerly shifted to get up from the bed. Her lower belly was taut ” she needed to pee, badly.
She always had to pee badly. She was always too lazy and too reluctant to even move an arm when she was deep in a book so she always let the urge pass until it was no longer bearable. And ever since she’d left her nursery and her grandmother had fitted this new room for her, with an en suite, Callie had neglected going to the loo more and more. Ugh. It was painful.
She shuffled to her en suite doubled over.
Beside the bowl, a small bookrack stood, filled with Austen, Eliot and Brontë novels, which her grandmother insisted Callie couldn’t reach majority without, but just then, Callie’s attention and sleepiness wasn’t diverted.
She sank down on the toilet seat cushion and reflected on her dream. If only she had peed earlier, she would have seen her mother! She had been so near, Callie had called her, and she had been about to turn, her hair the same as Callie’s, only thicker... her cheeks were the same, her nose was the same... and then Callie’s impatient bladder had to intervene.
“Damn.”
Callie clapped a hand to her mouth when she heard herself. And then she giggled. Her grandfather would have been proud. He’d always insisted she should know how to be candid ” as long as the swear word she chose was elegant and never demeaning. She supposed ‘damn’ would be allowed, since it was elegant and invoking perdition was not demeaning, was it?
She wondered what her mother would think, though.
She’d much rather it wasn’t so, but as she grew older, she was finding herself wondering what her mother would think oftener and oftener.
Callie flushed the toiled and then looked toward her bath shelves. Did her Mum like the smell of apricots, too? Or maybe apples?
Would she like Callie’s burgundy tiles and aquamarine carpets and accents?
And what was her opinion of Catherine Earnshaw when she chose to marry Edgar Linton instead of Heathcliff?
Wincing because her lower belly still felt tender, she went back to bed and stared up at her lace canopy, willing herself to go back to sleep and recommence her dream, but her mind was too busy, too excited with another thought.
Her mother was in England.
It was her most treasured Mum-fact.
Next to ‘hair exactly the same shade of mink brown like mine’ and ‘the very same mania for books, if not more rabid’.
Callie sighed. She was going to England at last. To Hogwarts. She wondered if there was this chance, however little, that she might meet her mother there.
Joanna Bowling’s book-signing was the first time she had gone to England in her memory. She hoped they would go back, and get her supplies there at Diagon Alley.
Her father had always been forthright that he and her mother had not parted in the best of circumstances. But why was she, Callie, included in the separation? Didn’t her mother want her?
As always when this thought intruded upon her mind, she banished it under threat of an Avada Kedavra.
There must be another reason why her Mum had not seen her or visited her. Her Mum loved her, certainly. Callie clung to this belief. And her father never disagreed with it.
~o0o~
The only other time she’d been late in the morning was when her father had given her all four The Lord of the Rings books for her seventh birthday. When he’d found her still reading at four in the morning, immersed in the Silmarillon, he had summoned the rest of the books and refused to give another to her until she promised to go to sleep at nine again, no matter where Bilbo was.
Callie giggled a little at the recollection as she clasped her favourite pleated skirt.
Her Aunt Pansy had shown her photographs of herself wearing the Hogwarts uniform, and the black pleated skirt Callie was wearing now was very close to the Hogwarts skirt. For good measure, Callie opened her jumper cabinet and stood back on her heels tapping her chin as she looked at them. All of them were thick cashmeres and wools.
As the summer was getting warmer by the second, she’d feel and look ridiculous wearing one, she thought resignedly, pulling on a white pearl-buttoned shirt instead.
That was when she spotted it: a russet vest still with its price tag, which she delightedly yanked off.
She then ran halfway to her door, paused and then went back inside her wardrobe, her pink slippers flying off in her wake.
~o0o~
“...will be devastated, I tell you.”
“I’ll deal with it, Mother, thank you.”
“Don’t ‘mother’ me in that tone, Draco Malfoy.”
“Father, will you please stop smirking at... at the magnolias and... the coffee urn?”
“If it bothers you, avert your eyes. I shall smirk as I please.”
Callie was bemused at the conversation she heard as she approached the portico off the dining room. Usually, by this time she was already in her favourite nook under a pear tree in the garden while her father stayed with her grandparents’ late breakfast.
“Darling, there you are. You’re a little tardy today aren’t you?”
Callie grinned. Trust Grandmother to call two hours ‘a little tardy’. “Good morning, parent and grandparents.”
His father scowled at the greeting. He opened her mouth to scold, Callie was sure, but then closed it again. “What are you wearing?” he asked instead, rather brusquely, staring at her feet.
They all looked down at the black round-toe shoes with its burgundy velvet toecap.
“They’re called slip-ons, Draco. And rather nice, aren’t they, my love?” Grandmother winked at Callie. “Naturally, as I bought them.”
For some reason, her father looked even sulkier. She kissed his cheek and sat down beside him. She had just risen again to kiss her grandparents, too, when she saw all the parcels and packages beside her grandmother’s chair.
“What are all those, Grandmother? You can’t have gone shopping this early!”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father flapping open Le Magique Mirror with speed.
“They’re your Hogwarts things, sweet pea,” her grandfather replied drily. “Your father had them delivered by owl order.”
Callie sank back down in her chair with a leaden weight in her still empty stomach. She looked down at her hands and blinked. She couldn’t believe it: she felt like crying! “Oh. I thought we were getting them ourselves in London.”
Her father must have heard the hitch in her voice because Le Magique Mirror crunched as he crumpled it again to his lap.
“I’m sorry, Callie, I’m just not ready to let you go yet. You’ll leave me soon enough anyway, aren’t you?”
“You were supposed to come with me to Diagon Alley, Father! Did you think I will only take Grandmother or Aunt Pansy?”
He winced.
“Darling, it’s not so bad. It’s hot as Hades over there right now.”
Callie only barely heard her grandmother. She stirred her tea and concentrated on keeping down sobs.
“Are you very hungry, Calliope?” asked her grandfather suddenly.
“Not really,” she answered as low as possible ” any louder and they would hear how a lump was obscuring her throat.
Her grandfather got up. Callie was struck with how tall he was, and how he would always be one of her pillars. “Well, I fancy a walk. Care to join me?”
“Don’t be silly, Lucius, let her eat first.”
“She’s not hungry, Narcissa. Take your tea with you, my pet, and a croissant.”
Callie did as she was told, placing a sweet roll over her teacup and taking her grandfather’s hand. They descended the three steps of the portico and walked toward her pear tree.
“Now then, don’t mind your father. If it’s any comfort ” you know he’s still utterly besotted with your mother, don’t you?”
“He is?”
“He is, the fool.” Her grandfather rolled his eyes. They paused under her pear tree. He motioned for her to take a bite of her food and Callie obeyed, chewing and then sipping her tea.
“But how is that a comfort to me, Grandfather?”
“This is making him squirm. Your dismay at missing going to England for your things is nothing compared to his own discomposure. Let that console you.”
Callie grinned. Her grandfather’s dry humour always tickled her.
“Why are you all decked in red anyway?” he asked casually as they walked again. They left the shade of the pear tree and took the path to the orchard.
Callie shrugged. “I’ve always liked it. It complements my hair and eyes, don’t you think? Don’t you like it?”
It was his turn to shrug. He opened his mouth as though he was about to say something, but he apparently changed his mind about it because he just smiled instead.
They left her teacup in the low brick fence separating the chateau’s garden from the orchard. Her grandfather lifted her up easily to the fence’s top and she jumped down on the other side. He hoisted himself up and over the fence a moment later, landing beside her with a grunt. He grimaced. “I think we’ll have to go through the gate later. Stop grinning, you impertinent girl. It’s not as if you’ll stay young yourself.”
Callie laughed outright at that and he glared at her for a second before grabbing her, propping her back on top of the wall and tickling her waist, threatening to tip her over on the other side as she shrieked and fought him off.
When she was sure she was starting to turn blue, he pulled her back down on the ground. He put a hand on her shoulder and led her off as if nothing happened. She leaned on him as they walked, still weak from giggling.
They had neighbouring plantations, so theirs couldn’t entirely be maintained by elves. They hired people, Muggles, who tipped their hats to them as they passed. The pears were flowering, and they met a handful of pruners on the way. Her grandfather would nod back, but the Champs du Rose workers considered him aloof. Callie liked him as he was, though. This outward hauteur fitted him. And that was what it was, really, outward only. He was never rude and had always been warm to her.
“I reckon all blame rests on me, you know, my pet.”
Callie was startled at this continuation of their light-hearted conversation. “What do you mean, Grandfather?”
“Well, you know how we once held wrong beliefs, don’t you, about Muggles and Muggleborns?”
Callie nodded. She wondered where this was going.
“It all sprang from there, your mother and father’s estrangement.” He didn’t elaborate. Callie nodded nonetheless. She knew her mother was a Muggleborn.
“Your father, grandmother and I were not alone in being fools. There were others. It was a vulgar meddlesome such person who drove your mother and father apart.”
They reached a secluded part of the orchard where no workers were puttering around. The hill was sloping a little to the path to the vineyard beyond. Her grandfather led her to lean against a tree.
“Understand that I am not about to tell your parents’ sorry tale to you, my dear. It’s not my place. I’m just... well, I feel like I need some forgiveness from you. I myself spouted insults to your mother once. I thought her beneath us. I even quite hated her, all those years she always bested your father at school.”
Callie let it all sink in and then smiled. “It’s our rule not to dredge up past things, Grandfather.”
He only looked even more sombre. He bent at the waist and grasped her shoulders with both hands. “Calliope, about that, I’m afraid you might face ugliness at Hogwarts because of... You know our story, don’t you? We have been acquitted, your father and I, and we have paid for the things I have blindly allowed the Dark Lord to coerce us to do, but our name’s still mud in British Wizarding society. Are you sure you are intent on going to Hogwarts instead of Beauxbatons?”
Callie reached up to cover his hands with hers. “I’ve thought about it, Grandfather. I’m actually surprised Father hasn’t talked to me about it yet. I have my answer ready when he does. And that is: this is my chance to prove to them that the Malfoys have changed. And if there are people there who will turn up their noses at me before knowing me, they’re not worth bothering with.”
Her grandfather straightened up with a glazed look in his face and smiled. “You are so like your mother.”
“I am?”
He nodded and snorted. “Don’t pretend surprised, I’m sure your father’s told you countless times already. Self-possessed and tenacious to a fault.”
“Tell me more,” Callie said eagerly.
“You know enough to be going on with.” Lucius waved a hand dismissively. “I admired her determination even while I avoided talking to her. My pride was in a pitiful state then, you understand. And I’m so glad you seemed to have inherited none of that pride ””
“I do have some pride!”
He chuckled. “Well, you do. Of course you do.”
“And my mother made Grandmother read Muggle literature, didn’t she?”
“Yes. It was during those days when they kept delaying my trial, I think. They were determined to stretch my time in Azkaban because having your mother on our side assured everyone I would not be incarcerated. Well, your grandmother never fails to keep her stiff upper lip, but your mother would not have that. It was either your grandmother had to talk and grumble and even cry as she should, or occupy herself. Since the library at the Manor had been emptied, your mother provided the books ” and subtly thumbed her nose at our patrician pureblood nonsense as well.”
Callie noted that her grandfather spoke almost fondly, and that was saying something. “You don’t hate her anymore, do you?”
“That’s ridiculous ””
“But you called Father a fool earlier for still pining for her ””
“Exactly. For pining instead of going after her, Calliope.”
“And if he does?” Callie was intrigued with the possibility. “You don’t really care about her being Muggleborn anymore?”
“Calliope Malfoy, I play golf with Mr Carew and Mr Murier every Sunday ””
“Oh, yeah, I forgot.” Callie giggled. It was their private joke, hers and her grandmother’s, about how his grandfather’s old cronies would have reacted to Lucius being addicted to this Muggle sport and always going off with these two Muggles who owned the vineyards next to theirs.
“And all idiotic principles about blood were completely banished from my mind when I fell in love with a certain half-blood wench eleven years ago.”
Callie smiled and put an arm around her grandfather’s waist. He bent and kissed her on the cheek and on the forehead before they started walking again.
“You’ve sidetracked me. I had a very different reason for asking you for a walk.”
“What is it?”
“Well, your idiotic father is so preoccupied with your going to Hogwarts that he’s forgotten there is one thing you still need to go to England for that can’t be acquired through owl order.”
Callie gasped. “My wand!”
~o0o~
When they arrived back in the house, her father was alone in the portico and the parcels and packages were gone.
“Your grandmother has finally allowed the house-elves to take them to your room,” her father said morosely. “She’s in her drawing room, Father.”
Her grandfather nodded and left them, squeezing Callie on the shoulder and giving her a secret smile.
“Finish your breakfast, love,” her father said, not looking at her, but pouting at the magnolias.
“Why are you broody today, Daddy?”
“I’m not,” he snapped.
Callie laughed. She was still too merry with her grandfather’s coup of an idea.
“Maybe we should go out, to shake you out of it.”
“Nice try, chipmunk.” He winced at that, as though something in his words brought pain to him. “And where do you propose to go?”
“How about getting my wand with me?”
“Shite! I mean ” you didn’t hear that, Callie ” I can’t believe I forgot your wand!”
“Well, it’s not among those things available through owl order, is it?”
He groaned. “What are we going to do? I can’t ””
“Why not? Father, why are you so deathly afraid of going to England? Is my mo ” Mum that mad with you?”
“Yes, she is ””
“What did you do?”
“It wasn’t me, Callie.”
Callie panted slightly. She hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath. Never before had she delved like this about her father and mother’s past. All her father and grandparents had told her before whenever she asked was that they’d fought so badly they had to be in two different countries. All of Callie’s curiosity reached momentum now at her father’s strange queasiness ” as if he and her mother had the fight yesterday and not eleven years ago.
“What happened, Daddy? I’m about to go to Hogwarts. I think I’m old enough to know.”
“No, love, please ””
“Not even her name?”
“Oh, Merlin, I’m sorry, love, especially not her name.”
“Why? I promise I won’t go looking for her! How could I? I’ll be in school ””
Callie was beginning to be frantic with fear and doubt. What happened that her father wouldn’t even tell her her mother’s name? Was her Mum some... some criminal, maybe? But that didn’t make sense, since she was the one who helped clear her father and grandfather’s name.
It all clicked suddenly: ‘having your mother on our side assured everyone I would not be incarcerated.’
“She’s famous and influential, isn’t she?”
Her father gulped visibly.
“Am I not enough for you, Callie?”
“Don’t do that, Daddy ” I can see right through that Slytherin tactic!”
Her father stared at her. And then laughed. “You’re scary sometimes, Calliope.”
“Laugh all you want, I’m not giving up on the subject. I need to know ” does she hate me, too? Is that’s why I’m not supposed to know she’s my ””
“Merlin, Callie, no!” Her father was suddenly kneeling down beside her, his arm around her waist, giving her a gentle shake. “Your mother loves you. How could anyone not love you? Don’t ever think she has anything against you, love. It’s just we had this agreement ””
He grimaced and didn’t continue.
“Agreement?” Callie prodded. Her mind was whirling.
Her father went back to his seat and slumped down to the table; the first time she’d ever seen him do so.
When he looked up, his expression was so pained and exhausted that she almost regretted asking her questions. Almost. She held her breath in anticipation, wondering if she was finally about to be enlightened about the mystery behind her parents’ separation.
“Callie, your mother and I hurt each other so much we decided never to see each other again. Well, it was her decision, really.” He paused, and his eyes looked far-off, reliving the memory. Callie frowned and shook his arm. She was resentful that he would go off like that when she had nothing whatsoever of her mother to recall, too.
Her father took a deep breath and nodded to himself.
“This agreement we had...” he continued, eyes still shining more than usual, “well, you will more or less find it out, I think. You inherited your mother’s genius after all. Sooner or later, you’ll discover it. But I’d rather not help you by telling you your mother’s name. Do you understand?”
“No! That’s ” what on earth ”?” Callie had an insane urge to stomp and shriek and pull her hair. Or maybe her father’s hair. He only tortured her further with his cryptic answers!
He smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry, love, please don’t hate me so much for not telling you. I really can’t. Please don’t anguish over it. Now, before we lose you to your new books upstairs, let’s go get your wand.”
At least, he knew how to placate her. Damn Slytherins.
Author’s Note: Champs du Rose is the same name I’ve used for the vineyard in Then Somebody Bends. Too lazy and too attached to it to make another name. ^_^ Thank you for reading, please tell me what you think. Oh, and before I receive complaints, keep in mind that though this is inspired by the worldwide beloved film, of course I can’t just imitate it in every way. I have to depart from it ‘a little’ (Narcissa’s measure), if I still want you to read this! You agree? Bon!
~o0o~ Dad ~o0o~
An elephant began trumpeting in her room. Followed by ungodly shrieks that sounded like monkeys being flayed alive. And then, boom-BOOM, boom-BOOM, jungle drums. And then the elephant once more. And the chimps in misery. Well, no, they sounded rather gleeful actually, Lia thought, emerging from her blankets with her own snarl, directed at the clock mounted high above her north window. It had been a ‘present’ from her Uncles Fred and George ‘for receiving her Hogwarts letter’. Monkeys, elephants and a boy (in a loincloth of leopard skin) with a crude drum slung around his neck paraded in and out of a hollow sycamore tree.
Lia was sure her dear old Mum had a hand in this ‘present’. Moaning, she got up from the bed and ran out of her room. Only when she was down the stairs did her clock stop its racket.
“Well, what will it be? I made peach and strawberry waffles, I made eggs, I made bangers, and we have papaya,” her mum said, leading her to the breakfast booth as if she hadn’t been just chased off her bedroom by insane jungle noise.
Of course, complaining was moot, so she just obediently slouched at the table and balefully asked, “What in Merlin’s pristine beard is papaya?”
Her mum laughed, took a platter from the fridge and laid it on the table. On the platter lay foot-long cuts of orange-coloured fruit with many black seeds. Her mother took one long slice onto her plate, scraping off the seeds, and cut and forked the fruit into her mouth. “It’s delicious, love. Has a unique refreshing tang. The Ministry received several crates as a gift from the Philippine delegation of wizards and witches who visited last week.”
Still scowling at her unholy wake-up call, Lia accepted the piece of papaya her mum offered her. Mmm, yeah, it was nice. It might just be her new favourite fruit. Apples were crispier, but not this smooth and... un-tart-y. It wasn’t often to find delicious un-tart-y fruits. Usually, if they weren’t tart, they were icky sweet. The papaya was just right. Juicy, too.
“Hey! Leave some for us!”
“You eat as though your mother starves you, Lia.”
“Are your eyes green?”
Lia turned around to find her mother peering up at her Uncles Fred and George, the devils. They’d just climbed out of the Floo. They were dusting soot off their dragon-hide jackets. And yes, their eyes were green. So green they looked like walking talking Christmas decor. Lia swallowed her mouthful of papaya and laughed in spite of her resolve to be a grouch that day.
“It’s a prototype. We’re getting near perfecting it. Just a few more tweaks because the eye colour seems to adapt to clothes.”
“Changing eye-colour now, are you? I’d like amethyst,” her mother quipped, setting plates for her uncles.
“Certainly, Hermione. And what about you, you starved crow?” Uncle Fred asked, examining a papaya seed cross-eyed.
“I like my eyes as they are, thank you,” Lia answered. She beat Uncle George on the last slice of papaya on the platter. Her mum beamed at her and kissed her on both cheeks after placing another papaya, this time unpeeled and uncut, huge and bulky, by Uncle George’s elbow.
“Cut that up and just hit it with a cooling charm, George. I need to go and get dressed.”
Lia caught her mother’s eyes giving her an apologetic look.
“Oh, the hearing? It’s okay, Mum. I’ll cope.”
Her mother worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry. They had even offered her a seat in the Wizengamot, the youngest witch to be so honoured, but she had refused it, knowing how demanding it would be of her time. Her time which was mostly devoted to Lia. Nevertheless, the Ministry gave her honorary judicial membership where she could choose which cases to handle and sit in.
Of course, Hermione Granger being Hermione Granger, it was nearly the same as having her as head of the department. She worked as such, and was also treated as such. The Head of DMLE, Julius Menis, was even quite besotted with her.
At which thought Lia scowled.
“Thinking about Mr Tiny Menis, aren’t you?”
She glanced at Uncle Fred, who was eating and finishing every slice as soon as Uncle George cut one and then another. “Tiny Menis?”
“Oh, you know, he has small mrains and a tiny menis, too.”
“Fred!”
Lia roared with laughter as her Uncle Ron entered the kitchen from the living room, shaking off ash from his shirt.
“What are you telling Lia ” if Hermione hears you ””
“If I hear what?”
Her mother was back, her hair twisted in a not-so-tidy-and-sleek French pleat. But it suited her because the rest of her was perfect, neat and elegant, from the collar of her deep red satin robes to the tip of her modestly-heeled matching pumps. Lia drank her in with her eyes. She felt like she fancied her mother whenever Hermione looked that poised and pretty.
“If I hear what, Ron? What are your uncles talking about, Lia? Are you sure you’ll be fine? Everything’s in the fridge, you can ””
Lia shook herself out of her slight daze. She grinned, too. It wasn’t often her mum called her by her nickname. “Mum, you’re acting like this is your first hearing! I’ve survived before, I’ll survive again.”
“Without knocking off any teeth? They’re nearly all permanent now, you know. If you ””
“We can grow it back, no problem.”
And then Uncle George cowered behind the second papaya he was carving at the glare he received. Lia suppressed giggling. She met Uncle Ron’s eyes and they both looked away hastily.
“I’ll meet you at Ollivander’s, alright? Fred, George, Ron ””
“We’ll be fine, Hermione, I’ll keep an eye on them.”
“Thank you, Ron. But honestly, you all spoil Thalia, you know!”
But her mum was smiling now, kissing them all on the cheek. Lia was, too, because what her mum said was true. She was the baby of the Grangers, the Weasleys and the Potters! Well, Uncle Bill and Fleur have Tori now, but Lia was first and still wielding the sceptre. It humbled and puffed her up at the same time. She might not have her father, but she had her Uncles, Aunties and Nanas and Poppies... Who was she kidding? She still wanted her father, too.
“Thalia?”
Her mum was looking at her slightly perturbed. Lia smiled. Her mum pressed their foreheads together and then kissed the tip of her nose. “Don’t forget to brush. I already fixed your bed for you, you can repay me by being nice and looking nice later. I’ll take pictures. Your first wand!”
Hermione sniffed. Lia grimaced. She knew what was coming.
“I can’t believe you’re off to Hogwarts, love.”
To Lia’s consternation, even Uncle Fred and George’s green eyes were sparkling more than usual.
“Yeah, our wee mite is such a woman now.”
“Our wee mite who used to puke nastily down our shoulders.”
“But Ron was her favourite.”
“Damn right I am, aren’t I, Lia?”
“Ron! Language, please. I’ll be off now, I’m nearly late.”
Lia received another smothering hug and a kiss and then her mother was gone with a subtle and elegant POP.
“I meant you’re her favourite to puke on,” Uncle Fred remarked tremulously. And then he and Uncle George lost it and roared with laughter, and Lia, though mortified that she was the one doing the puking in the joke, laughed right along. It was just so fun teasing her favourite uncle.
Dad or no dad, her school shopping was going to be fantastic.
~o0o~
“Uncle Ron, I’ve noticed something odd. Mum never seems to be in any of the papers, does she?”
They were having lunch in the breakfast booth with the breakfast food. Bangers and mash could beat salmon or sardines any day. Uncle Fred was the one carving another papaya now. Uncle George’s spoon paused ever so lightly as he swiped off the seeds on his slice. Lia noticed all three men fail to exchange looks subtly. She frowned.
She was reading the Daily Prophet, which had put together a nice feature about the war heroes and heroines all over again due to her Uncle Harry’s approaching birthday. Lia was used to such things, but it always pleased her to read praise toward her mother and their close friends. But by now, she noticed that her mother never, never had her picture in the papers. Lia had always cherished a secret yen to see her mum’s pretty face in print.
Uncle Ron cleared his throat, speared another sausage and grinned. “Well, she’s not,” he said nonchalantly. “She doesn’t like publicity, your Mum. We’ve had enough of that even in school. Didn’t she tell you that one about Rita Skeeter?”
Lia just nodded. It didn’t make sense. The Prophet even knew her mother’s favourite Bean flavour. Uncle Ron seemed to notice she wasn’t satisfied with his answer and shrugged. “Your mum just doesn’t want everyone knowing her face, that’s all. She doesn’t like being disturbed and imposed on, you know. Imagine her in Flourish and Blotts, prowling the shelves, and then besieged by people for autographs ””
“It would be the last thing they’d do,” Uncle Fred said through a mouthful of papaya. “Though I wonder what Hermione can still visit bookstores for.”
Lia grinned, pacified.
“Can’t we go yet?”
“You can’t boot us out in this heat, miss. We have the shop well in Verity’s capable hands and feet and these papayas are heavenly. We’ll wait ‘til it’s not so dog hot anymore.”
“We do have toilets in the Diagon Alley, don’t we?” asked Lia, gathering dishes and placing them on the sink.
“Why do you ask?”
“For you, my dear gluttonous uncles.”
~o0o~
At five o’clock, after playing two-a-side Quidditch in the ‘backyard’ and eating more papaya (in the case of Lia’s twin uncles) while listening to a Cannons game against the Highlanders on the wireless, they Floo-ed to Diagon Alley at last. Lia had wanted to Side-Along, but her mother would have none of it. “We never Side-Along-ed until we were sixteen, Thalia, and only your Uncle Harry did that, too, not me. Nana Molly said she never let your uncles and Aunt Ginny to Side-Along either when they were young.”
Of course, Lia could have argued that she wasn’t ‘young’ any more, but when her mum said ‘Nana Molly said’, nothing else could sway her. Not even Nana Helen.
She thought these things and more as she spun in the green whirlwind, keeping her elbows tucked in because her greatest fear was dark elbows.
At last, she slid out of the Weasleys Wizard Wheezes’ hearth.
Uncle Ron had slipped her school list under the wireless when they went out to play Quidditch. Lia growled and Uncles Fred and George held her back as Uncle Ron went back to get it.
After that, it was her uncles who were fit to be tied. Lia could be exasperating. Their own fault, too, because they’d doted on her more than Hermione had advised them to.
“Mum said I can get an owl!”
“But who’ll carry it while we hop from store to store, witch?”
“Look, let’s go in and try that new pistachio.”
“Lia, we have to get your robes and Madam Malkin won’t let you in if you have ice cream.”
“I’ll finish it before we go in.”
“But we’re getting your robes now.”
But they passed Quality Quidditch Supplies.
“Wicked.”
“Wicked.”
“Wicked.”
“Wicked. Honestly. You need a new tagline, uncles.”
There was a new Nimbus and a new Comet out. Not as sensational as the Lightning Bolts, but still.
“Excuse me, you’ve been standing there for fifteen minutes already. I’ve timed you since we arrived. Can I have my turn now?”
“Lia! Your mother said to be polite!”
“I was polite! And he budged for me, Uncle Ron, move over!”
After ogling the brooms, they did contrive to buy what they needed to buy, with many moments between when Ron, Fred or George wanted to strangle their precious Lia.
“Mum always said to get the value of my Knut, and the value of my Knut is ruined if I get a quill that doesn’t agree with me; give me fifteen minutes with this one, it takes that long for a quill to be ‘broken’.”
“These parchments are a tad too thin for my tastes and you know I have a strong penmanship, Uncle Ron.”
“But can’t I really get other titles on the same subject? I mean I’ve memorised these already!”
“Pewter is overrated. I’d much rather get stainless steel.”
“Oh, you’re a darling hooter. You, too, yes, you, too! And you’re a lovely snow queen, aren’t you? Your chest is puffed up, sir, shall I get you? I want a lady, though, so she can sympathise with me. What’s your heartache, madam? Your eyes are like topazes, but you’re too monochromatic. Oh, how can I pick, Uncle Ron ” we’ve only been here two minutes and you already have owl poop on your hair.”
“The sleeves are still too short, I think, Madam.”
Unlike Ron, Fred and George who had long been reduced to silent suffering, Madam Malkin clicked her tongue impatiently. “My dear, any longer and you won’t be able to stir a cauldron without your sleeve sieving the potion.”
After that, Lia was subdued, though it was because her mum still hadn’t come. It was going on seven. Her uncles took her to The Leaky Cauldron to eat.
The moment they came in, Tom hailed them over, waving a green envelope.
“Ministry owls flocked here awhile ago. There’s been some kerfuffle in the Ministry and every employee has to stay. This one is addressed to Miss Granger. The Ministry sent them but I bet you’ll find a note from your mother, too, lassie. Quite a number of children out for shopping also got notes from their parents.”
Lia’s heart was somewhere around her knees. She was glad she was sitting down already. She opened the envelope and ignored the Ministry’s calligraphy, only reading the small piece of stationery she recognised, which came from her mother’s otter stamped notepad.
Thalia, Ron, Fred, George,
I’m fine, we all are, there’s just been a ridiculous rumpus in the courtroom and a pack of vicious lies. I’ll tell you about it later. But I’m afraid I might not get out of here in time to get your wand with you, Thalia. I don’t want to put it off; you’ve waited for so long. You can go and get it with your uncles. I’m so sorry.
Mum
Even as she sighed in relief, Lia sighed again, this time in disappointment.
Getting her wand was something she and her mum had dreamed about, and it was such an anticlimax that she was getting it with her uncles instead. She loved them, but they weren’t her mum.
Of course, she could put it off for tomorrow, but her mum was right ” it was too painful to leave Diagon Alley with her books, robes and quills but without her first wand.
And Lia knew she couldn’t trust her moods at all. If she sulked about not having her wand, and she was liable to sulk, she would hurt her mother.
“So?”
Lia sadly smiled at Uncle Ron. “It won’t be the same, but I really want to get my wand already. And who knows, Mum might pop in just at the last second.”
Uncle Ron frowned for a moment. “Oh, yeah. Of course, squirt. But I was only going to ask, ribs, lamb or beef? Let’s have the roast, okay?”
Uncles Fred and George rolled their eyes and Lia grinned. Her Uncle Ron always managed to soothe her, though unwittingly.
~o0o~
“Why did you have to tell your Aunt Pansy we were coming? What do you see in her anyway? Why are you so close? You are as unlike her as... cream to cheese.”
Lia grinned at the metaphor. The girl inside laughed outright at her father.
Lia was sitting in the newly-installed bench just outside Ollivander’s. Her uncles were in different toilets that moment (The roast disagreed with all that papaya). Mr Ollivander seemed to be having supper. The shop was open, though, no doubt securely warded against thieving.
She would have gone in, but there were already people inside. And not just mere people. A father and daughter. Something made Lia sit outside instead, listening to them with a mixture of amusement and envy.
Both the girl and his father had black hair. Their skin was too pale for it. They were dressed nicely, too, though Lia never much fancied such fancy girly clothes such as the daughter wore. They were about the same age; they had to be, since the girl was also getting her first wand. Lia sat with her back to them, so aside from their colouring and clothes, she observed no more, just pinned her ears back on their easy conversation.
“Aunt Pansy, cheese, wait ‘til she hears that.”
“You will not tell her. And look where she’s landed us.”
“She says you’ve gotten soft.”
“I did not. You seemed eager to stay to lunch, so we stayed. You seemed acquiescent to stay to tea, so we stayed, too.”
“But little Thea is such a sweet baby, you know. I wish I have a sister like that.”
“You call it sweet? Turning our hair this hideous shade of black?”
“It was an accident, and the spell will last only another hour. Aren’t you proud you’re the receiver of her first magic?”
“Well, I’m glad she only changed my hair colour. Not, say, my nose.”
“Daddy, I’ve been thinking ””
“When do you not think?”
“Why don’t you marry again?”
“Because there’s no one worth it.”
“You still love my mother, don’t you?”
“Is that a trick question?”
“If it is, blame yourself. It’s from you I learned all about trick questions and don’t change the subject.”
“Thalia! Where are your uncles? Why are you out here all alone?”
Lia abandoned her musings about how endearing it was the way the girl was bossing her father and turned to her mother. A little frazzled, a little weary, but still beautiful. She launched herself to her mum’s arms, causing Hermione to tumble into the door of Ollivander’s.
A sturdy shelf and counter saved them from rolling on the floor. Only then did her mum squeak in relief and hugged her back just as tightly.
“My goodness, you can be so fierce with your embraces, can’t you? Oh, I’m sorry, I hope we didn’t disturb you,” Hermione said aside to the father and daughter in the room, but her eyes were on Lia’s upturned face. “Did your uncles feed you? Have you got all your things? Did you leave the house in chaos? Did you eat a gallon of ice cream again?”
Lia answered with two nods and two shakes of the head, and then burrowed her face on her mum’s bosom, inhaling her sweet scent. She did this out of love and... well, the other girl might have a wonderful father, but Lia had a wonderful mother.
“Oh, there they are. Let’s go outside for a bit, we can’t all crowd in here and I have some things to ask and tell your uncles.”
Having done her show, Lia consented to be led outside, drinking in the look of longing in the other girl’s face from her peripheral vision.
~o0o~
Her wand was eleven-and-a-quarter-inch maple, supple, dragon heartstring. It was snug in its box in Lia’s magically and ridiculously early packed school trunk. Now she was on her window seat, gazing at the stars and kneading a ball of jade green clay in her hand.
Her north window looked out toward the hills, where nothing obstructed her view of the sky. Many were the nights in her childhood when her mother had to carry her to bed because she always fell asleep staring at the twinkling, velvety view.
But tonight, though the moon was a perfect sickle and the stars winked as though they were teasing you with their secrets, Lia was not looking at them and wishing she could pluck them. Instead she was wishing she had a father, whom she could boss and tease the way that girl at Ollivander’s did to her dad.
“Already plotting mischief for the party tomorrow?”
Lia blinked. Her mum was turning back her bedcovers. Lia obligingly left her cosy oriole window and let her mum tuck her in. She was already getting used to her new bedtime. Perhaps tomorrow she would escape her room before the stupid jungle clock started its din.
“Mum?”
“Hmm?” Hermione sat down on the bed.
“Do you think I might... meet siblings at Hogwarts?”
Her mother didn’t answer. Only stared.
“Not this year, I guess. But later, you know,” Lia amended.
“Oh.” Her mother paused for several moments and looked away. Lia said nothing. When her mother turned back, were her eyes glassy because of sleepiness or something else? “You think your... your f-father might have other children now?”
Lia nodded.
“Would that hurt you, Thalia?”
“No. No, Mum,” she emphasised, because her mum looked disturbed. “Not really. But I like to, you know, be prepared somehow.”
“Oh.”
“Mum, you have to tell me his name.”
“I ” I don’t see the point in that, Thalia. You were asking if you might meet siblings. There’s no possibility of that, because your father’s in ””
“In...?” Lia prompted.
“In another country where there’s also a prominent Wizarding school. So if he has children, they’d go there, not Hogwarts.”
“So I think I can know his name then. If there’s no danger of my meeting siblings.”
Her mother studied her for a long time. Lia squirmed, but tenaciously returned the gaze. And then, to Lia’s surprise, her mum snuggled in beside her under the summer quilt.
“His name is Draco Malfoy.”
Author’s Note: Ooh, the next chapter will be juicy to justify this cliffie. That rhymes. Thank you for reading. Please tell me what you think. ^_^
Their story by lucilla_pauie
Lia understood then why her mother had lain down. She wasted no time locking Hermione’s arm in a tight grip. Questions bombarded her mind and she sputtered for several seconds as her tongue tried and failed to keep up.
Her mother laughed wearily. “One at a time.”
“Wasn’t he the one who tried to kill Professor Dumbledore?”
“Yes.”
“He nearly killed Uncle Ron.”
“Yes.”
“He’s a Death Eater.”
“Was.”
“You slapped him in third year.”
“Yes.”
“He always called you a Mudblood.”
“Used to.”
“What happened?”
Her mother took a deep breath. “You know we weren’t planning to return to Hogwarts for seventh year because we’d rather search for the Horcruxes. But we believed one was at Hogwarts, so we still went. Besides, Uncle Harry wanted to talk to Professor Dumbledore’s portrait. The plan was that once we find the Hogwarts horcrux, we leave.
“But then the Ministry fell just when we were all ensconced in school. It was as if they waited until we were there. Professor McGonagall was ousted as Headmistress and replaced by Professor Snape. This was before we knew Professor Snape was really on our side.
“Anyway, under Voldemort’s control, the ‘Ministry’ passed new laws. One of these laws was that Muggleborns should prove ””
“Having at least one wizard or witch in their ancestry or else be imprisoned for stealing magic. I know all that, Mum. Where does Da ” my father ” come in?”
“Well, he captured me””
“What?”
Hermione held up a hand to signal her to be patient.
“I lifted the Anti-Disapparition jinx in the Gryffindor common room. My first attempt isn’t as sophisticated and strong though; the undoing could last only one minute. We could tell by the weak yellow light that glowed for a second around the room after I made the incantation. And even if it did last longer, the alarm raised would allow no time wasted. We Disapparated, your uncles and I. But in my haste and desperation, I dropped the charmed little purse where all of our things were. It was indispensable and it was unthinkable to let it fall to Death Eater hands because of the book about Horcruxes there, so I came back ””
“And Dad caught you?” The word was out before Lia could stop herself. But she found she liked it. “How did D-dad know the password? Wasn’t he a Slytherin?”
“Yes, no, well, my Stunner was there to meet him. The Fat Lady has sought refuge somewhere. Your father blasted through the portrait hole. Now, I’ve been studying Legilimency since our fifth year when your Uncle Harry was being intruded on by Voldemort. I used what I knew then. I performed Legilimency on your ” your father, while he was Stunned, hoping I would see escape routes in his mind or a room where there aren’t Death Eaters. You can’t undo the Anti-Disapparition jinx in one room twice in one day so the common room was useless to me just then. The Floo was long sealed. I tried to find a way out from your father’s mind. Only, I found more than I bargained for.”
Lia drew in breath. When her mother only continued to stare over Lia’s shoulder however, Lia wriggled childishly. “Mum! So what did you see in his mind? How do you do Legilimency anyway?”
Her mother shook her head as though to clear it, and then shook it again, this time at her. “It’s deceitful magic, Lia. Legilimency is to trespass someone else’s mind. Occlumency is shutting your mind to such an invasion. They’re magic for snakes and liars. Your Uncle Harry failed dismally at Occlumency because he’s honest. I only resorted to Legilimency because ””
“You were desperate. I know, Mum, go on. What did you see in D-dad’s mind?”
“His own desperation. And his hate, toward me and those like me and to the master he serves.”
“Voldemort?”
“Yes. Your father was as fanatical about pureblood superiority as ever but he hated Voldemort.”
“So...?”
“He woke up just when I was about to leave and he bound me. I told him that if he harmed me, I’ll tell everyone that he wanted Voldemort defeated and killed by Harry. He was horrified, not because of my threat, but because of what’s now in my mind, too. Anyone, especially Voldemort, could Legilimens it out of me. So he hid me.”
“Wow... but wait, couldn’t he have just Oblivated you or something?”
“Clever girl. Oblivi-ate, hon. And no, Legilimency, combined with the persuasion of the Cruciatus, can break through memory charms. And of course, Voldemort is a connoisseur of both curses.”
“So what did he do?”
“He stuffed me in my own purse.”
“What?”
“He stuffed me in my own purse,” Hermione repeated with a laugh. “I dropped it again; he heard the sound, and put two and two together. The purse was a silly little beaded thing, and I wouldn’t have been carrying it around if it wasn’t important or useful, see. So after its heavy thud, he surmised it was magically expanded and stuffed me inside. Don’t look so appalled, love, it was roomy in there, I wasn’t the least uncomfortable, if you didn’t count my fear for your uncles and frustration for my situation.”
“And fury at D-dad?”
“Yes, that, too.”
“But you assured me he didn’t rape you and you had me so your fury must have evaporated some time.”
“Stop smirking, Thalia! You give me the shudders.”
“Answer me.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Lia hugged her mother’s arm. Hermione looked at her ruefully and then her eyes glazed over, as though she went back in time. Lia stilled, careful not to startle her mother from the memories. How Lia had waited for this recount. Ever since she was four, when she had wished for a Dad and was told she already had one, only far away, like a star, there but not to be had.
“He was a prat, Thalia, but he can be courteous, you know. He just didn’t deem me worthy of it before. He could have starved or suffocated me to death in that purse, but he didn’t. And at night, he let me out so he can vent his frustration on me. He was vicious with words, but he never laid a hand on me. He hated me because I was another secret he had to hide. And then, one day, his mother was ‘accidentally’ cursed. We were no longer at Hogwarts this time, understand, but at Malfoy Manor. So Professor Snape, whom your father trusted, was out of reach, and Voldemort was away, too ” there was no one who knew how to heal Narcissa ””
Lia gasped in spite of her resolve to be still as a mouse. “That’s her name?”
“Yes.”
“It’s pretty.”
“She’s as pretty, love.”
“I wish I could see her.”
Her mother blinked and took a deep breath. “Where was I?”
“There was no one to heal Narcissa. What happened to her?”
“I don’t know. But your father said there was a gash on her arm, she was bleeding. Your father asked me if I might know what to do. I had essence of dittany with me, I gave it to him. It fixed her. From then on, your father was less vindictive to me.”
“And you fell in love?”
Her mother winced. “No. Not right away. But we’ve gone through enough things to be less than enemies... And... it started from there.”
“What started from there?”
“Thalia.”
“Go on, Mum, the sooner you finish the tale, the less you’ll ruin my bedtime.”
Hermione gasped and made to leap from the bed. But Lia had her arm in a vise-like hold.
“You vixen, let me go. Like your father did.”
“He did?”
“Yes. On more than one occasion.”
“What do you mean? Were you captured again?”
“Thalia, it’s time you went to bed.”
The tone was cool, and Lia knew better than to argue when her mother used that tone. The tone which meant she was furious or fighting not to be furious. This was the first time Lia had been the recipient of the tone. It had always been either one of her uncles, or that idiot Mr Menis, never Lia. Her mother never seemed to lose patience and love for her.
As Hermione tucked her under her summer coverlet, Lia saw the rapid way she blinked.
“I’m sorry, Mum.”
“No, I’m sorry, Lia, please””
Her mother plopped down by her side and smothered her cheeks with kisses. Lia rolled her eyes but didn’t squirm away. “I shouldn’t have tempted you with the tale, eh? I’ll finish it, I promise, just not now. Not yet. I didn’t realise I’m still a little””
“He must have really hurt you, didn’t he?”
Across the channel, hundreds of miles away, another eleven-year-old girl with the same inquisitiveness and the same yearning for a parent as for a star, asked her father, “You really hurt Mum, didn’t you?”
~o0o~
“How did you come to that conclusion?”
“Well, she won’t see us! And you go so pasty when I suggest seeing her or even just mention ‘England’” see?”
Was it her imagination or did her Dad almost turn to look at his reflection in her dressing mirror? Callie bit her cheeks to smother a grin. This talk was supposed to be serious. She patted her folded hands primly on top of her light duvet and regarded her father as sombrely as she could.
“How about just expanding on your theory instead of casting aspersions to your father’s complexion, which, might I remind you, is your complexion, too?”
“Oh no, my complexion is more like Grandmother’s. Peaches and cream, not ” not mere cream.”
Her father roared with laughter. “Yeah, yeah, peaches and cream. But it’s more your mother’s than your grandmother’s, I reckon.”
Callie refrained from gloating. They were back on her mother. “See, you even talk quite fondly of her, so how could anyone conclude she hurt you?”
Her father lost his smile. “But she did.”
Callie gasped. “Daddy””
He was next to her in an instant. “No, love, don’t squeak like that. It’s scary.”
“She hurt you?”
“It’s complicated. But if you ever see anyone named Zabini, give him or her hell from me, got it?”
“What ” Who?”
“Just kidding. I suppose you should give everyone a chance.”
“Father, you’re talking in riddles.”
“I’m afraid that’s the only way I can talk. And you love riddles.” He mussed her hair. Callie recoiled.
“I just brushed it!” she moaned, smoothing it back down with her fingers. “So you won’t tell me her name, right?”
“Right.”
“So tell me your story instead.”
“Your bedtime will be ruined, and your grandmother will have my hide if you’re late two mornings in a row. Young ladies should always be early to bed and early to rise””
“I’ll settle for the short version.”
“Really? You promise you will settle? No questions asked afterward?”
Callie considered it. She might lose this. “The short version should be at least ten sentences. And you’ll allow me... three ” no, five ” questions subsequently. And you can’t lie to me!”
“Only subsequently. You shan’t interrupt my ten sentences.”
“At least ten sentences. Feel free to go overboard.”
Tapping a finger on his cheek, her father added, “For every interruption, you forfeit a question.”
Callie grabbed a pillow and held it tight over her lower face.
“Don’t choke yourself.”
Exasperated, Callie thumped him on the belly with the pillow. “I won’t! Just begin already, Dad!”
“Your mother and I were enemies””
“You mean she worked for Voldemort or was she in the Ord”?” Callie trailed off and moaned.
“Forfeit! Where was I? Your mother and I were enemies. We had a... reckoning. But the reckoning was more on my part. She wasn’t the vengeful type, as proven by your grandmother’s presence in your life ””
“What do you mean”?”
“Forfeit. You ought to control your compulsions, Calliope, not the other way around. That had been our mutual motto, your mother’s and mine.” Here, he paused, but with a glare Callie bit her lips shut. He grinned.
“So where was I again?” He counted off his sentences. “Your mother and I were enemies. We had a reckoning. But the reckoning was only on my part. Her ” hmmm, ehem, she wasn’t the vengeful type, as proven by your grandmother’s presence in your life. From then on, we were no longer enemies as we once were. I respected her. And then I loved her. She loved me back enough to trust me with... well, her honour.” At his pause, Callie nodded to signify she understood. And then her father sighed.
“But she didn’t trust me enough to believe me when my honour became in question. And that is why we’re here and they’re there.”
Callie only stared at him.
“I’m done, love. You can talk now. You have three questions.”
Callie swallowed. A million questions were vying for her mind to grasp and for her tongue to utter but she plucked the one that stunned her. When she’d first heard it, her heart had done some sort of jig, like when she just knew she had come upon some subtle, but giant clue in a mystery novel.
“They?”
Her father blinked. He shrugged a tad too casually, it didn’t look casual at all. “Oh, I meant your mum and her family and friends.”
Somehow, that answer, though perfectly plausible, didn’t satisfy Callie. But she didn’t press. “Was that Zabini person the one who put your honour in question?”
“You’re so sharp, Callie. Yes. And don’t attempt to ask your grandparents or Aunt Pansy about him. They won’t tell you a thing.”
“I’ll find that out for myself, thank you, Father.”
“You’ll only waste effort and time. Why don’t you ask me instead?”
“No, I only have one question left. And it’s this: My mother’s name doesn’t start with ‘Her’ or even ‘Herm’, does it?”
Lia’s Notes: Shame I didn’t get more out of my Mum, isn’t it? But everything will come to light, I’m sure. It will be boring if the little mystery’s uncovered this early. Perhaps I can find out more when I get to Hogwarts. I know my Dad’s name now. Who knows what else I will find through knowing it?
Callie’s Notes: I wonder how my Dad will get out of my question, haha! I’m almost afraid of his answer. Because there’s this well-known English witch with an unusual name that starts with ‘Herm’! I’ve never seen her though. It’s only her name I know from the papers. I wonder if she has brown hair.
Joanna’s Notes: Introducing my new notes. You like? And happy New Year and I hope you had a wonderful Yule, too, lovies! I did! It will be even more wonderful if you leave Callie and Lia a review. *hugs*
'Sweet sorrow' by lucilla_pauie
~o0o~ ‘Sweet sorrow’ ~o0o~
Draco almost flinched at being caught. He not only considered lying, he actually already tasted the lie in his teeth.
He didn’t like the taste. And damn it all, he was certainly not about to spit out something vile to his daughter.
He took a deep breath. “That’s an unfair question, Callie.”
She gaped and glared at him. He barely noticed. He was on a roll, his brain chugging a mile a minute as he worked it out. It was all he could do not to sigh in relief.
“...how it’s unfair! Only if you lie to me!” Callie was saying.
“It’s unfair because if I answer either way, I’m telling you your mother’s name, and I told you I can’t do that. Who’s to know you’ll stop at ‘Her’ and ‘Herm’? You can’t ask me to eliminate name syllables to narrow down your search.”
Callie stopped opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish and scowled, staring at him suspiciously. Draco kept his face impassive, but he let a grin tug at his mouth, to show her it was no big deal and that he was amused at having trumped a question. It was the exact opposite of how he felt. Merlin, she was sharp! He was a third exasperated, a third cowed and a third bloody proud of her.
Suddenly, she hung her head. “I can’t see why I can’t know her name anyway,” she said quietly. “That agreement was only between the two of you. I didn’t agree to anything. I think every child has a right to know who her mother is.”
It felt like someone clobbered him with a Bludger bat. And Bludgers pummelling him everywhere. His stomach clenched, his jaw clenched, he wanted to cry out. He also wanted to pound a certain snake’s face.
But the snake was nowhere near. There was only Callie. Poor Callie. Draco wrapped both arms around her waist and pulled her to him, cradling her in his lap like he used to do when she was smaller. “You do know her, love. You don’t need her name. You know your mother. I see her in you. How and why else do you think I get by, huh?”
Callie turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. He pleaded to her with his eyes. She sighed. And like the little woman she was, she showed him mercy and let the matter drop. Draco dropped his forehead on her nape and did what probably all fathers did: silently vowed he would protect her and keep her safe and happy. Without need of her mother.
~o0o~
Hermione poked owl treats through the bars of the cage. The tawny peeked with one eye at the noise and then tucked her head back under her wing. Bizarre. A non-nocturnal owl. Hermione wondered what name Lia would come up with for this bird.
The cage was in the kitchen because Hermione had been afraid the coming and going of the owl might disturb Lia in her sleep.
Quietly, Hermione went to the window she had left open for the bird and drew it shut. They could just let the bird out in the morning. In the meantime, Hermione could do without the unseasonably chill breeze wafting in.
Or was it just her? Shivering in the memories?
She’d thought the hurt had long healed. But awhile ago, she seemed to have peeled off the scab. Now the wound was exposed again. And as with all exposed wounds, it stung.
“Mum?”
Hermione jumped. “Thalia. Merlin, don’t do that again.”
“Do what again? Just kidding, Mum. Sorry. Why are you still awake?”
“I should be the one asking you that.” Hermione retreated from the moonlight, moving toward the stairs. Her cheeks were wet. She didn’t want Lia to see. “Come on, back to bed with you.”
“I only got up to get some water, Mum. My jug’s empty. You don’t have to tuck me back in.”
“I want to. The nights I tuck you in are numbered now.”
Thalia made a small noise of exasperation. She joined Hermione on the stairs with a jug of water, the ice cubes tinkling inside it as they climbed up together. Thalia was yawning, leaning on her mother’s arm.
She did let Hermione tuck her in again. For some minutes though, Hermione remained sitting there, gazing at her daughter’s face. She almost jumped again when Thalia opened her eyes.
“Mum, were you crying downstairs?”
Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but no sound came out.
“I’m sorry I prodded you about D-dad. I won’t do it again.”
Hermione felt it best to just smile and kiss Thalia. She buried her face in her daughter’s neck and breathed her in. Her panacea.
~o0o~
“It’s supposed to be my birthday. How come this chit’s got more presents?”
“Leave her alone. Do you want more ice cream, Lia?”
Hermione grinned to herself but shook her head at Ginny, who was afflicted with a weird kind of the doldrums these days. She hated Harry and doted on Lia with such ferocity that Hermione always needed all the Weasleys’ help just to get Lia home without Ginny bursting into tears. “She’s had more than enough ice cream, Ginny.”
Ginny sniffed and freshened Lia’s butterbeer instead. Hermione smiled until Ginny turned away. Leaning toward Harry, she whispered, “All this sugar will come out later. I’m thinking of making Lia sleep over.”
“No, Hermione!” Harry whispered back, mocking horror.
They laughed companionably. Fred and George yelled for Lia from the garden at that moment. Lia promptly jumped up and parted the sea of people like Moses to get to her uncles, not that the people didn’t make way for her either. She was the baby of the party, always had been and always would be until ”
“When is Ginny due?”
“In the first week of February.”
Hermione smirked. “Did you conceive on Beltane?”
Harry sputtered into his butterbeer. Hermione thumped him on the back, laughing. “You don’t have to answer that. But I’ll have you know Beltane conceptions are special.”
“Like Lia?”
“Yes. But they came overdue, you know.”
Hermione smiled at that, and then grew quiet. She jumped when she heard a loud smack beside her. Harry had hit his own forehead.
“Are you alright, Hermione? I’m so sorry ””
“I’m fine,” she squeaked, before choking into a sob.
Harry immediately cast Muffliato and pulled Hermione off the couch to the kitchen, where no one, especially not Lia, would see Hermione crying.
“Ron and I knew this was coming, with Lia going to Hogwarts and all,” Harry said, putting an arm around her.
Hermione nodded, crushing her handkerchief to her face. “Calliope, Harry, Calliope. I’m so ridden with guilt and longing. She’d be going to school this year, too. I wish I could ””
Harry made her drink water. Voicing her wishes would only be more painful. “I’m sure her father’s taking care of her.”
Hermione gasped, and then smiled faintly. As though reading her thoughts, Harry scowled. “That doesn’t mean I think well of the bastard. I’m just reassuring you and I know your daughters’ charms. I mean, if Lia’s any indication, that wanker’s probably head-over-heels over Calliope like we are over Lia.”
Hermione took a deep breath. “Thalia knows about her father now, you know. Going to Hogwarts triggered questions.”
Harry nodded. “I didn’t expect anything less. Wait, she knows everything?”
Hermione shook her head sadly. “No, of course not. She doesn’t know why her father and I separated ways. She doesn’t know she has a twin sister. I envy her ignorance.”
“It’s going to be alright, Hermione,” said a new voice.
Harry lifted the Muffliato as Ron draped his arm around her shoulder. “We’ll be with you all the way.”
Hermione smiled. He’d said the exact same thing eleven years ago. She felt like crying again and scolded herself inwardly. “How do you know what we were talking about?” she said lightly instead.
“I’m not daft,” Ron said, scowling at her and Harry. “I saw this coming, you know.”
“Harry said so.”
“So when I saw you two here ” Don’t worry, Hermione. And we’ll also be there at King’s Cross, the whole lot of us.”
“Of course we will, you dolt.”
It was Ginny, who grabbed a dish towel with a malevolent look at Harry, who just smiled back timidly. “I’m not letting my Lia leave for school without me, and no one had better try make me stay in bed no matter how much I puke.”
~o0o~
“You’re making me dizzy, Draco, will you please sit down?”
Draco sat down. But only because his legs chose that moment to give. Pansy had moved to another orchid and allowed him to see the grandfather clock inside the sitting room through the sliding glass doors of the terrace.
Only five more hours and his baby girl would be on her way to Hogwarts. Less than five hours and he’d be at Platform Nine and Three Quarters after more than a decade. And he knew he’d be standing there right along with her and their other daughter.
“It won’t be that bad. The platform will be teeming,” said Pansy Fisher. She smiled over at him from between the foliage of her ferns and flowers. Even now, Draco always needed to blink to even recognise his friend. Aside from the same black hair and the same pouting pug-like face, almost no trace of the old self-absorbed spoiled bint there. Pansy had been charmed and bewitched by a Muggle (several hexes and even a Memory charm from her notwithstanding) and had been transfigured into a sweet motherly creature.
The Malfoys had stayed at the Fishers’ East Sussex home overnight and would later go to King’s Cross together. Patrick Fisher was a lawyer and his family was quite more than respectable, though Muggle. Draco was still not clear where the bloke was ensnared by Pansy’s charms, (probably when Pansy made the rounds of Muggle London after war), but he seemed ensnared still. No wonder Pansy was so... benevolent.
At the moment, Patrick was upstairs, tending to little Thea, their daughter, while Pansy had her daily respite among her plants. Only the four of them were awake yet. There was no hurry. Callie being Callie, she had packed all her Hogwarts things in July.
This left Draco with nothing else to do than stew in his nerves and... there was something else, a feeling which made him only a quarter-reluctant to go to King’s Cross.
“I’m actually excited and hoping I’d get a glimpse of your other daughter.”
Draco felt the blood leave his head. For a moment, he wondered whether he’d thought aloud. Pansy chuckled, but not unkindly. “Drink your tea before you faint.”
“Honestly, Father, one would think I’m going across the Atlantic. And one would think you’re not a man. Aren’t fathers usually glad to get rid of their daughters, Aunt Pansy?”
Oh, there she was. Why didn’t he hear her, sense her coming? She kissed both his cheeks and hugged him for good measure. “I’ll miss you, too, you know. I’ll owl you every day.”
Pansy sniffled into her Lady’s Slippers. Draco scowled at her, but her image blurred, his eyes were stinging!
Horrified, he buried his face into Callie’s shoulder. “Do me a favour, love, and wear those slippers until we get to King’s Cross.”
Pansy tip-tapped over in her heels and joined Callie in looking down at the latter’s feet, and at the pink bunny slippers encasing them. The two females exchanged bemused looks, but didn’t comment.
Pansy shook a hand bell on the table. Sadie, Pansy’s young Muggle maid attired in a baby pink and grey tartan uniform, came. “Breakfast, ma’am? Right away. Is that all?”
“Tell my husband to come down with Thea, please.”
Sadie bobbed a curtsy. No wonder Pansy adored her. Draco resisted rolling his eyes and instead stroked Callie’s hair.
“This is a first.”
“What is, Daddy?”
“You’re not dressed.”
“Well, I can’t wear my Hogwarts robes until I’m on the platform at least, right?”
“Right.”
“So I had trouble choosing what to wear today. I didn’t want to agonise over it so I just went ahead and came down. Aunt Pansy and Grandmother can help me later.”
“We’ll be glad to, darling,” said Narcissa, joining them. Lucius seemed to be in a surly mood and only nodded at them all while Pansy’s servants laid the table.
Patrick arrived with the baby, who dominated the meal with her babbling and antics. Lucius remained quiet, though. Brooding.
“Father, you don’t have to come with us, you know,” Draco blurted, no longer able to take in Lucius’s moroseness. “Don’t stare a hole into Pansy and Patrick’s table.”
To everyone’s surprise and to Draco’s consternation, his father laughed. “Son, if you want to brood yourself, we have plenty of time. Don’t lash out at your old man because of envy.”
“Mother, is he drunk?”
“None of your cheek, boy. You have as much reason to be told you don’t have to come with us and if I stare a hole in Pansy and Patrick’s table, I’ll be merely building on what you have begun.”
“Calliope, don’t mind them. They’re both being ridiculous idiots,” came Narcissa’s cutting remark, with enough venom and warning for both father and son to come to.
Lucius raised his brows and shrugged apologetically, first to his hosts and then to Callie. “Of course I have to come, Draco, Callie’s my granddaughter.”
“And she’s my daughter.”
“And our table has no holes whatsoever. Still solid narra, every inch of it. Not that you won’t be welcome to drill some holes either,” Patrick added gravely.
Pansy laughed. Thea giggled. Narcissa smiled. Callie grinned, albeit bewildered. Draco breathed a sigh of relief and scowled at his father, who only smirked at him.
~o0o~
Of course, Patrick was ‘conveniently called off’ on an urgent matter just as they were ready to climb into two cars. Pansy played her part of disgruntled wife well, and then they were off to take Callie to her ‘boarding school’, Patrick none the wiser to the Muggle-repelling charm he’d been subjected to for the day from Draco’s car.
Draco drove in silence, his father beside him. In the back seat, Callie lounged between her grandmother and Pansy. All of them except Draco were wearing hats.
Lucius wore his dark fedora, the one he usually wore to golf with his two Muggle planter chums. Narcissa and Pansy both had on modestly-brimmed hats to match their trouser suits, navy and peach respectively.
Callie ” well, his Callie looked adorable in her pink cloche. Draco kept looking at her from the rear view mirror. She looked like a baby again. She had donned it in jest to match her bunny slippers. But she also wore a pink blouse underneath her denim skirt and blazer.
He adored her but he was mainly glad her hair wasn’t seen.
Even his mother had piled her hair under her hat. Lucius had tucked his under his jacket.
They’d be inconspicuous as could be.
Draco hoped.
At the same time, he promised himself he wouldn’t look around for redheads. No, he wouldn’t.
He pulled in at King’s Cross with his heart acting like it wanted to part from his chest.
~o0o~
“I saw the funniest thing, Mum, there’s one girl here in the platform wearing her bedroom slippers! At least I’m wearing shoes, huh?”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “I think I shoved them on your feet, too. It’s a miracle we got here with minutes to spare.”
The entire party rolled their eyes. Molly smiled.
“Hermione, dear, it’s only ten-fifty and Lia’s trunk is well-stashed in the train. We’ve made good time. Certainly the best time for me with you lot, in fact.”
Instead of calming her down, Hermione’s stomach plummeted at her honorary mother’s words. She suddenly wanted to cry and bolt, dragging Thalia with her.
Ten-fifty. Gods, only ten minutes and her Thalia was leaving.
“Mum, I didn’t get Erato for nothing, you know. You’ll see her every day with letters from me, I promise.”
A cloud of steam, this time more business-like than the others, billowed again from the Hogwarts Express. Hermione drew a deep breath, clinging to her resolve not to cry. She wouldn’t succumb to that silliness.
All the same, her eyes smarted. She was glad for the smoke. It was an excuse for blinking.
As though the Grangers, Weasleys and Potters knew her dilemma, they drew off a bit, leaving her to her daughter.
“Alright, Thalia, I’ll be looking forward to your daily notes. They don’t have to be long, you know ” just ” I’ll miss you so much. We’ve been such good friends, haven’t we, love?”
Thalia nodded. “I’ll miss you too, Mum.”
They stood there for a moment, and then moved at the same time. Mother and daughter seeking and giving love in each other’s arms.
“I won’t bore you with rules and warnings,” Hermione whispered into Thalia’s hair. “I trust you, baby. You’ll do all of us proud. You already do, actually. And for that, I packed you ””
“S’mores?”
Hermione laughed. “Yes.”
“But I packed her some, too,” said Harry.
“And we did, too,” added Fred and George.
Hermione only pretended to groan. She basked in watching her daughter being doted on by the throng.
Ginny had Thalia in a death grip and looked like she wouldn’t let go. Not that Hermione would mind much if Thalia missed the train...
As the whistled sounded, that stinging pain came to life again. She held Thalia to herself for the last time in many months and let go. Oh, gods, how that hurt. But she was confusing feelings and memories and meshing them into one jumble. She was also thrilled for her daughter.
“Owl me tonight. Your house.”
“Slytherin,” Fred said.
“Gryffindor, you git,” Ron countered.
Thalia was laughing, hopping from one hug to the next. Hermione kept her eyes on Thalia’s every movement. She wanted to sear each second of this event in her memory. But as Thalia jumped onto the train at last, a flash of light hair that wasn’t Thalia’s but very like Thalia’s made her head turn.
But there was no one there, only lots of brown, black, gray and red heads, and hats. And a glimpse of a lovely crocheted cloche on a student also hopping onto the train. Hermione remembered she had made one for Thalia.
She turned back to her daughter. The Hogwarts Express began to inch away from the platform.
“Wow, it’s moving!” Thalia shouted.
“Trains move, love.”
There were melodramatic gasps beside and behind Hermione. She ignored them. Thalia was grinning gleefully. “I love you, Mum.”
Hermione sighed. “I love you, Thalia.”
~o0o~
“Merlin, they’re so close, take a look, you imbecile!”
“I’m not an imbecile, Pansy, and if you’re not one, why don’t you look?” Draco gritted out through clenched teeth.
“No, thanks, I don’t like looking, falling in love and not getting.”
“Shut up, then.”
Curse those Weasleys for their hair. It was all he could do not to snatch his father’s or even his mother’s hat and clap them on his cheeks just so he wouldn’t have red in his vision. Literally and figuratively. He wouldn’t be surprised if he went home blind. It was like denying his fingers to scratch an itch, what he was doing. He trained his eyes on his front even though they wanted to roam to the left. He just knew who was in the middle of the redheaded band.
Callie was likewise in their centre. By her own choice. She was embarrassed with her slippers and had them wall her in until the last minute when she had to board. He’d told her no one would see her feet on the train and by the time she boarded, she could change into her mary janes, which was in her trunk.
“What are you and Father whispering about, Aunt Pansy?”
“Nothing, Callie, Aunt Pansy’s complaining about the crowd.”
Callie ignored him. This slipper fiasco was his fault.
But the whistle sounded just then and suddenly, Callie was clinging to him.
“Bye, Daddy. Thank you for sending me to Hogwarts even though you didn’t want to.”
He was speechless. He just watched as his mother and then Pansy grabbed Callie in turn. His father went down on one knee and embraced Callie for about a minute.
“Make us even prouder of you, darling,” Narcissa said tremulously.
“No, no, she doesn’t have to do a thing,” said Lucius, his jaws clenched. “Just be your pure, angelic self, Calliope.”
“Daddy, say something.”
They were all looking at him. Callie held his hand.
There was nothing else. “I love you, Calliope.” He didn’t bother going down on one knee, he just scooped his baby into his arms. “You’ll be fine. And... I’m so sorry about the agreement, love. Can you forgive me?”
She nodded, kissed his cheek, and wriggled down. She bounded to the train as though afraid he’d carry her there. When she faced them again, she was grinning.
“What if I’m not in Slytherin?”
Draco mocked horror and turned to his father. “She’ll still be my daughter then, won’t she?”
Lucius snorted. “I think so.”
“No problem, then, Callie.”
“I love you, Daddy. Love you, Grandma, Grandfather, Aunt Pansy. I’ll write soonest.”
Draco nodded, putting his fist to his mouth. He Disapparated before he lost his dignity.
When he arrived back near Pansy’s backyard, he leaned against the nearest tree and sighed, holding it in as long as he could without breathing out.
Merlin, he’d breathed the same air she did in the last half hour.
Author’s Note: The Ministry had cars. And I think the automobile was too major a breakthrough in the Muggle world to be dismissed by the Wizarding. If it was, why was Ron such a knowledgeable driver at twelve? And of course, can’t see a Malfoy being beaten at something by a Weasley, right? I imagine Draco also had lessons with Wizarding cars.
As to Lucius, these chums he has are his neighbouring planters in Chablis. It’s inevitable that they make acquaintances. And of course, Lucius has to kill time like any other. They golf. If you’re a Malfoy connoisseur, it’s not hard to imagine Lucius being subtle and all savoir faire at slowly absorbing Muggle jargon and tradition and sport. In my mind, he and Mssrs Carew and Murier are rather like Draco with Crabbe and Goyle, only more intelligent and with the egotistical jibes spewing from all sides. Lucius would like that. LOL.
And they’re off to Hogwarts! Aww. So I thought we could do with another chapter in Hermione and Draco’s POV. The rest will alternate between Lia and Callie. *grins sheepishly* Sorry for being so long in updating, lovies. Life happened. Busyness and non-busyness and in between, writer’s block. But rest assured I’ll finish what I started in this. Please review. There’s a reason why it’s called ‘feedback’. ^_^ Thank you! Any bets on who goes to which house?
So near yet so far by lucilla_pauie
Precedentemente: “...if I answer either way, I’m telling you your mother’s name, and I told you I can’t do that...” “...I can’t see why I can’t know her name...” “You do know her, love. You don’t need her name. You know your mother. I see her in you. How and why else do you think I get by, huh?” ...She’d thought the hurt had long healed. But awhile ago, she seemed to have peeled off the scab. Now the wound was exposed again. And as with all exposed wounds, it stung... “I’m sorry I prodded you about D-dad. I won’t do it again.” ...Hermione felt it best to just smile and kiss Thalia. She buried her face in her daughter’s neck and breathed her in. Her panacea... “I’m actually excited and hoping I’d get a glimpse of your other daughter.” “None of your cheek, boy. You have as much reason to be told you don’t have to come with us and if I stare a hole in Pansy and Patrick’s table, I’ll be merely building on what you have begun.” “Owl me tonight. Your house...” “Slytherin...” “Gryffindor, you git...” “Make us even prouder of you, darling...” “No, no, she doesn’t have to do a thing...Just be your pure, angelic self...” “I love you...You’ll be fine. And I’m so sorry about the agreement, love. Can you forgive me?” When he arrived back near Pansy’s backyard, he leaned against the nearest tree and sighed, holding it in as long as he could without breathing out... Merlin, he’d breathed the same air she did in the last half hour...
They were three window panes apart. Both took a deep breath as the Hogwarts Express rounded a corner and the platform with their parents on it disappeared in a cloud of steam. In perfect sync, both smiled, pushed off the window, looked up and down the corridor and then weaved through the tide of students still not ensconced in compartments to the end of the train, to the luggage cars.
Callie arrived first. She easily spotted her trunk. It was stacked between eight others. She pulled on her trunk’s handle. It didn’t even budge. She pulled again, only to frantically push all the trunks back. The tower had threateningly leaned toward her.
Lia entered the car just then. Her eyes widened for a moment before she dashed to join Callie in righting the wall of trunks. When they felt safe again, they grinned at each other.
“You don’t have your wand with you, too?” Lia asked.
Callie smacked a hand on her forehead.
“Oh, you do,” Lia said gregariously. “Don’t worry, it will take a while, I reckon. I mean, we’ve never held wands for long for the last decade, have we?”
Callie smiled and nodded, blushing. She took her wand from under her sleeve, from the wrist-holder her grandfather had given her, and with a muttered incantation and a flick, her trunk slid out from between the others and landed on the carriage floor with a soft thud.
“My wand’s in my trunk ” my mum thought it safer that way ” not that I can pull that off, myself. The spells I know are mainly to do with melting marshmallows and turning crushed grahams into veritable weapons at the dinner table. Can you...?”
“Which one’s yours?”
Lia pointed to the trunk on the very top of the column where Callie’s had been.
“Tirare trunk!”
Lia’s trunk landed right beside Callie’s. The two girls both stepped backward and in matched movements like earlier pulled their trunks apart and horizontally, end to end. They then sat on their haunches before their trunks.
“Our initials are almost similar,” Callie remarked.
“Are they?”
“T and C rhyme, and then our second name and surname initials are switched.”
The trunks were engraved just under the latch in gold and script. Callie’s with C.G.M; Lia’s with T.M.G.
“I hate my second name,” Lia said as she unlatched her trunk. The brass bar clanged and bounced thrice. “Well, not ‘hate’ it, per se. My mum will say ‘hate’ is a strong word. But better be passionate than bland, wouldn’t you say? My Nana Helen says I’m just hyperbolic, just like my Poppy Logan. And speaking of Poppy Logan, my second name is the name of his mum. I love my great-nana, but her name’s her name. It suits her, not me. My mum just had to have bad taste in names.”
Callie had not moved all this time, politely listening and looking at the speaker, who, on the other hand, had retrieved half a dozen square pewter dishes with lids secured with Spellotape. At Lia’s touch, the Spellotape easily peeled off, as if spelled to do so. Lia grinned. “They know I kick my trunk, see, so they took precautions. But they also know I can kick worse when kept too long from my s’mores.”
Callie ogled curiously, remembered her manners, blushed again, and gently opened her own trunk. The latch made not one sound.
“What is your second name? Mine is just ‘Grace’. My grandmother is always saying I’m their undeserved blessing and that I will bring honour to the family.”
Lia’s glance at the other girl’s trunk became a stare. It was as if everything was kept in place with magic. The clothing was even in individual sleeves of tissue and the whole interior of the trunk was giving off a sweet scent, a fresh, tangy one, like some wildflower or fruit. Lia inhaled. ‘Grace’ grabbed a box and opened it to reveal black mary janes (also wrapped in tissue). It was polished, fine leather, not patent. Lia’s face showed approval. ‘Grace’ looked at her with a shy grin and slipped into the shoes. The pink fluffy things she’d been wearing, she stuffed unceremoniously into a pocket in the trunk lid. Perhaps it’s because ‘Grace’ was blushing again that Lia made no comment.
“‘Grace’ is nice. ‘Maura’ is””
“Nice, too!”
“If you say so... It means ‘persistent’. So Mum says it suits me more than I know, since I never back down on anything. When I was a baby, she says, I slept when I wanted to. No amount of feeding, rocking or singing can convince me otherwise.”
“You must have been a trial.”
“You talk almost like my Nana Helen. But yeah, you’re right. My uncles used to have shifts watching me on those nights when I refused to sleep.”
Callie closed her trunk with a smile, a somewhat sad, wistful smile.
“My dad says I was a right angel when I was a baby. It’s only now that I’ve become...not so compliant. I was supposed to go to Beauxbatons, you know. I insisted on Hogwarts.”
“Why in Merlin’s name were you supposed to go to Beauxbatons?”
“We live in France.”
“You’re a Maura yourself!”
They smiled at each other. When Lia also closed her trunk and sat down on top of it, Indian-fashion, with the pewter things on her lap, Callie did the same, but she kept her feet on the floor, ankles crossed.
“May I know what those are?”
“Of course you may.” Lia smiled, her fond amusement of this prim and proper companion of hers apparent. “Are you a pureblood?”
Callie lost her smile and shook her head. “My mother’s a Muggleborn. Why do you ask?”
“You just seemed like someone from a very fastidious pureblood family for a second there. I mean that as a compliment. You are what my Nana Helen would call ‘well-bred’. She’s given up on making me one. She says I have too much male influence to become a proper girl. I have seven uncles, you know. I’m thick as thieves with four of them. Oh, and my mum’s a Muggleborn, too. Now, may I know if you have eaten s’mores before?”
Callie, who had obviously been wary at the talk of blood, almost sighed in relief and smiled. “Of course you may. I haven’t. What are they?”
In response, Lia opened the largest dish. It must be the one our dear Hermione packed. Neatly partitioned and lined with pinked cookie paper. Lia tilted it for ‘Grace’ to see.
“But those are graham squares, aren’t they? And peanut butter... marshmallows... chocolate slices.”
“Very good!” Lia said with theatrical approval.
Callie grinned.
“All these together make a s’more. They eat it during summer in America, in camping season. Poppy Logan and I eat it year-round. My mum still gives him the evil-eye sometimes for introducing it to me. It’s his one indulgence. He’d been eating it even before he met Nana. Introduced to him by an American friend in university. He and my Nana Helen are both dentists ” that’s what they call Muggle Healers who take care and fix teeth ” but nothing and no one can stop him making and eating s’mores.”
Callie nodded away to this long discourse. Not just politely. She was intrigued.
“Now, I’ll get to show you the spells I told you about. My Uncle Ron taught me. And then when Mum caught me making a fire in my rubbish bin, she taught me better.”
Callie laughed, nodded again and stayed put although her survival instincts screamed for her to back away.
Lia took a graham and placed a thick chocolate slice on it. She then took another graham and plopped it on the peanut butter. With many flourishes and turns, she separated graham and peanut butter and carefully laid the smothered graham beside the one with the chocolate slice. At last, she took her wand after licking the fingertips of her right hand. With her left, she took a marshmallow.
“Great, I forgot the sticks for the mallows, they’re under my backside right now... I know! You can levitate it! Can you?”
“I can try. I’ve read about the incantation and theory in our book.” She pointed her wand at the marshmallow on ‘Maura’s palm. “Wingardium Leviosa!”
After dancing on Lia’s hand for several seconds, the marshmallow did float onto thin air and stay there.
“Brilliant!” said Lia. “Now, I just need to you to hold on for a second.” She pointed her own wand at the marshmallow. She grinned at ‘Grace’, who had slight trepidation on her face. “Don’t worry; I have this spell down-pat. I’ve done it since I was eight! Only on marshmallows, mind. Flamare!”
The white marshmallow was instantly engulfed in a ball of blue flame.
“Now we count to six. It takes thirty seconds in a real hearth or camp fire, but Mum’s bluebell is hotter,” said Lia. “How long did I talk? One, two””
“What are you playing at?”
Callie and Lia jumped. The flame-ball that was the marshmallow plopped onto the carriage floor and hissed for a second before a small pile of sand covered it, coming from a wandtip. Our two girls followed the wandtip to the hand holding it and discovered a tall girl with black hair and blue eyes. They looked from her to the ‘anthill’ and back.
“What were you two doing?” the girl asked. The crest on the left breast of her robes showed she was a Slytherin. She walked over to Lia, looked at the pewter dishes and at the graham with the chocolate slice and the one with the peanut butter. She apparently didn’t understand s’mores either because she only shook her head in bewilderment and then in indignation.
“First, you’re not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be in a compartment, with your fellow students, not your trunks. Second, I will let you go, but I will separate you, just in case you team up again and set bigger things on fire.”
Callie and Lia exchanged looks.
“Come along, you had better follow me before I lose my lenient mood and give you detention before we’re even at the school.”
Callie and Lia exchanged looks again. Earlier, they’d been cowed. Now, they were outraged.
“First, we were just about to go look for a compartment. Grace just changed into her shoes and I got my s’mores.”
“Second, we weren’t setting anything on fire; Maura was just melting a marshmallow, showing me how to make a ” er, sweet.”
The tall girl had been peering into compartment windows. She came to a stop and gave a smile to Callie and Lia.
“First, thank you for your imitation and your explanations. Your charmwork is quite impressive for first years. Just please wait until you get to class before you demonstrate your skills again. Second, I’m Priscilla August, Head Girl, so you will do as I say. Which one’s Maura?”
Lia raised her hand.
“Nice to meet you, dear. You go here.” Priscilla slid the compartment door open and gently but firmly shoved Lia inside. “You can meet up with your sister again later.” With that and without waiting for Lia to answer, Priscilla shut the door again.
“We’re not sisters.”
“Oh, you’re not? I’m sorry, Grace. Here you go.” Priscilla opened the fourth compartment door from Lia’s.
“Please don’t dare push me. I’ll go by myself.” It was said quietly, almost humbly, but something in Callie’s eyes made the older girl submit and leave.
When Priscilla went back to the prefects’ carriage, the Head Boy, Quillian Ellington-Shaw, stood up and offered her a cauldron cake.
“Where had you got to? I thought I’d wait for you and see if you have anything more to say about the meeting before I go join my mates,” he said.
“I caught two first year girls playing with this cute little blue fireball in the luggage car.”
“Did you report them?”
“No. I didn’t even take their names. Actually, I believed their story that they were only melting a marshmallow. I startled them when I walked in. The flaming marshmallow fell and I poured sand over it. I feel quite bad about it.” Priscilla punctuated this with a laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Quillian asked.
“Oh, nothing. It’s just, they defended each other and themselves when I first arrived, but by the time I’d told them who I am and separated them, they’d denied they were sisters. Funny how the threat of detention works, isn’t it?”
“They were sisters?”
“Anyone would have seen that.”
~o0o~
Mum,
I know you will calculate I’m still on the train. The sun is setting and we’re only some miles from Hogsmeade. I know because I’m sitting with a bunch of third years and they’re all excited about the trip to the village. Two of them are purebloods, but they haven’t ever been there without their families before. Me, too. But what I’m thinking about is the Sorting. Yes, I’m being my vixen self, sending you this letter so that I’ll have the excuse of not having Erato with me right after I’m given my House. I’m ducking and grinning right now.
There is one other first year here in our compartment, and she’s the one who lent me this little writing table thing that goes on your lap. Her name’s Dionelise Ellington-Shaw. She’s here because she’s shy. Her brother is one of the third years here, Maximillian. They have another brother, who is Head Boy, Quillian. Maximillian and Quillian are both Gryffindors. Nelly (apparently, Dionelise’s like Elizabeth Grayson, Mum, she has a name for each of her moods. She’s ‘Nelly’ when she’s nervous. When I first came in, she was so happy and introduced herself as ‘Lissy’) said she hopes she isn’t separated from her brothers. I told her if she’s placed in Slytherin, I’ll be her bodyguard. She laughed. She’s really pretty, Mum. She has red hair ” not like Aunt Ginny’s. Lissy’s is sort of like very dark wine, it looks almost purple in some lights. And her eyes are pale blue. I want to paint her.
But I met a prettier girl earlier. You know, that one wearing her bedroom slippers I told you about at the platform? I met her in the luggage car. She was about to be buried under the trunks but we both righted the tower of them, don’t worry. And then she pulled out her wand and did this neat spell you haven’t taught me yet and pulled out her trunk and mine from the pile. She changed into her shoes and I dug for my s’mores.
We talked a bit. She was nice and ‘well-bred’, like Nana Helen would say. Even sitting on our trunks, her back was straight, Mum, and she crossed her ankles very daintily. I don’t think I’ve ever used that word before. Dainty. She was dainty. She had brown hair, exactly the same shade as yours, Mum, only not so thick, and beautiful grey eyes.
Her second name’s Grace. I don’t know her first name or surname! And neither have I told her mine. Just my second name. We were really preoccupied talking about other things, I reckon. And making s’mores. Not that we made even one, mind. The Head Girl just has to walk in on us just as we were flambéing the marshmallow of the first s’more. Of course, we dropped the flambé on the floor (in case you’re wondering, Grace was levitating the marshmallow. I forgot to get the sticks from my trunk. That’s safer and cooler, isn’t it, levitating the marshmallow? Why didn’t I think of that before?) and then the Rotten Timing Head Girl buried it in sand. And then she hauled us away and plunked me in here like some naughty kitten. I think Grace is some doors down. We didn’t get into trouble, R.T Head Girl was in a lenient mood, she says, and she just separated us. I thought about going to Grace, but I remembered you, so here I am in my assigned compartment like a good girl.
I’ll write again soon. Go to bed happy, Mum.
Lia
PS: Why are there Howlers but no ‘Huggers’?
~o0o~
Father,
How have you been since we last held each other? I’m very well, and happy. I’m sitting with another first year; we have the compartment all to ourselves. Before you ask with ridiculous and unbecoming paranoia, she’s a girl. Her name’s Ronquilla Feliciano. Only, she hates her name, and she only told me about it a second ago when she decided she really likes me. She asked me to call her Kia. She has five other names, too, but she likes none of them. She’s an only child in both her mother’s and father’s families. I think that’s the reason she got piled with names.
I’m glad you didn’t pile me with names, Daddy. Calliope Grace is enough and I love it, too. Have I ever told you that? Tell Grandmother. Or... dare I hope it ” Was it my mother who named me? Of course, I can never tell I’m the only child in both my mother’s and father’s families, either... Don’t make a sad face, Daddy, I’m ducking and grinning right now.
Britain is beautiful. I’ve been dying to blurt this since that book signing. That summer, it was dog-hot. But I didn’t complain. Now it’s a little too cloudy than I’m used to. But I’m not complaining either. I feel like I’m home, even though you’re not beside me. Is that odd or not? I’m glad to say I was born in this country. And I’m so giddy I’m going to Hogwarts, where you and Mum studied. Will I be sleeping in your bed, Daddy? Will I maybe find Mum’s special table in the library?
I had a little incident awhile ago. Don’t worry, I’m alright, and I haven’t been given detention. We were only wrongly accused of starting a fire. Before you lose your dignity, Father, and before you cry, Grandmother: in actuality, we were only melting a marshmallow ” remember that soft, sweet Muggle candy M. Murier gums on sometimes, Grandfather?
Before I met Kia, I met Maura first. She found me in the luggage car and rescued me from murderous trunks. Again, don’t worry, I’m alright. I just momentarily forgot my wand, Father, and pulled at my trunk in the pile. Maura helped me steady the trunks and then reminded me of my magic. I pulled out my trunk and hers with my wand. I changed into my shoes. She took out sweets.
We talked. Daddy, I wish all the girls I meet will be like her. Kia is nice, too, thankfully. Maura made me laugh. She’s very light-hearted. Frank, too, she doesn’t mince words. But she isn’t rude. I can tell she was a little amused by my manners. She said nothing of it, except ask if I’m a pureblood. I told her my mother is a Muggleborn. She asked because she says I seem like a very well-bred girl, someone the fastidious purebloods will have taken pains raising. And you did take pains, right? Isn’t she nice, Father? Her mum’s a Muggleborn, too. Maura has seven uncles! Maybe that’s why she’s quite boyish in her ways and she’s also quite close to her ‘Poppy Logan’ (Grandfather, would you hate me very much if I start calling you Poppy Lucius?).
Kia is a stunning brunette, but Maura is a smiting blonde. She has such sweet brown eyes.
Maura isn’t even her first name. It’s her second name! Likewise, she knows me as ‘Grace’. We forgot to exchange names. We were too entertained with talking and melting that marshmallow. I forgot the name of the confection she was about to create. It involved grahams, chocolate, peanut butter and the marshmallow, which she melted with a very clever flame spell. Before we could finish, however, Miss August, the Head Girl, arrived. She wasn’t really hard on us, and I think she did believe that we were only melting a candy. She just separated us. She put Maura in one compartment and me in here with Kia. I wanted to get Maura to join us, you know, but I remember Grandfather’s face. Even though he will deny it vehemently, I know he wants me to do perfectly in school. And by perfectly I mean, pristinely, with no blots whatsoever both in my academic and conduct records.
Daddy, tell Grandfather he must stop being hard on himself. He had done right by me. You and Grandmother, too. I promise I will be your pride and joy.
Give everyone my love. I’ll write again soon. To Aunt Pansy, too.
Calliope
~o0o~
Two owls, one tawny and one black, burst out of the Hogwarts Express, inclined their heads to each other as if in recognition, and then flew off in opposite directions.
~o0o~
The din was loud and boisterous as usual as the scarlet train pulled to a stop at Hogsmeade Station. Callie was craning her head, looking for a blonde mane. She saw many, but not the one she was looking for. At the other end of the crowd, Lia had even taken to shoving and parting bodies as if they were reeds in search for an elusive brunette.
Before long, Hagrid was there, bellowing for his ‘firs’ years’. Callie and Lia both abandoned their search and allowed themselves to be buffeted to a boat.
After what seemed like an epoch, there it was, Hogwarts Castle.
And then, there it was, the Sorting Hat.
It sang a song Callie and Lia would both dutifully relay later to their respective parents, but just then, they heard nothing save a faint buzz in their ears and the thud of their hearts. Professor Flitwick began to call names. They passed on unheard beneath the buzz and the thud except when the names meant something to either Callie or Lia...
“Ellington-Shaw, Dionelise!”
“SLYTHERIN!”
Dionelise looked like she would burst into tears. The brothers Ellington-Shaw rose to their feet ready to rush to their sister. After almost a minute of tense silence in which Dionelise remained frozen on the stool, her face red and her eyes glistening, she stood up and went to the cheering green-and-silver table. Eyes followed her. But she didn’t faint on the bench. On the contrary, she accepted and returned handshakes. And then, to the astonishment of the Hall, she turned and smirked at her brothers...
“Feliciano, Ronquilla!”
Wincing, Kia went to the stool, sat down and put on the Hat.
“GRYFFINDOR! And you lot are to call her Kia!”
There was laughter. “My apologies, Miss Feliciano,” Professor Flitwick chuckled.
“Granger, Thalia!”
The teachers and students noted the name. It was a name of note. Eyes expecting a brunette saw a blonde.
In the throng of first years, Callie, smiling, murmured to herself, “So that’s her name.”
“SLYTHERIN!”
Dionelise hugged Lia. Priscilla August leaned over, smiling. “Maura is a second name, perhaps? Are you related to Hermione Granger?”
Lia had expected this. “And if I am? You won’t cast me under my mother’s shadow, will you?” she said affably, and then turned back to the Sorting. Grace was still there.
“Malfoy, Calliope!”
Again, the teachers and students noted the name. It was a name of note. Eyes expecting a blonde saw a brunette.
In the table of Slytherins, Lia, gaping, murmured to herself, “So we are sisters.”
“GRYFFINDOR!”
Kia hugged Callie. Quillian Ellington-Shaw leaned over, smiling. “Are you related to the Wiltshire Malfoys?”
Callie had expected this. She was thankful Quillian did not sound even remotely hostile. Neither did any of the others on the table. She gave them her seraphic smile, the one that bends even her grandfather to her will. “And if I am? You won’t cast me under my father’s or grandfather’s shadow, will you?”
End Notes:
I sandwiched the letters in omniscient POV. I thought it’s more effective and easier than narrating this chapter in alternate POV’s. Do you or do you not agree? Now that the archive’s back, we’re also back in business. Thank you for the reviews and support, guys. Keep them coming. Kudos to
C_Campbell and
griffen_house for guessing Callie’s and Lia’s houses! ^_^ We’ll see more of their respective friends later, we shall.
Elizabeth Grayson is an eight-year old fanciful, lovely girl in Anne of Windy Poplars. ‘Ronquilla’ I twisted from my favourite cousin-in-law’s (my fave cousin’s husband) name, Ronquillo. We call him ‘Rocky’. LOL.
For some reason, I thought the s’more is British. Maybe because there’s a thread named after it in the Betaboards. I’m glad I did my research as always. A s’more is a graham sandwich of chocolate and marshmallow. Peanut butter is optional (as well as caramel or whipped cream or jam... the possibilities are endless!). The marshmallow is melted (according to preference: Some like it roasted black, some like it only just softened) and this melts the chocolate in turn. Are you salivating? Me, too.
For the purposes of my story, I have a luggage car here. Thank ye.
‘Tirare’ is Italian for ‘pull’; ‘precedentemente’ is for ‘previously’. It’s been so long between this update and the last that I felt the need to give it to you. ^_^
Omissions by lucilla_pauie
Oh, Thalia,
You don’t know how much I appreciated it when I saw Athena winging to our house. Forgive your mother for being melodramatic, darling, but I missed you so much. We’ve never been apart like this before.
I sent her back immediately because look at the size of this letter. I thought I’d just answer your train and House letter in one.
Slytherin. I can’t say I didn’t see this coming. I don’t really care about that, love. Well, I do, yes, but only because I ” never mind, I know you’ll be ” are” wise enough to discern who’s a treasure and who’s not.
And it’s normal to not hear everything during the Sorting. I remember being in a daze myself though I did drink everything in, and that included my fellow students’ names. I’m sure you will meet Grace again just as I’m sure she won’t be offended if you confess you missed her name.
Yes, my hair colour is quite common and grey eyes are not rare. Why did you say that? I hope you still like her. She sounds like a lovely girl. Do look her up again, won’t you? Goodness knows you can do with a well-bred friend! But I love you the way you are just the same. I’m so happy you’ve found friends quickly. This Dionelise sounds very interesting as well. I can’t wait for the holidays so you can have your friends visit. Honey, I know how much you longed for a friend your age, you know. I’m sorry I rather kept you to myself. Aside from your magic being unstable for Muggle school, I just really liked having you close. My darling vixen.
I’m in your room right now. I think I’ll be sleeping here until I get over my empty nest. No one raids the fridge any more and I don’t hear drawers containing secret hordes of sweets rasping... It’s rather lonely. So write often, okay, Thalia?
Your uncles and Aunt Ginny only left me after we got your House announcement. Do write your Aunt Ginny. She’s in a bad way and your Uncle Harry is to be pitied. She actually threw my otter paperweight at him. I don’t know why. I only know that Uncle Harry might have a hard time writing, because a bump that size must hurt terrible.
Now, you didn’t forget anything? I can’t believe you have six jumpers left here. And you didn’t pack your galoshes either.
Always go to bed early so you’ll be alert in classes. If you can, do share with me your class schedule, so I’ll know where you are every hour. Visit Hagrid. And remember what we discussed about the out-of-order toilets and Peeves.
Oh, yes, good job on obeying your Head Girl. Keep on like that.
All my love,
Mum
PS: Forgive my rambling, Thalia. And no, you don’t have to send me your class schedule! Your mum doesn’t deal well with separation from her darling vixen, does she? If I can turn this into a Hugger, you’ll be spending your schooldays attached to a letter.
~o0o~
Callie,
For Merlin’s sake, this is the first letter I’ll send you, isn’t it? We’ve never been apart like this to necessitate post. I’d prefer Flooing, but that’s not allowed. So excuse my terse greeting. You know it’s accompanied by a hug and kiss.
Your father is poorly. But I’ll get by. As long as you’re such a sweet angel. So that means I’ll get by forever.
I sympathise with Ronquilla. That’s an ugly name. Gryffindor, on the other hand, is atrocious.
No, I’m only kidding, of course.
I’m rather glad you’re in Gryffindor. I think you’ll be less susceptible to the effects of our name’s infamy there, actually. Remember what we talked about? Hold you head high, love. But not too high.
Your mother named you Calliope. Your grandmother named you Grace. We have enough Latin and ancestral names to fill a book. But none of them seemed to fit you. Your grandfather did think it rather plebeian. He calls you ‘sweet pea’, so why not avenge yourself and go ahead and call him ‘Poppy’?
As for your being an only child in your families, you might not be, yes. But don’t concern your pretty head about it.
This Thalia Maura Granger you speak of, I like her. Though I’m very partial to your caramel hair, I like blondes, you know. No wonder she’s in Slytherin. Maybe her frankness will rub off on you and help you handle boys. You’re too polite to them, you know. You mustn’t encourage them like that. You should just tell them to bugger off right out. Yes, that’s not gracious, but better to be ungracious than Some people need to be repelled, that’s all. And that includes boys.
I’m so glad of your two letters so far. They distract me from your grandparents. They’re the ones who held me back from replying to your first post. Mercury didn’t vent his fury on you, did he? Your grandparents positively flung him back into flight so you can have him to tell us your House. They’re insane. They’re driving me halfway to insanity as well. Now, this is no way to speak about them, I know, but just between you and me ” and it’s not as if you don’t ridicule me behind my back with your grandfather either.
They’re going back to France tonight. Aunt Pansy and I spent yesterday shopping, and we’ve been successful. Guess what, Callie? We found a nice little cottage in Hogsmeade! It will cost a fortune, but I want to be near you. I’ll be in Floo with your grandfather about the vineyard everyday, that’s all. And maybe one day, I can visit and see you and your friend Thalia, eh? And yeah, Kia, too.
Your grandparents will surely send you their love on their own. Prepare for interesting cookies from Aunt Pansy. Don’t give them to Mercury. You don’t want to poison your owl.
Love,
Father
~o0o~
Both their bent heads looked up smiling from their respective letters, at their respective tables. Callie’s face was a little pinched, as if she was fighting not to cry or not to laugh. Lia’s was determined, almost fierce.
End Notes:
This is my shortest work-in-progress chapter, ever. But I can’t help it; this just begs to be posted on its own. Spotlight on the implications. Hee. I want you to stew in them for a while. *wink and grin* LIke father like daughter, huh? I’ll be back soonest with more, now that our moderators are back on schedule. Thank you for the reads and reviews, lovies. Especially for the reviews! You are my muses. Forgive the delay. My other life, ya know.
And OliveOil_Med has made this fic a fantastic video! It's on youtube, tagged lucilla_pauie. Do check it out. I'm not an expert on such things but I love it to pieces. Thanks, Molly!!
Friction by lucilla_pauie
“Morgana’s bandeau, Draco!”
Pansy clutched the railing and bent double to catch her breath after her scream. Draco laughed manically, having scared the woman out of her wits by Apparating right in the middle of the stairs. He grabbed her around the waist and spun her, making her shriek again. For once, Draco didn’t mind his friend’s loudness.
“Put me down!” Draco obeyed, chuckling. “Are you possessed?” But Pansy was smiling now. “What is it? Callie’s in Slytherin?”
Last night, Patrick had brought his partners to dinner so Pansy hadn’t been able to wait with the Malfoys for Callie’s news.
“No, my Calliope’s in Gryffindor. Remember that cottage you were planning to turn into a boutique in Hogsmeade? I want it. I’ll live there. I’m not going back to Chablis. I want that cottage in my name by tomorrow. Today. Right now. Name your price.”
Pansy clutched at the banister again. “If you don’t become coherent, I’ll smack you, Draco. Alright, Calliope’s in Gryffindor. I can’t say I’m surprised. She’s more like her mother. But what about my cottage? I didn’t even think you heard me when I told you about it last year. It won’t suit you. Too small. There’s no foyer to speak of. It has only one full bath””
Draco grabbed her again, this time by the shoulders. “I want it, woman. I’ll pay you quadruple its worth. Just let me have it.”
“Fine! But why?”
Draco laughed again. He had to laugh. Or else he might have to jig. “Oh, nothing. I just want to be near my daughters.” He gave Pansy the parchment still clutched in his hand. She gasped and smiled as her eyes travelled down Callie’s letter.
“Thalia Maura,” Pansy mouthed it first, and then murmured it. “You can’t fault her taste, can you? At least in names.”
“What do you mean by that?” Draco growled mockingly.
“Oh, nothing.” Grinning and after a small shriek when Draco pretended to snarl at her, Pansy went to her morning communion with her orchids.
Draco let his knees fold and sat on the stairs, still winded with the thrill of his two daughters reunited and getting on capitally. Merlin. He had never been this giddy since... since twelve years ago.
“But Draco, you can’t.”
He jumped. Pansy had come back, pulling on her gardening gloves.
“You had this agreement, didn’t you? That you’d stay away? What if she finds out you’re back in England?”
Draco smiled. “Actually, I’m waiting for that to happen.”
“That she finds out you’re here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’m ashamed of you, Pansy. If I’m in England, who else might be in England with me?”
“Oh.”
“Yes. Oh, indeed. If I want to be near Thalia, think how much more she will want to be near Callie, too. She’s the mother ” What are you smirking like that for?”
“I’m ashamed of you, Draco.” Without elaborating, Pansy left with her gloves and smirk.
~o0o~
Lia overturned her mother’s letter beside her plate of unsalted eggs smothered in syrup.
We have too few classes to suit me, she wrote. I asked Professor McGonagall about it when she handed out the schedules (she still does that, and now that she’s Headmistress, she goes to give schedules to the rest of the Houses, too). She told me not to be impertinent and added I’ll be complaining soon enough about too much homework and will be blind to my extra half-day. And you did tell me we won’t get four periods in one day ‘til fourth year.
Don’t worry about that girl I mentioned to you. I suppose she was pushed from my mind by my fabulous house mates. Slytherin has been wrongly judged! They’re not nasty at all. They’re all rather disbelieving that I’m your daughter. They asked why I’m not using my father’s name, and then Dionelise said, “Why would she? Her mother’s name is the one with clout.” And just like that, no one else asked questions and they all rather sneered, though approvingly. I imagine not all of them are happy with me, of course, but these people kept quiet and away.
Here, I’m giving you my schedule!
Lia leaned back and perused her letter with exaggerated scrutiny. She nodded. Smooth. Casual. It would do. It wouldn’t arouse suspicion, and would keep her mum off the scent of Calliope Grace Malfoy. Lia was determined that Hermione wouldn’t know. No need to hurt her mum all over again with her father’s infidelity.
She glanced at her sister on the Gryffindor table, eating so daintily, cutting up apples and cheese then forking them to her mouth. Who would have guessed such daintiness was the product of sin? But Lia wouldn’t blame her. They were both innocents.
Lia looked away when looking began to feel like longing.
She turned her eyes instead on Priscilla, who was also eating syrup, though with pancakes. Lia grinned. She and the Head Girl were kindred spirits.
“Um, Miss August, would you mind copying my schedule here on this letter?”
“Not at all,” the Head girl replied, and with a swish of her wand, the schedule was reproduced.
House of Slytherin
First Years
Charms ~ Professor F. Flitwick
Herbology ~ Professor P. Sprout
Transfiguration ~ Professor A. Morfosa
Potions ~ Professor J. Demouit
Defence Against the Dark Arts ~ Professor H. Jones
History of Magic ~ Professor R. Binns
Astronomy ~ Professor A. Sinistra
Mondays
9:00 am “ 10:00 am ~ Transfiguration
Break
10:20 am “ 11:20 am ~ Defence Against the Dark Arts (unitas House of Hufflepuff)
11: 25 am “ 12: 25 pm ~ Herbology (unitas House of Ravenclaw)
Tuesdays
9:00 am “ 10:00 am ~ Charms (unitas House of Gryffindor)
Break
10:20 am “ 11: 20 am ~ History of Magic
11: 25 “ 12: 25 ~ Potions (unitas House of Gryffindor)
Wednesdays
9:00 am “ 10:00 am ~ Herbology (unitas House of Ravenclaw)
Break
10:20 am “ 12: 20 pm ~ (Double) Transfiguration
12:00 am “ 12:45 am ~ Astronomy
Thursdays
9:00 am “ 10:00 am ~ Defence Against the Dark Arts (unitas House of Hufflepuff)
Break
10:20 am “ 12: 20 pm ~ (Double) Charms (unitas House of Gryffindor)
Fridays
9:00 am “ 10:00 am ~ Herbology (unitas House of Ravenclaw)
Break
10:20 am “ 12: 20 pm ~ (Double) Potions (unitas House of Gryffindor)
“Thanks, Miss August.”
“No problem. And you can call me Priscilla, girls. See you.”
“Aren’t we going yet?” asked Dionelise, who was covertly shooting her brothers with corn kernels out of a very tiny, very accurate catapult.
“It’s only a quarter past eight. Let me finish this letter to my mu””
“OW!”
Lia looked up to see several Gryffindors converging on one of their number. After craning her neck, Lia saw the girl in trouble and recognised her as Ronquilla Feliciano, the one for whom the Hat shouted that everyone call her ‘Kia’. She was holding her ear.
“What happened to her?”
“I didn’t mean to! I was aiming for Maxim but that prefect beside him suddenly stood up and I was so startled I jolted my toy,” Dionelise hissed, aghast.
Just then, the Gryffindors scattered. Kia marched over to the Slytherins, and sure enough, a corn kernel was still conspicuously lodged in her right ear, which was flaming red. Lia winced and at the same time bit her cheeks and took a deep breath to tamper her threatening laughter.
“Got tired of shooting at your brothers?” Kia growled.
“You saw me?” Dionelise squeaked.
“Yes, I saw you ””
“I’m sorry, it was an ””
“”but I didn’t think you’d dare shoot at me! What’ve I done to you, you wicked hag?”
“She said she was sorry. It was an accident. Now you say sorry for using names.” Lia had stood up and only realised she’d talked after she’d heard herself. Kia turned blazing eyes on her.
“Don’t tell me what to do, missy, just go finish your disgusting slop.”
Lia blinked. “How dare you!”
“That’s enough, now,” said Quillian, coming over and glaring at Dionelise.
“Aren’t you going to take points from your sister?” Kia demanded, also glaring.
Quillian glared back. “Well, you did call her a hag, and raised a ruckus besides. The teachers are staring. So if you don’t want me to take points off Gryffindor as well, let’s just call it even, shall we? You both don’t want to lose points this fast, and both of you green first years unlikely to earn any points back as quickly. Are we satisfied?”
“She insulted my food,” Lia said through clenched teeth.
Quillian glanced at Lia’s plate and raised his eyebrows. “Er, yeah, I meant that in context in the ‘raising a ruckus’ part. Now, Ellie, we respect you so. No more corn shooting, alright? Good luck with class, ickle Ellie-jellybeans.”
Lia forgot her annoyance then. She restrained Dionelise while Quillian dashed away, laughing. By some impulse, her eyes went to Callie.
Callie was the only one in her house table who wasn’t laughing. She hadn’t risen though both legs were outside the bench. She caught Lia’s eyes and half-grimaced, half-smiled in an expression conveying sympathy, apology and torn amusement.
Lia forgot again. She affably returned the face scrunch despite resolutions of letting this girl know someone had been hurt when she was conceived.
~o0o~
“Ellie-jellybeans, indeed. Poor girl. No wonder she shoots them.” Kia was giggling as they lined up outside Transfiguration.
Callie shook her head, still grimacing at the narrowly averted disaster during their very first morning at Hogwarts. “You were quite horrible. Why did you fly at her like that? And at Maura, too. That was out of line.”
“I’m sorry, of course, but I can’t help it, you know, I have Mexican and Irish blood in me. And it did hurt.” Kia rubbed her ear. “Who’s Maura?”
“Oh, Thalia Granger. The friend of Ellie-jel” I mean, the Shaw girl. Maura is Thalia Granger’s second name. We met in the train, remember? We exchanged second names.”
“Thalia Maura? My uncle names his mares in such fashion.”
Callie would have balked at that, but she saw that Kia meant it as a compliment, since Kia wore a look of familial pride, probably for her uncle’s elegant taste in naming his horses. But one of their classmates had heard, and giggled it to her seatmate, and Callie could only be appalled during lunch, by which time it was circulating that the Feliciano girl thought Granger was named like a filly.
It didn’t help that as she was getting up from the Gryffindor table, Thalia Granger said in a carrying voice, “Sour grapes, and I don’t wonder at it. If your name sounds like it was inspired by a moose’s cry, naturally you’ll begrudge other people’s sweeter appellations.”
The murderous look in Kia’s face upon hearing that made Callie shrink from the thought of the next day. They’d be having Charms and Potions with Slytherins.
She dragged Kia away to their tower.
The Fat Lady seemed sober now. Last night she had been too tipsy it took several bellows from Evan Jacob, their prefect, to rouse her and open for them. She greeted them now with a smile, but they doubted her clarity of mind when, after they said ‘monkey poop’, she replied, “Your hair is lovely today, Miss Granger.”
“How could she call us ‘Miss Granger’? That drunken biddy. Besides Miss Granger’s hair is thatch,” muttered Kia indignantly as they sat down in the common room.
Callie shrugged and swallowed her defence of Maura’s hair, which was nowhere near straw. “Never mind that, we have homework and I want to write to my father.”
“You seem fond of each other. You wrote him again before we went to bed last night, and I saw that rather long letter you received at breakfast.”
“We’re best friends,” Callie said, smiling. “He’s coming to live in Hogsmeade.”
“That’s nice. He’ll be able to join us in the Fair.”
“What Fair?”
“Don’t you know? Oh, right, you lived in France. Well, there’s a Fair everywhere in Britain in the Second of May, commemorating the Battle of Hogwarts. Of course, the biggest one is here at school. It’s what I’ve always wanted to go to Hogwarts for. More than the lessons. There are supposed to be all sorts of booths where you can win prizes, Keeper and Chaser demi-games, flying carpets, and all the Hogsmeade shops bring things to give away. All the villagers come. Parents, too.”
~o0o~
“That sounds lovely. I’ve never been to any fairs before. Usually, we just celebrate May Second together with the family. And then it also became Tori’s birthday,” said Thalia to Dionelise, for these two were talking about the very same thing in the Slytherin common room, though they did not abuse Kia. Dionelise felt so guilty triggering the war.
“Oh, yeah, your folks probably stay away. I would, too, since you’ll probably be crushed by crowds,” Dionelise said with a wince. “I don’t like crowds.”
~o0o~
“Yeah, and Dad likes his privacy, he says. Besides we no longer have property here. The ancestral home was surrendered to the Ministry, along with our vaults. And he and my grandfather both warned me about our name being mud here still.”
“No, it’s not. Not really. It’s just rather... notorious.”
~o0o~
“What’s it like, being the daughter of such a famous witch?”
“I won’t know, Liz. I’ve always been her daughter. I haven’t had any other mother. I won’t know a difference. We’re probably just like you and your mum.”
~o0o~
“That’s nice. You really don’t seem like a Malfoy. You have no... self-importance at all.”
“Self-importance? I’m just a little witch, Kia.”
~o0o~
They had to summarise the theories of the basic switching spells for Transfiguration. Other than this, Callie was free to devote her time to writing four epistles. As she told her father about class and the teachers (Professor Annetta Morfosa was an Entometamorphmagus: she could change into the form of any insect at will), her mind wandered to Maura” no, Thalia. Seven uncles. Nana Helen. Poppy Logan. Did she write to all of them individually?
The fire mellowed in the common room; Callie brightened her lamp. Maximillian Ellington-Shaw pretended to peep at her letters. Kia shooed him away, yawning. The girl had a devil’s temper, but she was sweet and kind enough still. Smiling, Callie gathered her letters and took Kia’s arm in hers, and together, they went up to their dormitory.
They had only two other fellow Gryffindor first year girls, the same ones responsible for the spread and tainting of Kia’s innocent words regarding Thalia’s name. Their names were Jesusa Kilman and Jessica Lovett. Both were already asleep.
Kia mimed slamming their heads together and wringing their necks. Callie grinned. They quietly changed into their nightclothes.
“G’night, Callie,” Kia muttered, dropping into bed and promptly falling asleep on top of her blankets. At first, Callie stared. But when it was apparent Kia was not faking, Callie drew the curtains around the girl herself.
Afterward, she cuddled into her own bed. Hers was set where the wall of the tower curved. The night before, she had checked this wall for dampness, and, drawing the thick velvet bed drapes, she had discovered a natural recess in the stones, a slit as if for a single giant spell book to be stowed in. Callie had peered at this alcove with wandlight, and saw it was clean and as polished as the rest of the wall. She had already inserted Pride and Prejudice, Hogwarts, A History and Little Women in it. The little shelf was just the right height that she could easily reach into it even lying down in bed.
She drew up her legs and tapped Londonderry Air on her knees. There was something comforting in the darkness inside her four-poster. It smelled faintly of... ink. An odd scent. But she liked it.
If she had been Sorted into Slytherin, she would have traded for her father’s four-poster if it had not been assigned to her already. Her dad said the bed had belonged to Malfoys for generations, with the family crest crudely scratched in the upper right corner post by some tasteless ancestor. Callie had laughed at that.
She felt a tiny sense of loss not sleeping on ‘the Malfoy bed’, but it was tiny. She was very content in her essence-of-ink four-poster.
~o0o~
“My mum threw ink all over her four-poster in her third year. This was when she was quarrelling with Uncle Ron. She was crying while trying to finish her homework. She upset her ink bottle because her hand was shaking. She was so mad at the ink bottle she just pounded it onto her pillow like it was Uncle Ron’s head.” Lia laughed, and so did Dionelise.
They were sitting on the floor between their beds, sorting through Bertie Bott’s beans spread in a platter between them. Lia wore her favourite night-shirt, a worn Cannons robe which used to belong to her Uncle Ron. Dionelise was in a sheer white gown frilled and ruffled where frills and ruffles could be placed.
“What were they quarrelling about?”
“Oh, Mum’s cat and Uncle Ron’s rat. She must have been really upset,” Lia continued, “because the ink didn’t run out as long as she was pounding. Ink splattered everywhere. It was lucky her curtains were drawn or she would have blackened her whole dormitory. The elves cleaned it up, of course, but the smell didn’t entirely go away. It was still there even in her last year at Hogwarts, and Mum said her bed was also beside the curve of the tower wall, and the wall had this odd gap between the stones, which she used to store books, notes or quills in. If I was sorted into Gryffindor, I was to sniff around for this ink-smelling bed and try to have it. I’d have loved it, but here we are, and my bed doesn’t have any scent to speak of, just an odd chicken scratch in this post, look.”
They got to their feet and Dionelise looked. “It looks like an ‘M’.”
“It looks like a snake with corners. See, these must be eyes.” Lia pointed at two dots in the carving. They giggled again.
Lia quieted abruptly. An ‘M’, a snake, in Slytherin. What were the possibilities? But then her father would surely have better taste than this.
They were the only Slytherin first year girls so there were three other beds in their dormitory. These hadn’t been seen to and prepared by the house elves with warming pans, but if she wanted, Lia could easily move to one of them. She didn’t want to though.
The chicken scratch was somehow ‘dear’ to her, the way her old clay balls were ‘dears’ and not to be thrown away yet.
~o0o~
“We’re planning to move to Tonga and raise Blubbering Humdingers there.”
“That’s nice, Ginny.”
“They’re saying in the Auror office that Fred and George are being considered for Headship.”
“You deserve that, Harry.”
“And do you deserve to drink sugar?”
Hermione coughed as if on cue, having just brought the sugar bowl instead of her tea cup to her lips and gulped. Harry, Ginny and Ron exchanged looks.
They were in The Leaky Cauldron for their Tuesday morning tea. Usually, Arthur, the twins and even Percy joined them, but today all four were late, so those present were free to scrutinise their Hermione, who had been stirring her sugar and scanning the Daily Prophet upside down.
“So, are you back with us now?” asked Ginny, rubbing Hermione’s back.
“What’s the matter, Hermione? You can’t miss Lia this much. She’s only in school; you knew she was going to Hogwarts the moment she was born,” said Ron.
Hermione downed her tea and sighed.
“It’s not Lia, though I do miss her. It’s... well, I forgot to tell you about it because Lia going to Hogwarts and her questions about her ”” Hermione just gestured the word with a wave ” “temporarily drove everything relating to work out of my mind. I can only handle so much about him. Remember that day I almost missed joining you to get Lia’s wand? We were trying an Unforgiveable case that day.”
She winced and reached for her empty teacup. Ginny mercifully refilled it before letting Hermione gulp at it.
“The accused suddenly pleaded guilty after months of denying charges and keeping silence. He said he was using the Imperius on Muggleborns, making them do unlawful things, because he and his accomplices were trying to eradicate the... The Hermione Granger Fund.”
“The what?”
“Exactly! I had no idea! I must have looked so stupid in the courtroom while everyone stared at me. I demanded what confounded fund this was, and we discovered there is this huge classified account in Gringotts named after me, for the purpose of helping Muggleborns attain niches in the Wizarding community. The goblin we summoned refused to disclose who financed and maintains this account, but he did say, just to fire us up, that the financier is a Pureblood.”
“A Pureblood?”
“Yes! And of course, the goblin’s goading worked. The man in trial and his cohorts rioted. They were from old families who still think Muggleborns scum. It was all kept under wraps, and there was a motion of Obliviating everyone to keep the fund secret. But while we debated over this motion, one of the scribes sent a memo to someone outside. We never recovered it. We fired the idiot, but we had to consider modifying the memory of everyone in the Ministry. It was a mess. You realise how people might abuse this fund if news of it gets out. Ugh. And it’s named after me. I feel responsible. It’s currently worth twelve hundred thousand galleons!”
Harry, Ginny and Ron opened their mouths, but now that she was on a roll, Hermione went on without allowing interruption.
“That’s more than a million galleons. I wish someone would just bury that kind of money. It’s lucky we did Obliviate the whole Ministry, or else ” I don’t know! Even Julius looked like a goblin for a moment when he heard the amount. I’m the only one who knows about it now. As if that’s not enough, as if I wasn’t already losing sleep speculating endlessly, there was a buzz yesterday in the Bureau of Immovable Property and Possessions about him acquiring a cottage in Hogsmeade!”
“Oh,” said Ginny.
Harry frowned.
Ron grunted.
“He’s not supposed to come back! I could sue him, send him packing. But ” but, what if, you know ” do you think ”?”
“Hermione, you’re white. Calm down.”
“Ginny, you see, if it’s business, he could come and go. He wouldn’t need a cottage ” a cottage! I could sooner see Hagrid in a chateau. And anyway, he has no business here! They surrendered all their British estates, their vaults, even their ancestral home. I couldn’t think of a reason he’d want to live in Hogsmeade! And in a cottage, for Merlin’s sake. What is he playing at? It’s so small. My own Thalia has to have a whole yard and a rumpus room. And I don’t suppose he would ” it’s in the agreement ” I couldn’t ” but he violated it first ” Oh, God, it’s school term! She should be going to ” and Thalia knows her father’s name! They can’t ””
Hermione didn’t burst into tears. They just came spontaneously and quietly, ending her incoherent babbling. Ron and Harry both looked bewildered, but she was grateful that they didn’t press her just then, only let her hide her face on Ginny’s shoulder and hair.
A small part of her mind said she was overreacting. It had been twelve years, after all. But Thalia wasn’t her only child and ‘out of sight, out of mind’ didn’t work for mothers. It was her heart doing the talking right now. She was both glad and sad.
At the same time, she wanted to mangle someone very badly.
End Notes:
Sorry for the wait, lovies. Blame Gutenberg dot org and Stephenie Meyer. Again, thank you for your reviews and cajoling! Keep them coming. Also, there’s a video made for this story by Olive_OilMed. It’s on youtube, tagged lucilla_pauie.
Callie and Lia arrived only a little more than a decade after the Battle, so I didn't feel the need to alter the staff too much. The ones I did change will be instrumental in the plot.
Chalondra asked me who I like better to write, Callie or Lia? It’s hard to say. I like Callie’s primness, but I also like Lia's not-so-prim tendencies. Actually, I prefer it when they’re driving each of their parents to distraction. So you see, I’ve brought them back so soon into the fray. ^_^
Sibling Rivalry by lucilla_pauie
Author's Notes:
I hope this makes up for the near abandonment, dear readers. After being blocked toward the middle because of my lack of pranks in store, the other half was written in three hours, and it was such a fun three hours wherein I laughed so much in surprise and glee. Once again, what some writers say about the story moving by itself has been proven to me! Hee.
It had been a trial of a Tuesday.
It had rained the previous night; the morning was overcast. Callie thought it had been ominous. She had never seen a greyer day.
Shortly after breakfast, Kia and Thalia bumped into each other”and like the laden clouds above the Great Hall’s ceiling, the collision emitted sparks. Jessica and Jesusa immediately gasped exaggeratedly and just as melodramatically drew their arms sideways to shield the others moving toward the doors. Callie felt really violent toward the two, but chose to keep her eyes on Kia and Thalia.
“Come on, please, Lia,” said the Ellington-Shaw girl, tugging on Thalia’s arm.
Now, Thalia might have followed, but Kia’s Irish-Mexican temper erupted. “You don’t turn your backs on me. I will not be dismissed like that.”
Callie saw Thalia swell and turn red. Callie held her breath. But Thalia’s voice was like syrup. “I’m sorry, Ronk” Kia. Forgive us for being rude, Kia. By all means, shall we go off together?” She swept an arm gracefully and even bowed. “After you.”
Kia blinked, taken aback, and then nodded. Lia’s smile was angelic.
The moment Kia’s back was turned, however, Lia said in a carrying whisper: “Mud before springwater.”
Now, Callie had always been serene. Her grandfather had said it was exhausting just to rouse her. But that simple phrase uttered behind her somehow snapped something, jerked a plug, yanked a stopper...on the temper Callie didn’t know she had.
She whipped her head around and glared at Lia. Even as she did it, she had this small tug in her heart saying it was wrong to glare at this girl, but Callie was beyond tugging. If Kia hadn’t been quick to hold her wrist, Callie might have slapped or punched or drawn her wand.
As it was, Callie just said through gritted teeth, “Pearls before swine.*”
And then she shook off Kia’s hand only to grab it and haul her away.
They were the first to reach the Charms corridor. Kia dug her heels in to stop, panting, but Callie still continued running and didn’t stop until she was bent over a sink. She revisited her strawberry and clotted cream scones and sweet tea.
“Aww, Callie, you were really upset,” said Lia, still out of breath, arriving at the bathroom and promptly grabbing Callie’s hair.
Callie rinsed her mouth and moaned. What had come over her? She would have to apologize to Lia, and maybe even explain that she hated the word ‘mud’, because she had grown up being told stories of her dear mother being branded with that word. Of course, Lia might not have meant anything even remotely wicked, she was probably just teasing. Callie’s reaction, on the other hand” she grimaced.
She and Kia were quiet when they exited the toilet. A queue had formed by the time they went back to the Charms corridor. Lia was waiting for them, leaning against the wall and tapping her foot. The tapping stopped when she spotted Callie and Kia. And then she walked over.
Her face was blank, devoid of emotion. Their classmates watched avidly, and Jesusa and Jessica were being silly cows again, shielding everyone again. Callie gulped. She wanted to apologise in private, not in front of this meddlesome crowd. They wanted a show, and Callie had been raised with an aversion to such. It was tacky.
She opened her mouth to ask Lia if they could go away from the onlookers a bit, but Lia cut her off.
“You called us swine.”
Callie grimaced again. “I’m sorry.”
“You will be.”
~o0o~
It was absolute torture. Callie felt so sick she’d heaved herself dry before lunch. It was the first time she had an enemy, and that enemy was Lia, whom she liked so much and only inadvertently offended. Ugh.
To make it worse, Kia had heard the threat, so she had constantly looked around, never far away from Callie, giving everyone the evil eye, even the teachers, daring one and all to hex, kick or give undue detention.
After lunch, they had no more classes, and Callie wanted nothing more than to hide in bed and wish everything blown over by the next day.
She didn’t even raise her eyes from her feet as Kia steered her out the Great Hall.
Just then, Professor Flitwick appeared by her legs.
“Dears, can you kindly deliver a message to Professor Hagrid for me?” the tiny professor squeaked. “I lost the Bowtruckles he lent me for my class. They escaped and are probably back at the Forbidden Forest by now. I need him to give me two of them again. But no hurry. Have you got that?”
“Yes, professor,” said Kia. Callie just nodded.
“Thank you, dears! I’m off to my fifth-years. You can go to the Owlery and send the message by owl or you can go to Professor Hagrid yourselves and just tell him. He should be in his hut.” He conjured a tiny roll of parchment and gave it to them, a permission note.
Kia was delighted to go out to the grounds, but Callie was still miserable. She still kept her head down. She didn’t even notice Kia knocking on the door of the gamekeeper’s hut. She only gasped when she was knocked to the ground.
“Fang! Down, Fang! Are you alrigh’, miss?”
Callie got up and nodded.
“Sorry abou’ Fang. He gets overexcited when there’s comp’ny. What can I”? Huh. Look at you.”
Callie looked back down. Did Professor Hagrid see how wretched she was? Did he need to comment on it?
“Callie’s indisposed, Professor, don’t mind her. Professor Flitwick sent us...”
She tuned out the conversation. There was some argument. It sounded like Kia wanted to take the Bowtruckles and Professor Hagrid refused... and then there was Kia saying, “Thank you, sir. We’d love to. Maybe next time. I think I need to bring my friend to bed.”
And then they were walking back toward the castle. Callie looked back. She felt she’d been rude to Professor Hagrid as well. To her surprise, he stood there beside his big black dog, Fang, and he waved at her.
“He invited us to tea. He said you looked like a dear friend of his. Look, I think I see Professor Flitwick coming toward the doors to meet us. He must have worried about us green things out here for him.”
They sped up but the tiny professor still beat them to the front oak doors.
And then he was deluged in water.
Callie and Kia yelped. The water had splashed their socks and it was frigid.
Laughter erupted from behind the house-point hourglasses. Lia and Dionelise emerged. Of course, when they saw the sputtering Professor Flitwick, their laughter died quickly, and as though drained like the hogshead still floating several feet above everyone’s heads, their faces lost colour.
After three violent sneezes, Professor Flitwick dried himself, gave five points to Slytherin for a magnificent Levitation Charm, took twenty-five points from Slytherin for the use the charm had been put to, and stormed off. When he sneezed again as he reached the staircase, he turned around and yelled, “Another twenty-five points from Slytherin!”
At his yell, the hogshead dropped, narrowly missing Callie and Lia. They both jumped away. Without looking at each other, the four of them parted. That tension didn’t help Callie later as she lay in bed. She didn’t go down to dinner.
“Is it true you made Granger and Ellington-Shaw lose fifty points?” said Jesusa. Callie jumped and wearily turned to see the girl peering at her between the drawn bed curtains.
“Good job, witch!” said Jessica from somewhere in the room.
“Shut up or we’ll lose five hundred points because I murdered you,” said Kia.
Callie moaned.
~o0o~
The staff room usually filled between supper and bedtime, the one time of day when the Head students were in charge and the teachers were assured of no interruptions to their rest, but not eager to be abed just yet. Teaspoons rotated in teacups serenely. Quills scratching and abaci rattling were background music to the scattered chatter. The Headmistress was proud of her staff ” well, most of them ” and she rather liked being there in their midst, though she wasn’t one to contribute a word herself.
She had already told them, the newcomers, not to mind her in the least. She had never been one to talk, and as she grew older, Minerva had found she preferred listening more and more.
Annetta was after Minerva’s heart. They usually sat together in companionable silence, each reading a copy of Transfiguration Today, where Annetta’s dissertations were published every three months.
Today, however, Annetta was not in her usual place near the head of the table, but was in the middle, helping Pomona give Filius a Lemon, Gurdyroot-and-Plimpy Gills infusion, a lesser-known alternative to Pepper-up. The infusion was something very few Wizarding folk wanted or bothered with because of the smell. But Filius had a strange reaction to Pepper-Up. It made him noisily and very foully flatulent. Something Poppy wouldn’t take to account against a speedy cure. And as Poppy was quite devious when it came to stubborn patients, there Filius was.
“But it’s your hide when Poppy comes after you. Really, can you be even more infantile, escaping from the infirmary?” Annetta said.
Filius looked up from his smoking, reeking goblet to exchange a look with Minerva, whose lips and cheeks twitched in amusement. Annetta was thirty-four. Filius was half a century and a decade older.
“This Malfoy girl we have, is she a daughter of Draco Malfoy? There is no other, right?” Pomona asked, diverting Annetta’s scolding.
“Yes, dear,” Minerva answered without looking up from her paper, though she tensed inwardly.
“Never would have thought it,” said Filius. “Except for the grey eyes, she’s not a Malfoy at all. In fact, she reminds me of ””
“Janus, leave the cupboards alone!” Minerva barked. “Oh, I’m sorry; I thought I saw you approaching it in my peripheral vision. Do remember to stay away, dear, our cupboards are reserved for Hestia’s classes now. I never knew other enclosed spaces so prone to Boggarts. I think they like being here right under our noses.”
After this long uncharacteristic babbling from the Headmistress, the eccentric, slightly dotty Potions professor calmed down from his sputter and settled back to marking his class’s papers. Minerva smiled in apology at Filius for the interruption, but conveyed a warning in her eyes...
...which, unfortunately, was lost on Filius’s cold-fogged brain.
“And I never would have thought Miss Granger would have a child so soon as well. I remember resolving not to quit until I have taught a child of hers, but I hadn’t bargained my dream would be realised only a year over a decade.”
“She’s eleven, Filius,” cajoled Annetta, grinning, no doubt thinking the side-effects from the infusion was manifesting.
“No, no, I mean Hermione Granger, the mother of our current Miss Granger, who was the one who conspired with her friend the worthy Miss Feliciano to upend that rainwater hogshead on me.”
Minerva felt a muscle twitch below her eye. The cat was out. It had never been a secret, per se. Just never made public.
“The Hermione Granger? Harry Potter’s friend?” asked Annetta, who had lived in New Zealand.
“Yes, yes, she was a favourite of mine, of nearly all of us, isn’t that right?” Filius looked around at the table, showing his purple Gurdyroot-Plimpy moustache. “One of the cleverest we ever taught. She ought to have been in my House.”
Minerva didn’t snort at that, as was her wont. She only sighed and hoped this chat wouldn’t go too far. She’d promised Hermione to keep the gossip down.
“But wait a moment, if Miss Granger is Hermione Granger’s child, why Granger? Why isn’t the child using her father’s name?”
No one answered. Janus paused in his mouthing to glance up at the sudden silence. Everyone else had something to read or peer at while Annetta flushed at her faux pas.
“Essays so soon, Janus?” Annetta asked, to make up.
Janus blinked. “I, uh, made my students list their favourite Potions ingredients. A potion could come up from these, don’tchuh know.”
Filius, though now very groggy from Gurdyroot and Plimpy Gills, still took that in and sent another eloquent look to Minerva, who just shrugged philosophically. One couldn’t always have the best.
~o0o~
Lia picked at her breakfast that Wednesday morning. She’d confessed all to her Uncles Harry and Ron last night. She felt horrible. She’d lost Slytherin fifty points on her second day at school, (probably) made Professor Flitwick ill, and (certainly) hurt her sister.
Even while Lia exploited Dionelise’s impish alter-ego, she’d noticed Callie’s dejectedness throughout the day. Lia wanted to cancel any and all plans of a prank, but Dionelise had looked so radiant when they’d found that hogshead after looking where Callie and Kia had gone off to. Dionelise had been eager and unstoppable.
Lia looked over at her friend serenely sipping her tea. Her twin uncles would love Dionelise, after they discover what’s underneath the deceptive daintiness.
Mail arrived, but Lia didn’t have a reply from her uncles yet.
On the Gryffindor table, a pretty tawny owl with the symbol of a store in a silver chain around its neck landed in front of Callie. She took the slender box tied to the bird’s leg and unwrapped it.
Lia watched. Her breath caught as the cut-glass vase sparkled in the morning light. The moment Callie placed it on the table, a bouquet of wild and hothouse flowers sprouted and bloomed at the mouth of the vase. Callie was radiant now, a very different Callie from the day before. She read a small card, beaming widely. She said something to that Kia girl, and both of them grinned happily.
Lia felt her very first pinprick of jealousy.
And the pinprick didn’t remain a pinprick. By the time she went to the greenhouses, the pinprick was a gaping, throbbing hole of resentment in her chest. It didn’t help that she was surrounded with plants. No one had given her flowers before.
She didn’t have her father to give her flowers.
Only Callie would receive them.
Only Callie had him. And suddenly Callie wasn’t so innocent any longer. She had what Lia should have had.
After Herbology, Lia went to Transfiguration in the same listless state. Professor Morfosa scolded her for leaving everything blank in that first day’s surprise exam. The professor had only wanted to gouge the class’s knowledge of the basics and hadn’t asked anything beyond their course book’s first five pages, but Lia hadn’t answered anything, nor did she answer Professor Morfosa’s questioning. She ended up losing ten points.
Most of the Slytherins glared at her all through lunch.
“What’s the matter, Lia? Are you ill?”
She just shook her head at Dionelise.
It was her turn to hole up in their common room and not go down to dinner.
She wanted to hit herself for being silly, but she didn’t feel silly at all. Only sad. She’d need a night to stew over this and then she’d be better tomorrow.
Tomorrow, she wouldn’t care about her absentee father again.
So what if he gave flowers to his daughter? And who even said the flowers were from him? It was probably from another relative. A man who could leave her and her mother behind for another woman and another child just couldn’t be the kind to do that... sweet gesture.
She thumped her pillow and grunted.
“Lia?” Dionelise called outside her bed curtains. “We have to go to Astronomy.”
Lia sniffed and wrested her arm from under a pillow to peer at her watch. It was a half-hour to midnight.
She sat up and pulled her curtains back. Dionelise was sitting on her own bed, cloak already donned. She smiled at Lia tentatively. “Are you alright? You can stay in bed if you like. I’ll tell them you””
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Your cheeks are wet.”
Lia slapped herself in her haste to wipe. “I drool a lot.”
Dionelise nodded. Because she didn’t pry, Thalia put an arm around her shoulder after fastening her own cloak and they went out their dormitory and out the common room that way, side by side. Lia was glad of the comfort.
All first-years of all houses were stood there sandwiched by the battlements of the Astronomy Tower. Professor Sinistra checked attendance, snorted impatiently at the clouds, and conjured a projection of a portion of the Milky Way herself.
“Before you grumble that we might as well have done this in a classroom, this spell I just used only works when cast from high up, as we are here, or atop a hill or a mountain. Now just be patient and listen to me. We’ll be through in another half-hour or so, dears...”
Lia didn’t even realise she’d been staring at Callie until Callie caught her eye and smiled the same smile Dionelise had given earlier: hesitant and timid.
Oh, and she was right to be hesitant and timid, what with her mother being a... usurper! Lia glared and looked away.
The class finished without Lia remembering a thing. She jumped when a hand closed around her wrist and pulled her away from the end of the spiral staircase to the hallway.
“What are you doing?” She pulled away violently and hit her hand on the stone wall. “Ow!”
Callie reached for her hand again but Lia drew back, glaring.
“I want us to be friends again, please, Lia,” Callie said, taking Lia’s wrist again and ignoring Lia’s tugs. “I’m so sorry for what I said Monday. It was just temper and” please, I don’t want you angry with me still. What can I do to make up?”
For several moments, Lia wanted to hold Callie’s hand and put an arm around her. But soon after Callie finished speaking in that pleading, sweet voice, Lia’s resentment returned. “There’s nothing either of us could do,” she said vehemently. “Oh wait, you can write and tell your mother I hope she’s happy and that she doesn’t choke whenever she eats.”
With that, she wrenched her arm away and stalked off without turning back even though Callie called to her loudly, outraged.
That’s right. Let her feel an iota of what I feel.
~o0o~
Callie lay awake all night. Even by the time there was light seeping in through the parting in her bed drapes, she still didn’t move. In the end, Kia had to leave by herself to breakfast. That was long ago. It must now be less than an hour before Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Callie cared little.
Her teeth ached. She didn’t know how long she’d been clenching her jaws to keep from screaming. Her fists ached, too. She’d had to clench them to keep from running like mad to the Slytherin common room and demand answers from Lia.
What did Lia know about Callie’s mother?
And whatever she knew, how dare she talk like that!
~o0o~
Hermione found the cottage at the very corner of the bend separating the residences from the business hub of Hogsmeade.
She grudgingly admitted it was nice, log and brick, tucked in the middle of trees and flowerbeds. The arched windows had forest green shutters with shamrocks carved in the middle.
Smoke curled from the fat chimney.
Her knees nearly buckled. They were here.
Or was it just him? And why?
Hermione took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and walked through the open garden gate. She might as well get this over with while she was here. She had every right to question him. They’d signed an agreement. She didn’t remember any codicils giving him even the tiniest leeway to this madness.
There was another shamrock on the door, this one brass. The third leaf was suspended over a matching brass knob. A knocker. Hermione tapped it with her wand. It lifted and dropped thrice, making a discreet tap-tap-tap.
It matched her heart’s drum. Who would open the door? Would it be”
“Hermione?”
Oh, no, he couldn’t do this. Hermione gritted her teeth and squared her shoulders again. She ignored Draco’s”she ignored him, and asked, also whispering, but without the awe, “Is Calliope here?”
Draco’s jaw popped audibly as he closed his mouth. He also closed the door.
“We have an agreement, if I recall correctly.” All business now. Huh. Well. Hermione was the queen of ‘all business’.
“Yes, we do. Which is why I’ve come to demand answers. You broke the agreement. A Wizarding agreement. I want to know how you’re breathing and talking and walking without so much as a hint of a recent blood poisoning.”
“Why, you’re right, I’m healthy as a hippogriff! I think I didn’t break the agreement.”
“Don’t play games with me!” She wanted to slap his arm, but that meant touching him. She wouldn’t touch him. “What did you do? How”?”
“How about we discuss it in The Three Broomsticks? Or Madam Puddifoot’s, if you prefer?”
Hermione growled. Draco chuckled, which made Hermione growled again.
“Don’t you want to show off your new property?”
He lost his smile. Hermione had lost her vehemence.
“Can I see her? I mean, she doesn’t have to see me, I just””
She saw him wince when her voice broke. Ignoring her start of surprise, and then her struggles, he put his arm around her shoulder and steered her toward High Street, away from the cottage.
“Let me go, Draco!”
“I already did once. And I regret it.”
~o0o~
Some miles away at Hogwarts castle, Draco’s little girl likewise insinuated herself on Hermione’s little vixen.
Callie had missed Defence, but now she was in Charms. Professor Flitwick hadn’t arrived yet though the first-years had been in the classroom ten minutes already. The Ellington-Shaw girl had gone to check what was holding up the professor in his office.
So Callie had taken her place lightning-quick beside Thalia Maura Granger.
“What did you mean by what you said last night about my mother?”
Lia shrugged, not looking at her, though Callie saw her recoil a little. “Did I use deep, deep words last night? Don’t you understand it?”
“No, I don’t!”
Lia tilted her chin a little. “How old are you?”
Callie was so taken aback by the question Lia had to answer it herself. “You’re eleven, too, right?”
Callie nodded.
“So we’re the same age.”
“Will you just answer my question? What does our ages have to do with my mother?”
Now Lia turned to give her a cutting look. “Let me tell you something about me. My father’s name is Draco Malfoy.”
Callie clapped a hand to her mouth.
Because as soon as Lia said it, Callie somehow knew it wasn’t untrue. Her eyes moved to Lia’s hair, to Lia’s chin... and those eyes, though they were brown”
Suddenly, she was furious.
“So this is why,” she said under her breath.
Lia heard her. “Oh, you bet this is why!” she said derisively.
Callie was quiet now. She was always quiet when she was utterly, utterly angry. She continued to whisper, “You and your mum is why my mum left my dad.”
“What? How dare you! You and your mum is why my dad left my mum!”
They didn’t know any hexes yet, but they pointed their wands at each other’s faces just the same. Their magic crackled loudly as sparks flew.
~o0o~
The Three Broomsticks would be too crowded for their conversation. Madam Puddifoot’s was out of the question. Draco ended up leading Hermione to Chez Belinda’s, a new restaurant he’d been planning to try anyway.
That he was about to do so with Hermione astounded him. His insides were probably still somewhere around his calves. Nothing had prepared him to her arrival at his very doorstep so soon. He’d expected an owl, a Howler. He’d hoped it might even have been a call on the Floo. But here she was beside him.
“Bon jour, bienvenu. I’m Belinda. Table for two? Would you like to be in the patio facing the back garden, perhaps? Right this way, s’il vous plait.”
He liked Belinda. The woman didn’t bat an eye even when Hermione threw off his arm and elbowed him. Belinda just nodded back at him when he nodded to her questions.
He pulled a chair for Hermione but she sat down on another. Pity. Their surroundings were quite too pleasant for an unpleasant mood.
“Your server will be with you shortly.” Belinda left. She was probably glad to. And Draco doubted she would dare send a server and risk losing that server to Hermione’s apparent wrath.
Draco expelled breath noisily. Hermione didn’t look at him. She was too busy rending the strap of her bag and blinking. Oh, gods, she was near tears.
“Callie isn’t at the cottage, Hermione. I didn’t drag you away from her.”
She sighed. He saw her mouth ‘Callie’ before turning to him.
“Tell me everything. Why are you in England? It was in the agreement that you’d stay in France and wouldn’t ever try seeing””
“I did stay in France. And I’m not trying to see Thalia.”
She gritted her teeth and there was a sharp sound as the leather strap she’d been twisting finally snapped off her bag. She ignored it. “I can’t believe it, is there really no time indicative in that clause about your ‘stay’ in France?”
Pop! She’d conjured the document. She read through it expertly. “Oh, Merlin.”
“Yeah, well, it was rather hastily drawn, if I recall.” Oh, and how he recalled. Every single detail. Even the exact eggshell shade of the curtains in that room at St Mungo’s. And how she’d looked in that bed, emitting a joyful glow even as her eyes glared. How she’d smelled. Beating the reek of potions, the scent of motherhood, sweetness and milk, had come from her.
As if she was thinking the very same thing, she made the document vanish and looked toward the garden again.
He took his chance and stared his fill of her.
She hadn’t changed, though of course the past eleven years showed on her face”in a kind way, a beautiful way. She was beautiful. He couldn’t remember those years when he didn’t think of her as that.
His heart made a dismayed bound in his ribcage when she got to her feet. “Well, good luck on whatever reason you’re here.”
Without looking at him, she left.
“Oh, dear, I hope she wasn’t too upset. But no wonder if she was. I completely understand. Shall I get you anything, M’sieur Malfoy?” Belinda was back.
“I’m sorry. I think I’ll come back later.” Leaving several Galleons on the table, Draco got up. He was suddenly so tired though he’d only been up for an hour.
Belinda escorted him wordlessly to the door. She opened her mouth”probably to wish him a good day”but he spoke over her.
“What did you mean when you said it would be no wonder if she was upset? You know her?” Do you know about us?
“Well, that was Hermione Granger, wasn’t it? I’ve always seen her going here in Hogsmeade with Mr Potter and Mr Weasley during their Hogwarts days. Pity I didn’t have the Chez then. But I only just got the money from my grand-mére”Oh, I’m sorry for rambling. What was it you asked? Oh, yes. Well, I just thought she wouldn’t be overly happy. It was in the paper that she’d resigned from her position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They probably did something she doesn’t approve of. We can only wonder. It wasn’t said what it was. And one doesn’t fire Miss Granger. She’s the type who can only resign to pry herself away from a job. Well. Welcome to the neighbourhood, M’sieur Malfoy. I hope you don’t cook.” Belinda smiled affably.
Draco returned it. “Oh, I don’t. And I’m suddenly famished. I think you can feed me now.”
Belinda was delighted. When he was seated again, this time just in the main dining room, he said, “Can I see that Daily Prophet?”
~o0o~
Hermione tried not to think about anything but the delicious heat of the water. She lolled her head back and reached for the teacup at the edge of the tub. Chamomile, mmm. She’d be fine in a moment.
Just mustn’t think. Mustn’t recall. Mustn’t imagine.
Tap-tap-tap.
She groaned. Even that be-damned knocker was etched in her memory!
Tap-tap-tap.
Hermione pushed open one eyelid. Oh, an owl. She squinted. If it was Julius’s with another pestering letter asking her to revoke her irrevocable resignation, she was going to have to break something.
But it wasn’t Julius’s owl. This one was a regal black, not pretentious gold.
She rose from the bath and without bothering to throw on a robe, she reached up and opened the window just enough to let the owl in.
The Hogwarts crest was on the envelope, and typical of Hogwarts’ owls, the bird left as soon as Hermione took the letter.
“Dear Hermione,
I hope this letter reaches you in fine health and spirits.
I’ve read about your resignation from your job at the Ministry. I am herewith offering”nay, begging”that you take the post of Charms Professor at Hogwarts. And I will rather write to you as a friend rather than a prospective employer, too; hence this informal missive.
Filius has been restricted to bed rest for a week, and then he is no longer to exert himself to cope with the demands of teaching after that. He had a bad cold. And the Healers say it was one of those colds that never leave. We found him unconscious in his office this morning. He had fatigued himself.
Well, he was getting on. I’m sure if I had been drenched by hogshead water in the middle of autumn I won’t be able to recover fully either. He has of course protested violently about Poppy’s and the Healers’ sentence, but in the end, he gave in. With the condition that we give the job only to someone with your calibre. You are still his favourite.
It is uncanny that you had also just resigned from your job.
I’m sure Filius will be ecstatic it’s you who will be taking over for him.
And I’m sure he will forgive your daughter for the hogshead incident, too, if he hasn’t already. You know how kind he is.
Speaking of your daughter, prior to my being summoned to Filius’s office, she and another student, Calliope Malfoy, had hexed each other while waiting for their indisposed professor. Nothing serious. Just sparks. I talked to them, but they both said nil about the matter. As neither of them were unharmed (mild burns has been magically, perfectly treated, of course), and as we were occupied with the matter of Charms having no teacher, they received no punishment but the loss of points and a warning from me. They are good children (naturally, for they are yours), I’m confident that was sufficient.
Now, Hermione, I await your owl. I do hope you will join my staff.
Sincerely,
Minerva
Hermione didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
She took a towel from the rack and dried herself, her mouth still gaping and closing at the contents of the letter.
By the time she exited to her bedroom, however, she was smiling wryly.
Minerva could very well be a Slytherin. The letter was so subtle in its cunning, but cunning all the same. She had sealed every nook and cranny, fired every arrow and shot every apple. Hermione wouldn’t be able to do anything but accept the post.
And accept it Hermione would. Oh, gods. She couldn’t wait to be there at Hogwarts.
It would be good to teach Charms. I’d always wanted to teach. It had been a cherished childhood dream. I’m going to Hogwarts to teach.
She waited. No spider feet crawled over her limbs. No cloud shrouded her vision. No sponge closed on her lungs.
She grinned. She was now glad the agreement had been hastily drawn.
End Notes:
*This idiom was used as a riposte by the American wit and writer Dorothy Parker, to Clare Boothe Luce, who, motioning Dorothy to precede her to a door, said to Dorothy, ‘Age before beauty’. It inspired the scene here.
There you go. Thank you for reading! Please tell me what you think.
Family knots by lucilla_pauie
Author's Notes:
Abject apologies for an update so long in coming. Been busy and blocked and blocked and busy. But now—well, I don’t want to jinx it, but I can safely say I seem to be on a roll because this chapter has two thousand more words I had to cut and place instead in the next update. Thank you for reading and reviewing!
Draco woke that Friday with the desire to go back to sleep, or to yesterday, or to a decade before. It wasn’t a new feeling either. He’d only stopped having it since having Callie. And now that he didn’t have Callie, add to that his less-than-pretty encounter with Callie’s mother, well.
He got up from the divan. It was the only furniture in the entire cottage. He’d had to conjure it, too, along with a tub and a toilet bowl. Right. First on his agenda for the morning (already turning to afternoon) would be furniture. Buy some. Hermione was quite right that he didn’t want to flaunt his new property, because it wasn’t one to flaunt yet.
He wiped the condensation from one of the windowpanes and stared at his reflection, wondering what Hermione might have seen on his face yesterday. Did she also find any difference? Thought that he hadn’t aged much? Regretted not having his handsome self as hers? He grinned at his own humour. “You daft prick.”
No, first on his agenda would be Gringotts. The paper had been nothing but speculative about her resignation. One thing couldn’t be related to the other, but all the same, he’d breathe better if he was sure the fund hadn’t been busted. Or else she’d have his balls.
Actually, he’d like that.
“Will you shut it?”
She wouldn’t connect the fund to him, would she? And even if she did, he could always point at Lucius. It was the old loon’s idea. All the money earned from the investments made partly from that year’s harvest and partly from other real property scattered abroad went to that fund a decade ago. At first, Lucius had thought to name it after Calliope, who had just turned a year old, but then Callie was a half-blood, not a Muggleborn. Lucius had thought it real amusing to open that Hermione Granger Fund. Draco had nearly beheaded his own father then. Amusing, his foot.
Now that he was in Britain, Draco had to check.
He might even add several thousand, come to think of it. Damn Lucius for using her name. It was the closest Draco had to spending money on the stubborn witch.
~o0o~
“They should be at Potions right now.”
“I know. Thalia wrote me her schedule and, well, it’s not bad of me, is it? It just stuck in my mind, I didn’t purposefully memorize it.” Minerva smiled at that. “Who is this Professor Demouit? He sounds foreign. Italian? French? He must be very good--”
Minerva tried to cover her snort with a cough but Hermione still caught it. She paused, the biscuit halfway to her mouth. “What is it?” she asked her former teacher. “Isn’t he up to scratch?”
Minerva frowned reproachfully, as though Hermione had been rude to even ask that, as though she hadn’t been snorting earlier. “He is capable, only... er, peculiar in his methods.”
“For instance?”
“Oh, I’ll give you an instance. Poppy rather hates the man, because he labels his potions in the most absurd manner. You can imagine how disconcerting it is to ask for Pepper-up and receive a bottle with ‘Poxifier’ and the skull and crossbones marked all over it.”
Hermione laughed even while her expression grew bewildered. The Potions teacher was peculiar.
“You’ll meet him on Monday. There are no secrets in a house with children*, you know. And this is a school. So I’d rather not announce your appointment to anyone yet. Let us have a dull weekend.”
Hermione nodded and sipped her tea. It was final. She was going to teach at Hogwarts. She’d been tempted to walk in through the gates and perhaps see her daughter (just her daughter; that agreement had so many holes she’d have burned it if the holes weren’t accommodating her own desires so much) by accident, but steeled herself against that foolishness. She’d arrived that afternoon through the Floo. The Headmistress’s office had not changed: beautiful, regal, dignified, etched and humming with magic and tradition. Dumbledore had winked at her the moment she stepped past the grate.
“Now, then, perhaps you can tell me why you left your old job? What have they done now?”
Hermione couldn’t help smiling at that. Such was Minerva’s relationship with her that it never occurred to the dear elder witch that Hermione could even be with the least fault. “You know, they could have done me the favour of letting me resign rather than firing me.”
“Oh, tush. The only person there who might even cosider firing you is Dolores Umbridge, and I hear you are the one in the position to fire that hanger-on if you so desire.”
“Alright, I’ll tell you. But first, you tell me, how are your Muggleborns getting on?”
Minerva actually flushed. The blush was so out of place in that venerable, aged face. It was almost comical. “Oh, is that it, then? I thought it was only a matter of time. I also thought you’d be... stunned, staggered and stupefied--”
“Yes, and look stupid, too. Hence, I was furious. When I found out, we were in a trial, Minerva! Prosecuting several Purebloods for casting the Imperius on witches and wizards, who were all of them Muggleborns. These Muggleborns have been bespelled to do petty but still outrageous misdemeanours. One of the accused then admitted he and his cohorts were trying to dissolve the Hermione Granger Fund. Of course, you know about that fund, don’t you?”
Minerva looked apologetic as she tapped the teapot with her wand and then poured. “Drink your tea, Hermione, and breathe. You must forgive me for not ever informing you about it. It was the one proviso of the fund, that beneficiaries do not disclose it. And you know Gringotts contracts are much more stringently binding than, say, those written in haste.”
Hermione ignored that jibe. “How long?”
“Oh, for almost a decade now. You never had to worry about it, had you, because your parents were not only supportive but also quite well off, besides you being an only child, but there were many Muggleborns who were forced to attend Hogwarts with second-hand things because either their parents refuse to allocate funds they would rather use on a ‘real’ education, or the child has siblings whom the parents feel they should dote on because those children do not have magic, or, simply, the family is poor or nonexistent, in the case of orphans. We have our own funds, but not substantial enough. All this changed when the Herm-- well, when that endowment you discovered started benefitting Hogwarts. So really, you shouldn’t be so ireful.”
Hermione winced. “You’re right. It’s just... Did it have to be named after me? I’m barely thirty, and I’ve never even donated a cent to that fund, naturally as I never knew about it!”
“What does your being barely thirty have to do about it?” Minerva asked tersely.
“Oh, nothing, just that it seems more fitting for people with more seniority to have funds named after them. As tribute.”
“Well, I want to be dead before I see my name used for any funds, or for anything at all.” And Minerva glared as if Hermione had been getting ideas.
Hermione grinned. “My point exactly.”
“Hmpf. So you resigned just because, not dead and barely thirty, you’d been humiliated having a fund named after you?”
“No! Yes. I mean. Oh, Merlin, don’t be mad at me, Minerva. I suppose I acted rashly, but that was a bad day for me. I probably only wanted to be rid of Julius, too.”
“Julius? Who is that?”
“I thought we will only talk about my appointment, Minerva. Aren’t you ashamed of this? We’re gossiping.”
Minerva sent her a gimlet gaze. “Tell me everything and don’t you take that condescending tone with me, Miss Granger.”
Hermione giggled.
~o0o~
Goblins were an odd species. No, an infuriating species. This one was positively goading Draco.
“There was a hearing? Of Purebloods wanting to eradicate this fund?”
“No, Draco Malfoy, there was a hearing of Purebloods using spells on their own kind, well, Muggleborns, but your own kind, right?”
Draco imagined how far the goblin would fly if he kicked it. The image appeased him somewhat. “How did the Purebloods know of the fund? It is classified, is it not?”
“All funds are classified, I should think. But your kind loves to flaunt parting with your gold for a cause.” At that moment, the goblin finally caught sight of the nerve pulsing at Draco’s temple, and continued less abrasively, “When there is no charity specifically named in a will that endows monies to charities, all charities benefit. As such, these beneficiary charities are then revealed as beneficiaries, but only if the other heirs in the will wishes to know them, not that they can do anything with the knowledge. We at Gringotts adhere to the will of the dead, not the living.”
“I’m glad I discovered that now, it will save me effort and spleen later, if ever Lucius dies and I’m one of the heirs,” Draco muttered. More audibly, he said, “Thank you. I trust your... tenacity also applies to retainment of accounts--”
“--so long as the account holds a Galleon,” said the goblin staunchly.
“Yes, well, that’s excellent!” Draco rolled his eyes. He knew for a fact that there were accounts holding no more than two knuts, but these goblins kept them. “Here, I’d like to add gold to the fund we were discussing.”
Draco wrote down the amount and signed on the form the goblin handed him. The goblin’s eyes widened for a millisecond, and then the brusqueness returned and a nod was Draco’s dismissal from the counter.
“Merlin, that was brutal,” Draco muttered as he got out the bronze door to the weak autumn sunlight in Diagon Alley. “I love Muggle banks.”
He walked to the Leaky Cauldron pondering about what he’d discovered. Hermione knew of the fund now. But what could she do about it? He almost wished she’d do something about it. Maybe then she’d attack him in his house.
“Have to get furniture.”
~o0o~
“Don’t come near me! Where did you get that? What are you going to do with it?”
Dionelise was currently her devious alter-ego. In the little bowl hooked to her wrist were black round things, some gleaming, some pocked: doxy eggs. And in her hand was her accurate little catapult. Lia scooted as far away as she could without leaving their table. Lia was fatally allergic to doxy eggs. She could still remember that horrendous day when she and her family discovered the allergy. She didn’t want a repeat of the experience.
Professor Demouit was in front of the class reading aloud from a famous potioneer’s biography in a monotone rivalling Professor Binns’s. Most of the class were doodling notes and passing them back and forth, the rest were napping with their eyes glassy and half-open. Calliope Grace Malfoy, sitting two rows ahead, was reading something else behind her propped copy of the biography.
“Doxy eggs stick to fabric and hair, you know,” said Dionelise. Lia cringed and leaned away as Dionelise used tongs to put an egg in the catapult. “This is for the fifty points.”
And then she aimed the catapult at Callie.
Lia didn’t know why her stomach sort of went cold or why she shouted, “No!” But afterwards, she realised it was probably because some deep sister-knowledge in her somehow knew what would happen beforehand. And protested against it, because what happened was horrible.
Because of her shout, everyone in the class who was awake turned to Lia, including Callie. The upshot of it was, instead of getting a doxy egg in her hair, Callie got the egg full in the face, right on her upper lip, just below her nose.
Not five seconds passed before the hives broke out in Callie’s face even while she was still looking down at the floor at what hit her. And then she jumped up so violently her stool and table fell off their legs. “Ow, ow! It burns, it hurts!” Her hands shook around her face, but she couldn’t dare touch. Lia knew the feeling. She was already by Callie’s side. Callie was dancing away from her. “Don’t touch me!” Callie was sobbing now.
Ignoring the professor, who was ordering Lia back to her seat and dimwittedly yelling at Callie to shut up and tell him what was wrong, Lia grabbed Callie’s arm and hauled her out of the room.
“”I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know it hurts, but I’m taking you to the hospital wing. Hang in there. I have to drag you, or you’ll just keep dancing on the spot.”
“Leave me! Leave me! It hurts! Make it stop! Get your hand off my arm!”
Callie’s sobs gave Lia an idea.
Madam Pomfrey heard the sobbing long before they reached the hospital wing. She careened out of the ward and almost ran headlong into Callie’s shoes. Lia had been levitating her.
“Don’t touch her, ma’am. It hurts.”
“What happened? Was she cursed?” Madam Pomfrey waved her wand and relieved Lia of Callie’s levitation. Lia sagged against the wall and stayed there for a second before following the nurse and Callie inside the ward. Madam Pomfrey made several complicated swishes and flicks and though Callie was placed on a bed, she hovered several inches above the sheets. At a mutter from Madam Pomfrey, she glowed orange. That probably meant something.
“It was a doxy egg, ma’am. She’s allergic,” Lia said in passing; she was already running toward what seemed to be the storeroom.
“What are you doing? Come back here, child!” called Madam Pomfrey.
Lia was daunted by the vast and tall shelves. In her panic, she might just cause more trouble. She had a vision of all these medicines shattering and flooding the floor. She ran back to Madam Pomfrey.
“She needs murtlap, please, not the essence, but the murtlap growth, chopped and boiled in lobalug venom diluted with milk.”
Madam Pomfrey gaped at her. “And here I thought I would have to consult the Healing Tome before I could do a thing. I’ve never encountered a doxy allergy before. Not at Hogwarts, where there are no dox--”
“Ma’am, stop talking and make the antidote! She’ll have a fever soon, and she’ll be vomiting! The antidote will be useless then if we wait much longer!”
Madam Pomfrey ran. Lia wrung her hands and cringed and cowered at every whimper and sob coming from Callie. Callie’s allergy seemed to be worse than hers. When she’d triggered her allergy, Lia had only itched at first. The hives and burning hadn’t come until hours afterward. But then, Lia had only touched the egg that time she was five. Callie had probably inhaled the egg dander or dust or pollen or whatever it was on the egg that annoyed their bodies so much.
Lia stared as Madam Pomfrey used magic to tip the vial of antidote toward Callie’s lips. Callie grimaced at the taste, but gulped it down, eager to end her torture. Lia wanted to say, ‘There you go, you’ll be fine in a minute,’ but her throat was closed up. Callie had the allergy, too. Somehow, it linked them both better than having the same father.
Lia chewed on that. She’d known ever since the Sorting. She’d known even while she raged and plotted. But only now was it making her shaky, making her regret having been jealous and petty. This was her sister.
“I’m sorry.”
Lia jumped at hearing her own words. Callie turned to her languidly, eyes wet. She was no longer in pain, but the fever seemed to have come already. Her hand was scorching when Lia took hold of it.
Madam Pomfrey bustled off to get a fever-reducing potion next.
“How-- how come you know what to g-give me?” Callie rasped. “S-so well, you know i-it so well.”
“I’m allergic to doxy eggs, too.” And here Lia tenderly and gently squeezed the hand she held. She wondered what else she had in common with this sister of hers. “My mum made me memorise the antidote.”
Callie wrenched her hand away from Lia’s. “At least your mum came in useful this time,” she muttered audibly, no longer weak, and with venom.
Before Lia could demand what Callie meant by that, the doors opened, Professor Demouit entered and Dionelise was sobbing over to them. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Calliope. I don’t know what came over me.” And then she got a good look at Callie and she screamed. “What happened to you? What did I do to you?”
Madam Pomfrey finished administering the fever-reducing potion to Callie and made for Dionelise. “You need a Calming Draught, child. And you, what is the matter with you now?” Madam Pomfrey said, looking at Lia. “You look like a bowtruckle cheated out of its tree. Sit down. Your friend will be fine. She won’t even be bilious; I added something in her last potion--”
“Oh, I wish you didn’t do that. I was hoping she’d puke her intestines out.”
Callie glared. Lia glared back.
~o0o~
Callie spent most of the weekend in the hospital wing. She was afraid her father and grandparents had already been informed, but when she asked Madam Pomfrey about it, the kind nurse snorted and smiled and said she only tattled to parents in life-threatening situations. Otherwise, she preferred to suffer alone.
It was Sunday evening, and Madam Pomfrey had been noshing on chocolate gateau. Callie was already finished with hers. She was discharged from the ward and charged to commit her allergy antidote to memory. Callie nodded mutely and set off for the library.
“She’s probably some blonde brainless bimbo and making her child memorise that antidote is her one bright moment,” she mumbled. She mentally chided herself. But she couldn’t help it. It galled her that not only did Lia have claim on her--their-- dad, she had a mother, too. Whereas Callie... Even a blonde brainless bimbo was better than nothing, wasn’t it?
“No, it isn’t,” she ground out through clenched teeth.
“I don’t want you handling my books if you’re in a bad temper,” hissed Madam Pince. Callie jumped, shook her head and smiled sheepishly.
The librarian peered at her closely for several moments and then went on in her prowl.
Callie didn’t know how long she stayed there, engrossed in Great Wizarding Events of the 21st Century but when she lifted her head from the pages and looked about, the library was dark except for her lamp, and Madam Pince was once again nose to nose with her.
“I’ve warded off three prefects already. The seventh years have all dispersed as well. We really do have to go to bed, don’t you think?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” Callie stood up with the book, intent to return it to its shelf, but Madam Pince took it from her and waved it away with her wand. Callie thanked her again.
“Brown hair is very ordinary, even trite,” Madam Pince murmured.
Callie didn’t answer. What would she say? At the moment, she was too puzzled and too tired to even feel insulted.
“I’ve been here so long your faces all look the same. I only remember few. And of those few, one had brown hair. You remind me of her. You are so like, not only in appearance, but in your regard for the written volumes. I saw how you treated that book just now. You know how to turn the pages properly. You don’t scrunch it up like most of the Neanderthals here. Now, get along with you. Bed. If you meet a prefect, tell them you’ve been with me. If Peeves accosts you, tell him the Bloody Baron is coming along right behind you. I will send him.”
Callie didn’t like that last bit, but she thanked the librarian yet again and scurried off to Gryffindor Tower. When she got there, she found Kia waiting curled up in one of the couches in the common room. She jumped up when she heard Callie enter.
“About time! Another hour and I was going to the Headmistress and tell her you’ve been eaten by Madam Pince.”
“You knew I was in the library? Why didn’t you get me?”
“I tried to. But Madam Pince waved me away. I thought you’d hacked her off and she was making you stay as punishment. But she was looking at you like you’re her beloved cat or something, not to be disturbed from your sunning.”
Callie laughed. Yes, it was definitely better than a blonde brainless bimbo, indeed.
~o0o~
Monday morning found Lia listless and lethargic, as if she’d been tailed by a pogrebin all night. She got dressed and went to the Great Hall with Dionelise with her head down and her thoughts in a muddle. But unlike someone who had been tailed by a pogrebin, she wasn’t inclined to curl up on the floor under the Slytherin table. No, she was listless and lethargic and livid. She wanted to kick something. What did Callie have against her mum when it was her mum who was the reason Lia didn’t have a dad? Why did they have to blame each other’s mums in the first place anyway? Why couldn’t they just be sisters and eat s’mores together?
She was tired of all this, Lia decided. She’d gotten her uncles’ reply to her confession last night. Short of sending a Howler, they still conveyed they were brassed off at her behaviour to her sister and had admonished her that it was not her business, nor Callie’s fault, what happened in the past and that Hermione had not raised her to be like this. And they were right.
She would make friends with Callie today. The mere thought made Lia smile.
Before she could look over at the Gryffindor table, however, Dionelise grabbed her cheeks between her hands and steered her face toward the staff table, where Lia saw Hagrid waving at her. She waved back, and then gasped when Hagrid pointed to his right. There, seated beside the Headmistress, was her mum!
She must have felt Lia looking at her, because Hermione turned to her at that moment. She smiled and mouthed, ‘Good morning, love.’ And then she slackened her jaws open only to snap it back shut with a hand. Lia took the hint and closed her mouth. Hermione nodded approvingly and turned to converse with Professor Morfosa.
“That’s my mum.”
“Yes, that’s your mum, isn’t it? The great Hermione Granger. She’s going to be teaching us!” said Priscilla, leaning over from where she sat five places away.
“She is?” Lia was gobsmacked.
“Sure. Flitwick’s been ordered to retire for his health. What is she like, Lia? I’ve always admired her,” said Priscilla.
Quillian, who was sitting at their table beside Priscilla, joined in, saying, “And wow, she’s quite pretty, isn’t she? There are no photos of her anywhere. I read somewhere it was a stipulation from Harry Potter, that his and his friends’ publicity hold no photo of Hermione Granger.”
“Why on earth?” Priscilla asked.
Quillian shrugged. They all looked at Lia. But she could only shrug, too. She looked back at the staff table. Her mum was really there. What happened? What about her job at the Ministry?
But she noticed she wasn’t the only one staring at the staff table and most of them were, like Priscilla, impressed and seemed to be more than looking forward to having the newcomer as a teacher. Lia dismissed her puzzlement and began to grin. She might not have her father, but her mum was so cool.
~o0o~
“Is it just me, or is the Hall buzzing more than usual?”
“The Hall is buzzing more than usual, as a matter of fact,” answered Sir Nicholas, popping between Callie and Kia. “And because one of Gryffindor’s own has returned, this time to teach. I’m so proud of her.”
Nick theatrically wiped a tear with a lace handkerchief no less pearly and see-through than the rest of him. That was when he caught sight of Callie and Kia. “Oh, begging pardon, my dears.” He nodded at them and the rest of the new faces around him. “Welcome to Hogwarts and to Gryffindor. I hope you’ll forgive me for my absence in your first week. Patrick’s been very accomodating since the war and now he can’t seem to hold a hunt without me, although he fondly disdains my attached head as much as ever. You must have already heard of me, of course, or I’ll bludgeon your prefects.”
“Pleased to meet you, Sir Nicholas,” said Callie.
Sir Nicholas blinked. Callie was getting used to this reaction by now. “And you are...?” Sir Nicholas had a delighted expression on his face, as though he already knew who she was and couldn’t wait to say, ‘I knew it!’
“I’m Calliope Malfoy. They call me Callie.”
The delight was replaced with bewilderment. “Malfoy? You don’t say!”
“Who did you expect her to be?” asked Kia.
“I thought a Weasley, perhaps or--”
“All the Weasleys are redheads,” said Maximillian.
“But she’s the spitting image of--”
At that moment, there was a hush in the Hall. The Headmistress had risen from her seat and was sweeping the tables with a sharp look that always silenced them when she wanted to speak.
She cleared her throat and began without preamble. “As you all know, Professor Flitwick, despite his protests, and by edict of Healers, had to cease teaching and enjoy a well-deserved rest and relaxation. We will miss him even as we wish him the best in his retirement. Your new Charms professor has the heartiest approval of your former teacher. His favourite student, I would even go so far as to say, because it is true, and she is someone any mentor would be proud to call ‘an old pupil of mine’. Let us welcome Professor Hermione Granger.”
Professor McGonagall’s speech seemed so sedate in comparison to the applause and cheers that erupted after it. From the Headmistress’s wide smile, it seemed she was expecting just that much reaction, and had only tried not to gush in proportion to it. With spots of pink in her cheeks, Professor Hermione Granger stood up and acknowledged her warm welcome with a nod and a grin. “It’s good to be back at Hogwarts,” was all she said before sitting back down. She seemed really embarrassed when the Hall only cheered louder instead of quieting down. Callie stared at her hungrily. She couldn’t get enough of this new professor.
“Now this is getting ridiculous!” shouted the Headmistress. ”Settle down! Finish your breakfasts!”
There were some chuckles and then the hubbub fell back to its usual decibel.
“Well, there you go,” said Sir Nicholas as though he was continuing a conversation with them. Those who heard him turned to him questioningly.
He looked affronted that they didn’t catch on. “I said, there you go!” he ground out to Maximillian, motioning toward the staff table. “You said all the Weasleys are redheads. I know that, boy, and I’ve known it for decades before your grandfather’s grandparents were born. It’s just that this Malfoy girl happens to be the spitting image of the new Professor Hermione Granger. And in their day, Miss Granger and Mr Ronald Weasley were quite the thing, if you catch my meaning. So naturally, I assumed a child of theirs would bear the name Weasley. And only a child of Miss Granger’s could resemble her so disarmingly...” Sir Nicholas turned to smile apologetically at Callie. “Except for the eyes. They are very Malfoy. Forgive me, dear. Of course your mother must have married your father instead, no? Who would have thought! You turned out quite well. And how is your father and paternal grandparents taking your being in Gryffindor?” The ghost positively chortled at that, only to stop upon seeing the look on Callie’s face.
Family knots, indeed by lucilla_pauie
Lia wished the day away. She received another scolding from Professor Morfosa in Transfiguration for mooning while in class. Defence and Herbology hadn’t been much better. Finally, it was lunch. Lia flew to Hagrid’s, and then doubled back to fetch Dionelise. When they arrived, Hermione was already there. She got up from the table and squeezed out the breath Lia had just panted back to her lungs. Lia garrotted her mother back.
“This is Dionelise, Mum.”
“Hello, Dionelise. Thalia’s told us so much about you. I’m so glad for your friendship.”
Dionelise could only smile timidly, or perhaps she was still winded from their dash. Hagrid offered them all mugs of tea. Mother and daughter did some chitchat and then Dionelise said, “We can’t wait to have you tomorrow, Professor Granger. Lia’s been a zombie all throughout this morning.”
Lia stomped on Dionelise’s foot. “Right, Mum, what are you doing here anyway?” she asked with alacrity. “What about the Ministry?”
“Hang the Ministry. Don’t you ever let me hear your teachers complaining about your lack of interest and participation in class, Thalia. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but it was all so sudden. My resignation just happened to coincide with Professor Flitwick’s retirement, which you helped bring about, didn’t you?” Her mum narrowed her eyes.
“It was an accident.”
Hagrid laughed.
“Where’s your other friend, Grace?” Hermione asked.
Dionelise suddenly stopped staring at Professor Granger and started playing with her tea bag. Lia flushed. “We’ve fallen out. I mean, not exactly, we just move in different circles, that’s all. We don’t meet or talk any more.”
“You do?” Hermione sounded amused. “You’d think you weren’t sharing a school! And you don’t? What about in classes? Well, did you find out her first name and surname?”
“Dionelise! We have to go! Lots of homework. Bye, Mum, Hagrid.”
Ignoring Dionelise’s grumbles while being dragged yet again, Lia began to wish the next day away. Bugger. She wished Callie away. Why did she have to go to Hogwarts, the stupid bint? She should have stayed in France! Lia didn’t want her mother hurt. And what could hurt more than seeing the breathing, talking and walking proof of her father’s infidelity? And just that morning Lia’d been planning on being sisters! How selfish of her. She wouldn’t inflict that on her poor dear mum.
~o0o~
Lia wasn’t at dinner. Hermione puzzled over that. But then she noticed Dionelise wasn’t at the Slytherin table either. It must be true about the homework. She could only hope. Those girls had better not be up to any trouble, especially now that she was here.
Those girls. And she didn’t really mean Thalia and Dionelise in that plural.
She sat to the Headmistress’s left, facing the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables. Due to the agreement, she endeavoured not to turn her head to the other direction without due cause. Aside from a cursory glance at all the tables that morning during their applause to her, Hermione had not looked at the Gryffindor table at all. But Merlin, she positively ached to look. As it was, she had her cheek on her hand, and that hand was slightly shaking with the effort to keep her head from swivelling just the right angle to finally see.
“Hermione, don’t hurt yourself. Shall I help you?” Minerva murmured.
“No! Please don’t!” she begged Minerva with her eyes.
The elder witch sniffed, but she covertly winked. “I’ve been hearing very good remarks about this year’s incoming students, that unfortunate miscalculated prank involving Professor Flitwick and a waterbutt notwithstanding. I think you will have a grand time with the first years. I almost wish I’m teaching as well, you know.”
Hermione nodded fervently.
“One certain student has been having outstanding academic progress. Now, who does she remind me of? It refuses to come to mind. She is a Gryffindor. There she is, please look. I want to show her to you.”
Tentatively, Hermione did look. Minerva had asked her! To her delight, the agreement didn’t curse her. She sat there looking at her daughter and she wasn’t dying slowly. Though it still felt like it. It was painful. Looking and not being able to rush over to hold her.
Her Calliope was so beautiful. As beautiful as Thalia. And Merlin, Morgana, Circe, she looked so much like her, only prettier. At this distance, she couldn’t see the Malfoy eyes, but Hermione recognised Calliope as hers in the slope and shape of the child’s forehead and cheeks. Her hair was a much lovelier shade of brown, gleaming red and gold with each turn of her head, and it wasn’t a bush either, but hung almost perfectly straight, curling at the ends.
Her uniform was impeccable. Most of her contemporaries looked almost ready for bed that time of the evening, but not Calliope. She was still groomed to perfection, tie knotted and in place, cuffs buttoned, jumper impeccable. And unlike her mother at that age and in that bench, she sat with her back straight. So straight Hermione wondered if it was painful. But she was glad she could see no jewellery on Calliope aside from the silvery wink of modest earrings and a matching discreet chain draped over her collar. Hermione couldn’t see the pendant. It was probably hidden inside Calliope’s jumper.
She was spooning peach melba into her mouth. Daintily.
Something clicked in Hermione’s memory. “What’s her middle name?”
Minerva cut her eyes at her with disdain. “Hermione, I might love you dearly, but still, you can’t expect me to remember all these children’s middle names.”
“It’s not Grace, is it?”
“Come to think of it, you might be right. I do remember I was a little astonished they appended such a common name to her. What I mean is, it must be common to them...”
Minerva trailed off, because Hermione was giggling like a schoolgirl. When she finished, she had tears in her eyes. Not from giggling.
“Oh, Minerva, what a mess,” she said mournfully.
~o0o~
“WHAT THE F--”
Draco remembered only belatedly that Callie was not in the cottage and he could curse all he wanted, but abstaining from it had been ingrained too long in his instincts he still cut the words off. He let the profanities stream and flood inside his mind instead.
He paced. And roared a curse when he banged his shin on the coffee table. He forgot about the furniture, and how the blasted cottage was too bloody small for pacing without risk of bruises. He sat down and settled for ramming his fist on the cushions of his new couch.
Damn her! Damn her foxiness! Damn her straight to Hades! How dare she! How dare she pull this on him!
Why didn’t he think of it before she did? And there he had been at the platform nearly gouging his eyes out just so he wouldn’t look! Now she could look all she wanted! The cunning b--
Draco let his head fall back and it connected with the windowsill. He was seriously thankful Callie was not at the cottage then. The litany that burst from him would make his mother curse his cobblers off if she happened to be within hearing distance.
In all this, the roll of parchment he still held in his other hand remained pristine. He could no sooner crumple a letter from Callie than he could dispose of her old toys. Even if the letter did piss him off. Rubbing his head, he read it again.
“Dear Daddy,
Just giving you some news at school. Professor Flitwick has retired officially. Our new Charms teacher is Professor Hermione Granger.
Hope you’re well.
Callie.”
There was a distinct undertone in this curt letter that made Draco fear the worst. Which was why he was so furious he wanted to tear the room down, if only the rest of the cottage wouldn’t collapse with it.
She just had to show her face, didn’t she? All those years of not having her photo in any publication in Europe, and now this. Granted, she probably didn’t know Callie was at Hogwarts. Still, he wouldn’t put it past her to have used her formidable connections to find out and execute this brilliant ruse through one of the many loopholes in that bedamned agreement.
And now Callie knew who her mother was. Draco just hoped she wasn’t hurting, but only heaven knew what his little girl was thinking, assuming, and plotting.
What an utter, bloody mess.
~o0o~
Callie was at breakfast that Tuesday morning, and she wasn’t hurting as her father feared. The day before had passed in the proverbial blur. Aside from writing that short letter to her father, Callie couldn’t even remember much. She’d just blocked what had to wait until today.
When she was around five or six, she’d been at a neighbour’s pet party. All the guests had a dog or a cat by their side or on their laps. Callie’s grandmother-- who had been invited-- had only dropped in with Callie to say hi to the hosts and convey her regrets for not being able to stay because she itched and sneezed in reaction to dander.
Like most children who’d learned their alphabet through animal picture books, Callie had been pining for a pet. But when she saw them finally, those Abyssinians, rexes, lhasa apsos and Weimaraners, it was as if her pining evaporated. There they were. They were wonderful. And they were within reach. She stayed for the party. And she was appeased.
Callie felt that way again now.
There her mother was. She was wonderful. And she was within reach.
Neither of them was going anywhere. And Callie fully intended to be appeased.
Last night, she was certain she almost caught ‘Professor Granger’ looking at her, but at the same moment Callie had turned to the staff table, the professor seemed to be laughing at something the Headmistress said.
She furtively kept her head angled now so that the staff table was in her peripheral vision even as she cut up her fruit. Was it her imagination, or was ‘Professor Granger’ never letting her eyes go to the Gryffindor table?
All of a sudden, Callie felt tears sting her eyes. A mother couldn’t not know about her child. Why had her mother left her, and now seemed to be determined not to even look at her? Was her father lying all these years and her mother, for some reason, didn’t want her?
But she wouldn’t wallow on that. She planned to change her mother’s mind anyway. Would it be so difficult? Callie thought not. Only, what was the agreement? Would it hinder her? She wanted to cover all her bases and eliminate things, like in mystery novels. The agreement still eluded her, and yet Callie felt like the answer was right there dangling an inch from her nose. The feeling irritated her.
The bell rang. Callie rose from the table as if she wasn’t rearing to just Apparate to the Charms classroom. She walked abreast with Kia even though Kia was such a slow-starter who always dragged her feet to their first class as though she’d only gotten up from bed. They were among the last to join the queue outside the Charms classroom. And right behind them came ‘Professor Granger’. Callie’s heart stuttered.
“Go on in, everyone,” the professor said, staying behind them all and opening the door with her wand.
It was hard to believe it was only their second week; this classroom already held so many memories for Callie. This time, she stopped following Kia’s dawdling steps and dragged her over to the front row, not to their usual seats in the second, where Callie and Lia had shot sparks at each other.
Kia seemed to come awake for a second, but didn’t protest about their being seated dead centre.
~o0o~
Hermione was silently muttering all the great names in a litany of torture and delight. Calliope was seated right in front of her. Jesus, Mary, Joseph. Hecate, Cerridwen, Paracelsus.
“How far have you come in Charms, then? Professor Flitwick told me to ask you. He said you might want to begin anew with me. Do you?”
Calliope raised a hand. Hermione had to swallow a hysterical chuckle. Oh, this was delicious. She drank her daughter in. She was even more beautiful today than last night, if that was possible. And those eyes. Hermione remembered wondering about those eyes. The last time she’d seen them, both her girls had been too young to ascertain to anyone what colour their eyes would be. Thalia’s had darkened to brown, of course. But Calliope’s had remained grey, Hermione saw now. They were striking. “Yes?”
“Please, ma’am, we have finished the theory behind Levitation Charms and we were about to have the practical.”
“Would you like to go first?” Hermione placed a feather in front of Calliope, and then waved her wand and all the other desks sported feathers as well. She caught Thalia’s eye and winked. Her Thalia could levitate a veritable mound of Stunned, ‘relocated’ gnomes. Hermione was too preoccupied with Calliope to take note of Thalia’s dark expression.
“You know the spell? And the proper elocution and wand movement?”
Calliope nodded demurely and swished and flicked, enunciating, “Wingardium leviosa!”
The feather easily rose three feet in midair.
“Excellent! Take twenty points to Gryffindor, Miss...?” Hermione pretended to be engrossed in the floating feather to resist the urge to grin at her daughter.
“Malfoy. Calliope Malfoy.”
Hermione nodded and turned to the rest of the class. “Now then, let’s see you all try. But before you do, I’ll let you in on a secret. I don’t command when I do spells. In this instance, I won’t be commanding the feather to fly. I want you to not concentrate on what you want the feather to do. Rather, I want you to use your mind for something else instead of mentally chanting, ‘Fly, fly, fly!’ Can anyone guess?”
Calliope raised her hand again. Morgana, Hermione wanted to kiss her for helping her so much in cheating that agreement.
“Miss Malfoy?” Callie. Draco called her Callie.
“We should see the feather already in the air? That’s what I did anyway, Professor.”
“And you’re right. Take ten points to Gryffindor. Did everyone catch what Miss Malfoy shared? In your mind, see the feather already obeying what you want it to do. That’s the trick to all magic, really. Confidence. What is confidence? Belief. In the magic and in yourself.”
When the bell rang again, there were twenty feathers hovering in the air and twenty gleeful faces grinning at each other and at Hermione. Points were awarded to everyone. Hermione felt as if she’d burst, and not only because her first year Gryffindor and Slytherin students seemed reluctant to leave, but because of dear, dear Callie, who stopped by her desk on her way out to say, “You’re a wonderful teacher, Professor.”
Her first compliment from Callie. How bittersweet. She could be much better mother, but she wasn’t allowed.
~o0o~
Of those twenty grinning students at Charms, Lia wasn’t really included. She was only being careful not to clue her mum in on her turmoil.
Lia was confused. She bumped into someone on the way to the courtyard for break. It was Professor Demouit, who told her off and warned them all he’d be carrying Torch Potion next and see which careless student he’d blow up then.
Dionelise had pity on her and steered her to the nearest copse of trees, sheltered from other students and certain mad professors. Like that night last week before Astronomy, Dionelise didn’t pry. Thalia was thankful for that and squeezed her friend’s hand even as she pondered on why her mum didn’t seem upset even after Callie announced her name. She even seemed... happy? How could she be happy facing Callie?
Except, what if it was all an act? What if her mother was actually trying extra hard to be nice to Callie Malfoy because, like her uncles had told her, Callie had no fault over what happened in the past? But what if it still hurt her mum? And Callie had the gall to sit front row centre!
Speak of the banshee, there she was. Lia marched over. Dionelise was startled at first, but then when she saw that Callie was Lia’s destination, reached out and tried to pull Lia away. “Come now, Lia. What’s she done now?”
“I have something to say to her, that’s all.”
They were only yards away then. Callie heard and looked up from where she sat on the bench near the corridor which was open to the courtyard.
“You stay away from Professor Granger, Calliope Malfoy.”
Callie looked bewildered. She glanced from Lia to Dionelise and back.
“I don’t know what you mean. I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“Yes, you are. Just stay away from my mother, do you hear me?”
Just like that, Callie’s face went cold and sneery. “I would only go near your mother if I have a lance. That way, I still won’t catch her germs even when I gouge her eyes out.”
Lia forgot everything she’d been taught. She even forgot where she was. Her hand seemed to move by itself and slapped.
The sound of palm connecting on skin was a loud snap in the silenced courtyard. Callie gasped and blinked, and Lia blinked, too, as she saw her own handprint rise on her sister’s cheek. Before she could voice her remorse, however, Callie slapped her back.
Not drawing their wands this time, twin one and twin two went for Round Two.
~o0o~
It was short. They only exchanged another couple of slaps before Kia, Dionelise, Jesusa and Jessica separated them.
Now, they drew their wands.
They used spells this time, by Merlin. Red jets of light erupted from both their wandtips at the same time, collided, and bounced. It happened so fast no one could tell whose spell went where. And certainly, no one would be able to tell how the cauldron on Professor Demouit’s (who was passing by) arms exploded just then. Everyone was thankful he was out in the courtyard. The smell of sulphur was strong and suffocating. The professor was miraculously unharmed-- at least, no blood gushed from him--but he promptly passed out.
Professor Morfosa was the first on the scene. Seeing the red faces and drawn wands of Miss Granger and Miss Malfoy, and the way the four other girls seemed to be holding the two apart, what else would she make of it? And as she knew nothing of the two girls’ romantic story, who could blame her for her next actions, which was to send summons to Miss Malfoy’s parents and an enchanted flying memo to Miss Granger’s, who was already at the castle?
The owl bearing the letter to ‘Mr and Mrs Malfoy’ was very disgruntled, though, because instead of having a bespelled urgent flight after leaving his cosy perch in the Owlery, he only circled back toward the Headmistress’s window, because Mr Malfoy was already there.
“I see no violation of ethics in Professor Granger’s hiring, Mr Malfoy. Whatever agreement you have between you is just that, between you. It does not involve the school.”
“But you know about the agreement, you old bint!” Draco’s temper was such that he was speaking what he thought, bar only the worst obscenities. “This is unfair! I demand that you fire her, or make her resign, or curse her blind, I don’t care. Just... she can’t see Callie while I don’t see Thalia-- OW! Don’t you assault me, woman!”
Minerva McGonagall had risen to her feet in indignation at ‘you old bint’, and was glad of the distraction of receiving the owl tapping at one of the windows. Seeing the addressee’s name, she’d exultantly punctuated Draco Malfoy’s rant by ramming the letter under his nose.
“I’m not assaulting you, Mr Malfoy. Really, you do like your theatrics. That letter is yours.”
Draco ignored the letter. Just as he opened his mouth to rant some more, however, the door to the office opened, and there his daughters were. Draco just about swallowed his tongue.
~o0o~
Minerva rose from her desk, pale. What on earth was this? “Annetta?”
“These two girls were duelling! Duelling, Headmistress! And they had assaulted each other, too, from the look of their faces. This is their second clash, isn’t it? And something exploded. You might have to question Janus later, however. He is unconscious at the moment. I’ve already sent a letter to Miss Malfoy’s parents and a note to Professor Granger. She should be on her way.”
Minerva looked from the two girls to Draco and back. She should have liked Annetta to stay, but the good witch had already left with a nod to Draco.
And Hermione was coming.
Even as she begged the heavens to help her, Minerva wanted to giggle, something she had never had the urge to do in many decades.
~o0o~
In a moment of sympathy and concord, Lia and Callie exhanged looks, wondering why the Headmistress hadn’t begun questioning and ticking off.
Callie couldn’t look at her father.
Lia was already cringing just at the thought of her mother’s arrival.
~o0o~
The door banged open. “Thalia Maura Gr--”
Hermione gasped mid-yell and choked. Instinctively, Draco rose to assist her. Hermione glared him back to his seat while she coughed, eyes watering.
“Minerva!” Hermione moaned in tones of reproach and wounded betrayal. “What is he doing here?”
He smirked and tilted his head to the side. Hermione knew what it meant. He had Thalia in his peripheral vision. Hermione wanted to rush him and cover his eyes with the skin from his own nose.
~o0o~
Lia’s usually observant eyes failed to note the exchange between her mother and the man with them in the Headmistress’s office, because she was too concerned about self-preservation at the moment.
“Calliope Malfoy was insulting you, mum.”
“No, I wasn’t!” said Callie.
“Liar!”
But Lia was astonished at the look on Callie’s face. “Professor Granger is your mother?” she asked, so quietly and meekly Lia had leaned to her to hear.
“Of course she’s my mother!”
“I thought ‘Granger’ is your stepdad’s name or something.”
“I don’t have a stepdad.”
“Oh.”
~o0o~
Hermione, having reined in her desire to flay a certain someone, found a convenient though unfortunate vent for her ire just then. “What are you two mumbling about? How could you? Are you gutter children? Two fights and not even two whole weeks at school! I’m ashamed of you!”
“Don’t yell at them!” Draco shouted to her face.
“Don’t you yell at me and don’t you tell me what to do with my children!”
“They’re my children, too!”
~o0o~
“Ehem.”
Red-faced, Draco and Hermione turned to Minerva, and then to Thalia and Calliope, who were both staring at them with wide eyes.
In the same way the two sisters were momentarily united earlier, father and mother exchanged looks and conveyed through their eyes a shared wish for the floor to gape beneath them and swallow them both.
End Notes:
Told you I was on a roll, didn't I? Thanks for reading and reviewing! Oh, the quote with the asterisk ("There are no secrets in a house with children...")in the previous chapter comes from The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield. Forgot to add that yesterday.
Alliances by lucilla_pauie
Author's Notes:
Yep, I'm STILL writing this story and Then Somebody Bends. :) Thank you, modlies, for featuring this story. Thank you to all you faithful readers, especially those of you who drop a line. Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the Parent Trap (whose plot I very loosely follow in this story) do not belong to me, or else I'll be too busy living the good life to take the time to write fan fiction. :))
Janus Demouit got his first warning. One more and he would be on probation. If he was found negligent again during that period, he would lose his post.
But this wasn’t what was being talked of at Hogwarts.
The portraits in the Headmistress’s office were all former Heads themselves, and could be counted on to be discreet. But they couldn’t be counted on to be abstinent. One historical headmaster had been invited to a party yet again, and there, while steeped in mulled mead, he happened to think of entertaining his hosts with a little bit of family drama, something that rarely happened in their domain. As rarities went, news of it spread faster than Dungbomb stink.
The fact that Hermione Granger had twins with Draco Malfoy was astonishing, and the fact that those twins had been fighting each other, oblivious to their full kinship, was amusing. And it was also so very romantic, the higher years thought. Professor Granger and Mr Malfoy were only a little older than them now when their romance unfolded. Even prim and proper Priscilla couldn’t help smiling in a silly manner at Lia even as the Head Girl shushed and glared at the other silly gossips.
Hermione was glad her colleagues were seemingly too in awe of her and the Headmistress. Although they all watched out for poor Janus, they all worked and talked as usual. At least, when Hermione or Minerva was present.
In the Headmistress’s office: “Forgive me, Minerva, but I thought to liven things up just a bit. It’s been dreadfully dull, you know. I almost wish there’s a Dark wizard again.”
Minerva was so irate with Albus she turned his portrait to the wall.
“And think of those poor girls...” he continued, muffled, as though nothing happened.
“Those poor girls you have now subjected to titters and stares, you mean?”
“Yes. I wish them both to have both their parents.”
“How is your gossipmongering going to make that wish of yours come about, Albus?”
“Oh, entertainingly, I’ll wager. Now be a dear, Minerva, and turn me back around or at least put me in another, more interesting patch of wall, I’ve already memorised this one.”
~o0o~
They’d left the Headmistress’s office separately and quietly. Callie couldn’t look at Lia and Lia couldn’t look at Callie but their eyes would stare when they thought the other wasn’t looking. They didn’t know how their parents parted yet again. But though they’d lingered by the door in a silent, unanimous decision, they’d heard nothing but the swish of Floo.
Also silently, they seemed to have agreed to not acknowledge each other, even during the worst of the gossip when heads would collectively swivel back and forth between the two of them across the tables.
In class, her mother was affable, sweet, patient. Just like with the rest of her students. Outside of class, she wouldn’t even look at Callie, even when Callie was outright staring at her. Callie stopped coming to meals at the great hall and took to noshing on the treats her Aunt Pansy and grandmother sent. If she could stop going to Charms as well, she would. But she wanted top grades, and she wanted to continue forcing her mother into noticing her, so she remained in her seat up front, dead centre, and raised her hand at every opportunity, locked eyes with Professor Granger every chance she got and showed the woman that she was unaffected by being unacknowledged, being unwanted. She was a Malfoy. Never mind being a Granger.
Thalia noticed, but was too confused and still too bewildered to act on it. She didn’t question her mother, knowing that she might get more answers from simply watching. So Thalia watched, and was hurt almost as much as her sister because Hermione never referred to the subject of Thalia being a twin. Never. Was her mother so determined to continue lying by omission? Was her mother cursed or something? And where was Thalia’s own bouquet of flowers? She’d thought she’d get one now. Instead, the owl from the florist continued to arrive only at the Gryffindor table; the bird would land there lightly, just quick enough to discover its addressee was not there, and then take wing and go wherever Callie was.
She only saw Callie in Charms and Potions and Astronomy. And during those Wednesday nights under the dim light of the moon or beside the harsh glow of magical spheres, Callie looked pale, and to Thalia, it was looking at a wan version of herself.
She refused to have a visit with her mother because she knew she would burst with questions and accusations. Hagrid would invite her to tea, and she would suddenly have urgent homework.
At last, one Tuesday morning, her mother insinuated a note into her hand as they were all leaving the Great Hall.
‘I’ll see you at Hagrid’s later at four.’
When they settled at Charms, Thalia looked anywhere but at her mother.
“I’m indisposed today, boys and girls. So I’ll just set you to mastering your levitation and locomotor charms. Quietly, please. I don’t want to hear any thumping. Pretend you’re rearranging the furniture with a baby asleep in the next room. And no pranks on each other. Disobedience will have consequences.”
Thalia huffed, caught her mother’s eyes, and meekly ducked her head.
There was muffled noise as everyone rose and began muttering incantations, levitating and moving stuff. Thalia felt her skirt shifting and then tugging at her. Dionelise’s face was red from suppressing giggles; she was operating with her naughty streak on. Lia grabbed her friend’s wand hand and checked if her mother saw that. But she needn’t have worried.
Her mother was on the other side of the room, watching Callie.
Lia watched as her mother bit her lip, squared her shoulders, and went to her sister. When she reached Callie, she seemed to take stock of herself, as though she wasn’t sure if she was wearing all her clothes. What was with that?
Under cover of an upended desk sidling to the left, Lia moved closer to her mother and sister to hear.
“...haven’t you been going to meals?” her mother was saying.
“But I have. Of course I have, Professor. Why?” Callie answered without looking at her--their-- mother. She was busy making a tower out of glass jars.
“Have you? I don’t see you there.”
“I’ve noticed you don’t, Professor.”
Callie jabbed the air with her wand and the last jar dropped with a thud. The tower collapsed. Still without looking at anyone though the whole room jumped at the shatter of glass, Callie jabbed with her wand again and gritted out, “Reparo!”
And then she turned on her heel, stepped several paces away from their mother, and made the heavy, antique teacher’s desk shoot high up in the air so fast everyone gasped. She left it there and smirked, daring anyone to take it down without damaging it and without noise.
Lia was so angry she didn’t care if she sent that desk crashing down on Callie. She just pointed her wand.
Everyone caught their breaths again as the desk hurtled down. At the last second, it stopped, hovered, and dropped soundlessly back to the floor.
Callie sat down as if she’d done and seen nothing out of the ordinary and opened her Standard Book of Spells.
~o0o~
Hermione barely had enough in her to dismiss the class with composure. The moment the last student stepped outside, her body bent in on itself, she clutched her middle and cried softly.
When she managed to get it together again, she wiped her face and went straight for Minerva’s office.
The Headmistress was absent. And conspicuous in the wall behind her desk was Dumbledore’s portrait. Rather, the back of Dumbledore’s portrait.
“Headmaster? Are you-- Is everything all right? Why is your--”
“Is that you, Hermione?”
“Yes, Albus. I came to talk to Minerva--”
“Oh, what about? Do tell me, please. No one talks to me any longer.”
Hermione was distracted enough by that to chuckle at Dumbledore’s antics. “What are you talking about? We talk to you. And I wasn’t going to talk about anything. I just wanted to be excused for the rest of the day, if I could.”
“Of course you could, my dear. Are you all right?”
“Oh yes. Well, no. I want-- I need to talk to someone.”
“By all means, go talk to him, then. I’ll tell Minerva. She should be along soon. She only went to the Owlery. Something about a letter and a rejuvenating walk and two snidgets with one net and all that.”
“Thank you, Albus. Wait a second--”
“Off you go, Hermione,” said Dumbledore, chuckling. “And give Draco my regards.”
“You keep interrupting me, Headmaster. That’s impolite! I was going to ask: why are you turned to the wall? Minerva isn’t angry at you or punishing you, is she?”
“Oh, no!” Dumbledore said airily. Too airily. And Hermione heard several of the sleeping portraits snort. “I begged to have a change of vista.”
More snorts and one snigger. Hermione shrugged and left.
~o0o~
Lia was furious with Callie and seethed all through History of Magic. She’d looked for Callie during break, but Callie had disappeared again and Kia had only shrugged when Lia questioned her. She had already turned away when Kia added softly, “She might be back in our room. She only leaves for class.”
This confirmed what Lia had heard between Callie and their mother. “What does she eat?”
“Biscuits and sweets from home.”
By the time they queued for Potions, Lia was ready to explode. What was Callie doing? If she thought she’d get attention in this obtuse manner, she had another think coming. She’d get something, all right.
But one look at Callie’s face popped the red balloon of Lia’s anger. How could she be angry? Her poor sister. Just what was their mother playing at?
Lia’s furious stride slowed, and she reached Callie just in time before Callie entered the door Professor Dimwit had just opened. “Keep your chin up, Grace,” she whispered in passing. “But not too high up, okay? And don’t sass Mum.”
~o0o~
Callie sat hunched with her elbows on the table, something her grandmother would have reprimanded her for. She wanted to turn her head and look at... at her sister, but this was as much as she could do at the moment. Her pride had undergone too much pounding from a pestle.
Professor Demouit was speaking about Torch Potion again. He was still harping on about it, though he couldn’t blame Callie and Lia outright since the explosion was his fault for carrying the potion around. His name was pronounced Dem-woa, but more and more people were calling him Dimwit now. His eccentricities had lost their novelty and he was now simply annoying.
“... when people used their fireplaces as sources of light and heating, and then when furnaces and heaters were used. Hence, the Torch Potion, an improvement to the crude thing Muggles use, something called kerocide or some such. A fire built from the Torch Potion does not create ashwinders and gives up to a hundred times more warmth. Makes it indispensible in these drafty castles. Miss Granger, go and get the potion in my office. I tweaked it so its flames emit bright white light similar to those electric lightbulbs you see in Muggle healing rooms. Great for Potion-making. Mind you don’t blow up the potion, now.”
Professor Dimwit laughed. He thought he was being witty. He was the only one. Everyone else groaned. They’d been preparing the Torch Potion over and over for several classes now. Dimwit said they should perfect it or even tweak it. He was all about tweaking. They suspected he didn’t even diversify his classes for the different years. They all alternated in reeking of woodsmoke, depending on which year had Potions for the day.
Callie, with her eyes downcast, saw a trail of fine grey powder just before the professor’s robes swept it away. She blinked, thinking she imagined it. Or perhaps Dimwit was shedding so much dandruff.
Callie suddenly turned in her seat toward the back. Lia wasn’t at her stool. She was already inside Dimwit’s office? Callie swivelled back around. Why was Lia taking so long?
Callie looked toward the spot where she saw the powdery stuff. And then she turned to the magically-installed fireplace in their classroom. To her horror, the trail seemed to originate there and had traces continuing toward Dimwit’s office. She shot out of her seat and ran.
Lia seemed to be studying something near the store cupboard. She jumped when Callie clattered over to her, knocking over cauldrons and boxes and bottles.
“Get out of here. Come on!”
Just as she reached Lia, she saw the huge, showy shelf beside the cupboard. On the shelf stood flagon after flagon of clear liquid. You’d think it was prized alcohol, the way Dimwit stored and displayed it. Lia had one flagon in one hand. Callie noted all this even as she stared at the shadowy arch between the shelf’s claw feet. It was the only dark recess in the room. The rest of the floor space was dominated by doors to cupboards or stocked helves.
“Someone’s burned their table,” Lia remarked, sniffing toward the classroom.
Callie tugged at her sister’s free hand with all her might.
They made it to the door before the Potions professor’s office exploded.
~o0o~
Hermione didn’t go directly to her destination. She rambled around the village, entering shops, browsing merchandise, and even stopping for hot cocoa at Honeydukes before she realized she was stalling and overthinking and slapped a hand to her forehead. She finally arrived at the little cottage, and saw three owls flocking toward one of the open windows in the second floor. Each bird had a parcel tied to its leg.
She hesitated before lifting the shamrock knocker with her index finger. It still melodiously tapped thrice as though she’d used her wand. She heard the crack behind the door but still jumped back when he opened it before a second had passed after the last tap.
He blinked at her. “I knew you’d come here, but you’re wasting your time. I don’t know anything about it. Don’t flatter yourself, Hermione.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows but let it pass. “Hi to you, as well.”
“Oh. Hey. I thought you were Belinda’s girl with my brunch. I’m starving. You want to come with me and get something?”
“Are you hiding something in this cottage?”
He rolled his eyes. “A little trust, Hermione. But I’m asking for the moon on that score, aren’t I? Please do me the honour,” he said that last with a theatrical sweep of his arm toward the interior of the cottage. Hermione just nodded and stepped past him and inside.
“What’s the matter? Is Callie all right?”
Hermione nodded non-committedly. Callie was all right in some respects.
“Is Thalia?”
“I really messed up with that agreement I drew, didn’t I? I should have included that I can’t try and see Callie the way I’ve done when I first went here, and that you can’t ask after Thalia.”
“Did you come here to rant about the agreement? Because if you are, can we reschedule? I’m rather busy. Replacing and rearranging furniture. These owls are getting disgruntled waiting for the ones I’ll send back.”
Hermione glanced around, distracted again like she’d been earlier by Dumbledore in Minerva’s office. Perhaps her mind was all too willing to be distracted.
“What possessed you to inhabit this place? Callie won’t have enough space. The yard is ample, but what about her rooms? For sleeping and for studying or playing.”
“Callie’s rooms in my house at Chablis are quite satisfactory. She has a bedroom with an en suite, a playroom, a music room. My mother’s even planning on giving Callie her own conservatory. Happy?” Draco unwrapped one parcel and the minature contents arranged themselves on the coffee table. It was a living room suite. One loveseat, one armchair, a square side table with a sleek lamp that left plenty of space for a tea service beside it, a rug, a bookshelf, and even a rustic stone fireplace.
“What do you think?” Draco asked without looking at Hermione. He fingered the loveseat and nudged it to an angle beside the bookshelf.
Hermione nodded almost desperately, acutely yearning yet at the same time not wanting to give in to the urge to bombard Draco with more questions about Callie’s life in France. “It’s certainly more suitable to this room than this humongous sofa and coffee table.”
Draco nodded. He pointed his wand at the sofa and it disappeared from sight, shrinking to the size of matchbox on the floor. Hermione picked it up. Draco placed the loveseat in the sofa’s place and unshrunk it. It didn’t hog the windowside to itself as the sofa had done. Hermione stood to the side, out of the way, but when Draco looked to her again, she shrugged and took the side table next.
They placed the furniture around the living area, exchanging raised eyebrows and nods. Lastly, she picked up the rug and he picked up the fireplace before he shrunk the coffee table. The room seemed much less cramped now that there was more legroom.
“Well, that’s it. Sit down. I’ll dismiss the owls. I’m done with my bedroom and the kitchenette. I’ll make us some--”
“I can make the tea myself.”
Again, he swept his arm, now toward the ‘kitchenette’, which appeared very spacious on account of the dining table and its four chairs still being on the countertop in miniature form. Hermione left them there though she did peer at them and found the round corners of the table and the oval-backed chairs cute.
The house was cute. She wondered how many bedrooms were upstairs. Probably just two. But a family could easily extend the house without crimping the backyard.
There was an odd twinge between her throat and stomach at the ‘family’ part of her thought. There was really no need for an extension if the family consisted of a father and a daughter, or a mother and a daughter...
“What are you staring at over there?”
Hermione started and pretended to fiddle with the kettle. She got her fingers burned for her idiocy. “Nothing.”
He grabbed her had and held it under the faucet. He ran cold water. “Don’t you have classes to teach? And I’m really pissed off about those classes, you know that? How very Slytherin of you.”
Snatching her hand back and making a big show of wiping it, she glared at him. “How very Slytherin of you, thinking everyone else plots things like that, because it’s what you do and what you’d have done. Minerva invited me to teach, and it coincided with my resignation.”
“You resigned, so she invited you to teach. Did you resign so you’d get invited?”
“How would I have known that Filius had gone down with something and was likely to retire? I resigned because--” Hermione almost heard the snap of jigsaw puzzle pieces in her mind. “You didn’t know anything about what, precisely? Do you mean the reason I resigned, a reason undisclosed to the public? Something I was supposed to be flattering myself about when I appeared on your doorstep?”
Draco was shaking his head, acting confused and she wasn’t buying it. But before either of them could speak again, they heard and felt a low rumble. Like the earth coughed somewhere.
They both rushed to the window that looked out toward the castle, where the rumble had come from.
“What was that?”
Hermione didn’t answer. She was already running out the door. When she Apparated at the gates, Draco was already there, having Disapparated from his kitchenette. She pointed her wand at the gates to open them but her hand was shaking so badly nothing happened.
Draco grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to him. “Hermione, you’re scaring the crap out of me. Don’t be ridiculous,” he ground out. Then he took a deep breath and said more gently, “They’re fine. Open the gates so we can know for certain. It’s probably nothing. They’re fine.”
Hermione nodded, clinging to his assurance. When she pointed her wand at the gates again, she was able to think about the incantation properly and they felt the magical lock releasing. Draco unlatched the gates and ushered her in. They ran.
~o0o~
“What happened? Was there an earthquake? An explosion?” It was Draco who did the asking when they arrived at the entance hall. Hermione was silent. Her lips were white. Damn the woman. If she was overreacting, he’d strangle her later. But he couldn’t shake away his own fear. He wasn’t usually affected by others’ thin hides. But then again, this was Hermione, and she was an exception. She’d always affect him.
His questions earned nothing but shrugs. The students milling about the entrance hall had come from their free periods or other classes, which seemed to have been undisturbed.
One girl, who had the Head Girl badge, went to Hermione and said, “It came from the dungeons, Professor.”
They heard crackling. Hermione whimpered. Draco peered at the hallway leading to the dungeons, ready to rush there. Was there fire? Something orange was definitely approaching. Draco pulled Hermione and the Head Girl back.
A foot connected with Draco’s forehead.
“WHAT THE FUCK, PEEVES!”
The poltergeist cackled. It was his insane laughter they’d heard. And then there they were, an almost invisble group because their soot-blackened faces nearly blended with the dark stone walls. Herding them was McGonagall, also covered with soot, and shouting like Draco had never heard before. She rivaled that Howler Weasley had once gotten from his mother.
“...AN AMPLE SEVERANCE PAY BECAUSE I WILL SEE TO IT NO ONE ELSE HIRES YOU! YOU CAN BLOODY KISS YOUR MEMBERSHIP TO THE MOST EXTRAORDINARY SOCIETY OF POTIONEERS GOODBYE. EXTRAORDINARY, MY FOOT! DON’T YOU EVER LET ME SEE YOU AT HOGWARTS AGAIN! YOU COULD HAVE KILLED HALF OF MY FIRST YEARS, YOU PUERILE NINCOMPOOP!”
She stopped dead at seeing the crowd at the entrance hall. Draco thought she was ashamed of having lost dignity like that, but the headmistress was staring at him and Hermione.
“Minerva! Where’s Thalia and Calliope?” Hermione asked, ramming her fist to her mouth after talking, as though she was stoppering sobs. Draco’s knees shook.
“They’re fine, Hermione. They’re right behind me. They’re--”
She didn’t finish. Draco and Hermione had already run past her.
They were walking on either side of Madam Pomfrey, who held them, supported them, by the shoulders. The old, dear matron squeaked in protest when her charges were snatched away from her hands.
“What in Merlin’s name happened? Did that puerile nincompoop try to blow you up this time as payback?”
“Where does it hurt? Does anything hurt? Can you see all right? Please don’t scare me like that again.”
“I was bloody terrified!”
“Mum’s here now, honey. You’re okay.”
~o0o~
Callie looked at Lia from Hermione’s bosom through a gap in Hermione’s hair.
Lia returned the look when she managed to turn her head while being pressed to Draco’s chest.
Afterward when they’d been washed from hair to shin, Hermione went to Lia. Draco went to Callie.
~o0o~
“I didn’t know McGonagall had made an even more interesting appointment apart from yours.”
“Don’t start that again. I told you--”
“I’m just saying, I’m glad the idiot’s fired. Gods. How could he have created that ashwinder?”
“He said he didn’t want to catch Filius’s cold. He’d magicked that fire to burn constantly and added warning charms and that potion he’s so obs--”
“I don’t really care. He should be thankful the girls-- everyone’s fine. I just wish I’d booted his arse. I mean that literally.” Draco lifted one foot and eyed the bronze-colored steel toe of his shoe.
“I hate to agree with you, but I also wanted to--”
“Slap him? Bloody his nose?”
“Interrupt me again and I’ll bloody your nose. But the point is moot.” Hermione stopped at the door to her office. Her quarters connected with it through a concealed panel. “I’m here. Good night.”
“Wait a moment, Hermione. What did you want to discuss when you called earlier?”
“Oh, that.” Hermione sighed.
“Can you spare just one more hour? I think this is as good a place as any. And we can’t put it off. Not after my talk with McGonagall.”
Hermione hesitated, shaking her head. “I think it’s best we don’t talk or see each other at all. But that’s only best for me. And no mother knows the word ‘me’ any more.”
Draco somberly nodded. “No father either. Even if that father is me.”
“How selfish we’ve been when we drew and signed that damned agreement.”
“Well, I was hurt. My mother said hurt people are the most selfish beasts there are.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows, her face going blank. “You were hurt?” She raised her eyes to heaven and snorted. “Never mind that now. We’ve lost five minutes of the hour. Come in.”
~o0o~
“They didn’t know who they were holding, did they?"
“Mum thought she was holding me.”
“Daddy, too. He didn’t know it was you.”
Their superficial cuts and bruises had all been healed, but the matron wanted to watch them overnight because of their mild concussions. A potion was bubbling in Madam Pomfrey’s office. Other than that, it was quiet. The moonlight slanted across the row of beds, showing interesting shadows of the rails and potion bottles. Callie jumped when Lia’s feet sounded on the floor. Lia padded over in her socks and climbed into the bed next to Callie’s.
“Professor Dimwit was sacked,” said Lia, amid her bedsprings squeaking as she turned to face Callie.
Callie, who was still a little shy at her sister, fiddled with her blanket hem. She wanted to face Lia, too. “I know.”
“Is your-- Is Dad any good at Potions?”
Callie turned to look exasperatedly at Lia, but was surprised to see her expression. “What are you grinning for?”
“Well, is he?”
“Yes.”
“I hope the Headmistress offers him the post, then.”
“Won’t that just hurt you?”
Lia’s blithe tone disappeared. “I don’t understand them. They seemed to love us, both of us, when they yelled at each other in the Headmistress’s office. What is with them?”
“I think I understand.”
“Tell me. And look at me, will you, miss priss?”
“Don’t call me that,” Callie snapped, but she smiled when she made her bedsprings squeak in their turn. She looked at Lia from under her eyelashes. “I’m sorry for insulting your--our mother.”
Lia laughed. “You more than made up for that when you pulled me out of that exploding dungeon. And hey, I insulted her, too.”
They giggled for a minute at that.
“But why didn’t you know she’s your mother? I knew he’s my father.”
“Daddy only told me about her, but never her name. I think because he was afraid I’d seek Mum out. And they had this agreement.”
“A what?”
“An agreement. And Daddy said I’d guess what it is sooner or later. Well, sooner is right. I think when they, you know, separated, they had this agreement that says they go far away from each other, and that the two of them mustn’t seek the other child, mustn’t look at the other child, or something like that. You saw how they acted when they knew which of us was which.”
“But Mum does look at you.”
“In class. Only in class. And she treats me like any other student. Maybe that’s a loophole in the agreement. I bet when she asked me why I wasn’t eating at the great hall, she was thinking she was asking me as a concerned teacher, not as a mum.”
“That really pisses me off.”
“You sound like Father.”
“We’re not in on this agreement they had.”
“I reckon it’s a magical agreement. They probably die or something pretty much near that happens if they break it.”
“I don’t care! They deserve to suffer! We suffer!”
“So you no longer want Father to teach?”
“No, I do. I want him here.”
“What for? So he could ignore you? It really hurts, Lia.”
“You think I don’t know? You’re only unscathed now because you’ve been hiding out in your dorm. If you’ve always been at the great hall receiving those bloody bouquets that only you get even after he’d bloody seen I’m here at Hogwarts with you, you’d have been red from being pelted by Dionelise’s catapult by now.”
Callie grinned ruefully. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
Lia grinned back. “How about we make them sorry?”
Hisses and Kisses by lucilla_pauie
They stood at the Hogwarts gates, which Hermione kept open. She was a couple yards off to the side, accompanying this student and parent but not intruding. Like any other professor should do.
Callie stroked the wrought-iron bar near her. No, she rubbed it like it was wood and she was daring the splinters. Draco took her hand and successfully made her look at him for the first time since... Since.
Merlin, she was brassed off at him. And would he ever get used to it? How would a father ever get used to it when he does his damndest best not to incur his daughter’s wrath at all? His only experience in this arena was his parents. And his mother never held back. She let him know and she let him suffer while in the process of knowing what he’s supposedly done or not done. His father let him know and let him suffer and feel lower than a house-elf in the process of knowing what he’s supposedly been or not been.
His only experience in this arena--where he was a limbless gladiator-- was his parents: Aside from Hermione, that was. He imagined she’d bleeding held back a lot and let him suffer and feel lower than a dust mite in the process, not to mention angrier than those lions that usually gutted those gladiators.
He’d had no success talking to Callie at all about the agreement (It reminded him of a similar non-success and a similar mulish stubborness from eleven years ago). That was what he and Hermione had agreed to do. To tell the twins about that blasted bespelled, binding agreement so neither of the girls would take the distance of one parent personally.
Too late, though. He and Hermione were now dealing with the distance of both children. Well, Hermione hadn’t talked to Lia yet. The child was still in her dormitories, but he’d bet his new cottage Lia, raised as she was by Weasleys and a Potter and a Granger, wouldn’t listen either.
What a bloody mess this had become. That they were able to tell the kids was no longer the blessing they’d thought it to be.
He stroked his Callie’s hand. He was so glad he’d been near yesterday. His eyes flicked to Hermione. In their talk last night, he had jokingly asked her if she always froze like that during crises. She’d surprised him with a candid answer: It was crippling, that fear for your children. It would probably take her at least another decade to steel herself at the thought of them being hurt. And then she’d told him of that time Thalia had knocked off a tooth playing Quidditch. When she was done, the handle of the delicate bone china teacup Draco held crumbled apart. He’d gripped it too hard in his belated ‘crippling fear’. Thalia had tried a roll and fallen off her broom. It was a miracle she’d only knocked off a tooth. And losing a tooth had always been showy. All that blood. He was glad he hadn’t been there. An iota.
Callie pretended to look at her watch, taking her hand away from his hold.
“Well, bye, Callie. I’ll see you when another classroom or office explodes. Nothing can keep me away.”
The corner of her lips twitched. But that was all. She didn’t even nod. Draco sighed and bent to kiss her.
“How could you be mad at me? Do you realize your poor father is in a corner in this one?” he whispered before pressing his lips to her cheek.
She turned away from him as if he was no longer there and--Merlin’s armpits-- casually took Hermione’s hand.
He jumped when Hermione gasped, ready to rush her and resuscitate her with spells, but she remained on her feet, only flabbergasted and probably steeling herself from returning or relishing Callie’s action.
She did move to retract her hand from Callie’s, but Callie held on and just swung their hands back and forth, like they were pals, by Circe. “I want to thank you for your concern for me yesterday, Professor. I imagine that must be how it’s like when a mother’s been afraid for you. I never had a mother, you see, so I have to imagine. Thank you for helping me imagine.”
Hermione shot him a look so despairing and despondent that for a second he wanted nothing more than to snatch Callie and hit her scheming behind with a switch. But then Hermione bit her lip and squared her shoulders, blinking fast, and Draco turned away, he had to get away from there.
She was right. They’d been selfish when they signed that blasted agreement. Selfish and bloody stupid. They should have known everything would backfire like this. Their children were their children, after all. A burst of unholy laughter threatened to erupt from him. He turned it into a cough, stepped past the Hogwarts gates and Disapparated.
When he was back in his tiny kitchen, he ran a hand through his hair. Please let him have at least one bottle of Ogden’s Finest in his tiny cellar. Please, Merlin.
~ 0 ~
Hermione led her child back to school, her hand limp inside Callie’s though she wanted to grip back, to pull, to squeeze, to kiss. Callie, who had been closed up the whole time they went to see her father off at the gates, was now a chatterbox.
“...said his potion does not create ashwinders, but it probably doesn’t countereffect spells shot into a fire. Anyway, I’m glad he’s sacked. We’ve all been getting tired of making Torch Potion. I wish the new teacher will be better. How long will it be before someone takes the post, do you think, Professor?”
A bleeding minute, Hermione thought darkly. Instead, she only shrugged. “It depends, Miss Malfoy. Often, teaching posts are by invitation only. The headmaster or headmistress selects someone very highly qualified from our community and queries if that person is amenable to teach.”
“Dimwit was-- I’m sorry, Professor-- I mean, Professor Demouit was invited?”
“No. He applied for the post. Rather vigorously,” Hermione spoke vigorously herself, anything to distract her mind from her daughter’s sweetness. “The headmistress said she couldn’t dish up an argument against his getting the post and Professor Libette, the former Potions professor, was in a hurry to go to her grandchildren in Ireland. Demouit had credentials. He is a contributor to the Potions page of the Profezia. He’s a member of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. He had a glowing recommendation from his former headmistress. It turns out that headmistress is his aunt.”
“You were a former pupil of our headmistress now. That’s why she knew you’d be good for Charms?”
Thinking of that doggone agreement and her position, trapped between two daughters and only able to love one of the two, Hermione snapped, “No, I’m not any good.” She immediately regretted her tone but could do nothing about it.
She didn’t realize the gates were this far from the oak front doors.
Thankfully, Callie talked on as if nothing happened. “I’m starving. I’m having s’mores with Lia and Dionelise. I have to get Kia. See you in class, Professor.”
And with that, Callie pulled the hand she held and the surprised Hermione bent and was helpless to the kiss bestowed on her cheek.
Callie ran off. That was just as well. Hermione’s knees unlocked and she plopped boneless on the wet autumn grass. Morgana help her. She’d given birth to devils. Hermione could already see and guess what the girls were doing. A giggle escaped her as she thought of Draco. Poor Draco. Her vixen would be out to get him.
~ 0 ~
“What are you and Calliope up to?”
Lia shrugged and continued feigning interest to the Silenced fwooper in its cage. They were in Hagrid’s cabin. The fwooper was beautiful but boring. Especially if you’ve been watching it for the past half hour.
They’d had tea and they’d talked. Well, her mother and Hagrid had talked. Lia crammed rock cakes in her mouth as an excuse to not joining in and just watched the fwooper. But now tea was over and done with and Hagrid had escaped her mother’s rising irritation. Lia was a little scared; she’d never baited her mum like this before. But it had to be done. And her mum deserved it, too. A taste of her own medicine.
“You will answer when you are spoken to, Thalia.”
“Yes, Mum.”
“And don’t mumble.”
“I won’t mumble.”
“What are you and Calliope Malfoy doing?”
“We’re not doing anything. I think she’s doing homework right now. I’m here talking to you.”
Lia drew back. She would have sworn her mother smoked at the ears. Her mum took a deep breath and the red in her face receded a bit. Lia breathed again. This was dangerous. But no, not very much. She shrugged inwardly. The kitchens here wouldn’t ever be closed to her and even if the elves were told to make the sweets repel Lia, she could get sweets from her sister and others easy. She was already sort of grounded; it wasn’t as if she could get on a broom here and there was only class to go to. What could her mother do? Coldshoulder her? That would be easier for this scheme. Haha.
She cried out in astonishment at the sting she received at the back of her hands. It was probably what being smacked by something leather felt like.
Her mother had hexed her.
“Get out of my sight, Thalia Maura Granger. I will not talk to you again until you apologize for being so impertinent and ill-mannered. You know better. I raised you better.”
Lia sprang from her seat and scurried off. Whew. She rubbed her hands alternately as she jogged back to the castle. If she just didn’t apologize, she’d be out of hexing range.
She looked at her hands. Oh, the red was already gone. Have to fix that.
~ 0 ~
Draco was sleeping off the half-bottle he’d downed earlier. He lay sprawled on his bed. Unlike the rest of the cottage, the master’s bedroom was not impervious to expansion charms. His mother had sent his whole suite from the chateau. He was comfortable. That was, when the thought of his children didn’t riddle his gut with guilt.
Sleep was escape, however, if only for a short time. He wasn’t happy when said sleep was interrupted. There was the sound of chimes-- his fireplace’s signal that someone was in the Floo.
And then he remembered his wistful habit of always naming a certain person as the one allowed access to the fireplace in his bedroom.
He bolted upright.
“What on earth? Why is your Floo fireplace in your bedroom? No, don’t answer. I don’t care about whatever sick reason you have.”
Draco shook his head to try to stop the room from spinning, and winced. “Back up a second, will you? I’ve been sleeping. Give me a moment to wake up properly. And don’t spout nonsense.”
“You’ve been drinking.”
“How astute.” Draco squeezed his eyes closed and opened it again. That did the trick. There was one Hermione in the grate. Just one.
“Can I come through? Do you still have what you imbibed? I could use a glass.”
Draco raised his eyebrows and waved her over.
Now, Ogden’s Finest had always had a strange effect on Draco, perhaps on everyone. Instead of dulling the senses, they were sharpened. It was as if the winery wanted its imbibers to be sharp and alert even though sozzled. They might see double for a bit, but the double-vision was highly defined (doubly dizzying) and the nose, ears and touch were highly sensitive. As for taste... Draco made a note not to eat anything within the next two hours. Straight firewhisky always messed with the tastebuds.
“Merlin, you came from Hagrid’s cabin, didn’t you? What’s he got in there this time?”
Hermione bent her head and sniffed the collar of her robes, frowning at him. He could also smell her perfume, of course, but he had to depart from that pleasant smell if he didn’t want her hexing something vital off him.
She went to his side table where he’d left the bottle, and poured herself three fingers in the glass he’d used.
“You realize that we’re in a room with this huge bed, don’t you, and that if you drink yourself past your limit, I won’t be a saint?”
“Sod off, Malfoy.” She sipped, winced, and sat down on the edge of the bed, her back to him. “I put a Stinging Hex on Thalia.”
He pretended to scoot up to the headboard when he was really scooting left, nearer her. “Just one?”
“Of course, just one. She was so insolent earlier.”
She was whining, as though wanting something, probably wanting to be told the Stinging Hex was justified. She turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder. He had to stifle a gasp. Blast the firewhisky. He doubted he’d be this sentimental and smitten over that casual movement if he wasn’t a little drunk. “They deserve a thrashing every now and then.”
She snorted and laughed. “I have never and will never thrash them! And I think you haven’t and won’t either. You’ll be putty in their hands.”
He did catch his breath now when she reached over and patted his cheek. “Poor you. Good luck for tomorrow. It’s Thursday so you have one day’s grace. And then it’s Friday and both of them will be there. Double Potions. Gryffindor and Slytherin.”
He raised his own hand and pressed hers to his cheek. “Tomorrow, they have Double Charms. Lucky you. I’ll be there to drink with.”
“You will not smuggle alcohol into school, Draco Malfoy.” She smiled, withdrew her hand from his hold, and gulped down the rest of her glass in one go. When she was done, she grimaced again, and tucked her lips into her mouth to lick them. They came out red.
She probably didn’t even know she was seducing him, but she was, damn it all to Hades. Draco closed the small distance between them, hooked an arm behind her head and pulled her close. When his lips mashed onto hers, he sighed in ecstasy and drew back a little, to turn the kiss into a kiss, not a devouring. He worshipped her lips from corner to corner. And when he suckled on her lower lip, it was like drinking life. She tasted heavenly. His soul bloomed again.
She was soft in his arms, her head lolling on his upper arm. At first, she tried to push him away, but now her hand was in his hair and one arm was around his waist. Draco pulled her closer and buried his face in her neck. He could stay there forever.
But his forever was over, it seemed. Hermione drew away and walked sedately to the fireplace. She stopped there. Without looking back at him, she said softly, “How dare you. If you ever come near me again, I’ll switch your brains with your gonads. You have no right to kiss me as if-- as if-- You have no right!”
She threw Floo powder in the fire and vanished in the flames.
~ 0 ~
Hermione wanted to fling hexes right and left when she arrived at the great hall that morning. She looked at Minerva, but Minerva only shrugged over her tea. Hermione glared at Hagrid, but Hagrid only looked confused and hurt, so she shook her head at him and smiled assuringly. As for the others, they all pretended like she wasn’t looking daggers at them all. No one moved to take the remaining seat beside Draco.
She gritted her teeth and went there, taking care not to let her robes go within an inch of him as she sat down.
“Good morning, miss priss. I don’t have a disease, you know.”
“Don’t speak to me.”
“Callie and Thalia are looking. Smile at me.”
She bared her teeth at him. He chuckled and waved toward the Gryffindor table. To Hermione’s astonishment, Thalia was right there beside Calliope. But no, they were the only ones not looking at the staff table. At the infamous couple on the staff table. Hermione felt the heat flood her face and began cutting up her flapjacks with a vengeance.
~ 0 ~
“...went right up to the staff table as we were all rising and embraced Draco Malfoy, saying she was immensely glad there was already a new professor because Potions was her favourite subject. Poor Hermione. And you should have seen the look on Draco’s face. He went white-- I didn’t think that possible. That’s right, laugh. I hope you’re happy, Dumbledore.”
“Oh, I am,” said Albus, calming down. “I love those girls. So devious and brave!”
Minerva rolled her eyes. “Thalia is not speaking to Hermione and Calliope is not speaking to her father. Calliope is doing everything short of clinging to Hermione like a limpet and Thalia is doing the same to Draco. I only see ingratitude and rebellion.”
“Ah, Minerva, you’ve lost your inner child! If I answer you, will you turn me back around? I couldn’t go calling with my frame like this.”
“No."
Getting cosy by lucilla_pauie
Author's Notes:
My apologies for this mad update. Mad because of the ginormous gap between this and last one. Sorreh! I’ve now entered an agreement none would damn. An agreement with my friend/beta, Misdemeanor1331, that I shall update every week on pain of... oh, just pain. I’m not good with pain! That said, thank you for the nudge and shove and threats, Mel! And excuse my new favourite word. Ginormous. Just let me get it out of my system. :D
Draco had been eager and positively chomping at the bit to tease Hermione a little more after breakfast, but as soon as he got up and past the staff table, a distraction so huge and effective strangled and wrangled every plan and thought in his mind. A distraction in the shape of Thalia Maura Granger.
Oh, certainly he had also been prepared (ecstatic) that he would see her, but this... this was madness and torture. He was used to Callie’s occasional bursts of affection, but as far as he remembered, Callie had never squeezed him this hard in public before. He thought he even heard a rib protest.
“I’m Lia Granger, Professor Malfoy. I’m sorry-- but I’m so glad there’s a Potions professor again! It’s my favourite subject. If you’re going to have electives as well, can I sign up for them? I’ll be nice and quiet and not disturb the higher years.”
She paused for breath and Draco grew aware that half the great hall was watching them and the other half was looking at Hermione. There she was, heading to the entrance hall with her chin held high, as though her daughter was not attached like a chizpurfle to her new colleague and old... ehem, sweetheart.
Not that Draco would compare his daughter to a parasite. And not that he was ever Hermione’s sweetheart. He’d always thought that particular noun effeminate and maudlin. And what was wrong with him? Why was he having difficulty breathing? He looked down at his hands. They were still there. They felt like they were not.
He took a deep breath and clasped his hands behind his back, against the urge to rake his fingers through his hair or return Thalia’s embrace. She was positively ogling him. He chuckled to himself. “Nice to meet you, Miss Granger. I’m glad you are predisposed to Potions. I hope I teach you to your satisfaction.”
He turned away, nodding to her as a goodbye. But she sidestepped around him until she was facing him again, and walked backwards to keep her position while Draco walked forward. “I think you will. My sister says you’re good at Potions.”
“Did she now?”
“My sister, Calliope Malfoy. She’s kin to you, isn’t she, Professor?”
Draco nodded affably. Inside, he was cursing the agreement, Hermione, the agreement, Zabini, and the agreement.
“Then am I kin to you as well?” This with a smirk Lucius would have been proud of.
‘I will not allude to, admit or acknowledge my kinship to my other daughter, Thalia, on the possible event that we should meet or be questioned.’
Right. He couldn’t call her his daughter, not even jokingly or fondly, as elderly men sometimes do to much younger friends. Hermione was right. They’d been so stupid and selfish and so arrogant in assuming their agreement wouldn’t bite them in the arse in this manner.
Draco clutched his stomach in pain. Melodramatically. “I knew there was something off about the flapjacks. Tea food for breakfast. Aren’t we all weak for them? I’ll see you in class, Miss Granger.” Without waiting for her to reply or trap him again, he sidled into the crowd moving toward the entrance hall. He still clutched his stomach. He’d slandered the flapjacks, but he did have a pain there.
Hermione wanted to immerse herself in her work. But one step into her classroom and she was gone. Thalia and Calliope were sitting together. Front row, centre. Hermione set the class to spell practice and hid behind a book, to think.
She fared not much better with the rest of her classes.
This was too much. The twins together. Angry with her. With their father, too. Their father who was strutting around Hogwarts as if... as if he was a decorative or restorative item the rest of them couldn’t do without and as if he didn’t have two eleven-year-olds with Gryffindor and Slytherin traits clashing and conniving in their minds, bent on mayhem. The maddening prat.
When the fourth year Slytherins and Hufflepuffs left, Hermione sighed with relief. She was sorry she’d been useless to her students today, and she would atone for it (which might admittedly overwhelm the poor dears), but for now, finally, she could brood and dissect things some more.
Just how big were the holes in that agreement? And was there a hole she could use to crawl out of this mess with her daughters?
Overall, counting past that incident in the morning when he had to dodge someone he absolutely didn’t desire to dodge (except perhaps when she reached a certain age and asked certain questions), his first day hadn’t been that bad. It had been even downright amusing most of the time. Half his students were either in awe or revulsion of him, the other half were infatuated. He dealt with the first half accordingly, with kindness and sneers. The other half he’d decided to leave well enough alone. He still remembered Lockhart and what a poof every male had thought him to be, with his smiles and winks and droopy-eyed gazes. The girls would still coo without that anyway.
He sat down at the staff table and was immediately aware that Hermione wasn’t there yet.
“Does Hermione eat supper here or elsewhere?” he asked, leaning to his left and having a tiny scare upon discovering the one seated there was Hagrid. Draco had been rather blind, hadn’t he?
Hagrid raised his bushy eyebrows, and then drew them together in what was probably suspicion. Draco mutely turned away. But Hagrid surprised him by answering peaceably enough. “She’ll be along. Ye can’t count on her to be on time. Not to meals. Trivial to her, food is. Except when it’s an occasion, or when she’s eating with Lia. But she’s not, is she?”
Draco nodded his thanks for Hagrid’s long reply. They both looked toward the Slytherin table. Lia wasn’t there.
Their heads swivelled next to the Gryffindor table, which was also empty of Malfoys (both official and unofficial) and then he and Hagrid looked at each other.
“Ye don’t think Hermione’s with yer kids, do you?”
“You mean in detention, maybe? Unless it’s that, she can only be with one kid.”
“Huh. Where are those girls then?”
As if on cue, they came in. With their respective... accomplices. There’s the unfortunately-named Ronquilla, who seemed to be bickering with Thalia, who was rummaging in her bag with both hands.
Unknown to Draco, this was the argument:
“You should have reddened it yourself, if you’re so clever!”
“Just how long will I have to walk around with red hands?”
“You can ask a teacher to fix it.”
“Really? And when the teacher asks how I came by that hex, shall I tell the truth that you did it?”
“You asked me to!”
“You volunteered!”
“And when the teacher asks why I volunteered, shall I tell the truth that you wanted to guilt your mother at how supposedly hard she’d hexed you?”
And then Draco saw them sit down, and Thalia seemed to get bored of the debate, and began pouting at the dishes in front of her. Callie had her nose in a book. A spellbook. She closed it with a look of defeat as she sat down beside her sister and began dishing some of everything onto Thalia’s plate.
Again, too far for Draco to see or hear, this was Callie’s remark and Thalia’s reply:
“Are you sure you don’t want me to try?”
“No. Dodgy and bad luck. Maybe this is comeuppance. Let’s leave it for the night. Not to insult your abilities, but I don’t want to risk having a swollen hand or a different hand or paw altogether. Spells don’t last that long anyway, at least not ones cast by untrained flibbertigibbets. It will fade.”
Said flibbertigibbet elbowed Thalia, and Draco saw the other Slytherin girl, Thalia’s friend, retaliate with a vengeance. Ronquilla almost fell over backward, but the same girl who had sent her toppling grabbed her and righted her on the bench. The four then laughed in each other’s faces.
Kids.
With his children’s smiling faces in his vision, he got up. He nodded to Hagrid and was surprised again when the half-giant not only returned it, but even pried. “Where’re ye goin’?”
“I’ll hunt up Hermione. We do have a lot to catch up on, you know.”
“Ye bet your kidneys I know,” Hagrid said, a little brusquely. “Ye watch your step now, Malfoy.”
Draco had plenty of time to watch his step, in a manner of speaking. All the way to the Charms corridor, he thought of backtracking and just spending a quiet night in the now-cozy dungeons. Hermione was probably in bad shape, having just gotten used to accepting the gigantic holes in their agreement and almost certainly finding ways to patch those holes now or making the agreement entirely all-holes, so they could all be happy. Being thus occupied, she wouldn’t appreciate being pestered with his company.
Well, he wouldn’t pester her. He could help. And she should bloody well let him. This whole mess was her fault. All her idea. Blame her stupid stubbornness and pride, the cow.
“What have I done to you?” she snapped, defensively and wearily.
Draco started a little. He hadn’t realized he’d arrived, knocked, and been answered. He also hadn’t realized he was scowling. He calmed his face and managed to smile.
“Sorry. Not you. A Ravenclaw third-year--”
“What are you doing here, Draco?”
“Came to fetch you to dinner.”
“Who told you to and who said I was coming with you?” She sighed. “I can have dinner here,” she added with no vitriol.
“Can I join you?”
She took a deep breath.
“Please?”
The breath came out in another sigh. She turned her back on him, leaving the door open. Draco followed her inside and closed the door.
Hermione went back to her desk and began rearranging the books, quills and sheafs of parchment neatly piled on it. Draco watched her for a while, amused at how she began to fumble the longer his gaze held. He perched on a desk, the same one where he used to sit as a student. A student with a grudge to certain Gryffindors.
Funny how grudges mutated.
“How was your first day?” she asked. She’d left her things alone and was now looking out a window.
Draco got up and took the desk in front of hers, not knowing it was the very desk his daughters had begun to share. Hermione gave an almost imperceptible jerk of her shoulders, as though she’d seen someone fall off a broom. Draco rolled his eyes. “Sit down. Why are you so jumpy? My day was fine, so fine I must nourish myself after going through it. How about you do the same?”
She shot him an exasperated look and sighed again. She’d be bloated and flatulent if she kept that up. “Fine. But let’s eat in my office. Not on that desk. Not on any of these desks.”
Draco stood up without protest. This is the second time he’d been invited to her office without much effort and trickery on his part. He was thankful, and therefore acquiescent. He’d leave this evening in her hands. He wouldn’t ruin it, wouldn’t push her, wouldn’t tease her. “After you.”
He hadn’t been in the Charms professor’s office before it became hers, so he had no comparison with which to look at how she’d decorated it for herself. It was homey. He wasn’t surprised, because ever since he knew her--really knew her-- he’d discovered she was a sea of surprises and contradictions. Deep, scintillating, never predictable. Except perhaps on some matters. She always took the noble route.
Entering her office made him feel and imagine he’d just entered a room in her home. Her childhood home. He had no idea how she and Thalia lived, but he reckoned this was how a Muggle home looked. Hermione had somehow papered the walls in a cool blue, the fireplace had a white wooden mantel, and there were Impressionist landscapes instead of bookshelf upon bookshelf. The only books in the room were stashed in shelves under the surfaces of the end tables beside the armchairs by the fire.
Her desk was in a corner, unobtrusive and almost an afterthought. He went to it and looked at the photo again. Framed in wood carved all over with pink and white daisies. Thalia curled up in a window seat, asleep, looking like a precious baby despite being a lanky pre-pubescent.
“Can I have a copy of this so I can look at it every time I feel like throttling her?”
To his surprise, Hermione laughed. He revelled in the sound. She didn’t stop until she was gasping for breath. “All right. Take it. I’ll even give you the frame, too.”
He felt himself grinning wide. He probably looked gormless and silly. He didn’t care.
“I’ll take this in trade, of course.” He reached into an inner pocket of his cloak and produced a palm-sized miniature of Calliope, on her tenth birthday, wearing a kimono, yellow with a pink obi. She was captured on canvas sitting by the pond in the newly-built Zen garden of the chateau and, on the insistence of her grandmother, had a Japanese parasol open on her shoulder, framing her pretty head. The life-sized version of this picture hung in his study. “Here.”
He saw Hermione’s breath hitch. She stroked the portrait like it was a puffskein. “Thank you, Draco.”
Draco’s breath hitched in turn. Was there something in the agreement that they couldn’t send each other photographs of the other twin? Why hadn’t either of them done this before? If a portrait of Callie was what it took to make Hermione smile at him like this, Merlin’s bollocks, he’d give Hermione so many she’d be buried.
End Notes:
Thanks for reading! And reviewing!
Waxing poetic... by lucilla_pauie
Author's Notes:
Don’t set high expectations for this. By ‘waxing poetic’, I only mean tender, tears-in-the-eyes reminiscing. Sentimental claptrap. I hope it's all right and doesn't make anyone gag. I don’t think I can write ‘poetic’. But the next chapter is “...apoplectic.” And yes, the characters will be. *cackles*
Updated sooner than my weekly deadline! Arentcha impressed, Mel? :D And oh, how could I forget? This chapter would be all the richer if supplemented by the prologue-y story I'll post here before May ends. It's Dramione's Tenth Anniversary month, you know! A whole decade it's been since the Draco's knickers comment launched a caravel of lovey-dovey goodness!
And thank you so much to you, reader-reviewers, for your patience and constant affirmations, particularly you, Hollie/DromineLove4eva.
Hermione didn’t want to take her eyes off the lovely, lovely portrait in her hands, but she decided she could stare at it all night later and placed it on her desk, on the very spot Thalia’s photo used to occupy.
Draco sat down on the armchair opposite hers by the fire. “What are we eating? Shall I call for--”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I have tea and I can make us sandwiches. I have cucumber and peanut butter.”
She grimaced. He grinned. “Thank you for remembering.” Without asking for permission, he tapped the teapot with his wand, and the spout immediately emitted steam. “Where’re your teabags?”
She looked up from slicing the cucumber to catch his badly suppressed grin. It made her childishly mulish. She was not about to play ‘I Remember You and Yours’ with him. “No, I won’t break out my teabags with you. Just take some chamomile from the canister on the mantel, thank you.”
While the tea steeped, Draco proceeded to become such an intrusive and presumptuous lout, opening her cupboards and looking in drawers, taking out plates and cutlery, plunking the jar of peanut butter on the table where she was occupied with the sandwiches and suddenly taking away the knife, the remaining three inches of cucumber and waving his wand to slice the rest of the meats and bread perfectly.
“There’s no point using knives when it’s just sandwiches, not potions. Now, sit back and eat and let’s talk, amada.”
Hermione huffed and shut her eyes against that endearment and the sight of him dunking the cucumber in the peanut butter. She heard the crunch when he bit on the vegetable. She busied herself pouring the tea. “Draco, I’m thinking of making another agreement with you to nullify the other.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
He magically arranged an egg and cress for her and placed it in her hand. He nodded at her to take a bite. She took a bite. Only then did he answer. “Blood oaths aren’t terminated as conveniently as that. We probably should have used ink and not blood. Marriages don’t have blood oaths because then no one could divorce and people would die right and left when they so much as begin to leer at someone else. Think of our agreement as our marriage certificate. Only, we can’t just sign a divorce agreement to get out of it.”
What an analogy. “But why?” Hermione was so woebegone it was several seconds before she realised what she’d just said and clapped a hand to her mouth.
Draco took in the last bite of his cucumber just then and choked on it. His loosely-fisted hands slapped down on his lap. “I can’t believe you,” he said, talking past the cucumber still in his mouth. “Are you saying you made that agreement without knowing the full ramifications if we signed it with blood?”
Hermione felt the blood rise and pulse in her head. “Don’t take that tone with me. I wasn’t-- I wasn’t being stupid. I’ve read about Wizarding agreements. I made one in fifth year! We swore to one ourselves! I know signatures are binding. I thought-- I only thought to increase the consequences of breaking the agreement so I had us sign in blood. I didn’t want to see you again. Ever. And I wanted to ensure you stayed away. That I stayed away.” She laughed bitterly. “I was an idiot, wasn’t I? Yes, I was.” Draco was frowning at her, but not in castigation. He looked more bewildered than irritated with her. “If you knew about it so much, you could have refused to sign in blood and stopped me from signing in blood--”
It was several moments before he answered. The sandwiches in the table between them were forgotten, and their tea was getting cold.
“How could I have? You looked like you’ll stab us all with the quill if I didn’t sign and get out of there.”
Was I really that furious? Despite what she said, Hermione remembered being heartbroken more than she remembered being furious.
“When we’re hurt, we’re beasts, remember? You were a right beast just then as much as I. And beasts are stupid.”
She stared at him. And then burst into laughter, the mirthless kind, the disgusted kind.
“Thank you for excusing me. So magnanimous of you.”
He barely finished letting her say that. He probably didn’t even hear it. With undisguised fervour, he said “Hermione, can I see more photographs of Thalia? From when she was a baby? Surely you have some here? I can show you Callie’s, too. But I left them at the cottage.”
Hermione wanted to hit something and she was barely containing the crackle of her ire. She stood up. “I’m going to bed. You can see yourself out.” Draco rose with her. At her words, his face shuttered. She watched him turn away from her and cross her carpet with heavy strides. Only when he was at the door did she call out, “Those are all of Lia’s photo albums on the top shelf to the right of my desk.”
He stopped. Before he could face her again, she went to her bedroom. As soon as she closed the door behind her, she bent at the waist and thumped her fists on her thighs, much the same way Draco had done earlier, but with a force that would probably show bruises in the morning. The pain did her good, channelled some of the pain inside outward. There were also sobs fighting to get out, but she held them back. It was easy. She’d been in practice, after all. Oh, crying over Lia and Callie was new. But crying over Draco was not. It was so old, so passé and she was not about to do it again.
The bastard had finally acknowledged that she was hurt, but instead of apologising, he’d called her a beast and then dismissed the subject and as innocent as pie asked to see Lia’s photographs. Goddamn him.
There were four girls in the Slytherin first-year girls’ dormitory that night. Two were Gryffindors. Two were still awake. One dark and one fair head lying close together on one pillow in the four-poster with the mysterious chicken scratch on one post.
“We should probably give up waiting for her. For all we know, she might be spending the night with that Quillian in your House.”
“The Head Boy? They’re together?”
“They’re not?”
“I don’t know.”
“Should I wear gloves tomorrow?”
“You’ll only call more attention to yourself if you do that.”
“So then I’m going to walk around with my hands in my bag? How am I going to function? I want to be able to eat at breakfast and lunch. I don’t fancy being fed like tonight.”
After piling food on Lia’s plate, they had brought it and the girl back to the dungeons and Callie spoon-fed Lia because her hands were not only red, but also stiff as if they’d been stuffed with hardened jelly. Soft but unyielding. The stiffness had worn off now, but the skin was still a funny crimson. It almost glowed in the dimness.
“Miss August might fix your hands. And even if we don’t find her, you can eat. So what if your hands are red? I saw a fifth-year with antlers yesterday. It didn’t bother him.”
“Mum will see. She’ll be on me faster than a vampire on a Blood Pop.”
“Then don’t go to breakfast. I’ll meet you at break and feed you again. And then it’s only Potions and it will be easy to hide your hands then. Why don’t you want to go to Madam Pomfrey?”
There was a pause.
“Why didn’t any of you remember her tonight? Ugh.”
Callie and Lia snorted at themselves and giggled, muffling the sound in the bedclothes.
“Aren’t we such green first-years? When we’re not dying or dying with pain, we forget the matron. We can still go to her right now.”
“No. Let’s go to sleep. You’re ruining my perfected bedtime. Good night, priss.”
“Good night, swine.”
“Oi! That’s not fair! ‘Priss’ is not bovine. It’s not even an animal. It’s simply somebody prissy. You are.”
Callie harrumphed. “Thank you for that so very enlightening vocabulary lesson. Does ‘swine’ annoy you?”
Lia laughed. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen any before.”
Callie rolled her eyes.
Lia laughed again. “Nope, doesn’t annoy me. Not from you. You sound so sweet, priss.”
“Well, 'priss' irritates me. That makes us even.”
“Are you insinuating you’re the only one who sounds sweet? I’m plenty sweet.”
“WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP OVER THERE BEFORE I GARROTTE YOU WITH YOUR BLANKETS?”
“How’s that done, then?”
“ARGH!”
Callie clamped a hand over Lia’s mouth before she could bait Kia further.
Draco had transcended Hogwarts and the too small armchair he was ensconced in. He had even forgotten his exasperation with the witch who was currently just a door away from him, the witch whose clutch on grudges was so tenacious she couldn’t grasp anything else, even hints as big as Bludgers so blatantly dangled before her pert nose. And people touted her as the smartest witch of her age.
But all that was Evanescoed from Draco’s mind. The only things rattling around in his cranium just then were endearments in all the modern and dead languages, and adjectives from the world over that said ‘beautiful.’
He was mesmerised by his baby daughter. All over again. He’d been like this with Callie. And Thalia was just as angelic.
In the earliest photos, he might as well have been looking at Calliope. Except that Callie’s hair had been a delicious sorrel that only darkened and mellowed to its current rich shade. Thalia’s was a wispy fluff of yellow. A thick fluff that perched on top of her head like frosting. Most blonde babies are bald-- Draco himself had been bald-- but not Thalia. And like Callie, she had long, dark eyelashes and rosebud lips. Of course, he had seen her after she was born, he had stared at both his daughters and the sight had been etched indelibly in his mind, but he had only been given one of them, and this other one who had been taken from him now flooded his mind with her beauty, beauty he hadn’t watched as closely as he wanted, as he’d done with Callie.
“Accio Calliope’s First Album.”
Draco touched a lock of Thalia’s baby hair. There were even several teeth in the album. He touched them, too, chuckling softly. Tiny envelopes held ‘first nail clippings’. And Thalia’s ‘Fortnight Footprint’ wasn’t even as long as his pinkie. He found himself looking for her footprints. On her first birthday, two tiny, tiny handprints were included. The pages where they were pressed still smelled of baby powder.
A clatter on one of the windows startled Draco, and as his head snapped toward the noise, something wet dropped to his cheek.
To his utter surprise, it was his. A tear. From his brimming eyes. He scrubbed at them (not without bewilderment and irritation) with the heel of his hand and went to retrieve the album he’d called from his cottage so he could look at both his babies and imagine seeing them again together, watching them grow from wrinkled infants to plump noisy tots together.
Before he could open the tome he had Summoned, however, there was another noise, this time of Hermione’s bedroom door banging open, and Draco jumped again-- not as much from the disturbance as from the sight of Hermione standing there in her floor-length, nightdress. A sleek, silk thing with insubstantial straps.
Red. Against her ivory skin. It was stunning.
“You’re still here?” she said, lowering her wand and calming her breath.
“Er--” Draco forced his eyes-- which were seemingly stuck to watching her very interesting respiration-- back up to meet hers.
“What was that noise?”
Draco picked up the heavy album from his lap and waved it at her like an idiot. Realising he looked like an idiot made him come to.
“And before you ask what this is and if you want me to answer coherently, can you put on a robe, please? Unless you want me to--”
Hermione silenced the rest of that with a malevolent glare. She pointed her wand toward her bedroom and a peignoir flew to her hand. It matched her nightdress, but instead of silk, it was made of velvety fabric that reflected both shadow and light. Draco averted his eyes for his own good, but the photo to which he happened to have flipped just then was just as damning, because it was of Hermione and baby Thalia in the bath together, their bare shoulders matching in their creamy deliciousness, their smiles big-- Hermione was laughing and Thalia looked so proud of her three front teeth. It was a Muggle photo; mother and daughter frozen in a moment of glee.
She marched over to join him and plucked Callie’s album from his hand.
“What’s in this boo-- oh.”
She sort of folded and it was only lucky she’d stood in front of the other armchair. It caught her, and she sunk into it, cuddled into it as if she had no plans to get up in the near future.
“Hermione, who took this photo?”
“Hmm? She’s so beautiful.”
“Of course she is. They both are.”
Hermione was smiling. “I forgot she has this tiny dot just below her thumb. Is it still there?”
“Yeah. My mother says it’s why Callie likes to work with her hands. She plays the piano and paints.”
"Lia carves and models. My father already got her a kiln.”
They exchanged a look at that.
“Do they know now?” Hermione asked.
Draco couldn’t help smirking at her. “No, it’s still our secret.”
Because, of course, Draco hadn’t had the time or the inclination to carve in years. Instead, he’d watched Callie. Her antics had been more cathartic, and had been more than enough for him. At least, until now. Now, he also wanted Thalia.
“Can I have this photo?”
Hermione looked up at him and grinned when she saw which one he was talking about. She reached for the album from him, and carefully extracted the photo from the protective film. She stroked it, grinning all the while. “You know, Lia was colicky. I swear, she was only quiet when I was nursing her. She rarely shut up her first two months. And then she suddenly became this giggly imp. Even when she was cutting teeth, she wasn’t grumpy. She laughed so much at almost any and everything she had to be cured from gas so often. Of course, she wouldn’t settle down either. If I didn’t have the Weasleys, my parents and Harry, I would have died from sleep deprivation.”
“She likes her baths,” Draco said with a smirk.
Hermione waved him off. “I was getting to that. Since she won’t easily sleep, I had to take her with me even to bathe. And that was the trick. Just let her play in the water and she conks out right afterward.”
“Who took this photo? Not Potter or Weasley?”
“If it’s either of them, you won’t want it?”
Draco rolled his eyes and grabbed the album and the photo from her as she made to tuck it back under the protective film. “You’re in the bath. Or were you fully dressed under the suds? They didn’t hurt Thalia’s eyes?”
Hermione laughed. “No, I was naked and no, the milk bath is a Muggle thing with a ‘no tears’ guarantee. And it’s my mother who took that photo. Satisfied? Why is she crying here? Look, she looks so irritated.”
“Let me see.”
Before Hermione could struggle with Callie’s heavy tome of an album to show him what she was asking about, Draco pointed his wand at her armchair. In an instant, Hermione--chair and all-- was beside him. Her scent wafted up his nose. Damn it all to Hades. Summoning her closer wasn’t a smart move for his sanity, was it?
Hermione pretended nonchalance at their sudden proximity, but inwardly she wanted to pound on her chest to get her insane cardiac muscle to quit being melodramatic. Her fingers sank into the album’s padded cover as she gripped it for composure, to stop herself from doing something stupid like bashing Draco’s head or clutching at her robe’s neck. Even with her hair almost swallowing her from the head to waist, she suddenly felt exposed in her two layers of clothing.
She kept her eyes on Callie’s photo instead. It helped because her daughter happened to be flailing and wailing in the picture.
“Oh, that. We don’t know. We think that’s her first cry. Maybe she didn’t like the look of Healer Gascon.”
“Her first cry?”
“Did she even cry when you delivered her?”
“Of course. She-- she’s the first-born. It’s her who announced I’m officially a mother.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
Hermione could only hum in answer. An uneasy rather than an indifferent sound.
“How long was the gap between their births?”
“Eight minutes and forty-three seconds. Thalia took her time.”
“She gets that from you.”
Hermione ignored that, resisted the urge to head-butt Draco’s chin and turned the page in the album. She smiled. Callie always seemed serene, in comparison to Lia, who traded crying with laughing and then talking. “Was Callie a quiet baby, then?”
She heard Draco turn the page on his album as well. “Very quiet. She had us worried for a bit. Healer Gascon said nothing’s wrong with her, though. Of course, with so many of us hovering over her all the time, how could she have a chance to cry for something? Mother got her a wet nurse--”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What? It’s traditional. We weren’t about to feed her Muggle milk formulas. If a wet nurse was to be had, why bother with those things she might not even take to? Anyway, Nurse was devoted to Callie. When we noticed Callie’s too quiet, Nurse tried not suckling her on schedule. But Callie still didn’t cry. She just sort of whimpered and wriggled in her cot. That’s them.”
Draco needn’t have pointed. Hermione swatted his arm off and stared at the woman who had taken Hermione’s place in Callie’s infancy. ‘Nurse’ was plump and dimpled, and looked for all the world as if she was already a grandma. Her hair was snow-white. Hermione gaped at Draco.
“Believe it or not, she has babies of her own at the time. She looks decrepit because of popping many, many babies. And the witch doesn’t have a single vain bone in her body, so she doesn’t dye her hair. It’s strawberry blonde at the back.”
“She’s not decrepit,” Hermione snapped in defence. She owed this woman.
She looked at Callie, content, being rocked by Nurse in her canopied, frilly yellow cradle. She looked so small. How could any mother have parted with a baby that small?
She was shaken out of her gloom by Draco nudging her with an elbow. “Did this hurt?”
She saw just what might have hurt, blushed to the roots of her hair and hissed, “Of course not, you idiot.” She swiped at her stinging eyes, got up from the chair and marched to her desk. From the lap drawer she withdrew a framed photo. Her favourite. A present from her parents. Taken by a hoity-toity, famous photographer who catered to royalty and supermodels. She couldn’t remember his name now, but she didn’t begrudge him his talent. Not when what it produced was something so perfect and precious.
She shoved the portrait under Draco’s nose. “Does it look like it hurt?”
It was probably unfair, Hermione mused, as Draco inhaled and stared and reached for the portrait. She only blushed again when it was already in his hands and it was too late and too ridiculous to snatch it away from him and hide it again.
The photo Draco had asked about was something Harry had snuck and took while Hermione was trying her damnedest to get Thalia to nurse because the tiny hellion had gone almost all morning on juice and biscuits only, crawling all over the house and the yard, dodging everyone intent to bring her to her mother, tempting all of them to hit her with a Full Body Bind. Finally, close to lunch, they’d captured Thalia when she paused to inspect Pigwidgeon, whom Fred had planted in Lia’s path. In the picture, the squirming nine-month-old still had the poor little owl in one fist and was flailing (with the fist holding Pig, who was never right again after that) to be put back down to play even as she suckled from Hermione.
It was one of those exasperating-turned-hilarious moments and everyone had a copy of that ridiculous photo. In contrast, in the portrait commissioned and paid for in several hundred pounds, six-month-old Lia nursed like a very angel, so plump and delicious with her blonde ringlets draping over Hermione’s arm, one tiny hand clutching a lock of her mother’s hair close to her mother’s breast, her rosy lips caught in a pucker as she suckled, so that she looked like she was kissing rather than feeding, understanding and returning the love in her mother’s gaze.
“Hermione, this is...”
Draco was speechless and breathless. Hermione could understand that. So was she. For different reasons, however.
Hermione sat down on the arm of his chair, looking at the portrait over his shoulder. It seemed only yesterday since it was taken. But it wasn’t. More than a decade had passed. More than a decade lost.
The sob escaped from her even before she was aware of it.
“I wish-- Oh, I wish--”
She let Draco tug her into his lap. She let herself bury her nose in his neck and clutch at the front of his shirt. She closed her eyes and let him comfort her. She let herself grieve over her daughter. However belatedly, however much the blame on herself and Draco, she was entitled to cry over spilled milk, wasn’t she?
“I wish I’d nursed Callie, Draco.”
“You haven’t?”
“I didn’t touch them until you’d taken one of them away. If I touched them, I wouldn’t have been able to let them go.”
...and apoplectic. by lucilla_pauie
Friday morning found Hermione rather reluctant to get up. It only took a second of consciousness for her brain to review last night, and she didn’t like it, didn’t like being that bare, that vulnerable, that culpable. The follies in that agreement she’d instigated just mounted and mounted by the hour. But Draco had been nice. She’d have liked it better if he had laid blame and called her names, like he’d once done. For once, she deserved it. She was a horrible mother. Instead, he had held her while she cried, and only shook his head at her when she broke away from him with an impatient huff (at herself) and a glare (at him, for refusing to let go of her immediately).
And then she’d left him in her sitting room cum office without another word. Like she was six years old and sulking at not being allowed to watch the telly.
She forced her mind onto benign things like her N.E.W.T. classes that day and showered and dressed. She would have to make an appearance at breakfast and groaned at the thought of facing Draco so soon after last night. For some stupid reason, she even peered around her door at her sitting room before fully entering it. Of course he wasn’t there anymore.
With a sigh, she went to her desk to gather her students’ submitted homework, only to stop short at the two familiar photos lying face up on either side of Callie’s miniature.
One portrait showed a plump, blonde baby at her mother’s breast. Thalia.
The other was an exact copy of Hermione and Lia’s professionally done photograph, but the baby had reddish brown hair, lambent grey eyes and on the tiny hand grasping a lock of Hermione’s hair, you could see a dark brown spot just below the baby’s thumb.
Callie.
Hermione laughed and impatiently swatted at the tears that overflowed. Why on earth hadn’t she thought of this before? Because she deserved to suffer, of course. All right, she was going to breakfast and she was going to kiss Draco. Before she could leave, however, an owl called her attention. A golden owl with a red envelope on its beak. She was going to kill Julius. Thank goodness she was still in her rooms.
“Dear Hermione,” shrieked the Howler. Hermione couldn’t not roll her eyes at the absurdity of it. “Forgive me. I had to resort to this method because I can’t bear it if you ignore me again. We are simply lost without you. I am lost without you. Please see me this weekend. I beg you. Saturday or Sunday, you name it. As for the place, what about someplace nice in Muggle London? Well, this is ridiculous of me, but I also need you in a professional matter. In fact, I’ll be taking your whole weekend. I’m sorry but it can’t be helped. Yours, Julius.”
“I knew it would fade. But don’t worry, flibbertigibbet, maybe it takes time and more expertise before your magic has staying power.”
Before Kia could think to injure Thalia, Callie intervened. “Actually, it was just as red when I woke up. I couldn’t resist, so--”
“You fixed it!” Thalia embraced Callie. “Oh, you are my mother’s daughter. Thanks, priss!”
Callie rolled her eyes. “I didn’t fix it. Look, they’re still red.”
“But they look like hands now, if a little pink, not lobsters. That’s an improvement. Dionelise, can you ask your brother to detach himself from Prissy for a bit?”
“We heard that, girls,” said Prissy, pushing Quillian away with an audible smack and patting at her mouth with a handkerchief as they all trooped to the Great Hall. And you better have a good reason for the interruption. We barely have time for each other as it is and you-- Why do you look like a Kneazle that’s just swallowed the Snidget, Miss Granger?”
Thalia looked at Callie, who only looked back at her with puzzlement.
“Does that make you nervous?”
Hermione jumped at his question and scowled at him. Draco retreated back to his sausages. What was the bint so irritated about so early in the morning? He hadn’t done anything yet. He rather thought she’d be happy today. If not happy to see him, well, then just happy. Hadn’t she seen his little gift to her? He’d had to dodge Pansy’s wrath and pay Pansy’s contact quadruple the price for that thing because he’d roused the man (and Pansy, hence her wrath) from bed and rushed him to do the photo. It wasn’t ordinary magic anyone could do. Hermione should know that. If she had seen it, how on earth could she be annoyed with it?
She looked delectable while at it, too. It was his turn to jump when she spoke. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to glare at you like that. I just had a lousy start to my day, that’s all.”
“Lousy how?” She didn’t like the photo?
Hermione flapped her hand. “Never mind. I’ll deal with it. What were you saying?”
“Doesn’t it make you nervous that your child and mine aren’t here for breakfast?”
Hermione scanned the tables, eyes narrowed. “They better not be up to something. I can’t take it today.”
Draco chuckled. “If you won’t tell me, I won’t ask. But at least let me remedy it. How about you come to my cottage tomorrow? You’ve been hankering to see the place, haven’t you? It’s presentable now. And I’ll show you Callie’s photos.”
Confident in her acquiescence, Draco was absolutely mortified at Hermione’s answer. “I can’t. I have a date this weekend.”
Hermione had said that with exasperation and even a touch of loathing and was about to launch into a tirade about her intolerable and presuming tosser of an ex-boss, but Draco stood up, his expression neutral. Icy.
“You have a date.”
“Yes, all weekend. It’s--”
Hermione stopped because she was talking to Draco’s balled up napkin.
“You know,” said Lia while watching the third-years trim and shape their potted Flutterby bushes on one corner of the courtyard. “We haven’t even done it that long-- we’ve barely done it, really-- but punishing them is already getting old.”
“What I really want to do is-- well, I wish Mum would notice me outside of class.”
Lia sat down beside her sister with an angry growl. “They’re so stupid.”
“Not really. It would have worked perfectly if we remained in two separate countries--”
“Fat chance of that. I wouldn’t have let you go to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts.”
Callie giggled ruefully. “How do you know that? You didn’t know I existed!”
This only made Lia scowl more. And thinking about it, Callie lost her own light mood. Neither of them could imagine that scenario any more, not knowing each other, not seeing each other. Already, Kia and Dionelise had drifted together to give way to the twins’ growing attachment to each other. They were somewhere else in the castle just then, while Lia and Callie chose to spend their break freezing their fingers off in the courtyard.
Well, freezing their fingers off in the courtyard and plotting against their stupid parents.
That Friday’s N.E.W.T level Potions class retreated from the dungeons almost weak at the knees in relief. Professor Malfoy was in a nasty temper. He had set them to prepare whatever potion they pleased and then proceeded to insult their choices until they were all of them furiously stabbing their sopophorous beans for the Draught of Living Death.
Quillian, after a particularly vicious stab, sent his bean ricocheting off his table just as the professor passed by. It happened too fast for anyone to have seen it. When a spot of red bloomed on the professor’s cheek, the class turned to stone.
“Oh f-- I’m sorry, Professor!”
Professor Malfoy didn’t even look at him. Instead, he continued back to his desk and they heard this dangerous-sounding drawl. “Twenty points from Gryffindor for infantile ineptitude, and because you’re the Head Boy and should have done better, another ten points from Gryffindor. If any of you so much as make another noise or another such ludicrous blunder again as if you’re a bunch of ninnyish brats instead of N.E.W.T level students, this whole class will spend the Hogsmeade weekend shut up in the dungeons dehorning and debagging amphibians.”
As they left Potions, the seventh-years met the first-years already waiting for their turn for Potions class. The first-years wondered at those pale, pitying faces.
Hermione smiled in thanks to Quillian Ellington-Shaw, who had held the classroom door open for her. Her smile was jolted off her face as she bumped into someone. A murderous someone. Quillian scampered off like a spooked mouse. Funny to see, considering the boy’s considerable height.
“Hello, Professor Malfoy,” said Hermione, undeterred. “I was just about to look for you.”
She stepped around him, intending to talk to him as they walked to the Great Hall, but Draco grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to step backwards as he stepped into her classroom. He slammed the door shut.
Slapping one of his hands, she glared at him. “I hope you got that out of your system because you will not be doing that to my door again. Not without--”
“And you--” He returned her glare and continued advancing on her until he had backed her onto her desk, “--will not hex our children again.”
“I beg your pardon?” She pushed him off-- to no results-- and stared at him incredulously. He was practically smoking at the ears. “What are you talking about?”
He gritted his teeth. “I’m talking about-- your child, Thalia. Have you seen her hands? They’re still pink from that Stinging Hex you sent at her! That was last Wednesday! And they’re still pink today!”
“First of all, will you stop growling at me? You’ll do your teeth injury, talking like that. And I don’t understand. It can’t still show today. I doubt it even left a mark, let alone something that’s lasted two days.”
“Well, it has. What do you have to say for yourself? Do you even know your own strength?”
“Isn’t that line usually directed to the father?”
“Don’t play with me, Granger. This isn’t funny. You--”
“Are you sure it’s not from something new? Something that’s happened in your class? My Gryffindors tell me it’s been frightful today.”
“Your Gryffindors?”
“I mean the Gryffindor N.E.W.T level students who’d just left my class just now. They said--”
“Oh, you worry about your Gryffindors, but not about your children--”
The sting of the slap zinged all the way to her shoulder. She was filled with remorse for half a second as red bloomed on his cheek. Only for half a second. And then her anger returned. She had been almost nothing but walking-talking guilt and and self-incrimination all summer, all month and all last night and she didn’t need him to help her on it, the filthy little hypocrite.
“I don’t know what happened to you today and I don’t care but don’t you dare, don’t you ever accuse me of not caring about my children. I probably care more about them than you do, because if you did, just what are you doing here, in Britain, when you know you should have bloody well stayed in France?”
Hermione realised what that implied and was stricken as soon as she said that. Draco saw it. He opened his mouth to say something, and no longer angrily, but Hermione shook her head impatiently and left. The day was turning from bad to worse. Curse Julius and his bloody Howler.
Dionelise nudged Kia, who nudged Callie, who nudged Lia, who jumped at the sight of her mother bearing down on them with such a look in her eye that Lia had already half-risen from the bench in an attempt toward self-preversation when Hermione reached them and pushed her back down on her seat.
“Let me see your hands.”
Lia held them out. Hermione grabbed them none too gently and examined every inch of skin from wrist to fingertips.
“Your f-- Professor Malfoy said your hands were pink.”
Lia had never lied to her mother before. She just never learned and never even tried because she had witnessed her uncles’ attempts, all attempts because her mother hypothesised and concluded the truth anyway.
“Professor, we were in the court--”
“You will speak when spoken to, Miss Malfoy. Otherwise, please don’t interrupt. Well, Miss Granger?”
Lia’s knees shook, but Callie had given her a lifeline. “We were in the courtyard during break. My hands must have been pink from the cold.”
Callie, Dionelise and Kia were all nodding their heads in verification. Thankfully, Hermione seemed to accept that, and marched off. They all slumped in relief. They’d all seen Professor Malfoy’s notice of Lia’s pink hands. They were dismissed so fast the Great Hall was still completely empty when they arrived for lunch, and that was after going to Madam Pomfrey to finally get Lia’s hands fixed.
They watched as Professor Granger reached the staff table and proceeded to mutilate her lunch. Hagrid arrived and looked on, intimidated and bewildered.
“I don’t know if we should be relieved or even more scared,” said Callie.
“You should be scared,” said Lia, reaching to gulp some pumpkin juice. Merlin, she was palpitating. The rush of doing something for the first time. “You just made me lie to Mum.”
“I hope you two are done with your wonky plotting,” said Dionelise, in her prim-and-proper alter ego.
“As it happens, we are quieting down until Halloween,” said Callie.
“To lull them into lowering their defences,” said Lia.
“Ugh, don’t do that,” said Kia. “Creepy when people finish each other’s sentences.”
“You’re just jealous.”
He dreamt of fire.
Draco bolted upright from bed, dripping with sweat and muttering expletives. He hadn’t dreamed about the Fiendfyre in years and years. Like with the rest of his nightmares, Callie had put a stop to it.
He half-ran to his en suite and filled the tub with water. Barely able to wait, he got in even while it still filled. If he wouldn’t freeze to death-- and if it happened to be close by just then-- he would have jumped in the lake. He scooped up the warm water and sank his face into his hands, splashing away the remnant images from his eyes. The tub overflowed but Draco didn’t turn off the tap. He cooled the water with his wand and then dunked his head and let the water sluice over him entirely, blotting out the scorching horror of the nightmare.
In it, he had revived Goyle, who then grabbed at Hermione in a reflex of half-terror, half-revenge. Crabbe had conjured the Fiendfyre and--
In it, Draco hadn’t pulled Goyle off her. Instead, he had grabbed a broom for himself and flew off, only to turn back and watch her be swallowed by the monstrous flames.
Draco shuddered. It never failed to horrify him, even though in reality, he had also lost her.
Thank Merlin it was the weekend. He could stew and sulk all he wanted and never bother or be bothered by his students. He exhaled and opened his eyes underwater to watch the bubbles ascend and erupt. He also saw the change of light in the room. Mustn’t have been that early then, if sunrise had come while he was under. He got up from the water and cursed at the cold. He shed his clinging pyjama bottoms, donned a robe and ran back to his bedroom, stamping in front of the fireplace. He wondered what Callie was doing. This had been the longest he hadn’t spoken to her, asked after her, held her. And he was right here with her at Hogwarts, too.
Still shaking off the nightmare, Draco got dressed. He was going to see Callie.
But when he arrived at the Gryffindor common room armed with a tray of breakfast, he was greeted by blank looks from the handful of higher years who looked as though they’d slept down there and third-years chomping at the bit for their first Hogsmeade weekend. He was gazing back just as blankly, because, idiot that he’d suddenly become, he’d completely forgotten he couldn’t just bloody march up to Callie’s room and breakfast in bed with her as they’d often done at the chateau. She was in a dorm. A girls’ dorm at Hogwarts.
“I hear she’s at the Slytherin dorms, Professor.”
“Excuse me?” It was one of his N.E.W.T level students. The Head Boy. The one who had shot him with a sopophorous bean, the one who was so solicitous to Hermione. Draco narrowed his eyes.
“Er--”
“What were you saying?”
It took an elbow dig from a girl who had a Slytherin crest to get the boy to talk again. Draco raised an eyebrow at the Slytherin girl. He also noticed their matching Head badges, but turned back to the boy, who said, “Your daughter. She’s not here. She’s been sleeping with your other-- I mean, Thalia Granger.”
Oh.
“Thank you. Good morning.” Draco went back to the portrait hole. The common room was so silent he heard each one of his footsteps and the faint tinkle of silverware from the tray. Before he climbed out, he decided the silence was too good not to fill with a parting shot. “Miss August, you just lost ten points for not being in your House where you belong. What if someone needed you and looked for you? But take ten points for getting your opposite number to talk. Gryffindors always need Slytherins.”
Pandemonium erupted before he was completely shut out of the common room. He was just about to grin when the Fat Lady laughed low in her throat and said, “I heard that, Draco Malfoy. How dare you! But it’s also the other way around, you know. Oh, what are you sneering at? Run along then.”
Draco ‘ran along’. He wanted to banish his gloom and time spent with Callie was sure to do so. However, he was faced with the same dilemma of the girls’ dorms in Slytherin. In answer to his summons, Callie went out to the common room in her pink bunny slippers, took the tray from him and shooed him away.
Shooed him away.
“Why? Can’t you breakfast with your father any longer?”
“No,” said Callie, in a tone that would have done her grandmother in France proud. She then gave him a ticking-off that would have done her mother proud. “I’d rather send you away than send my sister away. She’s here with me but you can’t be here with her, can you? Technically, you can. But what will you call her, ‘Miss Granger?’ We get enough of that treatment in class, thank you.”
With that, she flounced off and back to her dorm, levitating the tray in front of her.
The common room was just as silent as Gryffindor’s earlier.
“If you lot are still looking at me or at Callie right now, you’ll wish you’ve never attended Hogwarts.”
There were several cracks of necks hastily turned to the opposite direction.
Draco surrendered to his gloom for the day. It wasn’t like he fought it yesterday. McGonagall tried to get him to chaperone the third-years to Hogsmeade, but one look at his face at breakfast and she rescinded the request. Draco shut himself in his chambers after that and passed the time reading first words from several books before tossing the last one and opting for Thalia’s photographs. He had copied all of them. That was easy and didn’t require a professional at all.
From these pictures, he began to piece together Lia’s childhood. It was like his. She’d been the baby of the family. Spoiled rotten. There was even a photo of her and Potter in the midst of making mud pies (Merlin, Draco doubted he would have been allowed to make mud pies-- there hadn’t been any mud in the vicinity of his nurseries, so he couldn’t rightly tell-- and he hoped this pool of mud Thalia was plonked in was clean). Whereas Callie had been reared so carefully, so painstakingly. He and his parents had vowed they would raise the child as her redoubtable mother would have done. Callie had been made to learn and understand values Draco had only assimilated when his society drastically changed. They’d even been too severe at times. He could remember spanking his daughter when she was a wilful toddler. He doubted he’d ever been spanked himself.
Nevertheless, Thalia seemed to have turned out just as fine as Callie. How had Hermione raised her?
Damn that dim cow.
Draco’s mood simmered again in time to his stomach’s growling. He had skipped lunch, and now it was sunset. Where was she? Was she enjoying her date? Damn her. She could simply marry him. It was that simple. Marriage would merge their kith and kin. All that was his would be hers. All that was hers would be his. Her daughter and his daughter would be their daughters. He couldn’t believe she couldn’t see that. Or was marriage to him something she wouldn’t even deign to contemplate?
He went to dinner and was glad for the roast beef. Chomping on the meat did him good-- he pretended he was biting off the leg of a faceless man.
Callie was at the Slytherin table with her sister. Draco hadn’t heard from his mother for some time now and wondered what Callie had written to her grandmother. No word from Narcissa meant bad words were being withheld. It wasn’t even Halloween yet and Draco already dreaded Yule.
With Ogden’s Finest helping him, he fell asleep easily enough. He’d welcome any and all nightmares. He deserved them. But none came. And he was actually relishing a different sort of dream altogether-- one that continued and built on the delicious cosiness of holding Hermione in his lap, that time in her office-- when he felt several hairs part ways with his scalp. Or did a patch of scalp part ways with his skull?
He damned the owl to the pits of Hades and then realised it was Callie’s owl. No letter anywhere, though. When the owl took flight upon seeing him awake, Draco scrambled to his feet and pelted out so fast he nearly bowled over Callie, who was waiting just outside the door with Thalia. Both of them raised their hands against him, the universal message of telling him to freeze where he stood. He froze.
“Daddy!”
“What? What is it? Are you all right?” He made to take her in his arms but Thalia body-blocked him and Callie backed away.
That was when he noticed the odd way Callie was standing. As if she had a large egg between her thighs. He clapped his hand to his mouth just in time before he vomited curses and maybe vomited, full stop. He felt lightheaded. He’d always counted on his mother or Pansy being there when this happened. Or the nurse at Beauxbatons, of course.
“All right, wait here, I’ll get Madam Pomfrey, she can--”
“No! It’s embarrassing. I want Grandmother.”
“We can’t just send for your Grandmother, Callie! And even if we do, she won’t be here fast enough!”
“Don’t yell at me!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just-- what about you, Thalia, can’t you help your sister?”
“She won’t let me. And I don’t really know exactly-- Mum’s told me, but-- And I can’t bear--” Draco saw Thalia peek at the back of Callie’s nightgown. Thalia turned faintly green. Great.
“That’s right, where’s your mother? Get her!”
Thalia hesitated. She only went when Callie nodded. Draco would have to warn Hermione about this. Apparently, their authority had been overridden by sisterly solidarity. And then Draco remembered Hermione was away for the weekend. Now he was alone with his daughter who was badly in need of a female. Not mortally, was it? Draco could feel the beef threatening to make a reappearance. He took deep breaths. This was normal and he was acting like an idiot.
“Cramps. Girls get cramps, right? Did you have one? Do you have one?”
Callie nodded. “It woke me up.” She was staring at the floor between her feet. It was quite an expanse, with the way she was standing.
“You won’t be dripping right there, will you?”
Callie burst into tears.
“I’m sorry! That was an idiotic thing to say. I feel like a complete idiot here, Calliope. Didn’t your grandmother tell you anything about this, then?”
Callie sobbed and both nodded and shook her head.
“You didn’t meet anyone who could help in your common room?”
Callie shook her head again.
“Were you too embarrassed to ask for help?”
Callie nodded.
“Why are you so shaken? This is normal, isn’t it? You’re scaring the crap out of me.”
Callie shook her head and tried to stop her sobs.
“This is real, isn’t it? You’re not just--?”
Callie’s glare stopped him cold and it was Draco’s turn to nod. He wiped Callie’s tears with his thumbs.
“Look, love, I’m sure my cupboard will supply your needs. Go in the bathroom. And your grandmother bought you a book for... this, didn’t she? If you tell me the title, I’ll Summon it and I’ll--”
“Mum’s here!”
Thalia flew back to Callie’s side and hugged her sister. Draco almost slid to the floor in relief. After a few moments, a breathless Hermione arrived.
“Don’t. Run. Like that again, Lia.” She looked at Callie and smiled ruefully. “It’s all right. No need for tears. It’s not that bad. There are potions for cramps and everything and it will be over before you know it.”
Hermione was wearing a skirt suit and matching shoes, perfectly put together except for wisps of hair that escaped her chignon due to her wild dash here. She looked like she came from the Ministry rather than from some accursed bloke’s bed. Draco momentarily forgot Callie’s distress in these happy observations and only remembered when he caught a glimpse of that splotch. Red on white. Wasn’t she too small for that? She was only eleven!
His vision tunnelled. When he could see all right again, two sets of bare feet and one pair of dark green boots were coming out of the bathroom. What was he doing on the floor?
“What are you doing on the floor? Oh, Circe. Your father’s so melodramatic, isn’t he?”
The girls giggled.
If the sweet normalcy of the scene had been lost on him, he would have glared at them. As it was, Draco just rolled his eyes and pretended to faint. Again.
End Notes:
Thank you for reading! You know the drill. :)
Halloween Scares by lucilla_pauie
Minerva glared so murderously at the gargoyle that it jumped aside without being prompted with the password. Minerva stepped onto the revolving stairs and harrumphed.
Of course she hadn’t forgotten Halloween. It was a week away. A full week away. What was the need to fuss? And even if she forgot it, what then? It was only Halloween. Nothing significant. She might not be like she was a year or a decade ago, but she was not fit to be sent to a yarn-filled cottage yet. The students observed a ridiculous holiday licensing overconsumption of sugar, not Samhain. It wasn’t as if any mandate from her was needed. The house-elves would serve the sweets and the staff could wave their wands and decorate in a wink. There was no need for preparations and absolutely no need to startle Minerva into fearing she was going senile. She was not.
She arrived at her office and marched straight to Albus’s portrait. She turned it over only to find it empty. Minerva harrumphed again.
She sat down at her desk and dealt with correspondence. Gringotts had asked for an Accounting of Funds. This was standard, nerve-grating procedure. Always, with only some grace period after the beginning of term, the goblins wanted an accounting of every knut spent from the Hermione Granger Fund. Rolling her eyes, Minerva conjured the appropriate scroll, made a copy, and tapped her wand on that copy, sealing it and plopping it on her out-tray.
Just as she banished the original back to the archives, she heard laughter behind her. Minerva twisted in her seat to face Dumbledore. He was chuckling with as much satisfaction as amusement. Given what he’d taken to meddling with these days, Minerva faced her desk again without asking what he was chortling about now.
“Oh, such fun, Minerva!”
Minerva determinedly ignored that. For the first time, she considered retiring.
“My darling Thalia,
You can’t know how heartbroken I am that I am writing to you instead of holding you and kissing you and talking to you in person. I hope that happy event comes soon. I wish you would write to me. Calliope has told you about me and your grandfather, hasn’t she? He sends you the flowers. Only, we don’t know what you like yet, so we sent you a stem of everything. More gifts are to follow. But before we send them, please let us know if your mother won’t mind. We don’t want to antagonise her.
Tell me about yourself. If you will write, that will bring great happiness to
Your loving grandmother.
Lia leaned to her left in order to see past the vase of assorted flowers in front of her and grinned at Callie. Callie grinned back. “You mentioned being jealous of my flowers.”
“You told them about me?”
“I told them I’d discovered you. They knew about you, of course. I just wondered if they’re in on the agreement, if that’s why they haven’t ever seen you or written to you. And voila!”
“So it’s just our parents.”
“Just our parents.”
“And the convenience/complication of you being in France and me being here.”
“Yes. But then, if Grandmother went to see you, you might have been in France for some time already.”
Lia pushed her plate of breakfast aside and thumped her forehead on the table twice, and then thrice. “Don’t confuse me so early in the day. Blast.” She sat up again. “I wonder why no one from my side has ever written to you. I’ve told them about you. In fact, I told them I’d been horrid to you and they let me know I was a right little hag for it.”
Callie laughed softly. “Well, I can guess why they haven’t... joined in. Can’t you?”
It took Lia a second, and then it was her turn to laugh. “Right. My mum. And maybe Dad, too. But--”
They were cut off by another owl arriving for Lia. But this one was a fake owl, which opened its beak and squawked like a chicken before disappearing in a puff of orange smoke, leaving behind its delivery. They used these owls for newsletters and catalogues.
“It’s from Uncle Fred and Uncle George!”
“We have a Wizard Wheezes in Paris. I’ve only been there once, though.”
“Listen: Dear Lia, We miss you. Why don’t you drop by at the Hogsmeade shop? Wrangle with your mum to bring you. Or your dad! Merlin, we’re disappointed in you. If Mum or Dad worked at Hogwarts, we would have been in Hogsmeade every day. Well no, we’d have died of boredom. Anyway, drop by, all right? Bring your friend. What’s her name? California? Calipash? Calico? Your uncles Gred and Forge will be there until Halloween.”
“Is that possible?”
“We’ve spent a decade not knowing about each other and you’re asking if going to Hogsmeade is impossible?”
“That’s not possible.”
“Why not? I can take them.”
“No, you can’t. Don’t spoil it for them. Look, Thalia, if I meant for you to see Hogsmeade before your third year at Hogwarts, I would have taken you long ago, or let your uncles take you.”
“Lucky for Callie, her father’s not such a killjoy. You can take Thalia, love.”
“Thalia is not going to Hogsmeade sooner than her peers.”
Draco and Hermione glared at each other.
It was a highly uncommon event, two students standing in front of the staff table, consulting their parents, who looked as though they were about to lift their forks any moment and duke it out. The staff table and the House tables watched avidly.
“I’m sorry, girls. I’m not being a killjoy. Hogsmeade is a reward for completing your first two years at Hogwarts. In your third year, you take electives and visiting Hogsmeade is again a reward, an impetus, a stimulus in undertaking your new workload. Something to look forward to. You take that away if you go there just because you happen to have connections to the faculty and the shop owners.”
“But you owe us,” said Lia sullenly and haughtily, “for not telling us all about our connections.”
“Don’t speak to your mother in that tone.” Both Lia and Hermione jumped the tiniest bit at Draco’s sudden sternness. “Don’t tell us we owe you anything. It’s not your place. And until you’re of age, nor is it your place to decide where you can or can’t go, regardless of what we supposedly owe you.”
“I’ll invite Fred and George over,” said Hermione, appeasing. “They can bring what they want to show you and you can have a visit at Hagrid’s.”
Thalia was still too stunned by Draco’s rebuke. Callie pulled her away just as the bell signalling the start of classes rang.
Hermione lingered over her tea. “I wasn’t being a wet blanket, was I?”
“No, you were right. I haven’t been to Hogsmeade either before our third year. My parents took me everywhere else.”
“We do owe them, though.”
“I know that. I wasn’t too hard on Lia, was I? She is an insolent little--” Draco punctuated that with an embarrassed-sounding chuckle.
Hermione nodded like she knew what Draco was thinking and agreed fervently that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. “But you didn’t hex her.”
They grinned at each other. As they rose from the table to get to their classes, they noticed the rose for the first time. It hovered across Hermione’s abandoned plate. She plucked it from the air and looked for the identity of the giver, but there was none. No tag or card. Before she could bring it to her nose-- who doesn’t bring a rose to their nose?-- Draco took it from her hand, dropped it back on the table and pointed his wand at it.
“Specialis Revelio!”
Nothing happened. He picked it up and gave it back to her, but not before sniffing it and snorting with disdain. “No scent. Whoever gave you that has little to no taste.”
Hermione blushed a little and kicked herself inwardly. Before he had snatched it, she’d thought the rose had come from him.
As the day progressed, however, she began to be confused. Who was giving her roses? She’d found another on her classroom desk, another appeared when she sat for a bit in the staff room and she nearly tripped over one when she stepped out of the loo.
“Blimey, Hagrid never changes a thing, does he?”
“Of course he does. Do you want to be sipping stale tea?”
Fred and George were in the gamekeeper’s hut, making themselves comfortable, ignoring Lia and Callie as if the two girls were just slabs of ham sharing Hagrid’s armchair. And then, after they’d remarked on the rock cakes’ potential (they could disguise it as petit fours), they started theatrically and motioned for Lia and Callie to join them at the table.
“How long have you been spying on us, you naughty chits?”
“Don’t think you can hold anything over us, our bribes are too ridiculously delicious to pass up.”
“This is Calliope Grace Malfoy, Your Majesties,” said Lia, curtsying.
“Hey, we thought we should wear crowns when we visit. We’re royalty here, you know. Ask Peeves.”
“Hello, Callie. I’m Uncle Gred. Oh, just look at them, Forge.”
“I’m looking.”
“Except for the colouring, and perhaps some spleen differences, they’re practically interchangeable.”
“Practically interchangeable.”
“And holy Crup, judging by their ugly, sly grins just now, I think we’re in business.”
“We’re not ugly!”
“So you admit we are in business?”
Draco had been prepared for some resentment from his students. He deserved it after his unfair treatment of them last Friday. At the very least, he expected them to be cowed. As he didn’t want a roomful of Longbottoms, he’d decided to make it up to them and set them on their ease again by giving them the hour off.
But he hadn’t imagined this.
The very few number of adolescent females who acted like normal he could count on one hand. By the time lunch rolled around, he considered taking McGonagall aside and asking her whether the girls from fifth year up shouldn’t be sent en masse to the hospital wing to get them checked for Befuddlement and maybe love potions.
He had noticed some of the girls being infatuated with him, of course, but none of them had actually flirted with him as they did today. It was bewildering. And disturbing. The only upside of it was Hermione’s equal bewilderment. And apparent annoyance. Girls kept coming up to the staff table and asking her or Annetta a question, only to bat their eyelashes at Draco, who sat between the two women.
“Stop glaring at me,” said Draco, smirking. “I don’t know what’s got into them.”
Hermione went back to stabbing her potatoes. Annetta laughed.
Priscilla August, the Head Girl, approached just then.
“If you have a question for me or for Professor Morfosa, it can wait until you meet us in class, can’t it? Or at least until we finish supper?”
“No, ma’am, I’ve come to ask Professor Malfoy something. Sir, can you come to Hogsmeade with us? Well, just me, actually. None of my other friends are as avid with Potions. There’s a new shelf of Aztec ingredients at the Apothecary and I--”
Priscilla trailed off. Professor Granger was scything her with a glare. The Head Girl bobbed her head as a goodbye and sashayed away. Draco drank from his goblet hastily, to drown a mad urge to laugh.
“You haven’t answered the poor girl,” said Annetta, sounding amused.
“She can just ask me again later.” He turned to his left, to see how Hermione took that in. He saw the red rose materialise over her plate. His grin vanished.
“If you have anything to do with this, I’ll banish you to the Trophy Room.”
“If I have anything to do with what?”
Minerva’s nostrils flared at Albus’s feigned innocent curiosity and came close to actually growling. “Classes are getting disrupted by flirting and roses.”
“Come again?”
“Girls are flirting with Professor Malfoy. They do everything short of touching him and propositioning him! I even heard this shy Ravenclaw second-year asking him if he was tired because he’d been running around her mind lately. Meanwhile, Professor Granger is getting inundated with roses.”
Albus was too overcome with laughter to reply. And when he could speak again, it was only to say, “Hey, Everard, let’s go tell Cadogan! He loves those lines.”
Both of them left without further ado. Minerva did growl then and opened her biscuit tin for some much needed comfort. Perhaps the school would return to normal after they gorge on sweets tomorrow. She couldn’t take much more of this madness. Just that morning, she’d only just stopped Draco from-- Morgana, Draco Malfoy had looked like he wanted to separate Quillian Ellington-Shaw from his limbs. He had given the poor boy a whole months’ worth of detention, threatened him with expulsion and stripped him of Head Boyship. At that, Minerva stepped in, restored the boy’s position and saved the boy’s life by frogmarching him away. All Quillian had done, it appeared, was help Hermione to her classroom and compliment her perfume. That last was inappropriate, but Draco had been too harsh and too murderous in proportion.
Minerva almost regretted inviting those two to her staff.
Almost. She’d never admit it to Albus, but she was also wondering at how it would all end, even though she was too much of a Headmistress keen on order and normalcy to enjoy the chaos of getting there.
The Head students were doing rounds. Every now and then, they checked their surroundings, but more for privacy than for students out of bounds.
“You’re an idiot. A lady’s perfume is something you don’t comment on, unless you have every right to do so, and you certainly don’t do it within hearing distance of the bloke who’s supposed to have the right to do so.”
“You goaded me into doing it. And you know I have a weakness for scents--”
“You’re blind and an idiot is what I know. Professor Granger doesn’t even wear perfume.”
“Yeah, she smells like... like books. Ink. Sharp and a little sweet.”
“As sweet as me?”
“No, of course not. But then again, why are you asking? You must be so sure of yourself if you can ask blokes to accompany you to the Apothecary. Not exactly attractive, that.”
Priscilla laughed. “Oh, stop it, you goose. I didn’t really plan on it. But I wasn’t about to lose to the three other Houses. All of them have come up to Professor Malfoy already. I just winged it. And then of course, Professor Granger just about obliterated me with her eyes.”
Quillian smothered his own amusement, although that was difficult. Prissy laughed seldom, but when she did, it was glorious and infectious. “I nearly lost my badge. It’s not funny. And I think if I’d been nearer their age, Professor Malfoy might have pounded the crap out of me.”
“Never mind. We’re done with that operation. Those girls said it will be different for Yule. Aren’t you glad we’re having such a fun N.E.W.T year?”
Halloween was sunny, a little blustery and unseasonably warm that weekend. Students spilled onto the courtyard, on the grounds and milled on the banks of the lake. There was also a Quidditch game, Gryffindor versus Slytherin. It couldn’t have been more perfect for Callie and Lia and their two accomplices. They commandeered the empty Slytherin common room and did their business.
Two identical pink boxes sat on one ottoman. Pink boxes labeled,
Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes
Wonder Witch
Hair Colouring Potion
Permanent Unless You End It
No More Grey!
No Showing Roots!
No Regrets!
On the table sat two big translucent bottles, also pink, labeled ‘Wonder Witch Hair Colour Restorer’. In the clear potion floated several strands of hair. In one bottle, blond, in the other, brown.
Near the table sat Callie and Lia, hair under caps. Dionelise and Kia had gone off together to wash their hands. Meanwhile, the twins eyed another potion, this one in a tiny vial. The dose would be one gulp for each of them.
“This is no longer a prototype, they said?”
“Yeah, they’re launching it tonight. We’re the very first to try it.”
Callie removed the tiny cork decorated with a glass ball carved with a circle and tiny branching lines, like veins. The circle was a pupil. The ball was an eyeball.
“Mad-eye Magic.”
“I’m a little scared, priss.”
“Me, too, swine, me, too.” Callie tipped the vial into her mouth and then passed it to Lia. The potion tingled on their tongues. They swallowed at the same time.
The effect was immediate and just as tingly. It subsided in three blinks and Callie and Lia stared at each other, giggling.
Dionelise and Kia came back, now with their hands free of hair colouring goop.
“What’s the joke?” said Dionelise.
“Can you tell who’s who?” said Lia, smug.
“You drank the potion!” said Dionelise, immediately removing their caps and goggling at them. “And duh, of course Callie’s the blonde now.”
“Double duh. Even your parents will know Callie’s blonde now,” said Kia. They all turned to her incredulously. She rolled her eyes, went to Callie and turned Callie’s right wrist for them to see.
“Oh thank goodness the flibbertigibbet’s observant. How are you going to fix that, priss?” Lia took a quill and tapped a dot on her own wrist.
“Easy. A Concealment Charm. Look. Clocca. It’s what Grandmother does to freckles that crop up.”
“I hope this doesn’t join your other plots-gone-wonky. What next?” said Dionelise.
The score was sixty-nil to Slytherin. Draco sat beside her in the tower seating the faculty and was radiating smug vibes so strongly that if it wasn’t for the invigorating autumn breeze that blew every once in a while, Hermione would have suffocated.
“This is different,” he said, leaning toward her ear so he could be heard over the tumult of cheering and booing as Slytherin scored again.
“That you’re winning?” said Hermione, leaning away from him and nearly toppling off the bench.
He pulled her back upright and casually kept hold of her wrist, tucking it under his arm. “That I’m here watching instead of playing, you daft woman. And that you’re right here beside me instead of on a separate tower, wearing red while I’m in green. Or are you wearing red, just not conspicuously?”
Hermione ignored that. “I actually missed this. There was no Quidditch on our seventh year. Professional games are different somehow, not that I went to more than a couple.” Giving up the futile struggle to recover her arm, she said, “Is it true you almost killed my Head Boy?”
“No.”
“What a very enlightening answer.”
Draco opened his mouth, perhaps to elaborate, but all that came out of him was a soft involuntary huff as another rose appeared from thin air and settled on Hermione’s lap. She grabbed it before the wind spirited it away.
“For heaven’s sake. Who’s the bloody coward who keeps pestering you with those roses but never even lets you know his name, much less his face?”
“I don’t know.” She hesitated. “It’s not you?”
He snorted. “I might go for ‘less is more’ and send you one rose instead of a bouquet, but I’d damn make sure that rose gives off the perfume of a dozen. If you close your eyes, would you even know you have a rose in your hand right now? Dammit.”
Gryffindor had scored. Hermione dropped the rose and clapped her hands. When another gust swept the rose off and drove it under the seats, she didn’t care.
“Have you gone out with many fellows then?”
“Pardon?”
“How often do you have dates like the one last weekend?”
“Well, I can ask you the same. As evidenced last weekend as well, Callie needs a woman in her life in certain--”
“She has my mother. And her mother.”
“Oh, I wish.” Hermione kept her eyes on the game. She pretended that her eyes itched a little because of the wind. “I haven’t really gone out at all. Julius just asked to see me about some things from the Ministry. I went just so he’ll stop hounding me.”
“We were young. We are young. Hell. Was it-- did you have a hard time during those first years? I didn’t ruin your life, did I?”
Startled, Hermione looked at Draco. He seemed intent on the Slytherin goal, even though the players were all congregated on the opposite side.
“Don’t flatter yourself. No one ruined my life. No one can. I won’t let anyone do that. Did you have a hard time with Calliope?”
He seemed to find the question ridiculous. “No. And you had plenty of help, too, didn’t you? Almost too much?”
Hermione smiled. “Yes. I had to fight to keep Lia to myself, actually. Believe me, if I wanted to go out, I need only have said so. I simply didn’t want to.”
“But you went to work. No one asked you out?”
She only went to work away from home after Thalia turned five and of course she’d been asked but what was the point saying she had no interest seeing other men? None of them interested her. She sighed. “Draco, I have never had a boyfriend and I don’t have a boyfriend either. Satisfied?”
A sudden surge of noise shook the stands. The game was over. They both looked dazedly toward crimson-clad players hovering in a writhing knot of limbs to their left. It was apparent which Seeker had captured the Snitch.
“If I ask you out, would you say yes?”
Hermione laughed. And he called the rose-sender a coward. But she wasn’t sure of her answer and the noise all around and inside her ribcage made it hard to think. “If I say no, are you going to crumple to ash?”
The Gryffindor table was rowdy and full. They’d all come down to the Halloween Feast and stayed rather than hauling food up to their Tower. Thinking back later, this should have clued them in. Nothing had compelled Quidditch victors to stay below before.
The feast was as scrumptious as usual for Halloween. There had been no special arrangements this year but the decorations were stellar and the Great Hall looked different because the candles burned an eerie red and blue. The Headless Hunt made an appearance. And then, just as the ghosts bickered as to who should stage his or her death this time, all the candles blew out. The fires on the braziers along the wall flickered.
The remaining light glistened on the creature that crawled in through the doors.
It looked like an upturned, misshapen piece of giant red jelly. It had no face and no limbs. It moved like a snail over the flagstones, making slurping noises which was clearly heard in the sudden silence.
Everyone turned to look at Hagrid, who paid no one any mind, too busy staring in wonder and fascination. Meanwhile, the students nearest the doors were backing away as the creature approached, pushing and falling over backwards and off the benches. Those who fell were swallowed up. Or rather, in. The creature crawled over them and no trace of them could be seen in the trail of slime the creature left behind.
At first, the students watched with glee, thinking this was part of that year’s Halloween entertainment. The Headmistress also watched, and turned to her staff to voice her slight disgust over this invention. But the staff were also looking at her.
They all looked at each other. And then at the... the jelly. At the students who continued disappearing into it as it advanced. And the jelly seemed to grow bigger with each new ingestion.
When the students saw the teachers draw their wands, the screaming was instant, loud and long.
Everyone scrambled out of the way of the jelly, climbing over the tables and tried to get out of the Great Hall. Tried and failed because they only got stuck in the slime. They stood there and flapped like flies on flypaper. Those who remained unstuck cowered and plastered themselves on the walls. The jelly seemed undecided whether to turn left or right. Or maybe it was feeling the effect of the many curses lobbed at it by everyone not turned to jelly by fear.
“Hades take it, look at those two idiots.”
Because Draco was right beside her as they both fired hex after hex at the creature, Hermione was well able to hear him. She followed his line of sight and blanched and cursed at the sight of Callie and Lia just yards away from the jelly, alternately firing sparks at it and lobbing whatever they could get their hands on. The jelly already looked like an animated giant piece of dessert, what with apples and tarts and chewable bats sticking to it. Callie levitated an empty turreen and sent it flying. It landed on the jelly’s head and sat there like a gold hat.
The jelly turned and began advancing toward Callie and Lia.
“Shit!”
“No!
Several things happened both slowly and instantly.
Draco and Hermione ran. Distance was nothing when those who crossed it were launched by love and fear. Callie and Lia were each grabbed and snatched away from the jelly’s path by their parents. Callie by Hermione, Lia by Draco.
The jelly exploded, covering the Great Hall--and everyone in it-- with globs of rainbow-coloured slime and feathers. The students who had been ingested swam in a pool of gunk on the spot the jelly had been. They were all grinning even though they looked like they’d just been birthed.
A disembodied voice boomed, “Halloween Greetings from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes!” Peeves cackled in the background.
Draco and Hermione, still clutching Lia and Callie, fell down gasping for air.
End Notes:
This took a bit longer than I expected and allotted for it because I got constipated over coming up with the scenario in which the agreement’s wrath will be triggered. Sometimes Callie and Lia leave me in the lurk like that (My last block with this story was also because I ran dry with pranks). I’ve written and scrapped several scenes, including an ‘Accio’ rescue. Dammit, if that works in canon, no one would have died. In the end, I went with this. Inspired by The Blob, which I’ve read about in Jerry Spinelli’s ‘Love, Stargirl’. The Blob is an alien creature. It looks like, yep, a blob. I don’t know if Fred and George got their Jelly Monster idea from The Blob, too. Along with Mad-Eye Magic, they’re launching it that Halloween. Isn’t it grand having a thing like that to bring with you to boring get-togethers? It only oozes around (and ‘ingesting’ everything in its path) for ten minutes and then, PWOOSH! Instant slime party.
From what I’ve deduced from the books and the production notes in Harry Potter Film Wizardry, Hogsmeade’s business hub is a winter one, operating during school term. There are many such ‘school/university towns’ which become sleepy during the summer. If there’s been evidence that the Weasley kids and Draco have been to Hogsmeade before their third-year, I haven’t seen it. :)
I’ve outlined this. If I stick to it, CATATI will have 25 chapters in all. Only seven more to go!
The companion to this piece detailing the purse hoopla is up! The Abduction of Persephone.
Things and Dastardly Things Afoot by lucilla_pauie
Hagrid roared in indignation and bellowed about cruelty to animals and I-will-not-stand-for-this-if-Dumbledore-was-here-Professor-McGonagall-ye-can’t-how-could-ye-- It took a collective effort to make him understand that the creature hadn’t been a creature at all but an animated magical object he could obtain from the twin Weasleys’ shop.
All the Houses lost all the gems in their hourglasses. They’d all been in on it-- to Minerva’s amazed horror. It was the Ravenclaws’ idea that some of them had to get ingested to be able to rile their teachers more. It was the Hufflepuffs who directed the dramatic effort or non-effort to escape and fight. The Gryffindors and Slytherins let them take the glory this time, since they happened to house the masterminds already.
It hadn’t taken long for one and all to curse and confess left, right and centre at the sight of Professors Malfoy and Granger collapsing. They all thought they were to blame. Those stuck in the slime sat down or went on their knees in dismay and fear. Although they were all puzzled as well that a former Death Eater and a war heroine could be stupefied by The Monster Jelly so easily.
The headmistress, almost Apparating to her fallen staff and knowing all about a certain agreement, quickly deduced what had happened and switched Callie and Lia, depositing them each to their rightful parent. The change was immediate. Draco and Hermione stopped struggling for air, went limp, and though they promptly blacked out, they were breathing again.
Lia burst into tears. Callie threw up.
Draco woke up and winced at the moonlight slanting in through the windows of the infirmary. Was the school waiting to be endowed with draperies, for Merlin’s sake? His eyes felt like there were clamps around his eyeballs. But he opened them, turned his head, and found Hermione on the next bed, looking like she’d indulged on barrels of mead and a smidge of fisticuffs. Her eyes were a little swollen and bloodshot. Judging by how he felt, he probably looked the same, if not worse.
He moved to sit up and cried out at the pain that lanced through his veins. It wasn’t unlike Cruciatus, the sensation of jabbing and stabbing from a thousand needles.
“Is it really that bad or are you just scaring me? You know I’m not good with pain.”
Very gingerly, Draco turned to Hermione again. She was still looking up at the ceiling. Draco realised she was holding herself rigid. He sniggered before he could stop himself. And to his surprise, there was no pain at the movement. He tentatively raised his arm. No pain. He turned on his side so he was facing Hermione. No pain.
“Maybe it’s just when we move for the first time since. How long have you been lying there like a corpse?” She didn’t answer, didn’t move. “I’ll get Madam Pomfrey then. Stay there. Don’t stir.” Jokingly.
He sat up in his bed. She bolted upright. And uttered a small scream and curled in on herself for three seconds. When she relaxed, she was panting a little. Draco padded to her in bare feet, sat down beside her and stroked her back. “I suppose now we’ll be careful signing things in blood.”
She groaned, shifted and laid her head on his thigh. Draco’s left ventricle sort of stuttered. “This is fucked up. Lia and Callie must be scared out of their minds. I think we passed out right in front of them.”
He idly buried his hand in her hair and cupped his hand on the curve of her head. “Did they switch places on us?”
“Well, we nearly died, so that’s the only conclusion to be made, isn’t it? You thought you were saving your daughter and I thought I was saving mine, except we each grabbed the wrong girl and-- what the fuck was that monster? Did I hear right? It’s from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes?”
“Stop saying ‘fuck’, it’s turning me on. I heard something loud, but I was too busy trying and failing to breathe to pay attention.”
She looked up at him. Perhaps he should have said the first part of his response last. “I’m sorry, Draco. I’m so sorry. How do we fix this?”
Marry me. But damn it all to Hades, he was forgetting who he was talking to. It was impossible Hermione hadn’t seen that solution yet. And if she wasn’t even considering it, well, Draco wouldn’t trouble her. He could just make her consider it again. He’d court her. He wouldn’t ask. Not yet. Because if he asked, he’d beg. He wasn’t about to beg. He wasn’t the only one at fault here. They’d have been married long ago if she wasn’t as stubborn and unforgiving as dragon blood on silk.
“I can take Callie back to France. She can continue at Beauxbatons. It’s only been two months in the term.”
Hermione shook her head at that from the beginning. “I don’t think we can separate them again. Lia will--”
“I’m only telling you what I can do. I’m not even saying I want to do it.”
“I don’t want it either,” she said quietly. Draco found he didn’t like her like this, timid and sad.
“Well then, you just keep your hands off my daughter. And I’ll keep my hands off yours.”
Hermione half snorted, half sniffled. That sniffle undid Draco.
“You can always just marry me, you stupid cow.”
Hermione shot up from his lap so fast she clipped his chin.
“Marry you?”
At that moment, however, light flooded the ward from Madam Pomfrey’s door, and the matron, attired in a dressing gown, emerged to check on her patients. Hermione rearranged herself so that she was sitting demurely on the bed beside him. Draco gritted his teeth.
“Good morning. Awake, I see,” Madam Pomfrey said, bustling over. “How do you feel?”
Like utter shite. He probably had a bruise coming on his chin, he’d just proposed, he hadn’t begged at all but he’d looked and spoke like a drunkard while doing it. Real smooth and romantic. And how come the old hag hadn’t come running when they’d both yelped in pain, but barged in just in time to pre-empt the possibility of a certain ceremony and then perhaps a sib for the twins? Draco grimaced and went back to his bed, the feel of Hermione’s hair a ghost that clung to his hand.
Julius Menis was one of those men who hadn’t learned to say no. He’d been a yes man. Yes, he could do this. Yes, he could do that. Yes, he could have that. Yes, he could have this. He should. He shall.
In some respects, like his career in Magical Law Enforcement, this was an advantage, because he relentlessly pursued those who warranted pursuing, fought for laws he knew to be advantageous for the greater many and never backed down from jockeying into and for position. During the second war against Voldemort, however, he had no chance to promote himself. He had been out of the country, looking after his ailing grandmother who’d raised him. They were in France. This was both convenient and woeful. Julius preserved his life and reputation because nothing endangered the first and tempted the latter. When he returned with the dust settling around them all, he managed to wrangle the highest position in the Department, but only because of his seniority. Potter, Weasley and Hermione certainly garnered more respect than he did and if Potter wanted to be Head of the Department, Julius had no doubt he’d be booted back to France quicker than you can say ‘Auror’.
And then what would become of Julius? He had already spent his grandmother’s considerable monetary legacy. In France, creditors awaited him. He was accumulating debt here, too. Because Julius couldn’t say no to gambling, to racing brooms, to pretty much anything offered him in exchange for galleons. His grandmother used to say no for him. But after his grandmother died, Julius went on a downward spiral. His wife had already left him and sued him for alimony and child support, which was where most of his salary from the Ministry went. His retirement fund was nonexistent.
If he wasn’t a wizard, he’d have long ago been noticed wearing tattered robes.
He needed gold and yes, he could get some. He should. He shall.
He flicked his wand on his out-tray and the correspondence stashed there disappeared, going on their way to their recipient.
Good things came to those who wait.
But especially to those who’d learned to repel memory charms.
They came to visit together, holding hands, and for the hundredth time, Hermione’s heart broke because she couldn’t take them both into her arms, comfort them both, and kiss them both. Instead, only Lia went to her, Lia who was blonde and grey-eyed again, sobbing before she’d even reached Hermione, burrowing into her mother’s bosom like she hadn’t done since she was five when they’d all discovered the doxy egg allergy. Lia had been terrified of the hives that appeared all over her body, thinking she was about to die or worse, become a beast like in the fairy tales.
Hermione rocked and soothed Thalia, and tried not to despair too much that she could hold only one when she had two. It was different when only one was within reach. She’d be in for a lot of that now. She had better get used to it. Callie was with her father and even without looking, Hermione was sure Draco was also in a mirroring position of giving comfort to a frightened child.
She and Thalia jumped at the loud clang and clatter beside them.
It was Draco’s breakfast tray. The empty bowl of porridge was still bouncing on its sides, twanging on the stone floor. A goblet and a sausage rolled and disappeared under Hermione’s bed, leaving a trail of leftover pumpkin juice and grease.
Hermione looked up and saw Calliope marching away from her father’s bed in an impressive fit of pique, chest heaving, fists clenched. Hermione turned her gaze to Draco, who didn’t look happy, taking a deep breath, holding it and expelling it to say to Hermione, “You know what they say about the quiet ones. Explodes. Kicks and stomps. Does she get that from someone in this room? Or maybe from my mother. I always forget to ask her.”
“Lia, come along.”
Lia went. Callie was glaring so fiercely Hermione suspected she’d have snatched Lia away if Lia had hesitated for even a second.
“What happened?” Hermione asked as soon as the girls rounded the corner out of the infirmary.
“She sat on my bed, watched you and Lia, and kicked the end of my bed. Knocked my breakfast tray off. That had to have hurt her toes.”
Hermione winced and looked down at her lap. This was insane. She could still feel his hands in her hair, the heat of his body. The look in his eyes when he’d blurted that she should marry him seemed seared behind her eyelids. Of course, there were other things too, still not dislodged, tenacious, making her shake her head in disbelief at her daring. How dare she forget? How dare she consider forgetting? Hadn’t she learned? But this wasn’t about her any longer. No. And she wasn’t going to be selfish twice. She had to think of Callie’s poor toes.
“If this goes on, we’ll see what we can do.”
Before he could question her, before she could question herself, she got up from bed. She ignored the vertigo and managed to dress herself using her wand. When the room stopped tilting, she put one foot forward, and then the other. The floor wasn’t steady so she Banished the heel off her left shoe and transfigured the heel of her right shoe into a cane.
“Impressive, Granger,” said Draco behind her. She felt a sizzle of magic on her head. She clutched at her hair, but it was all there. “Now you look the part.”
She detoured to a wash basin in the corner that had a mirror over it and angrily turned her hair back to normal, removing the streaks of grey.
“There’s still a chance you might grow old with me, Draco dearest, so no need to hanker for a preview.” She turned away from the mirror after seeing his reflection go still. She pretended she hadn’t heard his indrawn breath. Pretended her heart wasn’t malfunctioning like she was ninety.
They both cursed loudly at the sudden appearance of another rose. It materialised right before Hermione’s nose, making her stop short and wobble and topple despite her cane. She landed painlessly and she was grateful. Tailbones and stone floors didn’t mix.
Draco had shot a very timely Cushioning Charm. He incinerated the rose next. “Goddammit, I’m going to wring your secret admirer’s neck when he reveals himself.”
Me, too. Hermione finally got back to her feet, but she was very nearly knocked over again, this time by the sudden avalanche of Hogwarts girls who poured into the infirmary, an avalanche that headed straight to Draco’s bed.
Madam Pomfrey-- who seemed to have given Hermione and Draco much too much privacy-- pelted out of her office, but Hermione spoke first, in her courtroom don’t-even-think-about-obstructing-my-justice-in-any-manner-or-you’ll-be-very-sorry voice.
“What is this?” Three words. Not even bellowed. But the girls froze as one and fell silent.
“Professor,” said the prettiest one, a Ravenclaw N.E.W.T student. Hermione forgot her name. It was Preening or Puggy or Daft-Dimbo or some such. “We just wanted to see you and Professor Malfoy. We were--”
“Well, you’ve seen us. Go back to the Great Hall, eat your breakfast and wait for class. And if any of those involved in the Halloween entertainment are in my classes, tell them they should probably write to their parents now. Say goodbye and tie loose ends.”
A swift exodus resulted. Madam Pomfrey clucked her tongue. “You two have got to stop threatening the students!”
Draco brayed in his bed like a demented donkey. If the room wasn’t so wobbly, Hermione would have turned her back on him and stomped off. As it was, she could only shuffle like a geisha with spine problems and ingrown nails on all ten toes. And then of course Madam Pomfrey grabbed her and put her back to bed. Damn it, that was too undignified a treatment for someone who was nearly thirty.
“If I’m having the day off, can I spend it in dreamless, blissful sleep, please?”
“Don’t want to think about it?” Draco asked, shaking his head when Madam Pomfrey offered him a dose of Dreamless Sleep.
“On the contrary, I am thinking too much about it,” said Hermione candidly. “I need distance. Perspective. You do, as well, Draco. Don’t set your mind on something that might just worsen things.”
“How?”
But the potion Hermione had just drank took hold then and she fell asleep before she could say something about torn pages being less pitiful than a tattered book.
To the Master of the Vaults of Gringotts:
Sir:
In reply to your letter of November first, Hogwarts has not ever enquired as to the identity of the patron or patrons behind the Hermione Granger Fund. Hogwarts is aware that to do so is not only futile but pointless and tactless. This educational institution is grateful for endowments but does not actively seek it.
Below is my seal, to authenticate this letter as mine.
Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall,
Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
“Peeves, if you want in on this, just hover upside down like a nice and wonky ghost and stop dumping our homework in the fire!”
Nothing was more delicious than sitting beside a crackling fire on a chill autumn night, sipping hot cocoa while surrounded by your peers (and a poltergeist who grumbles but does your bidding), even if the fire was currently crackling on homework due in two days. There was also the novelty of all her peers being there, thought Prissy. Perhaps they should do this regularly, in rotation. They could meet in the Gryffindor common room next. And so on in the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff dorms. It was nice to see blues and yellows among the reds and greens.
June Finch-Fletchley, the quietest of the prefects, took pity on Peeves and gave him her gobstones to play with. She regretted it immediately when Peeves grinned wide and squirted her in thanks. Peeves began juggling the gobstones. They all cast the Bubble Head Charm on themselves. Quillian cleared his throat as a preamble to speaking, and they all cracked up at the funny way he sounded, at the funny way they all sounded.
“The twins heard themp this borning. They only left the infirmpary when Mpadam Pompfrey went to fetch breakfast. It seemps this agreempent can be broken by mparriage.”
Everyone knew the agreement by now. Callie and Lia had explained after being mobbed by terrified upperclassmen who were bewildered at having literally scared their favourite professors three quarters to death.
“Why aren’t they getting hitched then?” said Kazu Minako.
“Just like a guy to say thad.”
The boys rolled their eyes at each other.
“Think aboud it, mpy little mpen,” said Katya Smith. “They separaded. They even signed an agreempent do sday away from each other. Thank Mperlin they didn’d bother do word that agreempent dightly, or this would haf been a very dull leaving year for us. Anyway, there had do have been a mpajor fight infolfed.”
“Thad’s why they’re nod ‘getting hitched’ as you have so elegantly pud id,” said Prissy. “Nod yed, anyway.”
Peeves grew bored fast because he wasn’t affecting them with the gobstones’ stink. He proceeded to obey Prissy, only varying the monotony by plunging and bouncing off their Bubble Heads every few seconds.
“I wish they’d led us sid the examps already,” said Kazu. “Argh, Peeves! So then we won’d care if we ged expelled. We can just snatch those two and feed themp Veritaserump.”
“Whad use is your N.E.W.T level if-- Peeves!-- if you ged arresded, idiod? Led’s leave classified potions oud of id. Id won’d--”
“Is Polyjuice classified?”
They all stared at June, who’d been quiet until then.
“Are owls winged?” said Prissy, a little impatient and a little intrigued, a combination that always made her snappish.
“No, I know that. I-- I meand, why nod use Polyjuice Potion?”
“Peeves, I amp this close do firing a Permpanent Sticking Charmp infolfing your nose and the ceiling!”
“Prissy, deep breaths,” said Quillian.
Peeves blew a raspberry and stopped bouncing off their Bubble Heads. They all removed it belatedly. All hint of gobstone stink had gone by then anyway.
“Junie,” said Liam Gallagher, “who do we Polyjuice into? Their mothers? So we can question them? Not that it’s likely for us to locate and get hair from their mothers.”
June was shaking her head. “I-- I wasn’t thinking of questioning them. I just want to help the twins. They both want to be with the other parent--”
“You saw what happened. If they switch, their parents die.”
“But they didn’t switch.”
“What?” “Beg pardon?” “What are you talking about?” “You were there, June!”
“They only changed their hair and eye colour. Polyjuice, on the other hand, will switch them. Polyjuice Potion makes you wear another person’s skin. You become that person, even as you retain your own identity. If Callie becomes Lia, and Lia becomes Callie, I don’t think the agreement will--”
“Hey, she’s right.” “My goodness, why didn’t we think of that?” “Brilliant, Junie!”
“I hope you always speak up with your genius ideas, June.” Prissy was grinning. And to think, Callie didn’t like ‘prissy’. She and her sister were going to owe Prissy And Co. a lot. “So we’re brewing Polyjuice. Should be just in time for Christmas hols. They can switch then!”
“And then they can nose about and have our collective questions answered.”
June was nodding, smiling shyly as everyone turned her suggestion into a plot.
“Ingredients, idiots,” said Prissy. “What do we do about ingredients?”
They all fell silent. They’d all gotten a sneak peek at Professor Malfoy’s wrath and none wanted to incur it further.
“Erm, my brother-in-law’s uncle owns the Apothecary in Hogsmeade,” said June, silencing everyone for the second time. “I can write my sister and--”
There was cheering for a couple of seconds before they remembered the time and the people sleeping upstairs (and the professor also sleeping not too far from the Slytherin Dungeon).
“But as for the question of the ultimate help to the twins, which is getting their parents ‘hitched’, what do we do?”
At that moment, Peeves plunged from the ceiling again, right in their midst, only missing the rims of their cocoa mugs by a centimetre.
“Mistletoe, you miserable misdemeanants. Mistletoe!”
Misters Weasley,
In future, please refrain from engaging our students in your pranks and siccing your products on Hogwarts faculty. Consider this a warning. You don’t want your former Transfiguration teacher for an enemy.
That was a very impressive, if inane, application of several Transfiguration theories. Accept my congratulations. Give my regards to your mother. But perhaps I will write to her myself.
Sincerely,
Professor M. McGonagall.
“Albus, you are tempting me to permanently silencing your portrait. Aren’t you flatulent yet? You’ve done nothing but giggle for hours!”
End Notes:
When will I learn not to declare things regarding my stories? They have their own minds. Anyway, this is me going pacman on my earlier statement about having only 7 more chapters. This one wasn't in the outline. I had to split a chapter into two, since it's already my weekly deadline in updating and the other half is taking too bloody long. I like the build-up here anyway. ;) Do you? Tell! Thank you!
Rhyme and Reason by lucilla_pauie
If the curved walls were flat and if the windows weren’t real, it wasn’t much different in Gryffindor. Lia lay still beside Callie, waiting for sleep and sniffing the air. Was that... ink?
“My books were all vandalised. Or personalised, as they preferred to say. Grandmother and Aunt Pansy inserted my name into the rhymes.
Callie shall have a new bonnet
and Callie shall go to the fair.
And Callie shall have a blue ribbon
to tie up her bonny brown hair.
Did your mother do that with you, too?”
Lia shrugged, acting like she hadn’t jumped when Callie spoke. Callie’s only just come down from her high boil. At least, Lia hoped so. Throughout the day, Callie had stayed resolutely silent. It was scary. She was still plenty angry, though, judging by her word choices. “I didn’t like books much,” Lia said. “What I liked was being read to. When it got too quiet or when my minder for the hour started to get bored enough to consider other things to do, I did something. I didn’t like being alone.”
“Me, too. And do you know, I didn’t like the solitary stories. The ones with only ‘Callie’ eating the bears’ porridge and ‘Callie’ going up the beanstalk, getting the gold-laying hen and killing the giant. I didn’t even like Callie and the Seven Dwarves. I loved Hansel and Callie.” Callie picked up Lia’s hand (pinched it to get Lia to stop sniggering) and compared it with hers. Except for the dot, there was nearly no difference.
“Muggle stories?”
“Grandmother is still on a streak. She can’t get enough of them.”
“I only found out about magic when I was seven. So I was raised on Muggle ‘fairy-tales’ just like you. Did you like Jorinda and Jorindel and Frederick and Catherine?”
“I loved Frederick and Calliope, even though Calliope was soft in the head.” Lia was relieved when Callie chuckled, all anger seemingly forgotten for the moment. “Tell me about growing up Muggle.”
“Mum said it was so I appreciated both worlds.” Lia embraced Callie’s arm, hoping to alleviate any bad feelings at the mention of their mother. “I thought everyone in the world had owls and I always wondered why I didn’t see them much in the telly. I even asked the mailman why he went to the trouble of personally delivering my birthday card from Nana Helen! It was bitter cold and the mailman was surly and he said if I’d rather he used pigeons, he was awful sorry and he glared at me. Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur were visiting and they laughed fit to kill.
“Everyone only started to Floo in after I’ve been told,” Lia continued, yawning shamelessly, opening her mouth right on Callie’s face, making her sister stare at her half in fascination and half in disbelief. “It’s one of my memorable memories, seeing Uncle Ron’s head in the fire for the first time. Before that, we walked or used the car to get around. I was taught chores, like rinsing my dishes and dusting my room and weeding the garden. And then Mum started using her wand at home and I thought my chores would disappear. Wishful thinking. But they all had it easy from then on. They used magic to rein me in. Of course, I also had my first broomstick then, so I guess using magic on me became necessary. Not to mention I started homeschooling then, too. Magic was my reward. When did you get your first broom? What did you get? Were you homeschooled, too?”
“We weren’t near any day schools and they didn’t want to send me away sooner than necessary. I got Father’s old broom. I’m not that keen on flying... What did they say about your first magic?”
“What was yours?”
“I summoned my bear to sleep with me. Father said I was seventeen months. Aunt Pansy was visiting and she didn’t want me out of sight so when it was time for my nap, I was still in the sitting room with her. My bear flew over to me all the way from my nursery and we settled down on the couch.”
“Where’s that bear now? It’s not in your dorm.”
“Oh, he retired when I was nine. Before he completely fell apart. I dragged him with me everywhere!” Callie yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her fingers and rolling her eyes when Lia mouthed ‘prissy’. “Books became my companions next. You’re not telling me your first magic and I asked first.”
“Well, I’ve heard stories and I seem to be different from you lot who manifested when you were babies. Do you remember your allergy eruption?” Callie shuddered in response. Lia shuddered right along with her. “Imagine having that at five. You were worse than I was but I was terrified. Hives all over me. Hot and itchy. I thought I was going to turn into a monster! Like in Beauty and the Beast--”
“You would think that,” said Callie, “because you must have been a right little--”
“When I surfaced from bawling my eyes out, I saw that both Uncle Harry and Uncle Ron also had hives. For the next few days, whoever visited also sprouted hives. Everyone except Mum. I felt kind of sorry because I thought they caught it from me, like a cold, but I was also happy that we were all hivey together. Their hives disappeared when mine went away.”
Callie was laughing, muffling the sound under the bedclothes.
Taking courage from that laughter but still tentatively, Lia said, “You have Mum’s old bed.”
Callie went still but didn’t reply.
“This is her bed. It smells like ink because she sort of pummelled an ink bottle in here. She and Uncle Ron were fighting about her cat and his rat. She vented her temper on her ink. That hole in the wall, Mum used that for books, too.”
After some more moments of silence, Callie said, “Does your bed have something like an M on one post?”
“Dad’s bed?”
Callie nodded. “But if he so much as hugs you, he dies. They’re idiots.”
“Stop that. I mean, they are idiots, yes, but stop being furious, please. You’re scaring me.”
Callie snorted, very un-ladylike. “Get me an inkwell.”
“We’ll fix this. We’ll make them marry. We just have to find out why they--”
“They don’t have to marry. They shouldn’t have to just so your mother can hold me and my father can hold you! Idiots, idiots, idiots! Selfish idiots!”
“YOU’RE A SELFISH IDIOT YOURSELF. Shut up. Sleeping here.”
“Wow,” said Lia. “I though she only shuts me up.”
Callie shut up and sulked. When Lia thought Callie had already fallen asleep, Callie said, “Why aren’t you angry, too?”
“Maybe when you calm down, priss. Let’s take it in turns. Bad things happen when we’re both angry. Remember?”
Instead of laughing like Lia expected-- it was a funny memory-- Callie pounded a fist, barely missing punching Lia’s thigh. “See, that’s their fault, too!”
“Is this belated PMS or something?”
Callie growled.
“Stop it, I said. They’ve paid for their idiocy, they nearly died--”
“And if they die, you and I will be orphans! It’s us who suffer again.”
“Dang it, don’t make me furious this late. Ronky will hex me. You’re right. Go on, then, sulk.”
My child,
such trouble I have.
And you sleep, your heart is placid;
you dream in the joyless wood;
in the night nailed in bronze,
in the blue dark, you lie still and shine.
Draco doesn’t know lullabies. What he’s humming is a waltz. Can’t remember by whom. What he remembers is who had danced to it, not too long ago, wearing stars in her eyes. Probably not too lulling either. But the tiny creature in the crook of his arm isn’t complaining. She seems content, in fact. His baby. She smells so delicious and he can’t go so much as three minutes without kissing her hair. He wants to nuzzle her cheek, but she’s so small, so delicate and he’s so afraid he’ll hurt her. He won’t do that. Nor will he let anything or anyone else do so. In any case, he can’t move at the moment. She has grabbed his finger with her mittened hand. For someone so tiny, she can grip like a grindylow.
He chuckles and she pouts and kicks her little leg in remonstrance before settling back down. Draco bites his cheeks to keep from biting her. She’s adorable.
“I first saw you on a day like this. Well, no, you weren’t born yet and I didn’t even know you had that prospect. Of being born, I mean. And it was winter-- I wouldn’t bring you out in winter-- but it was sunny. And I saw your mummy-- your stupid mummy-- in a park. At first, I thought I was mistaken, that it wasn’t her. But it was her, all right. And her coat wasn’t just abnormally bulky. And she hasn’t told me about you. Can you imagine?”
As if in agreement, his little chipmunk wrinkles her nose.
“I ran to her, your mummy, and she ignored me. Wouldn’t even look at me. I even begged. Do you know what that means? It means completely dropping your pride in the dirt and stomping on it. I didn’t stomp, I knelt. Right there in the cold, hard ground. It was winter and your mummy competed with the cold and won. Ice queen. Untouchable even by begging. And you know how ice queens are. People hate them. I hated your mummy just then.”
Some bird shrieks somewhere near and his baby jumps, her nose wrinkling again in distaste. Draco strokes her fluffy head, amused that her hand and arm have simply moved with his instead of letting go of his finger.
“Of course, it was just then, you understand. If I didn’t love your mummy, you wouldn’t be here, you pretty little puffskein. But I doubt she loved your poor daddy, because if she did, she wouldn’t have walked away from me, would she? Wouldn’t have turned us out and preferred to not see you than see me.”
Hermione doesn’t know lullabies, and perhaps she should ask her mother. And Molly. What she is humming now-- in between shushing-- is The Blue Danube, which, for some reason she’s always forgotten to ask, was on Permanent Sticking Charm on someone’s record player. The baby on her arm sounds aggravated, but Hermione knew the tiny mercreature has no reason to be aggravated at all. She’s only just been nursed, burped and changed. Hermione lets her cry it out. It only lasts a bit. When the wailing subsides to whimpers, Hermione snuggles the swaddled bundle closer to her chest.
“What, you don’t like waltzes, little buttercup?”
There’s a telltale movement beneath her baby’s eyelids.
“Are you rolling your eyes at me? How dare you.” She negates that scolding by burying her nose in her baby’s downy head and breathing in that heavenly scent of babyhood, when infants still smelled like angels. “Let’s read for your bedtime, shall we, my wee one? We have a new book from Nana... I don’t know which nana.”
Hermione takes the book from the end table beside the rocker. The baby begins to fuss again, only settling down when Hermione talks again. “Look, baby, ‘Rhymes and Lullabies’. But I don’t know how to sing any of these. No guarantees, all right? How about this one?
“Merry are the bells and merry would they ring
Merry was myself and merry would I sing
With a merry ding-dong! Happy, gay and free,
And a merry sing-song! Happy let us be!
“My goodness. You like this? You’ve lost that eleven on your forehead, you goose. Merry have we met--” Hermione laughed. “No, it wasn’t particularly merry. And merry have we been. Merry let us part, and merry meet again-- I don’t like this thing. Not really for bedtime. Here’s a good one.
“Sweet and low, sweet and low,
Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,
Wind of the western sea,
Over the rolling waters go,
Come from the dying moon and blow,
Blow him again to me;
While my little one, my pretty one, sleeps.
“Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
Father will come to thee soon--”
Hermione halts. But then her ‘pretty one’ scrunched her face up.
“Rest, rest on Mother’s breast,
Father will come to thee soon.” Amazingly, the squirming and kicking stops. Hermione continues reading the... lullaby. It’s by Tennyson but she can’t call it a poem.
“Father will come to his babe in the nest,
Silver sails all out of the west
Under the silver moon.
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. You’re something, Thalia Maura. Picking this for your lullaby. So devious of you, darling. You’re lucky you’re tiny and pretty or I’d whip you. But then, of course you’d be pretty, wouldn’t you? Your father’s pretty, you know. I suppose handsome is the right word. And if only he’d said the right words.”
End Notes:
Yet another chapter not in the outline. Apologies for taking this long. I’m getting to the middle of things (haha) and there’s been struggle in the setup. But this story keeps surprising me. The next update should be on schedule. I was also distracted by books and writing other things—one of which is for the Dramione Remix where you take a certain famous couple’s story/quirks and toss it into your Dramione. The couple I’ve picked? Bonnie and Clyde. To quote Lia, “Dang it.”
‘My child, such trouble I have’ is by Simonides, from Danae (tr: Richmond Lattimore). And no, I don’t read Greek poetry, I only got it from Room by Emma Donoghue. An amazing novel.
Mistletoe Mayhem by lucilla_pauie
November was relatively quiet except for a Howler Professor Granger received one morning.
“THIS IS CRUEL! WE CAN BARELY PAY ATTENTION TO OUR PLANS FOR PRANKING PERCY AND PENNY ON THEIR ANNIVERSARY. WE’RE SCARED. SHAKING IN OUR DRAGON-HIDE! WE DIDN’T MEAN FOR YOU AND FERRET TO NEARLY DIE. WE ARE SORRY AND PLEASE TELL US ALREADY THE WHAT, WHEN, HOW AND WHERE OF OUR PUNISHMENT SO WE CAN PLOT IN PEACE. ALSO TELL MCGONAGALL THANKS FOR SICCING MUM ON US.
SINCERELY AND LOVINGLY,
GRED AND FORGE.
PS: IF YOU DON’T REPLY AS REQUESTED, WE’RE REVOKING YOUR DAUGHTER’S NINETY-EIGHT PERCENT DISCOUNT ON ALL WWW MERCHANDISE
PPS: THAT’S NOT TRUE. SHE DOES NOT HAVE SUCH DISCOUNT AT ALL. NO. NEVER.”
When the red letter had crumpled to ash, another flash of crimson appeared. Another rose. By this time, the whole school was so used to it barely anyone still paid notice. Except for Professor Malfoy, that was. When a rose appeared, heads would swivel like searchlights and beam on the blond professor. One would think he’d learn to school his reactions, but he didn’t and it was always entertaining to see his face turn sour.
What happened for the rest of the month wouldn’t constitute as noise, compared to the absolute uproar before. No, things were executed efficiently and silently.
Following the complete drain of house points, all the Houses went on a fearless campaign of coordinated creativity. Every club couldn’t do without Professor Malfoy and Professor Granger. These two became the most sought-after pair of advisers. The most-imprisoned, too. The tardiest or the stupidest, as well, judging by how often they ended up arriving on an empty clubroom or a wrong room altogether, only to be locked in there for hours. The students would glibly say it was Peeves’ doing, and the poltergeist, upon questioning, would only nod and cackle and sing rude rhymes.
Club-abductions didn’t last long, of course.
But the students made do.
Trick stairs and trick flagstones sprouted along the entrance hall, the Great Hall, the Charms corridor and the dungeons, and preternaturally trapped Professor Malfoy and Professor Granger if they stepped on it together, which they did often enough, even during days when they weren’t speaking to each other.
One intrepid Ravenclaw fashioned an invisible lasso. The sight of Professor Malfoy and Professor Granger suddenly tripping and tumbling on the floor together, rolling around until they hit the wall and stayed there unmoving, one on top of the other, would be immortalised in the annals of Hogwarts-- and the pages of the school paper, because cameras flashed.
Amazingly, in all this, neither of the two beleaguered professors bled or bruised. Even first-years had mastered Cushioning Charms.
“Ms August, Mr Ellington-Shaw, I need you to be honest with me. What is going on with your peers? Are you going to feed Professors Granger and Malfoy love potions next?”
“No, of course not!”
“We’ll be expelled if we do that, right?”
Behind Minerva, there was a telltale cough.
Callie didn’t stay in a funk for long. The very next morning, she was fine. While Lia was contemplating whether it was her turn to kick and sulk, Hogwarts took matters out of her hands. The twins couldn’t really be anything but smug as they watched their school mates so relentlessly trap their parents. The two professors often came to class catching their breaths. The best part was neither of them thought to accuse Callie and Lia of anything. Probably out of guilt. Instead, they seemed to be under a campaign themselves.
In Charms, Callie could do no wrong, but Professor Granger often corrected her wrist movements.
Meanwhile, even though Thalia had the acumen of a budding expert potioneer, Professor Malfoy couldn’t seem to trust her to pour or chop or stir without help.
There were other nice things, too that brought the girls giggling together.
Narcissa sent a box of games and a hamper of treats. There was also a doll for Lia, a doll with grey eyes made of glass and yellow hair even softer than their own. A doll that made anyone who saw it swallow the words ‘I’m too old for dolls.’ Lia named the doll after Kia. Flibby for short. Flibby came with her own trunk of clothes. Callie looked scandalised when Lia emptied the trunk of lace and frills, but helped in dressing Flibby in jeans, boots and a t-shirt that said, ‘I’M AN IDOLATER. I WORSHIP MY SISTER.’
The promised flowers arrived every week. Lia decided she had no favourites. A flower was a flower. What wasn’t to like? She also decided it was too much bother learning their names.
Callie got her ninety-eight percent discount (not applicable to products Not for Under-Sixteens and Not for Minors) from WWW. Not to be outdone by Narcissa, Molly Weasley sent a crate of goodies, with the requisite hand-knit jumper, red with a gold pattern of C’s looping in a long line along the collar. It matched Lia’s. Green with silver T’s marching across it. A set of two-way mirrors were from Uncle Harry, Aunt Ginny and Uncle Ron. The twins squealed over that, although they were too attached at the hip just then to find much use for the mirrors. Also included in the Weasley crate was a toy tea service from the grandparents Granger. Too pretty to disdain, made of real bone china. Lia said she’d wrecked hers ages ago and wrote a rather belated scathing letter of complaint about being given too dainty toys too early.
December 1st
“I hope they show restraint on Yule. I even wonder if they’ve left anything for Yule. This avalanche of presents is ridiculous.”
“So you’ve thought about Yule?”
“I suppose Callie goes with you?”
“No question.”
“Well, Lia goes with me.”
They both stared at each other, unyielding. And pleading.
“What does your mother say?”
“Nothing. I’m probably dead to her. No letters at all. That’s how you know she’s incensed.”
“You’re lucky. My mother and Molly wrote in no uncertain terms that if I don’t bring home two girls for Christmas, I might as well not go home at all.” She looked at him through her eyelashes. “I told them they can meet Lia’s friend in June.”
“Of course.”
“Really?”
“Why? What did you just ask me? I wasn’t paying attention. You were using wiles on me, you sly thing.”
“What on earth are you babbling about?”
“If you don’t know, I shouldn’t tell you, or you’d be asking me to jump into fires next. Not that I could, seeing as we’re currently stuck here. A bit early, wouldn’t you say?”
They both looked up at the mistletoe gently swinging and swirling over their heads.
“A lot early.”
“I’m not wearing my warmest socks at the moment, Granger. I’d appreciate it if we--”
There was a soft chime of bells as the mistletoe withdrew and moved on.
“Good night, Malfoy.”
December 2nd
“So. June?”
“You agreed last night. We didn’t sign anything, of course, but don’t renege on it, please? I already have plans. I even dreamed about it.”
“All right. Who gets them first?”
“Well--”
Ting-a-ling!
“I’m first.”
December 2nd, afternoon
“This is ridiculous!”
“I think certain people are determined to stop us avoiding each other.”
“We don’t avoid each other! We talk when we meet.”
“Which is rarely. Before the mistletoe madness, that is. You don’t stalk me back. The dungeons are a lot warmer now, you know.”
“Perhaps I’m considerate of other people’s time.”
“Are you? Then why are you just standing there?”
Ting-ling!
December 2nd, still
“If you would just stop hovering or popping in my way like a demented ghost” well, I hope you’re wearing your warmest socks this time. What are you doing?”
“I’m not wearing my warmest cloak, you see.”
Ting-a-ling!
December 3rd
“No. They’ve had their voyeuristic fun and I’ve had it up to here with mistletoe.”
Fizz-flop!
“And if I’m caught again under that miserable weed before December twenty-fourth, by which time I will certainly not be here for anyone’s entertainment, I have a memorable detention in store for everyone within ten yards of me.”
December 3rd, after supper
“For Merlin’s sake.”
Fizzzz!
“Wow. They reinforced it. No one within a hundred yards of us either. You’ve got to hand it to these little--”
“We might as well make these... meetings profitable.”
“Terrific idea. Have you found a solution to our dilemma yet? That is, a solution different from mine?”
“No. Does Callie hate any sort of food?”
“Hmm? Well, if it still looks like the animal it came from, she won’t eat it. Threw up once when my father’s friend brought a whole roast pig. We’ve also learned to immediately dispose of fish heads, prawn heads-- can’t use the heads of birds either for food presentation. We’ve never seen a whole turkey or duck since Callie was two. It always arrives at the table in slices. Her fish or steak or chicken or whatever also has to be absolutely boneless.”
“What about eggs?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Have I got food on my neck? How does she like her eggs? Does she even eat eggs?”
“Of course she does. Your turn to tell me something about Lia.”
“She nursed until she was five. For heaven’s sake, my eyes are up here.”
“Nursed ‘til she was five? Is that all right?”
“Of course. She did it for comfort, mostly in the afternoons when we napped together, when it’s just the two of us. I couldn’t say no, for some reason. I told you she was a happy child, but she was also rather clingy. I--”
“But you went to work, didn’t you say?”
“When Lia was five, yes. It’s why I went back to work. To wean her from her clinginess. I’ve been working at home and I could easily have continued but Lia had to learn to--”
“I understand. Still, that was amazing. And you don’t look it.”
“I don’t look what?”
“Like you nursed for five years straight.”
Ting-a-ling!
To the Master of the Vaults of Gringotts:
Sir:
I have already sent you an Accounting of Funds just this October last. I have not since had accounting to do. The whole year’s budget has already been sealed. We are endowed by patronages before the beginning of each year only. If we have need during term, which is a very rare happenstance, the school governors will provide the monies from Hogwarts’ internal funds. Again and again, I will reiterate that Hogwarts never solicits alms.
Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall,
Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
“Professor, it’s way past our bedtime.”
“And yet I entered not a minute ago, and none of you were in bed at all. If you were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Not to mention that some of you--” Draco eyed the red, blue and yellow badges among the green, “--are out of bounds if you attempt to traverse the considerable distance to your proper beds. Don’t think it’s only Professor Granger who can threaten you with memorable detentions. Get comfortable.”
There was a mad scramble for the armchairs. Draco frowned. Had no one taught this new generation of Slytherins about poise? He rolled his eyes at the elbowing and kicking and Transfigured the sofas and ottomans into armchairs. A moment later, Draco smiled. Yes, they did teach poise to this lot.
“Now that we’re all enthroned, tell me about this mistletoe business.”
No one spoke. A Slytherin never volunteered information without due cajoling. Of course, not all in this bunch were Slytherins, but they were in Slytherin territory and Slytherin traits are the most catching.
“Ten points for each answer I like. You’ll catch up on the Ravenclaws in no time, I’ll wager.”
“The Ravenclaws resent their points, Professor,” said a girl wearing a blue and bronze tie. “It limits them. The urge to keep those points is instinctual. As such, they haven’t been having as much fun as when they had zero.”
“You Slytherins and Gryffindors are having the most fun then, I presume?”
Silence.
“All right. Suppose you make the deal this time. Short of anything illegal, I think I can do much for you lot.”
The students communicated with glances. Admirable and enviable. He and his cohorts hadn’t been able to do that. He and Hermione, on the other hand--
“Quid pro quo,” said Miss August. Priscilla. Draco couldn’t help being pleased that one of his own was presiding. “You ask us a question, we answer. We ask you a question in return and you answer it candidly.”
“How candidly? Not all of you have reached majority.”
The students laughed. And Merlin’s balls, there was something disturbing about the smiles with which they ended their laughter. Were they leering? Draco squirmed in his seat. What had he unleashed here?
“Do we have an accord, Professor?”
“No personal questions and we are in accord. Now then, do you intend to use the mistletoe on us until we leave for the holidays?”
“Yes. Do you love Professor Granger?”
“Personal. Have you been watching us kiss?”
“Personal. What’s stopping you from getting married?”
“Whether you watch us kiss is personal?”
“What we watch in private is private. Besides, you hedged first.”
“You were asking a personal question.” Draco was beginning to feel stupid and was confused at why he was feeling stupid.
“It wasn’t personal. Hey, Liam, do you love the Wimbourne Wasps?”
“Merlin, I do.”
“Cass, you love Liam, don’t you?”
“Well, yes.”
“See, professor?”
Teenagers. And this was in store for him, the storage clock already counting down from five years. Oh, joy. “Shouldn’t you ask Liam if he loves Cass?”
“I love Cass,” declared Liam, a little belligerently.
“Good for you. As for your question, I don’t know what’s stopping us from getting married. Not that I asked yet. Not really. How are you manipulating the mistletoe?”
“Peeves does the manipulating, and he got the directions from an undisclosed source. Do you want us to help you?”
Draco, still startled at that bit about Peeves--of all creatures, he owed that blithering poltergeist for all the kisses he’d gotten lately-- blinked at the question. “I beg your pardon?”
“Do you want us to help you to ask Professor Granger to marry you?”
“Er, thank you, but perhaps not. How pathetic of me would that be?”
“Very.”
It was the first time since his rapid-fire questioning that his questioners spoke in chorus. Uncanny. Probably time for him to retreat. He hadn’t expected such a united front. He was outnumbered and thoroughly outwitted and outplayed. Not fair. Maybe he should have sent away everyone and only bullied the Hufflepuffs. But then again, Liam was a Hufflepuff, and so was that quiet girl, June Finch-Fletchley-- probably a cousin or a sister to Justin-- whose eyes glittered the most and who was the one who called him out for hedging.
By Circe, they were breeding very different and very scary children these days.
“Good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Professor.”
“No, I rarely have a good night these days.”
Several sniggers. And then a very brave someone said, “Why, what’s your definition of good night, sir?”
“A good night is when you’re peaceful and content, not annoyed or tired or frustrated,” replied another brave one.
Draco laughed long and mirthlessly, pirouetting at the door to face the sudden silence in the common room. “Detention, Fitzpatrick. I hope you didn’t make plans for this weekend.”
Outside in the corridor, Draco was struck with a thought. Were those impertinent brats sending the roses in his behalf? Not naming him as the sender to prolong the suspense, perhaps? Draco grinned. Well, he could thank them later. Meanwhile, Fitzpatrick deserved a detention.
“He’s not allowed in here!”
“Why not, you little snot?”
“Peeves! Be polite... But thanks for getting rid of her. She was getting whiny and we’re in a tricky part of stirring.”
Quillian immediately regretted saying that. Myrtle got on your nerves, but at least she didn’t poke you under the arms or try to poke at the bubbles bubbling in your cauldron. The poltergeist zipped from stall to stall, and growls and shrieks emerged from stall to stall. Thank Merlin the potion was just about done.
Five kisses so far. Six if you counted the one in Hogsmeade. And that one in his room in his cottage in Hogsmeade, compared to the ones in the corridors of Hogwarts, should definitely be counted.
Not that Hermione was counting. Thank goodness for the weekend. No one would see hide or hair of her. She would clean her house and rake the garden. Read and correct homework. But all that could come later. For now, she was in her bathtub lost in a fog of perfume, willing her mind to rest along with her body.
It was something her mother had taught her, which was why Hermione never wore perfume on a day to day basis. No, heavenly scents were reserved to incite tranquillity, for languid days and special evenings of recalling kisses--
Dammit. She was almost thirty, for goodness’ sake. Shouldn’t there be more dignity and less hormone-driven battiness? Hormone-driven battiness being what landed her in a veritable cauldron of unperfumed hot water in the first place. She was probably in need of those new novels crowding the shelves in the Muggle bookstores. Chick-lit. Rather degrading a name, Hermione thought, but it might give her insight. None of the women her age acted matronly. If anything, they seemed to be having the most outrageous fun. One cousin of hers had even run off from Calais with a complete stranger. And Hermione wasn’t old, was she? She only preferred to think so to stave off her desires, which she staved off because she didn’t feel like she deserved satisfying them, because there was the matter of her having failed not one, but two children. Hers.
For the first time and very disconcertingly, Hermione imagined what things would have been like if she didn’t have them. They were Beltane babies. If it hadn’t been Beltane, Hermione doubted she’d have conceived so easily, from one lovemaking so spur-of-the-moment and frantic they’d done it against the wall with all their clothes on.
Hermione could have sworn the water fizzed from the heat of her flush.
She winced, sent water sloshing over the rim of the tub in her mad scramble to her feet, and turned on the shower. The cold drizzle did her a world of good although the embarrassment wasn’t as easy to wash off. She wondered how she’d ever get around to having the talk with the girls. She doubted she could sprout hypocrisy about self-control and restraint. The only thing she’d be able to advise would be the truth about the pain.
That’s right, Granger, think about the pain. First, down there, and then the impressive thunk of skull against stone when the pain down below made you arch your head and create a new pain and a burst of stars behind your eyelids.
Feeling less hot and bothered, Hermione sat back down in the tub. If she hadn’t conceived, what then? Would things have been different? She didn’t think so. She and Draco would still have attracted attention from his connections, her heart would still have been clawed open in consequence and she’d still have banished him from her life, or gone away herself. And without their twins going to Hogwarts, Professor Flitwick wouldn’t have been forced into retirement and Hermione wouldn’t be here at all. Nor would Draco. They’d have remained apart.
The recent six kisses wouldn’t have happened at all.
Hermione slapped the water with her palms, closed her eyes at the splash and slumped deeper into the bath. She fought a losing battle against a smile underwater.
Despite the muddle they were in, Hermione decided she was really so very glad she had the twins.
“Where were you all weekend? Were you on a date again?”
“Well, yes.”
Draco tried not to glare and failed.
“No, I was at my house. Cleaned up the yard. And then Julius sent me an owl asking to see me. That’s the last time. If he’s so incompetent he has to pull me away from the comfort of my home just to have me explain litigation documents, he should retire.”
At ‘Julius’, Draco sneered. At ‘retire’, he smirked.
“Are you still getting roses?”
“Yes. I bin them, though. I always end up with Lia’s bouquets anyway. Thank your mother for me, by the way.”
“She can send you posies for the rest of your life and you still won’t need to thank her. There’s an idea.”
“Oh, don’t.” But she smiled.
He kissed that smile.
Tling-ling!
Minerva halted mid-step and arrested her hand on the door latch. She also fidgeted a little. Did she just lean in? Or should she Disillusion herself first? While she was still contemplating her rusted (and nonexistent) eavesdropping skills, the voices inside her office rose. So she stood outside the door ramrod straight, maintaining her dignity.
“Temperance! Ha! You can’t ask a poltergeist to practice temperance!”
“I’ve told you again and again to get rid of that menace, Dumbledore!”
“You ingrates. You should be thanking that creature, not ridiculing him.”
“Gentlemen, ladies! All right, so we are agreed that there should be less--”
“Less what?” Minerva gritted her teeth, regretting her entrance. What made her enter? Were they simply arguing about Peeves again? But then, you could never tell with these madmen and women... To think she’d be one of them someday.
“Less farting for Peeves,” said Albus, nodding sagely. “We think it’s not healthy for him, expelling too much air like that.”
Minerva raised an eyebrow sceptically.
“Our mistletoe this year is early and rather centred on two particular people,” she said, casually pacing around the room, keeping them all in sight to gouge their reactions. “Have you lot heard about that?”
“Oh, yes, we’ve heard. Funny, funny thing. Perhaps the school just knows, Minerva, eh?”
Dilys Derwent snorted in her feigned sleep. And for all her initial bravado, Minerva was suddenly reluctant to prod into the matter further. Better to remain ignorant and therefore innocent. In this situation, at least.
So it was that Peeves’s workload was considerably lessened. As the temperature dropped and snow began to fall, as girls and boys stopped being able to walk around alone without a friend or a sweetheart in arm, as the Great Hall became redolent of peppermint, hot cocoa and hearty soup, and as a separation after a reunion drew near, certain two people began to look for the mistletoe.
“Where do you usually spend Christmas?”
Draco looks up from stomping his boots, suddenly glad the train seemed held up somewhere. In contrast to him, she just sits there on the tree stump worn smooth by generations of students, seemingly unaffected by the cold, even though her coat looked diaphanous, hugging her figure in places it shouldn’t. And what is he doing slandering a perfectly wonderful coat anyway?
“Depends on my mother’s whims. Sometimes, she wants a mountain of snow. Sometimes, she wants to escape the winter altogether. And sometimes, we just hole up in her favourite sitting room. We sleep there on the hearth rug and all. Makes the trip to the tree shorter.”
She smiles, nods and begins to toy with the ends of her hair. He stares at her for a moment, noticing the slenderness of her fingers and the very dark eyelashes curling on her pink cheeks, and then he goes back to stomping his boots. She has something to say and she’ll say it when she’s ready. He isn’t one to prod. Not now when they understand each other a little better than they used to.
He’s only stomped three times when he hears her.
“I’m sorry.”
“Hmm?”
“I’m sorry you lost your home. They shouldn’t have--”
“It’s fine. We have houses elsewhere.”
“Of course.”
“And Mother has favourite sitting rooms in all of them.”
That finally coaxes another smile from her and he returns it.
The Hogwarts Express thunders through the trees just then, whistling madly. The shrillness is like a slap on the shoulder to Draco and a goading in his ear. She stands up and he heeds the slap and the goading. He bends and his lips sink in the fullness of her cheek.
“Why do you smell like champagne?”
Her peers emerge from the station’s waiting rooms and Hermione blinks as much from confusion at the sudden crowd as from discombobulation from his kiss. She pretends the falling snow has tickled her face because she can’t stop patting her cheeks to make sure they haven’t caught fire.
“Champagne?”
He nods at her, securing a hand on the lapel of her coat at her waist to keep her from being propelled hither and thither by the rush to the train. What is all the hurry? She certainly doesn’t want to board yet. The snow is clinging to his eyelashes, making him blink his grey eyes, which looked rather remarkable against the green and white landscape.
“You smell like champagne. I’ve noticed it since last year.”
“Last year?”
“Stop repeating me.” He chuckles. “Yes, last year. When you were in my clutches like now.”
Hermione laughs in spite of herself and in spite of ‘last year’ being not entirely laughable. She swats his hand away from her coat and raises its collar under her loose scarf to sniff at herself. “It’s not champagne. It’s...” She sniffs some more and detects the scent beneath the crisp smell of cleanliness in her clothes. “It’s ink.”
“Ink?” He kisses her again, this time on the other cheek. “Ink. Have a happy Yule, Granger.”
“You, too, Malfoy.”
The holidays arrived with a very appropriate and very blustery snowfall. Students and trunks were rapidly piling into the horseless carriages waiting in a long line at the great oak doors. Two girls stood to the side, waiting and holding hands. They wore exactly the same pink cloaks with matching muffs and hats.
“Oh my, you two look very pretty.”
They looked up at their mother blankly.
“You can take them off as soon as I take a photo for your grandmother Narcissa, don’t worry,” said their father, and as if on cue, there was a flash of light and a puff of smoke from a box camera. “There you go.” He smiled at them and exchanged a grin with their mother. “You have to admit she has exquisite taste, though.”
“I’ve never really spared pink a thought myself, but I see what the fuss is all about now,” said their mother with a rather soppy look on her face.
The last of the school carriages rattled forward for them. The inane discussion of matching winter clothes had come to a stop.
“Have a happy Yule, Miss Malfoy.” A hug. A kiss on the cheek.
“Enjoy your holidays, Miss Granger.” Another hug. Another kiss.
Neither of the girls replied to that. They just pointed as one toward the door’s lintel. “Mistletoe,” they said in unison.
“Oh, final-- I mean, fine. Come here, Hermione.”
“Don’t ever ‘Come here’ me again.” And yet she came to him.
For the first time since they arrived to wait for their separation at the entrance hall, the girls smiled.
Their parents kissed. The box camera exploded again, seemingly by itself, but no one took notice.
“See you.”
“See you.”
The girls kept hold of each other’s hand until the last moment. And then, mother and one daughter were on the school carriage on the way to the station, and father and one daughter began to walk on the magically snowploughed path to the gates to Disapparate to a cottage in Hogsmeade.
End Notes:
Technically, I still beat my weekly deadline since my timezone's ahead. *dodges Mel's bees* Thanks for the reviews, lovies. Keep 'em coming!
Uh-oh, we're in trouble, something's come along and it's burst our bubble... by lucilla_pauie
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
Draco waited until his daughter turned her face to him and then repeated his words, which bore repeating. “I’m really sorry.” He winced, to add effect. But mainly because their number had just come up at the window. He didn’t relish going back there to face that woman again. He got up and marched there sedately, bracing himself against the imminent aggravation.
“Here’s your Portkey, Mr Malfoy. Would Miss Granger be joining you?”
Something snapped. If they weren’t in public, and if a certain child wasn’t in the same premises, Draco would have done a serious misdemeanour. Instead, he smiled. That Malfoy smile that made lesser people feel very thankful for glass partitions. “That’s none of your business, is it?” Inwardly, he added, You nosy hag. “Good day. Thank you very much.”
He should have known this would happen. Of course the students in intimate terms with their parents had written about the interesting goings-on at Hogwarts. These parents in turn told their friends, who told their aunts, who told their godchildren, who told who knows else until the society pages of The Prophet, The Mirror, Witch Weekly, The Quibbler, The Tattler and The Transfigurer got wind of it and published it with unrelenting and tireless enthusiasm until even the lonely harridans working at the Ministry of Magic knew of what was what and took the opportunity to harass Draco when they saw it.
Draco didn’t give the harridan chance to berate him. He returned to his child, who looked as woebegone as she could in pink, and holding hands, they returned to France.
He’d thought they could stay a bit at the cottage at Hogsmeade, but as soon as they arrived there he realised he couldn’t deal with his guilt and her sadness by himself. He needed a buffer, even if that buffer were his parents’ and Pansy’s combined wrath. So they went by Floo to the Portkey Office, and waited the eternity of an hour for their turn to leave. Private Portkeys were a touch expensive (for most people) but he would sooner drop a Bludger on his daughter’s foot than allow her to be jostled or possibly flattened by strangers. So they waited an hour. An hour in which other holidaymakers departed in groups while he pretended to read the papers and magazines and she really read them, spotting the gossip regarding him and Hermione and grinning to herself when she thought he wasn’t looking.
“They have her picture now,” she’d mumbled once.
“They didn’t have it before?”
“No.”
Well, of course. Hermione had taken precaution against being seen and recognised by her other daughter, but how did Callie know that? He’d also taken care to browse every periodical that made it to their home in France, to make sure Hermione wasn’t in it. What a bloody mess. So he’d apologised. Apologised for the decade-long secret that terminated in this, spending Christmas apart from a sister she’s only known for three months.
They arrived in the Portkey Room in a Pas-de-Calais inn relatively unscathed. Draco then picked up his daughter and Apparated them south to Chablis.
Lia got to know what rashers and potatoes looked like half-digested. She also got to know what half-digested potatoes and rashers sounded like hitting carpet and boots.
She also got to know how her father sounded like yelping. Like a startled dog.
She really should be horrified, but after the horrible ‘yark’ thing she did, she laughed. Her father stared at her, at the carpet and his boots, and back at her.
“You did that on purpose?”
Stunned at being sick and at laughing right after being sick, Lia forgot to be aloof and cold. “I don’t know how. It just happened.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Right, I’m sorry. But we’ve Side-Along-ed before and you didn’t throw up then. I’m lucky I put you down.” He Vanished the sick and its odour from the room, and raised both eyebrows at her, asking if she was all right. She nodded and accepted the one-armed embrace he then pulled her into. Even as Lia relished that, she narrowed her eyes in thought. Callie had explaining to do. She should have warned Lia about Side-Along Apparation. That was horrible. Now Lia felt horrified. Would she always throw up?
“That won’t always happen,” her father said as he let go, stroking her velvet-covered shoulder. “Malfoys are made of stronger stuff.”
Lia couldn’t help smiling. She wanted to say that she was a Granger, but yes, she was a Malfoy, wasn’t she? As if on cue, the most amazing people entered the room just then. Lia had seen photographs and miniature portraits, but golly, her grandparents were beautiful. And she wasn’t struck so much by their beauty as by their arrival. Finally, finally.
She didn’t quite run, but the chair Narcissa had settled on was shoved back an inch when Lia reached her grandmother, who caught her in a hug that gave off an addicting comingling of so many pretty scents. Just like Nana Helen, but also unique.
“My darling. Oh, my little girl,” she said between kisses to Lia’s cheeks. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Lia sniffled in reply. That would have embarrassed her at any other time. But right now, she didn’t care and couldn’t do anything about it.
“If I don’t get my turn within the next ten seconds, perhaps I should just return to my study and--”
Lia, laughing in delight and adoration, threw her arms around her grandfather’s waist. He kissed her hair and squeezed her to him. “There you are.” He tilted her chin up and stared into her eyes. For a second, Lia grew afraid, but Lucius only said, “Your father’s been a dolt, hasn’t he? But you’re holding up well. That’s my girl.” He kissed her forehead. It was amazing how sweet this man could be without actually smiling. And it was disturbing how strong the sob lodged in Lia’s throat was. She forced it down.
“Now go upstairs and freshen up. Doff the winter gear.” With an arm around her shoulders, he steered her to the stairs, which was quite a journey in the big, big house. He patted her upper arm until they reached the staircase. “Get reacquainted with your room. Your grandmother has surprises up there. But don’t take too long. Come back down.”
With a smile this time, he nodded, she nodded and he went back to the drawing room. Lia stood there, clutching the newel post. She couldn’t believe she was here with them. She wanted to shriek-- or maybe blubber-- in glee and she wasn’t sure her shaking knees could handle the stairs. As she jumped up and down to disperse her nerves and bring back steadiness to her bones, he heard her grandfather.
“She smells like she threw up.” There was accusation in his voice.
And there was aggravation in her father’s. “Hello to you, too, Father.”
“What have you done, Draco? Why was she sick?”
“Yes, I want tea, Mother, thank you.”
Lia coughed an embarrassed chuckle ball and ran upstairs, determined to brush her teeth and gargle as well as lose the pink.
A conversation in the loo:
“Are you still on the train?”
“We still have hours before we arrive in London. I’ve already drunk another dose of the happy juice. You?”
“Once behind The Tattler-- which was quite a feat, I can tell you. I puked.”
“You puked? You mean on the Tattler?”
“We Apparated! My first Apparition. It’s not funny!”
“It is! Did you puke on him?”
“On his boots. Not on purpose. It just came out.”
“We’re lucky potions are never puked.”
“No, of course not. Or else we won’t need antidotes for everything. Nana--”
“Grandmother.”
“Grandmother bought you two mink coats. I hope they’re not real. Your balcony looks like a greenhouse, now, too. It’s glassed in.”
“Of course the mink isn’t real. Don’t make me puke. She’s been planning to do that for ages. Who’s The Tattler?”
“You thought it was a person? You thought I would use a person as a shield when I slug the happy potion?”
“What are you laughing at? It’s not preposterous at all. What is it then?”
“A paper dedicated to gossip. And they’re talking about Mum and Dad.”
“Oh. Oh, someone wants the loo. Bye!”
“And I’ve been up here long enough. They want me back downstairs. Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need it, swine.”
“Why thank you, priss.”
Earlier, Lia had been too busy puking and then hugging and kissing her grandparents to take notice of her surroundings. But now she noticed. Everything was so pretty.
Callie’s bedroom was both spacious and snug, with a low ceiling that arched as if the roof and the walls formed one giant circle. But no, the walls weren’t curved. They were ordinarily flat where they weren’t sunken to form shelves and nooks. And like in Lia’s room, blue was the dominant colour here, a different kind of blue and accented with red rather than hazel.
Outside, the hall was so airy and light because of the windows. As she walked back to the staircase, she couldn’t help peeking into rooms, and was surprised to find a little sitting room that matched Callie’s bedroom, with trunks overflowing with toys and low bookshelves lining the walls below the windows, and another matching room, this one smaller with a baby grand and a cello and a violin on a stand in one corner. On one wall, there was a Muggle photograph of a little Callie sitting at the piano, her feet dangling about a foot from the floor.
Lia shut the door and hoped she wouldn’t have to open it again. Lia knew art, not music. Not a whit about music.
She continued downstairs and back to the drawing room. Yes, she’d been too busy earlier. She gasped at the sight of those very high windows. Lia had a thing for windows. Particularly when the view was so nice. Skeleton trees, non-skeleton trees, and sky. Lots of wintry white sky.
“Glad to be home, are you?” said her grandfather, one eyebrow quirked. Lia schooled her expression.
“Yes, I missed this place.”
“And did you like the additions to your room?”
“Yes! Yes, Grandmother, thank you! It’s smashing.”
Lucius looked up from his demitasse.
“Where’s Dad?”
Lucius raised an eyebrow.
“Your father’s escaped to his apartments,” replied Narcissa acerbically. “Tell me about your sister, darling. We’re so sorry about that, by the way.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry about it?”
“Yes, Poppy, we’re handling it nicely.”
“Poppy?”
But Lia was too busy chuckling-- pleased with herself, her sister and the help they’d been getting for their schemes-- to see the mildly disturbed expression on said Poppy. Lia gobbled down petit fours and then brought a handful of biscuits over to the window. It was only when Lucius said, “She called me Poppy,” that she nearly choked. She froze where she stood looking out at the bare orchard and the slope of the vineyard and nearly sagged with relief when she heard her father’s laughter next.
“I told her to,” he said.
He did? Oh well. Whew. Lia supposed ‘Poppy’ didn’t really suit Lucius, but neither did ‘Grandfather’. She’d try ‘Granddad’ next. Or maybe Grampy or Papu. She laughed. Was there something in these biscuits?
“You’re so quiet. I hope you’re not too angry with me.”
Hermione watched her daughter sit back down after a trip to the loo, and did her best to look casual even as she examined every minute detail. A smell of the train’s lavender soap. A corner of the pink coat upturned. But no red eyes. Good. She’d been worrying too much. It wasn’t as if the girls wouldn’t see each other again. What was there to cry about?
Well...
Her daughter shook her head as if in rueful agreement.
Hermione wanted to say several things, apologies being most of them, but she couldn’t risk triggering a fusillade of questions she wouldn’t be able to answer either. So far, both of them had stayed silent, Lia reading-- which was new, perhaps an influence of Callie-- and Hermione hated the distance between them. They’d never sat together like this before. Lia had always been on her lap or fused to her arm. But now another person could so easily sit between them.
It was probably premature and even irrational, but Hermione grew afraid of this distance. What if it became permanent? She was already forbidden to one child, she couldn’t lose the other as well--
An owl flapping and struggling to keep up with her window startled her from her dark musings. She hadn’t noticed it immediately because it blended with the wintery landscape. Lia was already opening the sash. The snowy flew in and landed on one of the cushions, shaking her feathers. It was Polyxena, Harry and Ginny’s owl.
“Hermione,” the letter said, “It’s a circus at the platform. Even Skeeter’s here, bold as brass. You can guess why. Two words: Granger-Malfoy twins. Yes, that’s three. Cat’s out of the bag and they like this cat so much I think Ron will have to declare homosexuality to make them look away. Maybe not even then. All of us have already gone home. I suggest you cut short Lia’s Side-Along Apparition ban the moment the train stops and just Apparate to your house. We’ll meet you there. H.”
“Who sent the letter?”
Hermione tore her disbelieving eyes away from the parchment and transferred them to Lia. “What do you mean who sent it? Your Uncle Harry, of course.”
“Oh yes, I mean, what did he say? We’re just about to see him, right?”
“Not right away. They’ve left the platform. They’ll meet us at home instead. He says there’s press at the platform.”
“Why?”
“To ogle you and your sister. You two have just become our little world’s worst-kept secret.”
Hermione clenched her fists and looked out the window as the train infinitesimally began to slow. She wasn’t going to Apparate them out of there. She was going to hex all those idiots until no one was left standing, not on human legs. She thought she’d been furious before with Skeeter when the lying barracuda had used her and Harry so abominably, but that fury didn’t compare at all to her absolute rage now, at her daughters being awaited like objects, like they were curious knick-knacks to be photographed and documented for the world to dissect.
“Mum.”
Hermione felt the instant softening of her expression as she turned to her daughter.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what, honey?”
“Is this why you made the agreement? To keep us secret? If I-- if Callie didn’t leave France--”
“No, no! The agreement has nothing to do with you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry but the truth is, the horrible truth is we weren’t even thinking of you when we signed that blasted agreement. Isn’t that the worst?” Hermione blinked back tears and sighed, ashamed. Yes, there was nothing worse than admitting your folly to your child. Well no, having committed that folly in the first place was worse. “You have nothing to apologise for. All you need to do is try to... to forgive your stupid, stupid selfish parents, and be patient. We’ll work this out. Don’t worry. In the meantime, when was the last time you cuddled with your poor mum?”
Callie cuddled with her poor mum. She could feel the train slowing down, so she made the most of it, burying her face in her mother’s coat collar. This was the second time that either parent had broken down in front of her. One mention of that agreement and they melt. That blasted agreement, indeedy.
“You feel different. A bit bonier. Have you been cutting back on the s’mores?”
Callie evaded her mother’s question and delved her nose in her mother’s hair next. Thankfully, their journey ended just then, saving Callie from explaining her lack of padding from scarfing down s’mores. The whistle blew and steam billowed and puffed and covered the windows outside. If the press was there or not, they were probably getting their equipment ready, if not cursing the Hogwarts Express for being a steam engine. She felt her mother squeeze and kiss her hair one last time and then set her on her feet.
“We’re Apparating. Your things are all Shrunk in my pocket. I need you to hold tight to my arm. Don’t let go.”
Callie nodded. Her mother smiled.
“Just a nod? No barrage of questions? You’d think you’d done this before. Right then. The moment I step onto the platform, I’ll turn. That’s how we Apparate. We think of our destination, we focus our will to get there and then turn on the spot. Turn, not twist or twirl or gyrate or pirouette-- But you don’t need to do any of that yet. Just hold tight.”
It took some jostling to reach one of the doors. And then it took some breath-squeezing to reach the cottage. The cottage.
Callie was so thrilled she almost forgot to pretend being shaken by her supposedly first Apparition. Almost. She did a rather convincing flop onto a pouf. She even bent forward to put her head between her knees. Mostly to hide the grin splitting her face and say hello to Lia’s favourite furniture in the sitting room.
“Impressive. She didn’t puke.”
“And she’s wearing pink.”
Callie looked up. Uncle Fred and Uncle George stepped out from behind the wall of bookshelves dividing the sitting room from the rest of the house. She grinned and pulled off her muff and cloak as they plucked the beret from her head and fought over it. Her mother let them at it a little while and then snatched it from them and sent the beret, cloak and muff sailing to the closet under the stairs.
The closet door closed at the same time the front door opened and suddenly, Callie was surrounded by the people she’d almost begun to feel were only characters from books. But fictional characters didn’t embrace you and kiss you and even pinch you heartily.
She was also hefted into the air much more than was acceptable for her age and dignity but she laughed and kicked and only quieted when she landed in front of the Nanas and Poppies.
“Hi, darling!” Nana Molly engulfed her in a hug and kissed both her cheeks with loud smacks. Poppy Arthur did the same. And then blood called to blood. To her trepidation and embarrassment, tears came to Callie’s eyes when Nana Helen and Poppy Logan took their turn.
In Lia’s words, Nana Helen was one of those middle-aged women ‘who hadn’t shrunk or puffed out sideways or frontways as they got older’. In Callie’s more succinct estimation, Nana Helen was a brunette version of Grandmother. Nana Helen wasn’t as tall but the way she held herself added height and made those who didn’t know her think she was either a haughty person-- she wasn’t-- or merely blessed with unassailable self-confidence-- she was. Her patients in the dental clinic were assured by that and it was a trait she’d passed down to her daughter. She wordlessly smiled down at Callie after their embrace, caressing Callie’s cheek with a soft and fragrant hand.
Poppy Logan, on the other hand, was every bit the cute and jolly grandfather. He was as tall as Uncle Ron, who was the tallest of the Weasley men. He had a belly and a moustache and seemed proud of both. After a hug and a kiss, he winked at Callie with his crinkly eyes and doffed his hat with a flourish.
“Dad!” Hermione shrieked. “What on earth did you do to your head?”
“Why? What’s wrong with it? Isn’t it absolutely flawless?”
Callie giggled, reaching up to stroke the smooth skin.
“My hair got tired of me and began to leave. I figured I should cut to the chase, so to speak.”
“That’s why I wear these tinted lenses now,” said Nana Helen. “He’s so bright and shiny.”
The whole room laughed and there was a kerfuffle as Uncles Fred, George, Harry and Ron pretended to line up to feel Poppy Logan’s shaved head. Poppy Arthur looked contemplative.
“I can’t believe you let him do that, Mum,” said Hermione.
“Don’t speak to me. I’m not happy with you.”
Callie winced, inwardly still giggling.
Another conversation in the loo:
“I was really, really terrified. I thought someone’s written to rat us out. She got to the letter first and of course I couldn’t very well snatch it from her.”
“Relax. Don’t function under guilt, priss. We’re not doing anything wrong. We’re just spending time with our family.”
“Oh, Poppy Logan’s bald.”
“You mean Poppy Arthur?”
“No, I mean Poppy Logan. He shaved his head. He’s so bright and shiny, to quote Nana Helen.”
“Speaking of Poppies, I slipped and called Grandfather ‘Poppy’ but Dad said he told me to call Grandfather that.”
“In a letter, I think. Hey, Mum’s really angry about the reporters waiting at the platform.”
“She doesn’t like the press much.”
“No, I mean, do you think they really didn’t want it known that they had us? That they were together?”
“Well, duh. Who wouldn’t think they were together? Didn’t Mum sort of fight for clemency to the Malfoys? Granted, she might have done that anyway simply because it’s what she thinks is right, but still. And then perhaps they shouldn’t have taken the wrong twin. I mean, look at us. If Mum didn’t want it suspected that her child is a Malfoy, she should have taken you instead of me.”
“What if they were threatened? What if we were threatened? Mum said they weren’t even thinking about us when they signed that agreement. But maybe she wasn’t telling me the whole truth. They did have enemies then, didn’t they? And even now perhaps.”
“You’re scaring me, priss. Don’t be morbid. At least, not just now. Wait until we can be morbid together. But Mum won’t lie to you. She hasn’t ever lied about all this. She omitted stuff, but she never--”
“Yes, Father excelled at omissions, too.”
“I have to go down to dinner!”
“Me, too, swine. And Nana Helen’s snippy at Mum.”
“Good. You should see the dirty looks Grandmother throws at Dad.”
Lia’s confidence was catching, so Callie went back downstairs sturdier at the knees and less intimidated by the troop she had to fool into thinking she was Lia. They hadn’t really factored this in. They were just so excited meeting their respective ‘long-lost’ relatives. It wasn’t fair. Lia had to fool three people. Four if you counted Aunt Pansy, but she and Uncle Patrick usually went away for Yule and greeted the New Year somewhere exotic. Callie had to deal with more than a dozen people. It was a mercy they weren’t all there right now.
The leaves of the dining table had been let out to accommodate the guests. From where she paused at the foot of the stairs, Callie could see past her family to the breakfast nook and opposite that, Callie could see the fridge. The rest of the kitchen was obscured from view by the wall of a room, perhaps a closet or a washroom.
Everyone was helping set the table with the food brought by Nana Molly and Nana Helen and Aunt Ginny. Callie decided to help, only to fumble a little as she joined the bustle. Aunt Ginny hadn’t spoken to her yet. She had kissed Callie and passed her on to Harry. Callie could see her from the corner of her eye, sitting at the table looking at Callie narrowly.
Callie decided to just wing it and yelped.
“I told you!” Nana Molly yelled back, hitting Poppy Arthur on the arm. “Merlin, you’ll probably make the babies cry!”
“Is it scary, Lia?” asked a chastised and sheepish Arthur.
Callie shook her head, laughing now. “Sorry. I was just taken by surprise. But it’s as shiny and perfect as Poppy Logan’s.”
“Sit beside each other, please,” said Uncle Fred, pulling chairs and motioning Arthur and Logan to them. “Eggs right this way. And smile for the camera. No, George, leave off the flash!”
Callie ended up sitting down at the head of the table, with five of her family on either side of her. Aunt Ginny was still staring, and finally, everyone else noticed.
“Don’t mind her,” said Uncle Harry. “Just two more months and we’ll all be happy again. Not that I’m not happy now, mind. I’m very, very, very--”
“Happy?” said Uncle Ron, while Uncle George coughed something that sounded like, ‘whipped’. Uncle Harry nodded at Uncle Ron and threw a pea at Uncle George.
“How’s your sister, my Lia?” said Aunt Ginny. The whole table went quiet. “I’m sorry. You remember in the summer, I couldn’t get enough of you? And now I seem to be missing your sister something terrible even though I haven’t even seen her.”
Callie took a drink of water. It seemed Aunt Ginny’s strange obsession with Lia hadn’t abated at all.
“My sister’s great. I love her so much.”
“Oh gods above, you are a sweet, sad thing!” said Nana Molly, a hand over her mouth. Everyone else also forgot their forks and spoons, staring at Callie, and not at all dewy-eyed either. Dang it. Yes, Lia goes around declaring her love for people, doesn’t she? Bravo, Calliope. She attacked her potatoes and splattered gravy on her water glass.
“You two shouldn’t have been kept apart,” said Nana Helen, glaring at Hermione. “It’s monstrous, really. I can’t believe I condoned it. Oh, that’s right, there was nothing I could have done anyway.”
“Mother, please--”
“Lia, did you give one of the two-way mirrors to your sister?”
Callie nodded at Uncle Harry. “Great,” he said. “You two can talk. Look, I’ll show you right now. Is it unpacked yet?” Yes, it was. Callie nodded again, too stunned to even think to lie. “Accio Lia’s mirror.”
They waited. And waited. Callie could feel sweat snaking down her spine.
“How many mirrors does your daughter have?” said Harry to Hermione.
“Don’t be stupid,” replied Hermione, too snappishly, still stinging from Nana’s anger. Gentler, she continued, “All the mirrors in this house are technically Lia’s mirrors. Accio two-way mirror.”
Holy sweet Minerva. If they called Callie’s name into the mirror, what would happen?
Lia placed the mirror on her bedside table and skipped to the door. She opened it but as she pirouetted through it, she nearly sent her grandmother toppling to the floor.
“Hecate!” said Narcissa, as Lia grabbed her around the waist to right her. Narcissa laughed and entered the room before Lia could body-block her. “Oh well, no bruise, no foul.” She waved her wand and the fire in the grate burned higher and the lamps flared brighter.
“Aren’t we going down to dinner?” said Lia, eyeing the mirror and deciding her uncles and aunt had good taste. It looked like a regular hand mirror. To paraphrase her grandmother, no calls, no trouble.
“Yes, we are. I just have something to give you.” With a deft flip of her wrist, Narcissa revealed the picture she’d been carrying under her arm.
It was the photograph taken just that morning by their father, now framed in glazed walnut carved with one-dimensional tulips. She and Callie weren’t moving and looked sullen. It reminded Lia of her Nana Helen’s unsmiling ancestral photographs. She and Callie were holding hands, muffs at their sides, their arms intertwined. She and Callie also looked... surprisingly different. Their faces were different. It was subtle, but you could tell who was who without peering at the hair almost completely obscured by their fluffy collars and berets. Lia couldn’t understand how they’d pulled it off when they’d merely switched hair and eye colour.
“You look like your mother. Your sister takes after your father. See her cheeks and chin? You both have the same look in your eyes, though. Is it greedy of me to want the both of you here? I absolutely want to strangle your father for what he’s done. But that’s unfair because I should want to strangle your mother as well, and I certainly don’t.” Narcissa punctuated that with a short laugh that ended in a sigh.
“You like her, my mum,” said Lia, entranced with the framed photograph and Narcissa’s arm around her shoulder. They sat down on the sleigh couch at the foot of Callie’s bed. Wandlessly, Narcissa sent the photo to the wall perpendicular to the balcony, where it attached itself with a loud click.
“I do, darling. She’s given me you, and your father, and your grandfather. What’s not to like? I just wish” well, I have a lot of wishes this year. More fervent than ever. Who’s this?”
“Flibby.”
“Flibby?”
Lia was jolted out of her daze. Her grandmother was holding Flibby and was turning the doll over to look at the rhinestone studs on the back pockets of her jeans. Narcissa turned the doll back over and examined Flibby’s face and hair. Lia’s hand leapt on its own to her ear, but no, her cardiac muscle hadn’t relocated there. It was only being amplified.
“But didn’t I give this to your sister? Only Thalia was supposed to be able to keep it. An old doll spell that jinxes doll thieves. How did you break it?”
Holy sweet Athena. Somehow, Lia just knew that naming the doll after the flibbertigibbet had been bad luck...
End Notes:
And that’s it for now. The other half will be another chapter. Will probably come sooner than a week if I don’t get blocked again. I keep getting distracted! So many scenes and details in this chapter are inspired by scenes or details from other books and films and when I think of them, I just had to read or see them again, drat it (drat that two-way mirror, particularly *sob*).
Chapter title is from Shampoo’s Trouble *bobs head, taps table, swings hips*. We only have a VHS tape of Power Rangers the Movie (they don't make them like that any more. I've seen the 'newer' Power Rangers and oh, the outrage! I pity this generation... Poor tykes won't know the genuine Morphin' time) and the player’s long been trapping dust in a closet. This is the one movie I didn’t get to see again while writing this chapter.
This is the Chateau du Rose (the Malfoy's estate in France) and its 30-foot tall windows:
http://i120.photobucket.com/albums/o174/LucillaJoanna/tranquility1a_v2.jpg
http://i120.photobucket.com/albums/o174/LucillaJoanna/tranquility_great_hall_v2.jpg
The house is called Tranquility, a Lake Tahoe, NV mansion. It could be yours for the very nice price of 75 million dollars.
Once again, thank you, dear readers! Don't forget to review! *dodges Mel's minions*
Yule in the Yucatan by lucilla_pauie
“No, no. Mustn’t waste space.” An airy wave. Cute. Tempting. How can he have not noticed it before? He wants to touch his lips to that small, shapely hand.
“You can return to your book. I’m not a child or like your dogs that need to be entertained.”
“No, you’re like my cat. Crabby for no reason.”
A half-smile. “My apologies. That was stupid.”
“Had a nice Christmas?”
“Tolerable. Wet. You?”
“Wet? Where were you?”
“Belize. It rained most afternoons the week we were there. But Mother loved it. I suppose there was really no cause for complaint because we were well shielded from mosquitoes and the skies were still bluer there. I spent my time underwater.”
“Diving?”
“No, in the tub. Of course, diving.”
An eyeroll. “'Tolerable. Wet.' I’m so sure. Belize, for Merlin’s sake.”
A smirk. “Perhaps one day, I’ll take you.”
A disbelieving chuckle. “Yes, of course. And we’re bringing our twins.”
“Our twins?”
“I never lose in the Improbable Scenarios Game.”
“Deal. You’re priceless.” A genuine laugh. Surprising, addicting. How can she have not noticed it before? She already wants to hear it again, cause it again.
Hermione had shared a friendship with her mother. Helen felt guilt over turning her daughter into a small adult through genes and traits she had passed and consequently became her daughter’s most eager confidant and pal. This camaraderie was halted by Hogwarts. Hogwarts replaced Helen. Harry and Ron replaced Helen. Helen became ‘Mum’ and nothing more. Hermione became increasingly cognizant of this when the secrets she had to keep from her mother for her parents’ own safety grew in number and size while the time she spent with them decreased and decreased. In turn, she felt guilt over this.
Guilt that tripled and quadrupled after the Australia incident. Since then, she and her mother had reconnected, but the connection was splintered at best. Thalia had fixed those splinters. And now the splinters were back because of the absence of Thalia’s twin.
“Calliope? Callie? Callie. Callie.”
Hermione tried not to wince at each of those stabs Harry unknowingly delivered as he spoke to the mirror.
“She’s probably at dinner now,” said Lia. “Like me.”
“Right. You try again later, squirt.” Harry handed back the mirror.
Hermione stared at her daughter. “Why are you so pale all of a sudden?”
“Delayed reaction from the Apparition premiere?” said Fred, offering the now-empty bowl of potatoes.
Lia laughed shakily. “Maybe?” But after taking a sip of water, she regained her colour and even grinned to herself as she spooned more raspberry sauce on her peach melba. Looking up from observing her daughter, Hermione saw her mother observing her. As their eyes met, hurt, pique, forgiveness and sympathy were all conveyed.
Draco shot a warming charm under the table and then envied his legs and feet for being warm and comfortable. He fiddled with the napkin ring and, to appear that he was not fiddling, went ahead and pulled the napkin out of the ring and spread the napkin on his lap. His father sat to his right and the other two empty seats at the round table waited for his mother and his daughter. Where had they gone off to? Was this a calculated move on his mother’s part, to make Draco pretend not to squirm under Lucius’s scrutiny? Not that he was pretending not to squirm. Squirming and all that milksop behaviour were behind him. He was no longer a pup now, for Merlin’s sake.
“How is she?” said Lucius, and Draco kicked his own shin. All that repressed squirming getting out in one spastic jerk.
“She looked fine to me,” said Draco, crossing his leg over the other and surreptitiously rubbing his injured shin. “We saw her not an hour ago.”
“Not Calliope. Her mother.”
“She has a name.”
“Yes, of course. Hermione Jean Granger, bane of my existence, next to you. Astonishing, really, how the two top students of Hogwarts could not only deed but also maintain their combined folly.”
“Father.”
“To closely paraphrase your mother, don’t ‘father’ me in that tone, Draco Malfoy.”
Despite the jocose words, the disdain in Lucius’s voice had been replaced by real disquiet and Draco felt like he was freshly seventeen again, freshly reunited with his father after the second breakout from Azkaban, and their small, untouchable family freshly displaced from their status and in their own home. That was the first time his father had talked to him without sounding like an overlord giving orders or condescending to show appreciation or displeasure. Lucius had taken one look at Draco’s marked skin and whispered, “Forgive me, Draco.” The proverbial rug was pulled from under Draco’s feet, staggering him with new realisations about his father and his father’s aims and ambitions.
Lucius was about to say more, but seemed to change his mind and instead said, “There you are.”
Narcissa and Callie sat down.
“Callie has her sister’s doll,” said his mother. “She says Thalia gave it to her as a keepsake until they’re together again. I didn’t know that could be done. I suppose my sisters and I were simply too possessive with ours.”
“Bella had dolls? What did she do with them? They can’t scream.”
“We were all children once, Lucius,” said Narcissa, raising her hand and prompting the elves to start serving dinner. “It is hard to believe but Bella was like every other girl once, too.”
“She was? Do you and your contemporaries fashion lengths of lace and ribbon into lethal nooses, too, Calliope?”
For some reason Draco could very well fathom, his daughter pinked and failed to stifle a laugh. “Not lethal, nope.” She grinned at Draco, and Draco was helpless to return it, though grudgingly. He returned his eyes to his plate and caught his father’s gaze. This man, this almost-god whom Draco had admired and obeyed all his life, was again his father. When Draco was seventeen, Lucius had revealed himself to be a father who had cared and miscalculated in his schemes. Now, he was a father who cared, badgered, and irritated his son to Hades, but a father who cared, nonetheless.
“I take it you’ve been victimised by those non-lethal nooses?”
Draco grunted into his soup and wondered how Hermione was faring.
“Well done, Calliope.”
An exchange of hisses in the loo.
“It was so scary.”
“Mine was scarier. If Grandma and her sisters hadn’t been too attached to their dolls--”
“I nearly fainted when Uncle Harry began calling my name into the mirror--”
“Oh, priss. Just rel--”
“Don’t oh, priss me and don’t tell me to relax! What do I do? I think they all want to talk to you through the mirror.”
“What?”
“Don’t say ‘what’. Say ‘I beg your pardon’ or simply ‘pard--”
“Oh, priss. Tell them I don’t want to meet them through the mirror because, well, that would be somehow sadder, wouldn’t it?”
“Oh. You’re right. My thinking engine goes haywire when I panic, doesn’t it?”
“Let’s hope you grow out of it.”
“Don’t sound so superior, swine.”
“And haven’t you got normal shirts and jeans?”
“You should wear nice clothes from time to time.”
“Now who’s being snotty?”
“It is widely known that little more than a decade ago, Miss Granger, the illustrious friend of Harry Potter, consternated British Wizarding society by championing none other than Lucius Malfoy. Convicted of Death Eater malignancy and complicity to Unforgivables cast in his own home as well as to numerous other crimes that led to, and commenced after, Voldemort’s return, the senior Malfoy had been included in the Undesirables facing life imprisonment in Azkaban. Miss Granger advocated the Malfoys to have this sentence reversed; arguing that while Lucius Malfoy is guilty of most charges (see page 12 for full list), all of them combined still did not merit life incarceration as punishment. In the end, Lucius Malfoy was heavily fined and exiled. The Malfoy ancestral seat in Wiltshire and all the artefacts within it were seized by the Ministry, and the Malfoy vaults remain frozen in Gringotts. The Malfoys, once among the most powerful elite and apparently still the most cunning in preserving and ensuring their future even with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named camped in their drawing room, relocated to France.
“What hasn’t been widely known until now is that the rumoured romance between Draco Malfoy and Miss Granger, also little more than a decade ago is as real as puffskeins. This author is among those staggered by this--”
“Oh, gods,” said Hermione, grimacing at her tea. “Until you reached ‘puffskeins’, I was starting to believe that isn’t Skeeter. But it is, isn’t it?”
“Who else?” said Harry.
“You have a reporter named Skeeter?” said Logan.
“We wish we don’t,” said Hermione grimly. “I wish I’d shipped her to the Isle of Drear.”
“Why? What’s there? I don’t think I’ve heard of that place,” said Helen.
“Just off the north of Scotland. Inhabited by man-eating spiders,” said Ron, visibly shuddering. “Go on, Harry.”
Harry shook open the Evening Prophet again and continued, “... as real as puffskeins.” He chuckled and got a slap on the arm from Ginny, who was yawning beside him. She, Harry and Ron were the only ones remaining for a nightcap, along with the Grangers. “This author is among those staggered by this but the incontrovertible evidence of their attachment have just arrived at Hogwarts this year. This author (and all others) has not yet acquired photographs and Hogwarts records have always been an impregnable and closely guarded archive, but their names are Thalia Granger and Calliope Malfoy. One grew up with her mother, the other with her father. Accounts from various sources suggest the two sisters even quarrelled, both of them wrongly suspecting the other as being the cause of their respective families being broken...”
Harry looked up to join the others in giving Hermione a look of either sympathy or rebuke. She just grimaced again.
“What drove our star-crossed lovers apart? Buh, buh, buh, buh. The gist of the conclusion is she’s wondering why you kept your daughters apart, why you kept all this secret from everyone and the twins and if you four are together for Yule and when you’ll go about legitimizing the twins.”
“What rubbish. I did tell Lia about her father.” Hermione placed her undrunk and cold tea on the coffee table and rubbed her face with her hands.
“Well, are you?” said Helen.
Hermione knew what her mother was asking but still asked belligerently, “Am I what?” She was suddenly bone-tired and wished they would leave.
“Are you and Draco getting married? If not, why not? Isn’t it the only plausible solution to this muck you’ve dragged your daughters in? And this secret reason why you two broke it off in the first place had better not be something petty, Hermione Jean Granger, or I swear, I’ll finally disown you. You’ve used your magic brashly again and this time you don’t even have the excuse of not wanting the poor beneficiaries of your magic to be hurt! They are hurting! Logan, we’re leaving. Good night, Ginny, Harry, Ron.”
Hermione kept her face hidden in her palms and waited until she heard the front door slamming shut. And then she emerged to snatch at the afghan draped on the back of the sofa so she could wipe her eyes.
“She’s as scary as Mum, isn’t she? And she’s had some wine, too. Mum’s mostly mellow when she’s had some.”
Hermione snorted a laugh. “Thank you, Ron.”
“You’re still not ready to tell us what happened?” said Ginny, levering herself off the armchair. Harry jumped to his feet and pulled her upright.
Wordlessly, Hermione hugged Ginny, then Harry and Ron.
“See you on Yule. If you want anything else in that blasted paper, take it away with you. I’m this close to throwing it in the fire right now.”
“Things will work out, Hermione,” said Harry. Hermione nodded and watched and listened as they left. The front door bolted itself shut after them.
Hermione threw the afghan back on its perch and went upstairs to check on her daughter. Only to find Lia’s door locked. That pinched Hermione again like her mother’s telling-off and instead of unlocking the door, she rushed to her own bedroom, climbed into bed and pulled the covers over her head so that she sat in a small tent, one elbow propped on one knee, forehead cradled by her hand. Her mother’s reprimand and Ginny’s question haunted her.
Yes, it had all been so petty. So how could she ever be ready to tell anyone? Especially now, when the pettiness had had more than a decade to fester?
Not to mention she was now facing disownment.
She wondered how Draco was faring.
An exchange of giggles in the loo:
“You should have seen Mum’s face. But she was too polite to boot him out. So I called Uncle Fred on the Floo and told him that Menis is here and then he shooed me off the grate and he and Uncle George came and acted like they were expected for lunch and Mum went along and didn’t bother including Menis in the conversation. But he still tailed us to the dining table--”
“Yeah, he’s aggravating that way.”
“--and then he, um... farted... when he sat down. I nearly... died.”
“Breathe, priss. In... and out.”
“You breathe, too, swine.”
“It was the Cushion, wasn’t it? Only Julius still falls for that one. It’s like he’s completely gormless when Mum’s around that he doesn’t even notice what he’s sitting on.”
“What do you mean? He fancies Mum? He’s as old as our grandfathers! Maybe older!”
“Grandfather was mauled today. He took me and Grandmother to Paris and I noticed women tended to turn and stare at him--”
“Grandma gets looks, too, but fewer because men get intimidated by Grandfath--”
“--and then we were invited to Mr Carew’s on the way back home. His sister-in-law who’s only a little younger than the Headmistress was completely drunk and she was completely convinced Grandfather was her sweetheart Edmund and she was babbling to him in what she thought was hushed tones and everyone got red in the face when they heard her and cast me embarrassed looks but I can’t understand slurred French anyway. Grandfather couldn’t move because Celeste was right on his lap and she’d even draped her cat on his shoulder. And then... and then... she tugged on his hair and seemed to come to when it wouldn’t come off...”
“She thought her Edmund was wearing a wig?”
“Probably! She stood up right quick and tried to scramble away in a hurry, but she tripped on Grandfather’s cane and then on her cat and that did it. She fell down on the sofa and just started snoring so fiercely the fur on her stole kept being sucked to her mouth... I think Grandma did some marvellous spellwork there. No one noticed the sofa was six inches to the right of Celeste.”
“Wait, wait, Lia. You said you can’t understand slurred French? But you can understand it when it’s not slurred?”
“No. Nana Helen tried to teach me but I didn’t like it. I only know key words and phrases.”
“I suppose you’ve been extremely lucky so far. None of the Carews spoke to you?”
“Not really. Just greetings and flatteries. Now I’m nervous, priss.”
“Just stay home, then. Ask Grandmother not to have a party this year. Tell her you want the family to yourself.”
“Okay. Now sound the tune of Julius’s fart.”
“Does he really fancy Mum? He’s not even handsome like Grandfather. What makes him think--”
“Never mind him. He’s not a threat. Haven’t you seen Dad? And those kisses? Come on, the fart, I need another laugh. I regret not learning French!”
“She’s still getting roses, by the way.”
“Really? I thought that was someone at Hogwarts trying to make Dad jealous.”
“Here’s the fart.”
“Dear Grandfather,
We have chosen you to be our accomplice. Be honoured! We only have 72 vials of Polyjuice Potion each. We need your assistance before we drink the very last doses. You will meet Lia in the orchard. You will see Callie again in June.
Love,
Callie and Lia”
Lucius chuckled to himself and stashed the letter in the small chest of Cuban cigars he rarely smoked. He’d found the letter under his breakfast plate that morning. How Cal-- No, it was Lia, wasn’t it? He chuckled again. How Lia had managed to put the letter under his plate without attracting attention was anyone’s guess and such a fine execution of Slytherin art that Lucius chuckled for the third time.
“What’s the joke?”
Narcissa entered his study and went to stand before the fire. Lucius waited. Narcissa only ventured into his domain when she had something to say, something she couldn’t wait to blurt out. If she could, she’d have been in her sitting room and sent for him. It was their little tradition. She obeyed him but he answered her summons. And being the Black princess she was, she summoned him as much as she could and obeyed him only when it suited her.
“Lucius, this is-- well, I’m lost for words.” She turned to him and chuckled herself, reminding Lucius of the little fay queen who’d laughed at him the day he told her they were affianced. Granted, she was only ten then and he’d been at his most arrogant at fourteen, making sure his claim was staked before the girl stepped foot at Hogwarts. “I think it’s not Callie with us just now.”
“Not Callie?” Lucius raised an eyebrow.
“No. We were in the conservatory just now, and she called my Cristana ‘that tiger-looking pitcher flower’.”
“Your Cristana?”
“My Brazilian Orchid, Lucius! Callie named it Cristana!”
“Oh.”
“Oh?” Narcissa glared at him. And because she looked liable to employ the poker to finally get a reaction out of him, he reached into his cigar chest, held up a hand to stave off her indignation that he’d think to smoke while she was in the room, and effectively shut her up by showing her the letter. She read it in two seconds and laughed.
“But why am I not an accomplice, too?”
“You can be if you want. I’ll tell you everything, of course.”
“Their doses run out tomorrow! And Thalia must be freezing in the orchard. Why are you still here?”
“Because you detained me, woman.”
He kissed her and finally returned her wide grin on his way out.
“Dear Uncles Gred and Forge,
Of course you’ll be our accomplices, won’t you? Wait for an owl. It will have a key in an envelope. Please give it to our Mum tomorrow morning at eight. Tell her it’s a surprise for her and me. You see, if I’m the one who gives it to her, she might be a tad suspicious and the plan is reliant on time. Lives are at stake!
Love,
Lia and Callie
PS: Don’t slip and call me Callie or Lia will kill your stud pygmy puff.”
“Eight in the morning?” George groaned.
“They threatened Brad Pitt!” said Fred sounding genuinely outraged. “Now where is that owl?”
Near eight in the morning, in the cottage in the outskirts of Devon, Hermione was lifted bodily from her bed and set on her feet before her eyes even blinked open.
Meanwhile, for the first time in years and years, Draco was ambushed by both parents in his bedroom and for the first time ever, was roused so roughly a yelled profanity echoed through the still morning air of Chablis.
Shoes were slapped onto Hermione’s feet. “Ow, Fred! Are you trying to break my ankle?”
Draco got slugged on his arm. “Ow, Mother! You hit like a man!”
“What is this?” said Hermione. “Why are you manhandling me and why is my daughter here to witness it?”
“What is this?” said Draco. “Why are you manhandling me and why is my daughter here to witness it?”
Callie grabbed her mother’s hand.
Lia grabbed her father’s hand.
Fred and George looked at their watches.
Lucius and Narcissa turned to look at the clock on Draco’s mantel.
And then Fred handed Hermione a key. “Have a nice holiday. Happy Yule!”
Lucius closed his son’s fist on a key. “A gift from your mother and me. Use it well, won’t you?”
They arrived in a whirlwind of green and blue and white. When the colours stilled, Draco and Hermione blinked at the darkness. Where they’d come from, it had still been the dark of night. Here, it was truly... night.
They saw each other at the same time in the moonlight. Hermione opened her mouth to speak and then averted her eyes. Draco would have realised he was wearing nothing but his boxers if he wasn’t so thoroughly distracted by Hermione in that same red nightgown that had lived behind his eyelids since he’d seen her in it last.
They grew aware of Callie and Lia switching places and switching faces just then. The girls shuddered and clutched at their respective parent’s hands as the Polyjuice’s magic expired. And then they grinned up at their mother and father.
“There was a change of plans.”
“We were all supposed to be dressed and packed.”
“But Grandfather thought you two shouldn’t be given a chance to guess at things...”
Their grins slowly faded when they didn’t elicit the reactions they’d expected.
Draco and Hermione exchanged smirks. Callie and Lia exchanged frowns.
“You’re not surprised?” said Lia.
“No,” said Draco and Hermione together.
“Didn’t you ever wonder why I didn’t serve a whole roast chicken last night?” said Hermione, speaking to the girl on Draco’s side. “It’s always what I make for Christmas Eve. But I happened to have been told you’re very sensitive to that sort of thing.”
“And didn’t you wonder why I didn’t ask you to play the piano?” said Draco, speaking to the girl on Hermione’s side. “I knew you’re a sculptor, not a musician.”
Draco and Hermione laughed as the girls spluttered like fish out of water.
“I hope you ate your fill in France, Lia. You’ve lost weight.”
“I had to explain things to your mare, Callie. She misses you.”
“Who told you?” Lia wailed.
“You did,” said Draco. “When you laughed after throwing up. Callie couldn’t have done that. She’d have thrown up again after throwing up and kept on going until she had nothing left to heave and we can finally take the taste out of her mouth and the embarrassment out of her system. Would take a Cheering Charm as well as a Draught of Peace.”
“And Lia never sips water. Or anything, really. She hates washing off the taste of food in her mouth when she’s not yet done eating. And when she drinks, she guzzles and gulps. She always waits for her tea or milk to cool so she could tip the mug or goblet into her mouth and put it down empty.” Hermione shook her head. “We’re your parents. Did you really think you could fool us? You need another monster-like thing to distract us enough first.”
Callie and Lia pouted. By silent agreement, they ran off, their nightgowns billowing behind them.
“Um, should we be letting them do that?” said Hermione. “Where are they going? Where are we?”
Draco had already recognised the house the girls were running to. And the garden they were standing in. He could even smell the salt in the air. When he looked at Hermione, she seemed to be catching on as well. Her hand had flown to her mouth.
Hermione couldn’t help gasping. She looked at the shadowed palm trees and took note of the slap of the wind on her skin. It was a particular and unmistakeable type of breeze. An ocean breeze. She looked at Draco, and by the wry twist of his grin, she knew he was also remembering that long-ago conversation in the Hogwarts Express.
“It seems you don’t always win the Improbable Scenarios game after all.”
“We’re in Belize?”
“With our twins.”
End Notes:
Additional: Edited last part because I forgot timezones! Duh. UK is six hours ahead of Belize in winter.
Ooh, Belize! Even without knowing about it, you can still guess that it’s a pretty country just because of the name, right? I had to stop here because I have to do research... I’ve never been to Belize (or anywhere else, really). ;)
We’ve been back in the outline since ‘Uh-oh’, btw. After the cliffy in the last chapter, the next scenes were supposed to be a relief from those cliffies. The scene I was holding in my head was that of C and T weaselling their way out with aplomb *coughluckcough*.
But that bit of train dialogue just plopped onto my lap when I finally sat down to write after days and days of mooning over Queen’s Thief and our reserved seats at the cinema for DH Part 2. Dammit. My concentration was shot and went from bad to worse because of the premiere... The story seemed to know this and decided to hook me in with that bit.
Writing is such a pain in the ass most of the time but these magic moments of inspiration more than make up for that, don’t they? ;) We all owe that bit for this whole chapter getting written in one day! If this seems fragmented, it might be because I was writing so fast before the inspiration ghosted away again. I still let this sit overnight of course and I think it’s still in my usual style of plonking scenes in there without preamble and unnecessary twaddle...
And the ones in trouble in the last chapter? That was Draco and Hermione, not Callie and Lia, haha. The wrath of the mothers.
Yule in the Yucatan Part Two coming right up! Thanks for reading! Please review!
Yule in the Yucatan II by lucilla_pauie
“I’d Transfigure these into a robe for you but--”
Hermione gritted her teeth and didn’t deign to follow his eyes as he gestured to his boxers and instead followed in the girls’ wake, rubbing her arms and trying not to shiver. Belize was warm especially when one came from England’s winter, but it still wasn’t warm enough to be outside--at what, 2 am?-- in one’s nightgown. Those girls had better be inside.
She paused at the door.
“Whose house is this? Or did they just break in?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s ours.”
“You mean it belongs to you Malfoys?”
“If you insist to clarify it as such.” She could hear the wryness in his voice. “I think my father’s transferred ownership to me this morning, though. And the house probably recognised Callie and Lia as Malfoys so the door opened to them without need of the key.”
There were a lot of things she wanted to controvert and question in that but she swallowed her words for the moment. She let him usher her over the threshold. Her bare feet-- the shoes Fred had haphazardly slapped onto her person had been lost in the Portkey crossing. She was going to strangle Fred-- left the grass and met smooth and cool terra cotta tiles.
Surprise, surprise: the interior sprawled endlessly, and she was only at what appeared to be the living area. From the accent lamps left burning, Hermione could discern potted palms and palmettos and rattan furniture on bamboo rugs. One wall was wholly composed of bamboo blinds, almost certainly screening a picture window.
A wooden staircase curved to the loft. The balcony there was lit softly and one of three doors was ajar, leaking bright light.
“I’m going back to bed. Tomorrow-- later, we’re going back to England.”
Without turning to see if he agreed or not, she climbed the stairs. When she lifted her hand from the railing, her palm was coated with dust. As if on cue, she heard explosive sneezing from the room ahead. She pushed the gaping door all the way open and found Lia and Callie blowing their brains out, clutching the neck of their nightgowns to their running noses. Their eyes were streaming.
Hermione banished the dust on every surface and shot a purifying spell into the air. Another door in the room led to a bathroom. Hermione repeated her dust banishment and then looked in the cupboard for an antihistamine or a Pepper Up. She found the latter. It wouldn’t stop the girls from sneezing and tearing up but they’d fall asleep without clogged noses, at least.
“I can’t believe this,” said Draco, coming into the room and grimacing in sympathy as the girls greeted his entrance with an unbroken chain of six sneezes. “This place has caretakers. Two ancient, very ornery and very particular caretakers. I wonder where they’d gone.” He tugged at Callie’s nightgown and gave her the bed covers to use instead.
“Did you Scourgify that?” said Hermione sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.
Draco gave her an exasperated look, not getting it. “And the bed, ma’am. And the curtains.”
Hermione went back into the loo to fetch a box of tissues. She tugged the bed cover away from both Callie and Lia and gave them the box. They groaned (in between sneezes) when they saw the bottle of Pepper Up.
“I suppose you’re regretting dragging us here, now, aren’t you?” said Hermione as she dosed them.
“Doe,” said Lia.
Hermione and Draco laughed at how she sounded.
“Well, whatever they are, your plans,” said Hermione, “haven’t been off to a good start.” She Scourgified the much maligned bed covers and shook it back over the bed.
“We got you here, didn’t we?” said Lia.
“And we’re going right back to England in a few hours so--”
“No.” It was Callie. She climbed into bed and folded back the covers for Lia. Lia followed and disappeared under the blanket until only the top of her head was visible. Callie tucked the blanket to her chin and spoke to the ceiling. “If you try to Apparate with us, we’ll squirm and we’ll all be horribly, possibly incurably splinched. If you make us unconscious so you can transport us, we’ll never speak to you again. If you arrange for someone else to come and take us back or for something to happen that would force us to come back, we’ll leave you and live with Uncles Fred and George. We’ve got ever so many supporters for this change of custody and it will be a public trial. We’re staying here until the end of the Yuletide holidays and you’d best be resigned and just enjoy that fact.”
She smiled at the ceiling and whipped the blanket over her face.
Hermione exchanged a stunned look with Draco.
“I’m going to kill my father,” he said.
“Promise to let me help,” she replied.
Draco spent the next few minutes puttering around the villa and finding evidence that Pietro and Pierra had indeed deserted them. Or did his father simply forget to mention the absence of the help? It was hilarious that his parents (and his grandparents before them) had spent years and years in futile attempts to chase away the Squib caretakers who had come with the house, but now that they were gone, Draco was desperate for them. The pantry was thankfully magically stocked and kept. None of the food had spoiled. Draco cleaned the house of dust and opened one window to let the air circulate. He tapped his wand thrice on the vase nearest him and all vases in the house sprouted jasmines and other freshly-scented blooms, perfuming the air.
He wondered what Hermione was doing up in the loft.
Just then, he heard and smelled her as she approached. She was redolent of the lemon and mango soap in his bedroom, the one currently occupied by the twins.
“Draco, where are the other bedrooms? The third door leads to a balcony.”
Oh. Right. Draco bit his cheeks to keep from smirking.
“What other bedrooms?” he answered.
“You mean to say that the only bedrooms in this monstrous house are those two in the loft?”
“Hey. It’s small but it’s not hideous, is it? Yes, two bedrooms. One for me and one for my parents. Before they had me, the second bedroom was for a guest. But only if that guest isn’t averse to rusticate. Very few in my parents’ circle are so inclined.”
Hermione clutched the bridge of her nose. “This is small? All right, I’ll sleep with the girls.”
“Assuming I’ll let you hog them to yourself?”
“I knew you’d say that. We’ll take it in turns to sleep with them.”
“What’s wrong with sleeping with me in the other bedroom?”
She turned her back to him and marched back upstairs.
Well, he tried. Draco pointed his wand next at the ceiling fans and their whir made him pleasantly drowsy. Assured that the villa wouldn’t embarrass him any longer, he followed Hermione upstairs. Just as he made it to the landing, the door of the twins’ bedroom banged open and Callie dashed out.
“Daddy!” she sobbed. “She kissed me good night.”
Draco almost bowled Callie over in his dash into the room. But Hermione appeared fine by then, sitting on the edge of the bed with her arms braced on her thighs, catching her breath. Lia looked white.
“Draco,” called Hermione. He was at her side in an instant.
“Are you all right?” He noticed the way the blankets seemed to have been pulled to the floor. “Did you fall after kissing Callie?”
She turned to him with a quizzical expression. “There is something I don’t understand here--” She trailed off as she noticed Callie beyond Draco. “I’m sorry, darling. It’s not your fault. Don’t cry.” And then Hermione turned back to Draco. “See?”
“Pardon me?”
“Try talking to Lia.”
“I talk to Lia all the time. We talked a lot in school and in France, didn’t we, pygmy puff?”
Lia barely nodded, still discomfited. Draco reached out and stroked her hair once. And then snatched back his hand and stared at it as he realised what he’d done and what wasn’t happening as a consequence of what he’d done.
Hermione nodded at his flabbergasted expression. “Callie, come here, honey.”
Draco tugged and pushed a reluctant Callie until the girl sat in her mother’s lap, wrapped in her mother’s arms.
“Hermione--”
“In school, we think of them as students, and even when we don’t, they are our students. In France, you thought Lia was Callie, and because of the Polyjuice, she was Callie. Conversely, Callie was Lia. When they tried to switch their colouring, the agreement wasn’t fooled. We nearly died when we grabbed the wrong girl but now--”
“But--” interrupted Callie. “But you grabbed the wrong girl once before, too!”
Hermione’s mouth fell open. “We did? And were we affected so badly we don’t remember it?”
“No, no,” said Callie, squirming and finally getting up from Hermione’s lap and stomping on the floor in her excitement. “Lia! Remember?”
Lia frowned for a second, and then nodded fervently. “Yeah! When Dimwit blew up the Potions classroom. I forgot. Hey, that’s why I thought changing our colouring might work--”
“We grabbed the wrong girl then?” said Draco, looking from one twin to the other.
“We were absolutely black with soot, weren’t we?” said Lia, smirking at her father.
Hermione squeezed Draco’s hand. She must have squeezed too hard because he turned to her startled. But when she let go, he grabbed her hand back. “Is this what I was supposed to be seeing, then? This glitch?” he asked.
She nodded, still reeling from the girls’ additional tidbit. “Why was it all right back then but it wasn’t all right during Halloween? And now, look at us, we’re talking and touching the wrong girl and we’re none the worse for it.”
“Well, you nearly died earlier when you kissed Callie.”
Hermione tugged Callie back into her lap and-- before Callie or Draco could protest-- kissed her loudly on the cheek.
“How in Merlin’s--”
When Hermione only raised an eyebrow at him, Draco in turn leaned back on the bed and kissed Lia on the forehead.
No one started choking.
“Not that I’m complaining, but this is mad. What’s happening?” said Draco, half grinning and half grimacing. He climbed all the way on the bed and slung an arm around Lia. “Look at you, my little puffskein. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve been with you this whole time,” said Lia, trying to get out of her father’s death grip and failing.
“You know what I mean.” Draco commenced tickling.
“Muuuuum!”
But Draco could see Hermione and Callie with their heads together. No rescue for Lia was forthcoming. Lia landed a kick, though, and that ended the very belated tickle fest. He kissed her again at the same time that he heard more of Hermione’s smacking kisses. He and Lia both turned around to find Hermione smooching Callie all over the face like Callie was one instead of eleven.
Draco was one to talk, wasn’t he? He just tickled Lia like she was nine months old instead of eleven.
“How do we ensure we get to repeat this, hmm?” he said. “Is it Belize?”
Hermione turned to him with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. It took his breath away. “Not Belize. We can do this in Britain, too. What’s the difference between now and awhile ago when I kissed Callie?”
Draco gritted his teeth and forced his brain to function again. It didn’t take long. “I wasn’t in the room?” And then he scoffed. “But we were certainly both there during Halloween as well and we still almost died.”
“I think the agreement’s become sentient. Think about it. Remember what we used to sign it?”
Draco caught his breath. “Blood.”
Hermione was nodding. “I’ll have to look into it to be certain-- someone in the Department of Mysteries will be able to help me-- but I think I just might be right. The agreement’s started to think for itself. We inadvertently imbued it with a smidgen of life. A very tiny bit, but enough. Perhaps it's even adopted our own humors. It’s been stewing for more than a decade after all. That time of the dungeon explosion, the danger had been real so perhaps that was why we haven’t been punished for grabbing the wrong girl. During Halloween, on the other hand--”
“Yes. I can see now. On Halloween, the girls had been playing tricks.” Draco cast a wry glance at said girls. “And we’ve been punished for being taken in. The agreement probably thinks we should have known better.”
“But...” said Callie. She’d been saying ‘but’ a lot lately. Lia continued Callie’s line of thought. “But we played a trick with the Polyjuice, too. So why--”
“Potions have their own potent magic. As your mum said, you were Lia and you were Callie while your potion doses circulated in your blood. The agreement recognised the change.” Draco turned to Hermione. “And now?”
“Well, now, I think the agreement recognises that tacit permission has been given. That I’m allowing you to touch my child and you’re allowing me to touch yours.”
“Simply because we’re in the same room?”
“Didn’t you look at Lia when we all first got together in the Headmistress’s office?”
Draco remembered. And understood.
“And you knew who she was but you didn’t die. When I first saw Callie in the bookshop during the summer, I didn’t know who she was so I was able to look my fill.”
“You saw Callie during the summer?”
“At Joanna Bowling’s meet and greet.”
“Right, right. But don’t be so smug about it. I also saw Lia in the summer.”
“You did?”
“She was with you, as a matter of fact. You two sort of spilled into Ollivander’s while Callie and I were waiting inside.”
Lia looked stunned. “That was you?” she said to her sister, who only shrugged. “Were you wearing wigs, then? Or did you charm your hair black?”
“A baby turned our hair black,” said Draco, scooting on the bed until he could lie down on the pillows. “We still have a couple of hours before daylight. Let’s go back to sleep, girls.”
“Excuse me?” said Hermione. “I thought it was my turn first.”
“And you’re going to cuddle Lia and ignore Callie to keep from dying at the ripe old age of thirty while I sleep by my lonesome in the other room? This bed could accomodate five grown men. Lie down, Hermione.”
“Don’t order me around.” But she lay down on the opposite side of the bed.
The girls, giggling madly, followed suit and snuggled down between them. Draco turned on his side and looked beyond the blonde and brunette heads on level with his chest. Hermione was also on her side, already with an arm around Callie with her hand curled loosely around Lia’s upper arm.
Draco snuffed the lamps with a wave of his wand. “This is cosy,” he said in a low voice.
Hermione ignored him, and ignored him still when he also extended an arm over the girls and let his hand rest atop her silky arm. He was sorely tempted to stroke, but he didn’t want to push his already immense luck for the night.
He was no longer going to kill his father. Belize was looking promising. Very, very promising.
End Notes:
Late by several days, I know. And extremely short. I was distracted by get-together plans for DH Part 2 (I loved it!) and thought I’d upload this already to appease readers and just follow up with Yule in the Yucatan Part Tres soonest. We are certainly exceeding the outline!
~Here’s a shoutout and worshipful thanks for PHLOX’s sharp eyes! She noticed the inconsistency in the agreement’s wrath. Even I forgot and didn’t notice! (Thanks again, phloxy dearest! You can either give me three prompts for this story or for a gift fic for you or you can have me as beta slave for life... No joke!) Hence, the explanations in this chappie. I hope I delivered well enough!
Yule in the Yucatan III by lucilla_pauie
Moonlight is silvering the corridor, heightening the sense of cold. Hermione is never patient when she wants desperately to be in bed with a book and when her toes, nose and fingers are chilled and the rest of her is hot from walking. “Ten points from Slytherin.”
“Whatever for, Granger?”
She takes a swallow of the frigid air in surprise and outrage as he strides over to join them.
“Don’t question me, Malfoy. But to enlighten you, this girl called me a Mudblood. And I only asked why she was out of bed at this hour.”
“Astoria, go to bed.”
“But Draco--”
“I’ll take care of her.”
With a last glare at Hermione, the Slytherin girl-- Astoria-- turns on her heel and stomps away, chin thrust into the air.
“Wait,” says Draco. “Come back here!” The girl obeys with annoying alacrity. Draco taps his wand on her head and Astoria disappears.
“Just how many Slytherins are currently walking out of bounds Disillusioned? And you’ll take care of me?” Hermione bursts out, indignant and furious and wanting to slap him. He has insulted her authority, not to mention dismissed the very real insult his housemate has done her and even treated the matter as if it’s Hermione at fault.
“Think that much of yourself, do you?” he replies. “I meant Daphne, Astoria’s older sister. Daphne’s the only other girl in our year aside from you who came back. To look after Ria.”
“She doesn’t need looking after,” said Hermione acerbically. She’s having a hard time reining in her temper. Especially with the way he’s looking at her. She can’t understand this arrogant sod. Only yesterday on the train, he has been so pleasant. And now, Hermione can almost hear the snarl of ‘filthy little Mudblood’ in the air. “You haven’t answered my question. And don’t you ever do that again, Malfoy.”
“Do what again? Slytherins look out for their own because no one else would. You have the nerve to deduct ten points from Ria for calling you a Mudblood when Slytherins are being called worse everyday. The teachers seem to never catch anyone, or maybe they’re turning a blind eye. You and the Head Boy are neither of you Slytherins and when the Slytherin prefects dole out detention, everyone else retaliates. It’s a vicious cycle. So if little Ria or anyone else decides to take it out on you at night with nothing more than a word and you swell like a self-righteous toad, yes, I’ll challenge you again, Granger. And to enlighten you, Ria’s out here because Daphne happens to be in detention with Professor McGonagall. From before the holidays, no Slytherin out alone at night has ever made it back to the dungeons untouched. Whoever Disillusioned Astoria simply messed up. She and the others in her rotation were supposed to be hidden and finally catch who’s been maltreating us. Yes, gasp and sputter all you want. It’s the truth. Not that I care if you believe it or not, Mudblood.”
There it is. She’s been expecting it, hasn’t she? But the unfamiliar anguish that has suddenly come with the epithet, she hasn’t. So she stands there stunned as he whirls around and leaves her without another word.
“Besides that big row you obviously had that made you not only split up but also split us up like we’re a bunch of bananas, did you two always fight?” said Lia.
Hermione laughed. Draco didn’t.
“Actually, we didn’t, did we?” he said.
“We didn’t?” she said.
Callie and Lia twisted their heads right and left to follow the volley of conversation.
“Except when I’m in a snit. Or you’re in a snit. Or that time you really scared the sh-- life out of me by threatening to squeal about my less than fanatical love for the Dark Lord. All those years, it’s been your dogs I always baited, not you.”
“My dogs, as you insist on calling them, you great sod, weren’t there during my seventh year at Hogwarts.”
“Oh, that time. I was in a snit. And you took care to heap flaming coals on my head, remember?”
“What happened?” asked Callie.
At that moment, a tinkling of bells interrupted the racket of the birds outside and the lulling sound of the surf. All four people lounging on the bed jumped in surprise. The chime had come from downstairs.
“Merlin’s dentures, I thought they’re gone,” said Draco. “That’s Pietro and Pierra’s dinner bell. Breakfast is ready. And if we aren’t downstairs in ten minutes at most, they’ll replace the food with boiled socks. Take my word for it.”
Lia dragged Callie off the bed and they ran out the door and downstairs as if chased by irate bowtruckles. All four of them had slept soundly for six hours. It was now past lunch time in England. They were all starving.
Hermione swung her legs over the side of the bed and then paused. It was all very well last night with only Draco and the girls seeing her, but now with strangers in the house the matter of clothes became even more pressing. The problem with Transfiguring clothes was that it took a practiced eye to perform it well. You had to determine exactly which part of the material goes where, not to mention the laws of which fabric was expandable or Transfigurable to which other fabric. If it was so easy, Madam Malkin’s, Gladrags and other tailors and haberdashers would be out of business. And even if one could Transfigure clothes with expertise, the alteration was permanent and Hermione was very fond of this nightgown and she would regret turning it into a sensible--
A light cotton and silk kimono fell on her shoulders.
“You can borrow that to nip outside to the other bedroom. You can take your pick in my mother’s wardrobe.”
“Thank you, no.”
“I knew you’d say that,” said Draco, echoing her words from last night. “Well then, you can wear that robe or borrow one of my shirts and stay here while I shop for you and the girls after breakfast.” He chuckled. “Fancy all three of you running around here in your night clothes. I wonder what Pierra would say.”
Hermione stood up and belted the kimono securely around her waist. It was obviously Draco’s; the shoulders were far too big for her. “Are they husband and wife? And you said they’re Squibs?”
“Brother and sister,” he said as he opened a dresser and donned trousers. “As old as sea turtles. The Blacks have an estate in the mainland along the Belize River--”
“The mainland?” Hermione accepted the hairbrush he handed her and began to attack her hair. “You mean we’re in one of the cayes?”
“The Ambergris Caye. It’s beautiful. I suppose that’s why we’re here instead of the mainland even though the house there has house-elves. This one was a wedding present to my parents. Pietro and Pierra came with it. Everything has been tried to expel them because the Blacks were Blacks and preferred elves to people who challenged commands. We don’t even know for sure if Pietro and Pierra are Squibs. We only concluded that because they’re resistant to Muggle-repelling charms, they don’t bat an eye when we use our wands and there’s something magical in their cooking. You’ll see.”
He opened the door for them and followed her through.
Hermione caught her breath.
To her left, the door leading to the balcony facing the sea had been propped open. The surf and wind sang though it. In front and below her past the railing of the loft’s balcony, the living area was awash in light. The blinds had been rolled up from the picture windows and one panel of glass was slid to the side, so that the fronds of the potted palms swayed invitingly in the breeze coming in from the ocean. The terra cotta tiles gleamed. The rattan chairs, loveseats and sofas all matched in design but had varying plump cushions in complementing bright pastels.
It was all so pretty and irresistible. So restful. She couldn’t wait to go down and just curl up over one of the giant pillows on the bamboo rug and feast her eyes on the breathtaking view.
“I see you like it.”
She was so enchanted she just smiled at him in reply. And then her stomach voiced its opinion. Draco smirked and pulled her downstairs to the dining room and kitchen, which it turned out was at the back of the house, facing an endless green lawn bordered by tall palms and dotted here and there by clumps of bushes with large and showy flowers.
Hermione was subtly looking for them but Pietro and Pierra were nowhere to be seen. Callie and Lia were in the kitchen, seated at a small round table near the windows, a table laden with fruits, bangers, eggs, back bacon, mushrooms, black pudding, fried potatoes, grilled tomatoes, toast and a colourful selection of jam and marmalade. Hermione couldn’t stop the bewildered expression on her face and was glad their cooks weren’t present.
“Yeah, Mum, I thought we were in for a Belizean breakfast, too,” said Lia. “And these taste like something Uncles Fred and George rustled up.”
Apparently, Fred and George could cook breakfast quite well, judging by how Lia was shovelling in food. Callie looked only a little less enthusiastic. Hermione looked at Draco.
“I don’t know,” he said, offering her a seat. “Perhaps they wanted to assure you first that they could cook before presenting you with foreign fare.”
Hermione sat down and was struck momentarily mushy by the sight of her two girls together at a breakfast table, still in their sleep apparel, fighting over the pitcher of pulp-free orange juice. And with their father, too, who was bare-chested, for Merlin’s sake. Not that she could talk, because she was in a robe. It looked and felt so normal, so wonderful that its transience caused a twinge in her chest.
“...in the water?”
“What?”
“Well, what else could they be doing if they were all tangled up like that? They were eating each other.”
“What are you talking about?” said Hermione, thumping a coughing Draco on the back. “I didn’t catch that next to last bit.”
“Lia saw a couple making out in the water,” said Callie.
“You saw them first, priss,” said Lia.
“That beach is supposed to be private!” said Draco, outraged.
“That’s probably why they were making out there then,” said Lia.
“What was your question?” said Hermione.
“Can you do it in the water?”
It was so absurd Hermione tried not to laugh. Tried and failed.
“That’s right, ask your mother. She’s an expert. She used to read this book--”
“You don’t know what that book was, you ridiculous man!” Hermione felt like he’d thrown a steaming cup of tea on her face. Would he never let her live that down?
“What book, Mum?”
It was Draco’s turn to laugh.
“It’s nothing,” said Hermione. “And yes, of course, it can be done in the water. Eat your breakfast. By the way, do you girls remember what day it is?”
“Christmas,” said Callie promptly.
Draco exchanged a confused look with Hermione before addressing the twins. “You don’t regret being an ocean apart from your presents?”
“I beg your pardon, but there’s a pile of junk in the sala and can you kindly deal with it in a jiffy so I can clear it away?”
“There you are, Pierra,” said Draco. “Hello to you, too.”
Pierra pursed her lips and glared at Draco in greeting. She was a tiny thing, very spry, the kind who could be anywhere between forty and eighty. Her batik-print blouse and her olive green trousers were loose and floaty. She wore her hair in a long braid draped on her left shoulder. If it wasn’t for her cantankerous expression, she’d look quite sweet. She was probably quite a looker in her day, one of those Hispanic beauties with heavy-lidded grey eyes. If she had an accent, it was expertly hidden.
“Pleased to meet you, Pierra. I’m Hermione Granger. These are Lia and Callie.”
Pierra only nodded impatiently and gestured to the living area.
“We saw everything before we came here to your lovely breakfast and there was no junk there.”
“There is junk there, believe you me. And if none of you sees to it within the next ten seconds, every single thing in that pile goes straight to the trash.”
Hermione poured herself more tea. She didn’t wonder why the Blacks and the Malfoys had tried to expel this woman and her brother, Squib or not. “When we’re done eating breakfast. And that pile had better be untouched, thank you.”
Pierra looked taken aback, and then sniffed and went away.
Draco sniggered. “Miss Bossy doesn’t like bossy people.”
“It’s not that! She was rude.”
“I know. She must be feeling under the weather. Or she can probably tell she’s met her match in you. I’m surprised she didn’t give you a tongue-lashing.”
“Really? And you--and your parents-- take it?”
“To keep the peace. And to keep from being poisoned. I think my parents actually relish the novelty of being bullied. Not to mention Pietro and Pierra kept the Blacks from visiting here. Would you believe Aunt Bella couldn’t even look them in the eye? It won’t surprise me if those two actually came from quality.”
“Just what is the pile of junk in the sala anyway?” Hermione asked the girls.
They grinned, shovelled the last of their food into their mouths and stood up. “Presents!”
Once again, the two scrambled away. Once again, Hermione exchanged a petulant look with Draco.
“Maybe we should send them to Durmstrang. Students have a very spartan lifestyle there. Only emergency letters and parcels are allowed.”
“That’s not a bad idea. You said you were going shopping for us?”
“You can come with me, you know. The girls can gad about here and in the beach. Pierra will look after them. The outfits in my mother’s wardrobe are probably all new anyway. You can borrow one for--”
Hermione was already shaking her head. “I think I’ll spend time with the girls instead. Just don’t get me anything silly, please. I want to be able to gad about as much as anyone.”
They rose from the table. Draco swept her with his eyes from head to bare feet, lingering in places he had no business to linger.
“What are you doing?”
“Measuring.”
Smirking, he left her there to sputter and face Pietro, who looked every bit like Pierra, only with a neat moustache. He even had the same braid also draped on his shoulder. But unlike his sister, he seemed friendlier. He smiled at Hermione before proceeding to clear the table. Of course, Hermione learned quickly that the smile was meant as a dismissal, because when he returned from his trip to the sink to find Hermione still standing there, he scowled and then smiled again, this time with a lift of an eyebrow and a nod toward the living area.
“Well, I’ll go in a moment. I only wanted to introduce myself. I’m Hermione Granger. You must be Pietro. Thank you for the magnificent breakfast.”
The compliment earned her nothing more than a repeat of the scowl-smile-nod routine. Hermione went, arriving just in time to see Draco, now shirted, letting go of Callie, reaching for Lia and kissing her on the forehead. He looked up and sent her a smile that made her quiver all over, from eyelashes to toes. This was bad.
The villa was a stone’s throw away from San Pedro Town and San Pedro Beach. The land had been purchased long before the town was established and the town being established was probably the reason the Blacks so ‘generously’ disposed of the estate. Draco renewed the wards around his property. Muggles and other Wizarding folk could see it, but no one really dared trespass the beach. Not that anyone could even contemplate doing so, especially the Muggles. Draco couldn’t understand how there came to be a display of crass behaviour on his private beach. And right when his girls happened to be enjoying the view.
His girls.
With a smile, he Apparated to the mainland, specifically to a secret cellar of the Bel-Mer Winery. One then climbed the stairs to a door that opened to Belize’s little Wizarding business hub.
The cayes had been too thinly settled and too prone to pirates, so the Wizarding district was founded here, in the Belize District, easily accessible to the gentry who settled along the riverbanks.
Their territory being a tourist centre, shop owners only knew the local people and didn’t bother knowing transients. The task would be too tiring and impossible. Despite owning two estates in the country, Draco and his family were still among the latter set. The anonymity was soothing. Everyone was polite and affable. There were no curious stares. No one here knew he was Draco Malfoy, of the reviled and exiled Malfoys. He was simply a customer. A customer with British Galleons to spend. That he was buying clothes for himself, his ‘wife’ and two young daughters endeared him to the matron of the robe shop. She plied him with soursop ice cream (a Belizean delicacy that always made him thank the deities for their creativeness with fruit) while the two shop girls offered the best merchandise, the best including rather naughty lingerie over which Hermione would have his bollocks, if he bought them.
He did. She had to have her smalls, didn’t she?
The rest of the selections were nice and practical. Nice being the operative word. Madam Lucille had excellent taste. She knew they had to blend in with Muggles but blending in didn’t have to mean being mediocre. She and Draco got on quite splendidly, especially after she offered to imbue one of the nightgowns with certain charms. After all, Belize was one of the most romantic places in the Commonwealth.
What a capital woman.
Draco came home in time for lunch. There was no soul in the house (Did Pietro and Pierra have souls, those grumpy prunes?) and the table was not yet set so he deemed it safe to take his shopping upstairs and look for Hermione and the girls.
Now, Draco had grown up accustomed to beauty. Witness his parents, his grandparents, and even his absolutely batty aunt, who had been a diamond of the first water before her years in Azkaban laid her to waste. Even Pierra wasn’t ugly, to be fair. Purebloods were fastidious creatures and the families Draco came from happened to be among those who had not sacrificed beauty in their genes for the sake of flawless bloodlines. As such, Draco took beauty for granted and was only agitated when it wasn’t present.
She had always been an exception, though. Her beauty he noticed. Brown hair, brown eyes, common blood, and he still noticed. It had irritated him, especially as she insisted on being noticeable, making up for her common colouring with exceptional intellect, her common blood with extraordinary talent.
And now, as though to emphasize the point in Draco’s ruminations, she was wearing his shirt. It stopped a couple inches above her knees. Draco immediately regretted all the clothes he’d just bought for her. And had he really spent a decade and a year away from this... this exasperating goddess? How could he have? He couldn’t even tear his eyes away now, much less think about living an ocean away from her.
He sat down beside her in the sand.
“How was shopping?” she said airily, like she hadn’t just jumped as if one of the coconuts overhead had zipped down and cracked her skull.
“Where were you? It’s not like I was slithering while getting here.”
“Nowhere. Just remembering things.”
Was she already a little bit brown? Sitting in the shade only covered her head. Her legs were bare to the sun. He’d never seen such pretty feet. Not too narrow with an elegant arch. Her toes were all the right size and shape. And those legs. He dragged his eyes back to her face and grinned at her raised eyebrows at his shameless ogling. “What sort of things?”
“Do you tan?”
Draco scowled at not having his question answered. And at her question. “No, Malfoys burn and peel and keep their patrician fairness.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, you’re the last of your delicate breed. Neither of the girls seems to be turning into lobsters liable to molt. Will you please bellow and call them back?”
“I bellow?”
“What, is the size of your chest all fat instead of lung capacity?”
She blushed at her observation and Draco grinned again. “Did you have fun while I was shopping? Merlin, that’s supposed to be your line, isn’t it?”
“They had fun. I had fun watching. You were away.”
Right. Blast. There was something forlorn in her smile. He couldn’t stop himself from pressing a kiss to her temple. Then he bellowed Callie’s and Lia’s names. They were in the water, of all preposterous things. He doubted the water was warm enough (for people who weren’t making out). He bellowed some more. They splashed and trotted over in matching swimsuits, which were among the presents from their meddling paternal grandparents. Probably bespelled to keep them warm.
“You yelled, sir?” said Lia, and was kicked on the leg by her mother for her cheekiness.
“Lunch,” said Hermione. She stood up and the blessed, blessed shirt climbed several inches on her thighs. Draco tried not to look. Really tried.
Callie and Lia ran ahead, holding hands. Draco was just contemplating to scoop Hermione’s hand as well when Lia spoke over her shoulder. Draco pocketed his hand.
“If Christmas lunch is English food again--”
“You’ll eat it without protest, like a girl with a modicum of manners, thank you,” said Hermione.
“If it’s English food again, we’ll dine out,” said Draco.
“I thought you said you’re in mortal fear of Pietro and Pierra,” said Hermione, scowling at him for countermanding her.
“And they’re in mortal fear of you, so we’re safe.”
They were safer than even Draco had thought possible, it turned out. Pietro and Pierra had not made lunch at all, neither were the two housekeepers in the house.
“Well, it’s Christmas,” said Hermione. “We should be thankful they made us breakfast.”
“I’m not complaining, but this is odd,” said Draco. “Those two never take holidays. They get their holidays the rest of the year we’re not here, don’t they? All right, everyone get dressed. We’re spending the day out.”
The girls ran upstairs. When Hermione made to follow, Draco tossed caution to the wind and grabbed her hand. She didn’t pull away immediately. That was something.
“Where are you going?”
“To get dressed.”
“You look fine.” The smirk came out.
“I do? All right.” She sat down and appeared for all the world as if she was keen on going out and about Belize in nothing but a shirt. That was not on. If only Draco was the only man in Belize. But as it was-- the smirk disappeared.
“Er, no. Not all right.”
“No?” She was already laughing. Maddening woman. Since she still hadn’t relinquished her hand, it was so easy to do what he did. He pulled her back to her feet and flush against him and captured her laughter with a kiss. She quieted and sighed and he made a small pathetic noise meant to relieve the cramp in his chest that resulted from that delicious sigh.
“What is that?” she mumbled against his lips.
“Soursop ice cream,” he mumbled back.
He loved Belize.
Spring sunlight is gilding the corridor, burning his eyes and reflecting the flames eating up his insides at the moment. He recognises the feeling. He has been dosed with it on and off during the past three years. But there's also peace. And gladness. Things which fickle fate and circumstance have stolen from him, now restored. At least for the time being. Of course, fate and circumstance being what they are, he hasn't earned said peace and gladness. He owes them to someone.
She rounds the corner and”what with both of them marching like their shoes are on fire-- walks smack into him.
“I beg your pard-- Malfoy. Well, I don’t. Excuse me--”
Instead of letting her go, he tightens his grasp on her arms and pulls her to a window, the better to see her face. “Yes, of course you’re excused. You can’t seem to help yourself. It’s in your blood, isn’t it, this terrifying passion for what’s right? I just want details. All the Slytherins want details.”
“Do you.” She says that without inflection and without even shaking him off. She simply looks out at the grounds as if the twilight is far more worthy of her attention. It rankles, being dismissed, especially as he knows he deserves it. He’s been an absolute beast to her that night and has never apologised, pretending the incident hasn’t occurred, that he hasn’t betrayed the Slytherins’ affliction to a Gryffindor, of all people. That he has whinged to this particular mulish and bleeding heart Gryffindor is what made him even more beastly about it. He’s ignored her, glared at her, daring her to so much as look at him pityingly.
Of course, she hasn’t. She’s returned his snubbing with interest. It’s made him complacent and relieved, thinking she has tucked the matter beneath her mountainous notes for N.E.W.T.s. revisions.
A week after that fateful night, however, the whispers have begun.
A strange malady has descended on two prefects, something that refused to be eliminated by Madam Pomfrey’s repertoire of healing spells and unguents. Draco has long ago been stripped of his badge, so he has no idea what is happening.
Through the rest of winter, very single prefect has become spotty. The remarkable thing is the facial blisters excluded Slytherin prefects, making suspicion thick as black pudding.
Things have come to a head only this morning, when after several weeks of this strange pox, when spring is finally nudging away winter, the Head Boy arrived at the Great Hall as red and swollen as the sausages. What has happened next was quick and to the point.
“Those party to this prolonged antagonism,” the Headmistress has said, “please step forward and we will be lenient.”
“With all due respect, Professor,” says the Head Girl, rising from the Gryffindor table, “I think leniency is not effective. Hence, the pox.”
You can count on your fingers the number of times the Great Hall has been completely hushed. That morning is added to that small number. The Headmistress, whose eyes have been trained on the Slytherin table, swivelled around with no small surprise.
“Miss Granger, kindly explain yourself.”
“During the first prefects’ meeting after the Yule holidays, foremost in our agenda was the antagonism toward the Slytherins. It has come to my knowledge that Slytherins are being picked on and shunned. There was evidence in the Slytherin prefects’ absence in that very meeting. Either they haven’t been informed, or misinformed outright. Headmistress, each and every prefect in that meeting, including myself and the Head Boy, agreed to observe and improve matters. It seems they haven’t followed through.”
There’s been a collective intake of breath.
“Am I to understand that it’s you who have hexed your fellow students?”
“Well, everyone seems to be forgetting the pox of bigotry. It's no one’s place to persecute. And yet ‘Mudblood’ is being rivalled by new epithets toward the Slytherins. No wonder someone in their number always rises up to attempt genocide--”
“Miss Granger!”
“Never thought I’d see the day. The darling Miss Granger suspended from Head Girl-ship.” Draco slides his hands down her arms and winds his fingers into her palms. He is unconscious of this movement and starts as much as she does when she pulls away. She turns her body to the window, crosses her arms and glares at the deepening dusk. Draco is struck with the humorous idea that if the very air offended her, she will hex it. And if questioned, she will defend and rationalise her actions in a way that would absolve her, no matter how abrasive her methods.
He is also struck by the pertness of her nose, the curl of her lashes and the red in that lip she has so recently bitten. And she’s small. If he tilts his head and eyes straight, he’ll lose sight of her. Yet she stands there like she’s seven feet tall. It’s aggravating and-- and admirable, damn it all to Hades.
He really can adore this little Mudblood.
Who won’t? She has hexed one and all to make a point, a point that isn’t in her interest and has even stripped her of an honour she’s always aspired to. All day, the Slytherins have talked almost of nothing else. The only other thing they discussed is the sudden absence of friction, which is like one of Hagrid’s pumpkins, impossible to miss. Those afflicted with the pox have been healed by Hermione. But though the season of spots have been brought to an end, Hogwarts has been duly chastised.
“Look, Malfoy,” she says through gritted teeth, addressing the window. “Your demand for details will just have to keep. If you have nothing else to say to me, let me be on my way. I need to--”
“Thank you and forgive me and let me do this--”
His arms are already moving, seemingly independently. One moment, they’re where they should be, the next second, they’re around her waist and back and he can feel her chest rising and falling against him. He’s not a stranger to holding a girl, but that’s the first time it felt transporting. In that embrace as he inhaled her maddening inky scent, something is dislodged from him and something cleaves into him at the same time. He feels both buoyant and overwhelmed.
So he buries his face in her hair and holds her tighter.
End Notes:
Oh my. And Chapter 25 was supposed to be the last chapter! Duh. With how things are going, we might even exceed 30. There’s a Yule in the Yucatan Part Cuatro. We’re in Belize until New Year, and it’s only Christmas and we’re not even done with that day!
So I won’t always be apologising for being late, let it just be settled that there will be an update every week. Not every seven days. Does that make sense, Mel? ;) Jo, your prompts are coming along!
UK is 6 hours ahead of Belize in winter. ‘Caye’ is pronounced ‘key’ (meaning island, derived from the Spanish ‘cayo’). Belize has 200 paradisiacal cayes, Ambergris (am-BER-gris) being the largest. Bel-Mer Winery exists. So does soursop ice cream. Give me a huge license as to the geographical layout of the setting. I’m not sure if a villa with grounds lavish enough for the Blacks/Malfoys is possible so near San Pedro Town, heh.
Thanks for reading, lovies! Please review!
Yule in the Yucatan IV by lucilla_pauie
“Impressive.”
“What did you expect?”
“Still impressive, though, isn’t it?”
“My house is bigger.”
“Don’t be tacky.”
“You’re the one gaping around and saying ‘impressive’ like you’re looking at Merlin’s decrepit left boot, and right in front of the owners of the house.”
“Would you care for tea?” Narcissa exchanged a look with her husband. He raised his eyes to heaven at her smug expression.
The twins sat down on the sofa she indicated. They did this with a chorus of cracks and creaks that were all the more disquieting because of the bellows of laughter the said cracks and creaks triggered.
“Merlin, we have to remember to film ourselves. This is hilarious,” said Pietro.
“My hip sort of clunks when I do this.” Pierra twisted her torso to the left to take a teacup from the trolley. There was a soft pop of joints. And another bout of giggling.
“This is unnerving to watch,” said Lucius.
Narcissa laughed at how appalled he looked. She turned to the twins. “How are things?”
“We--” Pierra motioned to herself and her brother-- “are in San Ignacio. The kids are settling in at Ambergris splendidly. Had a sleepover with both parents! We took a picture. Forgot to take it with us, though.”
“Yes, what is wrong?” said Lucius.
“The wards,” said Pietro sombrely, and Lucius drew back and shrunk a bit as if castigated. Narcissa bit her lip to keep from laughing. Just what was it Pietro and Pierra had that reduced proud Purebloods to dust?
“But we told you the--”
“Yeah, well, we bungled that a bit. You have to understand, such old wards. Can’t be helped. Anyway, as we can’t cook Belizean cuisine” didn’t think of that, did we?” we invited the chef from this nice restaurant in San Pedro Town.”
“Invited?” Narcissa couldn’t help smiling.
“Yes, well, we were desperate,” said Pietro, grinning. Now there was something she and Lucius hadn’t seen before. Lucius was looking disconcerted again. “He was a Muggle, so we had to take down the wards. Of course, the poor chap got in but still got zapped. He was asleep all the way through breakfast. We had to do the cooking ourselves. Thank goodness Malf” Draco thought up an excuse for the English grub. He couldn’t excuse the Muggle couple who got it on on your beach, though.”
Lucius was looking even more consternated at hearing all that slang from Pietro. Narcissa shook where she sat. She had never had so much fun in ages. She wanted to squeeze her granddaughters in glee.
“But we popped over to Boca de Bruja and snagged a chef from there,” said Pierra. “A wizard. Now we just need to get him in while the kids are having lunch out with their mum and dad. We couldn’t even get in.”
Lucius stood up to do what needed to be done. The twins took this as their cue and followed suit. “Lovely tea, Mrs Malfoy,” said Pietro, after he and his sister had finished laughing at their noisy bones again.
Lucius cast a petulant look at Narcissa, not at all amused. Turning to the twins, he asked, “You’re sure they’re in San Ignacio?”
“Really, Lucius!” Narcissa kept a straight face. “We all parted amicably when they retired. If ever they see you, be nice. Are you absolutely certain they’re in Cayo?” she couldn’t help adding.
The twins nodded. “Of course we are. We didn’t summon the essential garnish for the happy potion from the cracks on the floor of your beach house. We had to go to San Ignacio and do some snipping.”
“Splendid, then. Lucius, while you’re there, perhaps you can shoot too snidgets with one stone. Remember what I was saying before our guests arrived?”
“Cissy, you’re allergic. And the counterpotion is addic--”
“Don’t be silly. Not for me. For the girls. Pietro and Pierra are to be the givers.”
“Of what?” said Pietro and Pierra.
“Oh, a little creature with substantial loyalty. And fastidiousness just as big. You know, the kind that takes very poorly to change and pines when it misses someone.”
All four of them let that sink in. The twins grinned first, and then Lucius gave a shake of the head. The one that said he was impressed. Narcissa preened.
“Wait, wait. Before you go, do tell me. Which of you is Fred now and which is George?”
Sunglasses were the first things they bought. Draco had neglected that in his shopping. Although he was very thorough with everything else. Gods. Not the kiss again. What has gotten into me? No, he’d thought of everything in his shopping, that was what she meant. He had bought her accessories from barrettes to anklets. She wore the watch with the straps that looked like they were made from twine. He had bought her a wardrobe that would last even if they stayed here a month and would serve her if they went to anything from beach bonfires to cocktail parties at a posh hotel. She was wearing capris and a loose silk button-down over a tank. A mediocre outfit that still managed to make her look so chic. She was afraid to ask how much each piece cost.
He’d also bought her lingerie. I am not wearing those.
“Stop overanalyzing things,” said Draco in her ear, and she stiffened. “I’m certainly not. I kissed you. You kissed me back. And we've doing so since December, and once in September, too. End of story. I’m not expecting or assuming anything from it or because of it.”
Hermione squinted up at him behind her sunglasses. He was right. “I’m not overanalyzing anything, except maybe the view. Think that much of yourself, do you?” Both of them remembered those words, and his sudden stillness confirmed it to Hermione.
Recovering from her history-laden barb, a smirk bloomed slowly on his lips. Hermione was so very glad for the sunglasses. She couldn’t stop looking at those lips which she happened to have tasted again very recently. And tried hard not to want to taste again, dammit. “Well, I don’t blame you. The view is absolutely enchanting.”
And then he moved his head in such a way that left no doubt as to what he did with his eyes: drank her in.
Hermione shivered in delight inwardly, but she had to be the responsible one here, if not this incorrigible arrogant prat. “In front of your daughters. You should be given the Most Proper Father Award.”
He laughed. “What daughters?”
Hermione scowled at him, and then blinked, looked for the girls, and saw Callie and Lia several yards ahead on the white sand, their wide-brimmed blue and pink straw hats just visible amongst the thin crowd of lunch pilgrims. Hermione broke into a faster walk, and Draco fell into step with her, catching her hand. She squeezed and tugged him when he slowed.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Those hats will hex anyone who so much as looks at them wrong.”
“Really?”
“Your hat, too.”
Hermione smiled and patted the soft straw fondly. “Then why hasn’t it hexed you yet?”
“Well,” he replied gamely, “for adult females such as yourself, the hat detects who’s allowed to look and who’s not.”
She laughed to cover her slight discomposure. Flirting. They were flirting! She associated flirting with her girlhood, and she’d barely done it at all, her girlhood being comparatively nonexistent. And then having Lia and Callie and only having Lia had sort of turned it off for her. No one had really gotten past being intimidated by Hermione’s standing to even think about flirting anyway. She’d been asked out, but formally, reverently.
Perhaps that was why she’d always said no.
There was only one boy who’d ever looked her in the eye and shook her up inside, literally and figuratively. He had prodded at her insecurities and confused her beliefs, not to mention stirred her insides until they were all mush. Goodness knew she’d tried to get away, but they were all piddling attempts, half-hearted, doomed to failure. And he was the same man holding her hand now and stroking her thumb. This time, she didn’t even attempt getting away.
What was the use? And it was only while they were here, under this immense blue sky. It was a place you couldn’t walk without holding someone’s hand. If that someone also kissed you and made you see paradise even with your eyes closed, so much the better. In Belize, you lived for the present and not the muddled past.
“We’re starving! We’re thrilled you’re acting like honeymooners but--”
“You’re starving. Yes, we get the message,” said Hermione, dropping Draco’s hand with no small regret and no small blushing, and herded Lia and Callie onward. “Keep walking. How much farther, Draco?”
He looked a little out of it, and then said, “That cottage on the right should do fine.”
The ‘cottage’ was a clever and classy amalgamation of log, plank, glass and thatched roof made from dried coconut palm leaves. Inside, it was cool and shaded, but the glass walls gave the patrons the impression of dining outside. The host led them to a table facing the sea.
“Is this food-with-a-view, or food?” she asked Draco, while the girls read their menus.
He smiled. “Food. Trust me.”
“Callie told me she hasn’t been here before.”
“You can guess why, can’t you?”
“Oh. Our Improbable Scenarios Game?” Goodness. She shook her head in amazement. “I had no idea at the time that what I said would--”
“Come true, eh? And it did. Try the mango wine.”
“Mango wine?”
“They turn everything into wine here.”
“All right. In fact, order for me. Nothing too exotic, though. I won’t eat snails or frogs or insects.”
Draco and Lia laughed while she and Callie visibly shuddered.
But the food was lovely. Meat and seafood, only cooked differently. Hermione ate, but did more watching than eating. She watched the ocean, she watched the palm trees, and she watched Draco being a father. It made her breath catch. They weren’t toddlers, but he was attentive and if Lia struggled with her knife, he took over fast. He also eyed Callie beadily and was quick to soothe when Callie dug up something disturbing to her delicate sensibilities.
Oh, and in all this hovering, he managed to keep his body touching hers. It was either knee to knee, arm to arm, or his arm touching her back on her chair. When he couldn’t manage any of these, he touched his loafer to her sandal. Exasperating man.
The last time he was here, Belize had been unseasonably wet. As though to make up for that now, the sun was blinding as it sailed west. People were fanning themselves or flapping their tops whenever the breeze paused. These were all details that only made it into Draco’s mind because of their constancy, though. He only had eyes and attention for the three people with him.
They’d walked all over Ambergris Caye, with one or two short rides on a golf cart to go from lagoon to lagoon. Callie and Lia hopped from stall to store to stall and nearly always came away with purchases. Their grandparents had given them money. To Draco’s surprise, Hermione seemed not to mind. He himself thought the girls were being too easily pleased, but Hermione only spoke up when they showed interest in comestibles. “We will eat at home or at a restaurant your father’s tried before. No street food, please.”
When the two had gone off again, Draco said, “It’s safe, Hermione.”
“Can you guarantee that? There was a big enough gamble earlier when we let them eat all that food brimming with coconut milk and red spice. I’m not having them ill.” At this statement, she froze, remembering something. The next second, Callie and Lia were back in front of them as if bodily summoned there, and Hermione was discreetly pointing her wand at each of them in turn. Once satisfied, she secreted her wand back wherever it was in the air that she hid it and set them loose again.
“What was that?”
“A mosquito-repelling charm.”
“Oh. Right.” Her mothering was adorable. He was seeing it for the first time. Granted, she had been motherish all her life, hadn’t she? Keeping Potter and Weasley and Longbottom and all the rest of them under her wing, including house-elves.
“You’re acting like a tired and cranky six-year-old.”
Was she kidding? He felt like he could race lugging a chariot bearing her and the girls. “I’m not the least bit-- six-year-old?”
“Yes, the kind that won’t allow himself to be carried because he’s not a baby any more, but he won’t let go of his mummy either.”
He smirked and swung her hand, which he’d taken again as soon as she was done fussing over the twins. He’d been holding her hand all afternoon, a novelty he could get used to. It was amazing that they’d gone and conceived two children when they hadn’t even held hands before. While students at Hogwarts, they might as well have danced naked if they did it. After Hogwarts, they simply hadn’t had a chance for such a simple thing. There were things to do and she wasn’t one to swan about and just where would they have promenaded anyway without being gawked at? And now while teachers at Hogwarts-- but there was always Hogsmeade, if the place wasn’t crawling with journalists yet, damn it all to Hades.
“If you don’t like it, you can always pull away, Mummy.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away.
The girls were already on the golf cart, examining each other’s loot in their string bags. And here came another first for Draco: he resented his girls’ presence. If only they could drive themselves back home.
“Did you get anything for your dad?” he asked them.
Without looking up from a rather scary rag of a voodoo doll, Callie said, “We got Mum here, didn’t we?”
Hermione blushed but pretended not to hear, and Draco laughed and pretended he hadn’t just thought he resented his girls.
Around some punta or other (he really couldn’t keep track of the place names, he just knew where to go and how to get there), traffic grew heavy. They found out why when they noticed where the other golf carts and pedestrians were all heading.
It was Christmas, after all.
“Why don’t we attend the Mass, too?”
They all gaped at Hermione.
“Your Nana Helen is Catholic. Poppy Logan is agnostic. I remember going to Mass. It’s all the religion I got. Christmas Masses are always beautiful. Want to see it? And in Belize, too!”
Who could say no? They had to wait a bit until the traffic moved so Draco could park the golf cart. And then Hermione suddenly Disapparated. In ten seconds, she reappeared with a soft pop also swallowed by the noise of a flea market nearby.
“Mum, what did you do?” asked Lia.
“Put these on.” Hermione handed him a pair of trousers. “The girls and I are okay, but you can’t go inside displaying your hairy legs. That’s disrespectful.”
“My legs are nice, I’ll have you know.” Draco shot Lia an appreciative look when she laughed. “And how am I supposed to get dressed, woman? People are passing by.”
Both giggling now, Callie and Lia shook open serapes they’d bought”Merlin knew whatever for. But they were effective as impromptu dressing room. Draco shucked his shorts and passed it to Hermione with a wink. In retaliation, she snatched at the serapes before he’d buttoned his fly. A gaggle of biddies that were passing just then gasped. Hermione and the girls acted just as scandalised, shaking their heads and clucking their tongues in disapproval.
“Very funny.”
As they neared the church, it grew quieter and quieter except for the rumble of golf carts arriving and disgorging the devout.
“Just do what I do,” said Hermione. She smiled at him. She had Callie and Lia hanging on each hand. He settled on putting his hand on the small of her back, also hanging on.
At the threshold, she bent her right knee for a moment and let go of Lia to touch her fingertip to her forehead, her belly and two points on her chest. The girls copied her gracefully and Draco fumbled with the obeisance. The sign thing he left off. Better not to do it at all than do it wrong, his mother had said once.
People were still taking seats, and the back was already more crowded than the front. Draco wondered at this, but didn’t wonder at Hermione leading them forward. She was never one to sit at the back anywhere. She wavered a little, however, and in the end let him motion them to a bench in the fifth row from the front. This way, he and the girls wouldn’t be too noticeable in their inexperience.
The stage was beautiful, laden with flowers and candles. On the wall was a sculpture of Jesus robed in white with his right hand in that blessing sign. The large table at his feet was draped in white. There was a podium to one side of it, and on the other was a large representation of the Christmas story. Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus, in a genuine looking stable with a star made of Muggle fairy lights above it all.
“Remember to keep your eyes on the altar,” Hermione was murmuring to the girls. Right, not a stage but an altar.
Hermione had seated the girls on either side of her but it only took a second of subtle squirming on Draco’s part to make her switch. Sweet success. He took her hand. She looked at him oddly. “This lasts an hour. Can you last that long?” she whispered.
He slapped her on the knee and whispered back, “You’re in church! Shame on you!”
She glared at him and tried to pull her hand away.
He stifled a laugh. “I’m kidding. I quite like the setting. They don’t have that sad cross thing here, do they? I never imagined I would be in a church. And with you.”
“The ‘sad cross thing’ is the symbol of salvation. And you know we did a lot of things we never imagined.”
“Speak for yourself.”
He had imagined. And the symbols of his salvation? Right there beside them, prim and proper under their mother's sharp eyes.
Standing, sitting and kneeling as commanded were a little too much for Callie and Lia, but they made it through with hardly any mishaps and no giggles at all while they kept count of how many times their dad jumped. He was too intent on their mum’s hand, was he? When it was time for Communion, they just copied their mother again and knelt on the ‘prie-dieu’ and watched the Belizeans and tourists filing past.
They watched because they had no problem being watched in return any more. They were the same as the other kids now: they had a father and a mother. These two girls had been rather bereft before, no matter how beloved they’d been. Now they felt wonderful and somehow complete and when they caught anyone’s eye, they smiled.
The middle-aged lady who had shared their ‘pew’ had looked at them and, catching their mum’s eye over their heads, whispered, “Muy bonita hijas!” It was their dad who answered, “Gracias.”
At the end of the Mass, there was applause, and then a line formed toward the altar where people kissed the Baby Jesus. Callie and Lia noticed kids around them kissing their parents’ hands. So they did the same, ignoring their dad’s muttering about ‘Feeling about ninety’. Their mum just smiled and kissed them on their foreheads.
“Don’t we line up to kiss Baby Jesus?” Callie asked.
“Um, no, I don’t think--”
“Your mum’s paranoid about dis--”
“Draco!”
They exited the church the way they came in, holding their mother’s hand. Once seated at the golf cart, Callie began the inquisition. It was then that they learned about the pews and prie-dieus and the priest’s layer upon layer of raiment, among other things. It went on until they were back in San Pedro. Lia only wanted to know, “What did the lady beside us say?”
“She said your mum and I made very pretty daughters.”
“And what did you say?” asked Callie, even though she knew very well what ‘gracias’ meant. The two girls grinned at each other.
Their dad came through as predicted, of course. “I said, I agree and want to make more.”
“You absolute pillock.”
Callie and Lia collapsed into giggles in the cramped back seat of the golf cart. And it was only Day One!
They arrived at the villa to the most delicious smells. Coconut milk smelled divine when being cooked. And garlic, and onions, and chicken and fish. Yum! Lia’s mouth immediately watered as she ran to the house and Callie wasn’t far behind her. Belizean food was like Chinese food. Most everything was cut up small and tiny. Callie liked it.
They found Pietro and Pierra lighting candles in the dining room. The dining table! Oh Merlin. It could rival a Hogwarts feast if it weren’t for the smaller, less showy platters. And the food, aside from a few dishes of English fare, was Belizean, of course. Rice and beans with beef, the onion stew called escabeche, tamales, ceviche, cochinita pibil, most of them red from the spice they were so fond of here or golden with mounds of tortillas.
“Go upstairs and clean yourselves up, girls,” said Pierra. And did Pierra just wink? But she followed it immediately with a narrow stare. Callie and Lia scurried off.
So it was that they bumped into their parents just about to enter the dining room.
“Pierra and Pietro’s in there. Dinner’s wonderful. Do we dress up, Mum?”
“Well, of course. A bit. Let’s go.”
“Hermione, you take the en suite in the master bedroom. I’ll use the shower off the patio. The girls can take it in turns in their own bath.”
So it was that their parents didn’t see the changes in their bedroom. After gaping and giggling madly (they’d been giggling a lot since arriving here), Lia and Callie managed to wash up and change into another pair of matching dresses sent by their Grandmother Narcissa. Lia didn’t complain, they just tried not to look at each other and at their room, because it set them off again. It wouldn’t do to have gas before Christmas dinner.
Although one look at their parents and they burst into giggles again. Just imagining their faces later...
“I was expecting compliments,” said their mum, who did look pretty in her silvery blue dress.
“Get them from me, then. You look like a winter queen who deigned to accept an invitation to a tropical supper.” When the girls finally subsided to coughs and hiccoughs, their dad added, “What’s gotten into you two? I better not find anything in our bed or under my pillow.”
The mention of bed was lethal. Lia sat down on the floor, dragging Callie with her. They barely heard Hermione murmuring thanks to Pietro and Pierra and the latter leaving them with a loud harrumph.
From the living room, music came.
‘O holy night...’
‘Good night’ has never sounded so inadequate and so stupid before. But that’s what she’s said even though they have yet to take dinner. Well, no, she doubts she can eat on such a roiling stomach. Best just to go to bed, then. To sleep, to sleep. Not rehash anything, no matter how nice, like that hug and kiss to her temple. If he has kissed her, that is. Her mind is so giddy she won’t put it past her conscious and subconscious to swirl together and make up sensations of soft lips and an exhale of breath on her skin while she’s still awake. Is she still awake? Surely Draco Malfoy touching her with more tenderness than Ron or Harry has ever shown her is a dream?
She gets her answer when she arrives in her dorm. Her post is on her lap desk, the envelopes all too real, waiting to be dealt with. And that’s what they are doing, waiting for her, rather than tantalizing her with news from Ron and Harry and Ginny. Suddenly, that lap desk and its contents are nothing more than a nuisance, barring her way to snuggling in her bed to think about--
What is she thinking of?! What has gotten into her?
‘Good night’ has never sounded so profound and so befuddling before. He stands there feeling oddly bereft and a little frantic to run after her. To say or do what, he doesn’t rightly know. Nor does he know whether to scowl or laugh.
Laugh at whether this is some sort of comeuppance to his father and forefathers, a Malfoy son painstakingly raised to the Pureblood traditions so utterly bested and bespelled by a Mudblood.
And scowl at the intricacy of such a predicament.
“Why the long face? Well, I know why. I just met her in the corridor. Did you have a nice chitchat? Brighten up, Draco. These types don’t function like we do. They feel it their duty. We won’t owe her. I’ve already arranged for a bouquet to be sent to her tomorrow at breakfast.”
Blaise. Chitchat? Owe her? Bouquet?
“And then that’s that. If she thinks she’ll stop being a filthy Mudblood to us, well, more power to her. That naïveté must take a lot to keep up.”
Even in the most trying situations, a Slytherin never forgets about clout. Clout is slippery, held precariously in place by even more slippery elements such as possessions, reputation and connections. That is why Blaise, counted among the very few who still thinks Malfoy association valuable, narrowly escapes being backhanded and tossed from one of the temptingly convenient windows.
End Notes:
Yes, there will be Yule in the Yucatan Cinco, mi amores. We’ve really beaten the outline to dust. And discúlpeme for not making it to my update deadline despite it being ‘weekly’ now instead of ‘every seven days’. Another story is clamouring and whining to be written (well, its deadline, not the story. The story is a smug little--), and it’s not easy to switch from the happy-flappiness of this one to the other’s darker tones. I wanted this to be longer, but I want to keep you too and I might lose you if I don’t update sooner. So pleeeease review and let me know you’re still there and cursing me, thank you! ;)
I’m a devout Catholic and if the narration around the Mass sounds ignorant and irreverent, remember that it’s in Draco’s and the girls’ POV. They don’t know about genuflection and the Sign of the Cross and the like. Catholics are big on the humility thing and tend to fill up the back pews first. Myself, I prefer sitting near the front, where there’s little to no distraction from the Mass. Hermione only knelt and prayed instead of taking Communion herself because it would be sacrilege if she does after so long an absence and without Confession. Ooh, imagine that. Should be interesting for her confessor. :D
And I hope it’s okay that I didn’t detail the food and places. I’m not a fan of stories suddenly disguising themselves as travel guides just because the characters visited an exotic location or dined somewhere very nice, and to prove the author’s been there or been very thorough with the research. Heh. And what I don’t like to read, I don’t write. You have a vision of palm trees, white sand and blue skies and you’re in the HP fandom so I have faith in your imagination, so generalities Muggle setting-wise should be more than enough, right? Right!
San Ignacio is the twin town of Santa Elena, not far from Belize City. All three are in Cayo District, which is also home to Belmopan, the capital.
Boca de Bruja: the belatedly mentioned name of Belize’s Wizarding market town.
Yule in the Yucatan V by lucilla_pauie
Author's Notes:
I give you this monster of a chapter as a peace offering. I wrote a piece for the dramione remix, and it dominated my life for the better part of four weeks. Made me contract Dramionitis. So I went on a holiday for a bit. Read Eva Ibbotson and a lot of other books and now I’m back. And CATATI’s also back to regular programming, an update every week, although not the size of this one. This is an exception. This is me saying sorry, thank you, please come back, thank you!
And yep, this is also me cramming every last bit of Belize in here so I can get back to Hogwarts before I give myself (and you) Belize-itis, too.
“Merlin, Granger, you don’t invite the help to dinner.”
“Is she really mad about that? Isn’t she normally that grumpy?”
“Yes, so stop grimacing, woman.”
“Don’t ‘woman’ me.”
All this, while their dad pulled out a chair for their mum with such a sappy face, and far from grimacing, their mum smiled rather too much, as if she’d been presented with a heroic gesture. Callie and Lia looked at each other and with completely bland faces agreed wordlessly that adults in general”and their parents in particular”were idiots.
Except for a handful of tortillas here and there and a remnant of pudding floating like a mini-iceberg in a silver dish, they’d put away almost everything on the table.
A jug of milk stood half-empty beside the bottle of wine. Milk that all of them had swallowed by the glass at one point or another when they spooned something too spicy into their mouths. In the living room, one of those breathy Christmas songs was playing. Hermione didn’t know they had a record player here, much less Christmas records. Pietro and Pierra apparently held much more sway than she realised. And those flatulent songs were apparently more soothing than she realised. And sitting there with both her girls was much more perfect than she already realised.
Not that it was entirely the stuff of fairy tales, even though the candlelight and the frolicking fireflies framed by the picture windows made the dinner almost dream-like; there had been awkward moments.
“She just started banging on my harpsichord one day,” Draco had said when both Hermione asked about Callie’s music, “and next thing I knew, she was learning faster than I could keep up with. So her grandmother got her a master and a piano.”
“Did you want to be a concert pianist back then?” Lia had said to her sister. “Because back then, I wanted to be a ‘plankster’. Uncle Fred convinced me it was the greatest profession in the world.”
And Callie had shaken her head and sipped from her glass, which Hermione had known by then was a telltale sign of the girl’s discomfort. Hermione had looked with mild alarm and rabid curiosity at Draco, who was blinking as if remembering something, his grin becoming a small smile with a tinge of ruefulness.
“Oi! Tell!” Lia had misread her sister’s unease and bounced in her seat with a big grin. “What was it? Did you want to be a princess? I did, too, you know, but then the princesses in Muggle stories turned out to be doormats so I””
“I wanted to be a sister.”
Little Drummer Boy had ended in a decrescendo so they’d still heard Callie’s whisper.
“Oh,” Lia had whispered back.
“I know. It’s so odd, right? But I remember””
“Me, too.”
“You, too?”
Lia had nodded. And Hermione had blinked her eyes fast and clenched at her serviette under the table to keep from lifting it, burying her face in it and bawling. Draco reached for her hand under the table and squeezed it, and then effectively diverted all three of them by asking if they wanted to see shark-feeding.
There was a vaguely interested and only slightly aghast, “Really?” from Lia and audible groans from Callie and Hermione. Conversation went smoothly since then, with Hermione listening and laughing at her girls’ antics more than talking, which was why she felt the need now to ‘contribute’.
“Your Nanas and Poppies know we’re here, right? They’re not looking for us right now?” Hermione said.
Callie and Lia shook their heads.
“The Poppies and Nanas are in bed by now,” said Lia.
“Uncles Fred and George will have told them,” said Callie.
“We’re really staying here until New Year’s?” Hermione said.
Callie and Lia nodded.
“That mistletoe hasn’t followed us here, by any chance, has it?” Draco said.
Callie and Lia burst into laughter. Hermione shot Draco a look. “What?” he said. “I thought we were interrogating them. I don’t really care about the frigging mistletoe. No. Right then, since we’re exploring tomorrow, we’d best get to bed.”
The girls fell to giggles again. Hermione forgot her mushy musings. Just what was so funny about going to bed?
Sleigh beds. The thing with sleigh beds was they strictly limited who could fit between the headboard and footboard. The two sleigh beds that had miraculously replaced his bed in his room were exactly five feet long, which was only a couple or so inches bigger than Callie and Lia lying down without having to put their shoulders up on their pillows. They snuggled down contentedly enough while Draco and Hermione stared.
Well, Hermione was staring. Draco was grinning.
“It seems we’d have the other bed in the other room to ourselves, then.” And then, just as casually, “You know, that black fruitcake proved Pierra and Pietro are wizards, because that thing has to be left for two days, and unless they served something they’d prepared for themselves, they magically aged that pud””
“Girls, listen to me,” Hermione, red to the roots of her hair, said after shooting Draco the glare she shot at people who were reported abusing their house-elves. His rambling hadn’t worked to distract her at all. “This is the silliest thing I’ve ever been subjected to. I can sleep with”I can go to bed with”I can share a bed with your father just fine, thank you, but I’d rather not. I’ve only had one night with both of you. I know you’re big girls now, but...And if you insist on staying in those beds, we’re cutting this holiday short and it will be all your fault””
“You don’t like the beds?”
Hermione sputtered soundlessly for several seconds before shutting her mouth and smiling sheepishly at Pietro, who had suddenly peered in at the door. Draco disguised his involuntary jump with a slap on his bare arm, even though because of the wards there weren’t any mosquitoes within a half mile radius of the villa.
“I made those beds,” said Pietro, smiling his I-just-might-stab-you-in-your-beds smile. “The other one was too big. Not cosy or safe for the girls.”
“Oh.” Hermione was red again. “They’re very nice beds, Pietro, thank you.”
“I hope you sleep well, girls. Good night.”
Hermione nodded at the blanket greeting. Draco poked his head out and followed Pietro’s shuffling walk, just to make sure the old fart was indeed walking, not popping in and out of places like a grizzled mushroom. When he turned back into the room, Hermione was bending over Callie, kissing her good night.
He decided he could be chivalrous. “I can sleep in the divan downstairs. Or we could Transfigure the chaise in the master suite. Pietro wouldn’t know.” But he whispered that last bit, just in case.
Hermione looked up at him and smiled. And then she pointed her wand at their children.
Nothing happened, though Draco thought he heard Thalia snigger under her blanket.
“Well.” Hermione was wandless now and walking to the door, to him. “You don’t have to sleep in the divan or a Transfigured chaise. It’s all right.”
“Are you sure? I don’t think whatever spell you tried on the girls’ beds will work in the””
She still gave it a shot anyway. But the master suite remained the way it was, the bed one huge pile of white linen and silk”too huge, if you wanted to nitpick, and Draco was in a nitpicky mood”and the air redolent of something floral, fruity and chemical all at the same time. A perfume that was already making his eyelids lower languorously while the rest of him felt only more awake.
“What is that scent? Did you do that?”
She ignored him and went to the en suite. She emerged in her red nightgown. Draco was a little disappointed. Just a little. And he didn’t want to think of those negligees he’d bought her anyway, not with her damnable ink-champagne scent strangely amplified in the room, and not if he wanted to survive the night unscathed. Dammit. Cold shower.
Hermione was beginning to believe Draco’s theories about Pietro and Pierra. They had to have done something to this room. Only, why? All right, so they probably thought she and Draco were married. But the elderly twins didn’t strike her as people who’d bother to make the master bedroom so... so sensual. They were here with kids, for Merlin’s sake. It wasn’t a romantic holiday at all. But then, if she didn’t lay blame at their feet, there was the thought that Lucius and Narcissa meant their room to be like this, and Hermione didn’t want to go down that line of thought, especially as she was ensconced in their bed.
Draco had gone out and still hadn’t returned. Fine. Let him break his back in that divan.
After more futile attempts at Nox to extinguish the disconcertingly rosy-golden light stubbornly spotlighting the bed from an invisible source, Hermione fell asleep.
She realised she’d fallen asleep because she woke up. She had no idea how much time had passed, but enough that she was a little drowsy from sleep”yes, so drowsy she was a little slow on the uptake when she felt the bed dip too close to her and breathing blowing too close to the back of her neck.
She smelled wine in that breath. “Are you drunk?”
“No.” Draco exhaled a chuckle. “I’m not mad.”
But as if to contradict that statement, he draped his right arm over her waist and slid his left arm under her until his left hand could splay over her belly, which quivered under his touch. He locked his right arm with his left, and then he pulled her closer, he shifted closer, until there was no place for air between them, just warmth.
“Stop breathing on my hair.”
“Move it out of the way, will you? My hands are occupied.”
“You’re lying on it.”
Another soft chuckle as he shifted to free her. Hermione reached back and flicked her hair upward behind her.
“Do you have any idea how heavy this is? If I choke and die, people should scalp you for their own safety.”
It was her turn to puff out laughter. She reached back again and draped her hair over her neck and shoulder.
His chest made a rumble of disapproval. “How about you flip your hair in the same direction you did earlier, only higher this time so it doesn’t smother me?”
“How about you remove your person from me and””
In one swift move, he removed his arm and sent her breath stuttering when his fingers brushed her neck as he swung her hair away and up over both their heads, and then his arm was back, pulling her even closer this time, while he scooted lower on the pillow and ended up with his face buried in the skin left bare by the square neckline of her nightgown, his forehead pressed to her nape.
She’d never known the skin of her back to be that sensitive.
“Good night, Hermione.”
She could feel his smirk against her skin, making her want to elbow him. She wondered if he could hear her heart malfunctioning in her chest. She decided she didn’t care. She draped her arm on top of his and slid her fingers between his. His indrawn breath and sigh calmed her.
She was just about to fall asleep again when he began talking, his lips moving on the skin of her back.
“When you’re done being stupid and stubborn, I won’t be tamely holding you like this. There won’t be anything tame between us. I want to bite you just here.” He blew on the spot where her nape met her shoulders and Hermione had to stifle a gasp, wide-awake now. “But if I bite you once, I’ll want to bite you everywhere else. I want to bite and suckle and lick and taste. And when I do that, I’ll do it for hours and hours until I just about kill the both of us. Certainly not something to do when we’ve got a hike to do in the morning, hmm? You won’t be able to walk otherwise.”
Her heart was thudding in her chest. When she was done being stupid and stubborn? What was he getting at? And as for” It was several long eternities before she found breath to talk, and it was only to say, “You are drunk.”
He exhaled another soundless chuckle and kissed her again on her back.
Breathlessly, Hermione waited for him to talk again or... or do something. He didn’t. Her simultaneous relief and disappointment, and her indignation at his audacity, were almost suffocating. But she fell asleep to the soothing movement of his left hand stroking the silk over her belly.
Draco had gone to the house by the river in the mainland. If Hermione wanted her own room, he’d give it to her. They could all move there. Merlin knew he didn’t want to torture himself either.
He had Apparated to the foyer and blinked in confusion. By the moonlight coming in through the fanlight, he was in the right place”there was the Black crest etched onto one marble tile on the floor”and everything seemed to be in perfect order, except that the lamps had not flared to life at his arrival and, was that music coming from the drawing room?
The music wasn’t anything he’d heard before. Probably Muggle. Trumpety.
When he saw who was dancing to it, he halted and found himself scrambling for cover and peering through the leaves of the potted ficus stationed like a sentry to the right of the archway.
A man and a woman, both silver-haired, were swaying and side-stepping to the music, their arms around each other, heads close together. Both of them holding a glass of wine in one hand, wine that threatened to spill with every swing but never did.
“I love you so much. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” said the man, his voice deep enough to be heard over the music.
The woman snorted. “Is that the wine talking, or is it you?”
“Of course, it’s me, dearest heart. Talking to the wine.”
The woman laughed and slapped the man where her hand lay on his shoulder.
Who they were and why they were in his mother’s house, Draco did wonder, but foremost was his bewilderment at their intimacy and their ease and confidence in that intimacy. That friendship. Had they always been like this? Were they always like this? How did they come to this period of stepping on each other’s toes and laughing about it?
He left them without disturbing them, and back at the villa in Ambergris Caye, found himself pouring a glass of wine and raising it to those two ancient lovebirds. He drank, and then went upstairs feeling oddly bereft. And there Hermione was, looking so small in that bed, too small in proportion to how much of an anchor and harbour she was. To him. His.
His limbs moved almost involuntarily until he was wrapped and curled around her. He wanted to tell her about the aged sweethearts he came upon in the plantation, but instead other words and thoughts spilled out and he let them and listened to them at the same time, finding them disconcertingly true, promises he intended to keep, and she didn’t protest or pull away from him. He buried his face in that delicious spot between her shoulder blades and fell asleep smiling.
Her body was being replaced by flames as he watched, and he was doing nothing but watch, his broom continued on its course away from her, leaving her behind.
“Draco! Draco!”
He opened his eyes and was momentarily blinded by the dim, rosy light. His senses had to adjust first. No conflagration roaring in his ears and singeing his eyes. Hermione wasn’t burning. She was perfect, frowning down at him, her hair a fragrant curtain sheltering him.
His cheek was stinging.
“You have got to stop slapping me.” He cleared his throat. His voice hadn’t sounded right. Casually, he added, “I’ll tell the girls their mother’s abusive.”
Of course, this being Hermione, she wasn’t about to be distracted. “You were having a nightmare and you wouldn’t wake up. You nearly strangled me. Now, who’s abusive?” She smiled ruefully and rubbed the cheek she’d slapped. Draco couldn’t stop the small throaty noise that small touch triggered and he clutched her hand with both of his. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
He told her. Perhaps by telling her, he’d finally shake free of that recurrent, bewildering and horrifying image of abandoning her to Fiendfyre. He’d never done that and he’d never do that. He’d die first.
She nodded when he finished, and then generously did what would most bring him comfort, lying down beside him with her arm curled over his chest, her hand coming to rest on the side of his neck. She didn’t speak, didn’t explain, although he’d wager anything she had several interpretations of that nightmare.
Foremost of which was that it was probably his subconscious reproaching him for leaving her.
But he didn’t leave her, did he? It was she who left.
Sighing, he left that notion for another time and, locking her arms around Hermione, went back to sleep. It was that simple. He found he didn’t even have to dunk his whole body underwater any more, not with her there, effectively banishing all traces of the nightmare with one sweep of her arm over him.
When Hermione next woke, it was morning and she was alone in the bedroom. Draco had even tucked her ridiculously tightly under the covers. Where was he? What time was it? Weren’t they exploring today?
She’d just donned Draco’s dressing gown when Lia and Callie walked in. “About time! We’ve been waiting for you!”
The girls were dressed in matching khaki shorts and pastel blue shirts with so many pockets. Hermione assumed the one who’d spoken was Lia, because with their hair up under their safari hats and their eyes hidden behind sunglasses, they were identical to their boot laces.
Hermione gaped at them for a second and then went to the walk-in wardrobe. Her clothes were there, as well as Draco’s. Pietro and Pierra had been thorough. “Can you remove your hats and sunglasses, please? Why didn’t you wake me? Where’s your father?”
“Making breakfast.”
“Making breakfast?” Hermione was dubious.
“Pietro and Pierra are gone again.”
In quick order, Hermione got dressed. She’d already showered, so that was less time wasted. She emerged from the closet to find Callie and Lia making the bed, and then they bounced on top of it as a finishing touch. Hermione grinned.
“Let’s join your father, shall we? I want to smother you two with kisses.”
On the way downstairs, she said, “Should you really be in shorts? What if you fall or trip? You’d skin your legs. You’d be safer in trousers.”
“What if you fall or trip, Mum? You’d skin your legs. You’d be safer in trousers.”
Hermione flicked Lia’s hat for that cheek, and brown hair tumbled down, not blonde.
Callie had called her ‘Mum’.
“See, I told you she’d get all sappy about it,” said Lia.
Hermione threw an arm around each of her girls and laughed.
In the kitchen, Draco was indeed making breakfast. The pancakes and eggs were ‘crisp’. They came in on him jumping a yard away from the stove as the frying pan hissed and sputtered.
“I hate frying stuff,” he said as he looked at them. The smell of sausages rose in the air. “Should you be in shorts?”
“That’s what I just told them,” said Hermione.
“I didn’t mean the girls, I meant you.”
“Me? What’s wrong with my shorts?”
“Nothing,” said Draco, turning back to the pan and holding a pot lid as a shield. “But legs like that are dangerous to men.”
Hermione heard that perfectly audible mutter and was genuinely taken aback at the offhand compliment. “Why, thank you.”
The girls giggled.
The week continued in this vein. Draco made breakfast and then took them everywhere in Belize. He was familiar enough with the whole country that they didn’t have to take the golf cart or a boat or Muggle air transport to go from place to place. He turned their hats into Portkeys, and by Lia’s request, took Lia by Side-Along. By the third time they did so, she was no longer throwing up. By the fifth, she no longer had to clutch at Draco afterward but walked on as if nothing happened, which made father and daughter rather unbearably smug while Hermione and Callie patted their hair and clothes back into order.
That Boxing Day, they went to Boca de Bruja in the mainland. It was only a pit stop and they didn’t explore the magical district just yet though, because from there, they joined a ‘Ropes Tour’, which Hermione found out was the Wizarding equivalent of Muggle zip-lining. Instead of pulleys and counterweight, the ‘ropes’ were operated solely by magic, and of course, gravity. The slight discomfort in zip-lining was nonexistent, because you could Transfigure your harness into a chair. Enchantments were simply put in place to conceal such cheating. You could stop your chair if you wanted so you could take in the view, and you could even change the direction you’d go, but there was no controlling the speed with which your chair flew on the suspended rope, and Hermione and the girls shrieked by turns.
Just before the last ‘line’, they had to hike through a cave marvellous in its stalactites and stalagmites and undisturbed, protected Mayan artefacts, and cross a narrow bridge hanging over a river a couple hundred feet below.
Draco put Lia ahead of him, and then told Hermione to come after Callie, but changed his mind when he saw Hermione’s face.
“It’s safe. It’s just prudent to have an adult behind a kid, in case the kid”Never mind, look, they can both go ahead and we’ll follow. It’s safe. Too safe it’s almost boring. I’ll take you in the Muggle tour next. That’s more exciting. You could really die.”
Hermione glared at his joke and shook her head. “Do we really have to cross this thing? Aren’t we done yet?”
“When we cross this and the zip, we’re done. It’s the last line. And then we’ll be back where we started.”
Squaring her shoulders and clutching the hand Draco offered, Hermione stepped onto the bridge. It swung a little and Draco and the girls laughed when Hermione squealed.
“Keep your eyes in front of you and keep walking!”
The girls obeyed, still giggling.
“They call this the kissing bridge.”
“What?”
“My hand is numb. Ease up a little. The Muggles use this bridge, too, and they say the adrenaline from being suspended so high makes the Muggles fall in love or some such twaddle. Of course, those already in love simply go randy and snog.”
“Twaddle is right. You”you dangled me over a cliff once. I didn’t fall in love with you, did I?”
“Didn’t you?”
Hermione let go of his hand so she could slap his arm and erase the smirk on his face. “I did not. Ugh!”
He just laughed, doubling over melodramatically and causing the bridge to swing again, and Hermione to cling to his hand again. “Maybe you did. You were so violent afterward.”
“Your logic is warped.”
And just like that, they’d crossed the bridge. Hermione wanted to kiss the ground. Instead, she kissed Callie and Lia. On the last rope, none of them wanted their harnesses Transfigured. The girls went side by side, on their bellies, so that it was like flying on wings, and Hermione, reminding herself that the ropes were enchanted, consented to go ‘twin’ with ‘her husband’, too, which was what the guide presumed Draco to be.
Going this way was exhilarating. Hermione was just beginning to feel happily giddy about it when they suddenly halted. They were only halfway through the line. Hermione breathed a stream of profanity as she heard the ropes strain at their combined weight.
“What’s happening? Why did we stop? What are you laughing at, you great baboon?”
“Your face,” Draco said in between sniggers. “Merlin, calm down.”
Hermione calmed down. But every second they remained stationary slashed at the cloak of calm she was trying to don. “The girls will be terrified waiting for us and wondering what’s happened to us!”
“No, they won’t.” Draco was infuriatingly calm, as if he wasn’t dangling on an overtaxed system of ropes with nothing but air between them and the rocks of the river two hundred feet below. He put an arm around her, careful so as not to jostle the ropes. “Hey. We’re fine. Don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying!” Hermione angrily wiped her eyes and gulped the bile rising in her throat. She was pathetic. But she couldn’t stand this. This was worse than flying on a broom. Gods, she couldn’t even stop her eyes from contemplating and imagining her fall because she was facing it, the sheer drop. When she was upright on solid ground again, she was going to sue Ropes Tour. “Can we get down somehow?”
“Hey!”
Hermione jumped and the ropes groaned. Draco tightened his arm around her.
“Hey!” the disembodied voice repeated, amplified all around them, reverberating through the jungle. “What are you folks doing? It’s the Kissing Bridge! Get on with it before you fall to your deaths.”
“WHAT?”
Draco and Hermione looked at each other.
“The Kissing Bridge? I thought it was the bridge.”
“You mean they stopped this thing so we could kiss””
“We’ve never had to kiss here before!”
“”and if we don’t kiss, we’d fall?”
“I don’t””
It took some clever squirming and craning of her neck, but she reached him easily enough and her lips slid over and between his nicely enough, and then there was an embarrassingly loud sound of applause and they were moving again, but she missed the view, because Draco had slid his hand from her waist to her neck and kept hold, and he rubbed and nibbled at her lips until their helmets bumped onto the platform.
“Wow. Did you see that?” said Callie.
“No, I didn’t,” said Lia, blithely.
Hermione, cheeks burning, busied herself removing her harnesses. The guide at the platform looked nonplussed that she and Draco had been lip-locked, so she couldn’t berate the poor innocent man.
Photographs of the entire tour were available. She noticed most of their peers declining the photos. They were probably astronomically expensive, but of course, Draco bought them all. There were thankfully no photos of the kiss, though why there weren’t confused Hermione a little.
They went swimming in a nearby lagoon and then went to dinner in their damp, gritty glory at the patio of the pub in Boca de Bruja. The girls wanted to have another go at the Ropes before they went back to England, and Draco and Hermione argued a bit whether to go again or not. In the end, Hermione won, and they planned the rest of their holiday while noshing on soursop ice cream. Mayan magic was almost as good as Egyptian. It was going to be lovely, so long as they didn’t dangle from ropes again.
Although of course, that kiss hadn’t been that bad.
“What are you blushing for?” Draco murmured beside her, smiling and bumping his knee to hers.
“I’m not blushing. Am I blushing? It’s nothing. Ice cream headache.”
Provided they didn’t annoy him again and made him forget, he’d thank his parents for this. Draco smiled at his fly bobbing in the water, not seeing it, but reliving the last few days.
He’d taken his girls all over Belize. It was a poor country, but if you knew where to go, you were surrounded by verdant flora and soul-stirring Mayan relics, some of them still humming with ancient magic. Callie and Lia were hilarious. They fairly bounced with energy all day until they crossed the threshold of the house again at night, and then they flopped where they stood and had to be carried to their beds.
Pietro and Pierra continued to be absent.
Hermione continued to be... well, perhaps she was purposely torturing him and not being kind at all in letting him cuddle her every night? Kind, my arse. He didn’t want her to be kind either. But he’d take what he could get. What he dared getting, that was.
Tomorrow, it would be New Year’s Eve, and then it would be their last day here. They’d had enormous fun. Everything had almost been new to him, too, because he was experiencing the place with his girls. The Great Blue Hole had seemed bluer, Xunantunich had seemed more majestic and today, the Actun Tunichil Muknal had been rather romantic, if you discounted having a rapt audience of skeletons while Hermione ranted about suing their guide for not warning them about traps in the cave, and while Draco silenced that ranting effectively by pulling Hermione close and pressing his lips to her crimson forehead.
Truth be told, he hadn’t heard of or experienced traps in the ATM before. He’d have to talk to Lia and Callie about this, although he doubted his eleven-year-olds could manage to charm a stone wall to enclose their parents in a damp and dim alcove.
“Your parents are in England, right?” said Hermione, clutching at the back of his shirt and completely unaware of what she was doing to him talking into his chest like that. “They’re not here and abetting this in a twisted manner of spoiling their grandchildren who are bent on”” She sighed and didn’t finish that. Draco chuckled.
Whoever he’d seen in the plantation weren’t his parents. He doubted they’d disguise themselves like that. Or dance like that. “They’re in England.” He couldn’t help letting his hand follow the curve of her spine and rest on that dip just before another elegant curve began. “Father had a rather spectacular falling out with Pierra last time they saw each other.”
“I saw her in the market this morning while you and the girls slept in. She said I remind her of Druella Rosier.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“I don’t remember my Grandmother Black. Nor have I heard of her called ‘Druella Rosier’. It was always Ella Black. She had brown hair.” He touched Hermione’s. “But the similarities stop there. Pierra’s such an odd duck.”
“Odd duck is right, because when I greeted her and before deigning to condescend to me with that Druella Rosier remark, she stared at me as though she’d never seen me before.”
“Old age. Did you ask her why she and her brother had abandoned us?”
“No, she walked away before I could. She made me feel like she was Marie Antoinette and I was ‘that creature’ she only spoke to to please Louis the Fifteenth.”
Several moments of silence passed, a silence broken only by the sound of water dripping somewhere. Draco threaded his fingers in the ends of Hermione’s hair and she leaned on him more. “Draco, you’re not the one sending me those roses, are you?”
“No.” Draco scowled. The sender wasn’t a student, but someone with a good grasp of magic because the roses continually bypassed the villa’s wards and popped wherever Hermione was, and as though to underline his thought, a rose materialised just then. They both ignored it.
“You can let me go now,” said Hermione.
“You can step away any time.” Draco grinned. He hadn’t moved an inch. Neither had she.
He didn’t know how long they’d stood there with him leaning on a wall covered in centuries’ worth of dust, dirt and lime, and her leaning on him, her cheek resting on his chest. The silence soon became the silence of a library table shared between Hogwarts students and Slytherins, that first year after the war. Slightly awkward and determinedly maintained.
And just when Draco had been about to speak, there was a distinct, low rumble, and Hermione disentangled herself from him and went away. The stone wall had disappeared. Disappointment and relief had warred inside him. And then delight had won out when Hermione came back and pulled him by the hand with an exasperated look.
“Hermione?”
Draco was shaken out of his musings by that strange voice calling Hermione’s name. Judging by how she bumped into him, Hermione had been just as surprised. She even dropped her rod. Lia picked it up, scowling at the new arrival.
It was late in the afternoon, nearing dusk. The water was like glass. The four of them weren’t the only ones on the beach who had cast flies. Belize was an angler’s paradise, and Draco had gotten them all licenses, although Lia and Callie refused to fish and made Draco and Hermione promise they’d release whatever they caught. Fat chance of that if a bonefish bit. He was going to take pictures first.
But now this”who on earth was this old fart?
“Julius! What are you doing here?”
“Fancy seeing you here,” said Julius. He was carrying rented gear and it looked like he’d been at it all day already and with nothing to show for it. But his eyes lit up as he looked at Hermione. “I thought it would be a lonely holiday for me.” Was he delivering a line? Draco ducked his head and tried not to laugh. Julius was as old as Pietro. If not older. “And would you look at that. There they are.”
“Yes, my girls. You know Lia, and this is Callie.”
“This is our dad,” said Lia, making Draco look up. Julius held out his hand while Hermione introduced him as the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, but Draco shrugged and motioned to his occupied hands. Julius nodded and waded clumsily into the shallows, making everyone within a mile turn and scowl at him for disturbing the water. The old fart stationed himself near Draco, to Draco’s disgust. He immediately kept his breathing shallow to avoid the whiff of sunburn and sweat and unwashed hair and clothes. No wonder the man couldn’t catch anything.
“Right, well, we’ll leave you to it,” said Hermione, and she was back in the sand and several yards away before Draco could stop her. “The girls and I will see to dinner.”
“I’m invited, I hope?” said Julius.
Again, Draco looked up, this time in surprise at the man’s impudence”did he plan to shower at the villa and borrow Draco’s clothes?”and Hermione’s eyes flew to his. He frowned at what he saw there. She didn’t like her boss intruding on them. That wasn’t like her. He’d thought she’d say, ‘Yes, of course.’
But before he could say anything, she went ahead and said, “Yes, of course.”
Lia and Callie expelled breath.
As soon as they’d gone and just as Draco was steeling himself for whatever remark Julius was about to make about Malfoys, however, Julius gave Draco a nod and then went back to the beach, muttering about changing his clothes.
“I’ll find you here, won’t I, so you can take me with you to your house?”
He was a presumptuous son of a”
“Yes, of course,” Draco echoed Hermione, straight-faced.
Julius nodded again.
He did a lot of nodding, but he seemed surprised when Draco led him to the villa just a short walk’s distance from where they’d cast their lines in San Pedro.
“This house isn’t in the Ministry records,” he said soon after seating himself in the dining room.
Draco, who had been astonished at the complexity of the dishes on the table, turned his astonishment to the old fart.
“Why should it be?” asked Hermione with a touch of asperity. “This is Belize, not Britain, and the Malfoys had been fined enough to retire to their other properties in perfect privacy and anonymity if they wish, like the rest of us.”
Julius back-pedalled fast. He waved airily. “And I’ve apparently grown so used to knowing who owns what. Forgive me.”
Hermione didn’t. She was a gracious hostess, but you had to be dead not to detect the frostiness in her manner, and Julius soon thanked them and departed without waiting for dessert. A fruit salad heavy with sweetened cream. Draco and the girls carried conversation by themselves. Pietro and Pierra were back, judging by the cuisine they’d just sampled, but the two didn’t make an appearance.
Draco wondered if he should dare ask about the turn in Hermione’s mood, but she spoke about it herself as they lay side by side in bed that night.
He was trying to wean himself from their closeness”McGonagall would blow an artery once they were back at Hogwarts and he decided he couldn’t sleep without holding the Charms professor in his arms”so he was lying perfectly rigidly on his side of the bed, determined not to even face Hermione and let her unadorned beauty ensnare him again, but she went to his side, and curled both hands around his arm. Their bodies didn’t touch except for where she held him, but Draco felt engulfed and completely encircled, and it was a monumental struggle not to turn on his side and pull her to him. Instead, he listened to her.
“I hope to Merlin he just happened to be here for the holidays, not looking for me. From his slip, I have a feeling he knows about your house in the mainland and he was surprised we’re here and not there.”
“Why would he look for you? You’ve resigned your position in his department, haven’t you?”
“Yes, but he’s been pestering me about that. He wants me to return, he wants me to look after this or that. Circe. He even asked for that ‘date’ and he said he’d stop badgering me after that, but no, did you hear him at dinner?”
“He was your date that weekend Callie got her... er, you-know-what?”
She chuckled. “Her menses. You can say it, Draco. You’re the father of two girls.”
“Yes, well, he was your date?” Unbelievable.
“If you call a two-day conference with bureaucrat-types a date. I don’t know why he even attended that thing, except he seemed””
“What?”
“Ugh, never mind. It doesn’t bear thinking about. He always used to treat me like a daughter but””
“”but now he’s flirting with you.”
“Maybe he just misses me. Maybe it’s some sort of andropause. Ugh,” Hermione said again, and left it at that.
Ugh, indeed, thought Draco, and since she had shattered his resolve, he added ‘To hell with it’ and went ahead and snuggled, ignoring his minuscule bewilderment over whatever the dickens ‘andropause’ was.
As if they hadn’t done enough mischief meddling with the beds upstairs, Pietro and Pierra installed a wrestling mat in the backyard. A sumo wrestling mat two inches thick and fifteen feet in diameter, complete with ridiculous sumo suits and headgear made of foam. Hermione could only stare. Lia and Callie were delighted and went at it without even eating breakfast.
“Not hungry!”
“Still bloated from last night!”
They said that while fastening each other’s Velcro on the back. And then in their place stood unrecognisable lumps of hardened cake batter with red and blue tips, laughing fit to kill at each other’s appearance and bouncing off each other and the walls until they finally spilled out the door to the patio and to that mat.
“You’ve run out of places to visit, no? So we thought to help you,” said Pietro, emerging from somewhere. He had to have come from somewhere. He didn’t pop silently beside her and Draco. Hermione hid her surprise. “The girls don’t like fishing anyway.”
She nodded her head. It seemed safe enough. She only wondered whether Pietro and Pierra spied on them or whether they talked to the girls, and if they did, when they did so, because they seemed to come-and-cook-and-install-beds-and-go without asking for permission or being seen.
An explosion of light and smoke cut off Hermione’s and Draco’s laughter at the girls’ wrestling. Pierra had set up a box camera and, judging by the woman’s look of satisfaction, had captured Callie grappling Lia by the waist in retaliation to Lia’s earlier win. Another loud puff, and that was a photo of Lia gleefully landing belly first on Callie.
“What about you two? Why don’t you try? It’s enormous fun.”
Hermione stared at Pietro and imagined the old man sumo wrestling with his equally old sister, wearing the suits with those printed nipples. She choked on her hastily stifled laughter. Draco thumped her on the back with one hand and handed her an adult-sized suit with the other. It was heavy! How on earth would she be able to move in that thing? Draco had already stepped into his and was pulling it up and around his body. Hermione had no choice but to follow, giggling now. She was giggling so hard that Draco thumped her again, this time on the stomach. She barely felt it and that made her giggle more, doubling over as much as the suit allowed, which wasn’t much.
“You”you look ridiculous!” Hermione was still giggling as they waddled outside after Pietro and Pierra snapped their Velcros. The headgear shaped like wrestler updo’s hugged their faces securely, and every time Hermione stopped giggling, one look at Draco’s face made her start again.
“So do you, Granger.”
Hermione raised her doughy arms and yelled, “Banzai!”
And without further warning, she tackled him onto the mat.
“That’s not on! Get off! We’re supposed to circle each other first, you daft cow!”
“Like you’d play by the rules, Slytherin ferret,” Hermione said in between laughter.
He didn’t reply. Hermione squinted down at him. Draco was absolutely still, staring at her.
“Are you hurt?”
He still didn’t reply. The blinding morning sunlight was full on his face now that Hermione had moved off a little but he wasn’t even squinting. His eyes merely followed her. When Hermione tried to push off him so she could look him over, he held fast. She looked around to ask for Callie and Lia’s help, but the girls were gone. Hermione saw the glass door to the dining room sliding shut. Great. Should she yell for Pietro and Pierra?
“Draco, stop staring at me like that.” It was broad daylight, for Merlin’s sake. And he was”gods, those were bedroom eyes. Hermione blushed to the roots of her hair. “What are you playing at? Draco!” She slapped him lightly on the cheek.
She got to her feet and moved back a step, still watching him to see if he was injured but mainly watching him because she had a feeling he’d pounce if she didn’t. He wobbled to his feet and immediately lurched forward like a puppet on a string, a string bound to Hermione. When she moved right, he moved left. When she stepped to the left, he stepped to the right. And still with those bedroom eyes. Hermione was sweating buckets inside her sumo suit.
She stopped shuffling from side to side and just stepped backward. Her wand was somewhere in the grass. Somehow, summoning it while still on the mat felt dangerous, like Draco was a wild animal and sudden movement would be fatal.
Her plans of ever so slowly and carefully bending down to pick up her wand came to naught when she realised she’d been circling the mat, not crossing it. She should have reached the edge by now, but she remained in the perimeter. And when she tried to sidle to the grass, her foot only came down on vinyl-covered foam.
In the dining room, Callie and Lia stared at Pietro and Pierra wheezing and coughing their lungs off in laughter, watching their mum and dad wrestling on the mat. Their dad had finally tackled their mum, and seemed to be intent on kissing her, and though their mum had nowhere to go and seemed resigned now after almost a quarter of an hour’s worth of dodging and running in circles, their dad simply couldn’t reach her lips, what with all that padding between them. They flopped one on top of the other like fish out of water.
The girls had only stopped giggling themselves. They exchanged anxious looks while hiccoughing. Should they offer water to their housekeepers, who were now bent double, clutching each other and still cackling?
“That’s”that’s it, I think,” said Pierra, gasping.
“Yeah, turn it off now,” said Pietro, coughing and making a ‘whee-hee-hee’ postscript that set Callie and Lia giggling again. They couldn’t stop even when they saw Pierra pointing a wand toward their parents.
Their dad paused in his flopping, and then immediately got off their mum, as fast as all that foam would allow. He extended both enormous arms and helped their mum up. They were both distinctly red in the face.
In the dining room, Pietro and Pierra winked at Callie and Lia. Seemingly out of nowhere, Pierra produced a box tied with purple and orange ribbon and handed it to the girls.
“This is not a bribe for your silence. Nope. This is a belated Yule present from your favourite uncles and your grandfather. The one with hair.”
It only took one, two, three seconds, and then Lia and Callie were both goggly-eyed, staring at Pietro and Pierra, big box forgotten. But the big box reclaimed their attention fast. From inside came the unmistakable sound of mewing.
“How do you plan to keep him?”
“Cats are allowed at school, Mum.”
“Yes, but--”
What happens when term ends in June, when you go to your separate homes? Draco shot Hermione a look. She gave him a small conciliatory nod and instead of continuing her question, bent down and petted the sleek, black kitten. They were getting good at this silent communication thing. They could discuss summer when summer came. In the meantime, there was nothing stopping their girls from having a pet.
Just as there was nothing stopping him from asking Hermione to end all this nonsense and just marry him.
Except this holiday in Belize had been too perfect to ruin with another botched proposal.
“Got everything?”
“Yep. Where’s Leon?”
“Sent him home with enough merchandise to make his wife and kids happy. They’ll believe he’d been to Peru.”
“Good. Don’t forget to remind us about making Remembrance less illegal.”
“Sure,” George made a note on a clipboard. “ ‘Make Remembrance less like planting false memories in subject.’ That was a happy, useful defect though. Just in time, too.”
Although Leon ‘lost in the elimination round’, he was still thrilled that he’d been picked to compete, even if he didn’t meet any of the other star chefs and was only required to cook Belizean cuisine in a kitchen assigned to him. All in all, except for Leon’s wife almost filing a Missing Person report with the police, no harm done. They’d given the wife a note from her husband saying he’d been summoned by the prestigious Iron Chef school to join the contest being held in Peru that year. The wife had been dubious, but now her husband was back, and she could ascertain now that he hadn’t gone to ‘some woman’.
Poor Leon. He’d spent most of his time asleep in the housekeeper’s suite anyway, because Fred and George had to trail Draco and Hermione and the girls, bribing their way to making the holiday a giggle-fest for Lia and Callie.
Ropes Tour’s proprietor had been reluctant, but caved in when Fred and George assured him Hermione would transfer litigation to Fred and George if she found out they were behind it.
“When we’ve fixed it, we can try it out again,” said Fred, grinning devilishly.
“On Draco and Hermione?”
“On Draco and Hermione. Make them remember what they should remember. We”they”were so close that time in ATM! Merlin, I can’t believe our Goldfish Bowl has that auditory defect. How did we miss that?”
“Because we always tried it out during Lee’s parties?”
“Right, right. Let me make a note about that.” Fred took the clipboard from George and scribbled. When he was done, he looked up, sniggering. “But the Wrestling Mat is perfect, isn’t it?”
“Definitely ready for a test-run at home. Let’s plonk Percy and Penny on it.”
On this, their last day, they’d all agreed on a boating picnic. They’d packed a huge hamper with half the contents of the pantry, not bothering to do much more than fry potatoes and boil eggs (Pietro and Pierra had disappeared soon after bestowing that kitten). They were going home now after a shopping spree in Boca de Bruja in which Lia and Callie had to be stopped from spending all their remaining money on their new cat. The evening was balmy, although marred by the reek and smoke of firecrackers. It was several hours yet to midnight, but so many were exploding already. They’d stopped getting startled long ago. Hermione expected the noise now and was even delighted when she caught the orange blaze the firecrackers left behind in the sky.
Draco was quite adept at driving golf carts and yachts, for someone who’d been raised as he was. Then again, perhaps he’d been taught to operate these distinctly Muggle machines the same way he’d been taught to drive a car. It was a manly thing, rather than a Muggle thing.
Very manly. Or maybe it was just him, standing at the wheel wearing a shirt the same colour as the deepening dusk. His hair stood out, the ends visibly curling over his collar.
He looked back at that moment and caught her studying him. He quirked an eyebrow, and then turned back to steering them carefully from the river and back to the Caribbean.
It took too bloody long. That was his constant complaint about Muggle transportation. It was comfortable but it took too much time. He was antsy about time these days, time that wasn’t spent with his girls. Technically, he was with them right now, but he begrudged the attention he had to direct to navigating rather than to his girls. When would they get past the Drowned Cayes and reach open water?
Lia and Callie were in the galley, fattening their kitten, or maybe plotting something dastardly. Draco and Hermione had seen that rising orange building in Boca de Bruja. Callie and Lia had been strangely unsurprised about it. Draco could only hope to Merlin those Weasley twins weren’t here, or if they were, wouldn’t make contact until they were all back in England.
Hermione was”he quickly turned his head back to the Caribbean. Hermione was sitting just behind him, wearing cream, the exact same shade he’d made her wear all those years ago.
She was quite breathtaking.
As though reading his thoughts, she came over and, suddenly, he was no longer short of breath, but taking in lungful upon lungful of the subtle sweetness of her perfume.
“Still disturbed about Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes expanding to Belize?”
Draco laughed, and almost of their own volition, his arm slipped around her waist. She leaned into his side and it was”not heavenly, for that was trite and he had no idea what heaven felt like”it was like coming home and falling into bed. A blissful sensation.
In thanks, he kissed her temple. And then she really, literally took his breath away by angling her head and offering her lips to his. Gods, he seized that offer. But gently. Until now, he still kicked himself for the rough and unrestrained manner he had first made love to her. He had tried to make up for that, and would continue to make up for that for always. So he slid his lips against hers and rubbed and stroked and caressed until she made a soft noise in her throat and opened her mouth to sigh into him. He loved it when she did that. Surrendered to him completely. He pulled her deeper into his arms. She was pressed between him and the helm and he pressed even closer. It was pure instinct and need, no room for space between them, no room for questions or doubts in their minds.
She had curled her fingers on his chest; he could feel her nails through the fabric of his shirt, could feel her trembling against him. Most of all, he could feel her. Warmth and deliciousness. And he couldn’t get enough. One of his hands cupped her elbow and the other climbed from her waist to her neck. He tugged at her earlobe and played with the modest ear stud there. He wanted to kiss her there and remove that ear stud with his teeth and tongue. Instead, he sucked and bit on her lips and tongue, and it was a more than satisfying alternative. She made another lovely soft noise and an answering rumble came from his chest. He rested his hand on her shoulder and cupped her neck and cheek that way as they parted and shared breaths.
She was the one clinging to him, both her arms around his neck, but the look in her eyes made him feel just as weak. His hand cupping her elbow slid around her waist and his other hand slipped to her nape, pulling her in a hug until her face was pressed to his chest. He leaned his cheek against her hair and sighed.
Whatever happens now”and he had a feeling more things were in store to happen first”they’d always have Belize.
End Notes:
This chapter has several references to The Abduction of Persephone (the prequel-y companion to this story).
“I wanted to be a sister” was borrowed from a true story a friend (who's a twin) shared to me from Newsweek about Chinese twins separated at birth and reunited in the US. It's a heartwarming tale with a dash of twin magic: http://www.thedailybeast.com/newsweek/2009/12/03/the-power-of-two.html
Yeah, I know, I couldn't resist quoting Bogey in Casablanca there in that last sentence.
Fund Fiasco by lucilla_pauie
Lucius Malfoy was made to settle reparation to Ginny Weasley, Dennis Creevey, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas and Garrick Ollivander and Madam Rosmerta, Katie Bell and Ron Weasley. The exact figures are not disclosed but the photos punctuating the news article shows The Three Broomsticks being refurbished inside and out, and Ollivander’s, no longer looking ancient and derelict, but ancient and elegant, rivalling those tiny designer boutiques her mother likes to visit once on her birthday and once on Christmas to feel like ‘a proper worldly woman’.
Hermione frowns. The Wizengamot had sent her, Harry and Ron a copy of the writ, and all three of them had refused the reparation clause addressed to them. Well, Ron seems to have neglected to make his letter absolutely clear, because his name is still there in the article. On her part, Hermione had withdrawn the charges levelled against Lucius Malfoy in her name: that of being made victim to the Basilisk in 1993, being fatally injured in the Department of Mysteries in 1996, and being held and subjected to the Cruciatus Curse in Malfoy Manor March last year.
She scoffs at that. Yes, she could have died from Lucius’s self-serving attempt to rid himself of Voldemort relics, but the other charges? Bellatrix Lestrange is dead, and Antonin Dolohov is nothing more than a gibbering shell after duelling with Professor Flitwick, and so it fell to the Malfoys to make reparations? It was a little preposterous, even if the Malfoys themselves were looking for any excuse to throw their money around. Ron’s injuries at the Department of Mysteries and Malfoy Manor aren’t mentioned, but he’s supposed to be compensated for having been poisoned, however inadvertently, by Draco Malfoy. As if money can restore the decades cut from his mother’s lifespan that horrific day. And as if money as compensation for that time Colin had been Petrified can be any comfort to the Creeveys. Dennis has skipped school this year. His family is still coming to terms with losing Colin and his mother isn’t too keen to let Dennis come right back to the very place where her firstborn had died.
Hermione closes the Daily Prophet and ends up crumpling it onto her lap. She hates ruining the paper before she’s read it back to front and back, but she is so astonished at the... thing in front of her. A flower arrangement attempting to reach the Great Hall’s enchanted ceiling. That’s an exaggeration, of course, but she can barely see the person opposite her on the Gryffindor table, and as the person opposite her is Hagrid who’d sat down and borrowed a section of her Daily Prophet, that’s saying something.
Hermione makes to move the stumpy vase aside and as soon as she touches it, one of the dewy silver roses disengages itself from its fellows in the bouquet and flutters down in loops to Hermione like a butterfly drunk on nectar.
–To Miss Hermione Granger,
With our appreciation.
The House of Slytherin.â€
As soon as she finishes reading it, the card becomes a silver rose once more, plump and heavy and delicate in her hand. It has no scent. She stares at it, and then glances up at the staff table. Professor Slughorn has lifted his monocle and is squinting through it at the strange addition to the Gryffindor table. Not from him, then.
–You got yourself a beau, Hermione? What’ll Ron say?â€
Hermione leans to the side to see Hagrid and chuckles right along with him. –He’ll say, ‘Budge it--I can’t reach for the sausages.’ â€
Everyone in the Great Hall is now looking at the Gryffindor bouquet. In the Slytherin table, however, only one person has taken notice. But when Draco catches her eye, he goes back to fiddling with his breakfast. In the light of day, it’s hard to believe that last night, Draco Malfoy had hugged her--held her like she used to imagine being held by her Knight Valiant or Prince Charming.
As he is neither valiant nor charming-- at least, not consistently enough--she is exasperated with herself when she feels her face going warm. Thank Merlin for the ridiculously tall bouquet. She hides behind it.
–I want a copy of this, and this one, and oh, this.â€
Fred and George, as themselves, were back at Champs du Rose. Narcissa sat between them in the sofa, flipping through photographs and laughing so heartily Fred and George felt like they were in an alternate reality in which Malfoys were regularly seen throwing back their heads and slapping their hands against Weasleys in their unabashed mirth. Fred and George squirmed where they sat in the cloud of her perfume but couldn’t help grinning. Few things were as good as being able to gloat about mischief.
–Those are copies, Mrs M, you can take them all,†said Fred.
–Thank you.â€
–Mrs M?†said Lucius, swivelling to face them where he stood by the tall windows.
–Don’t you want to see these, Mr M?†Narcissa chuckled.
–I’ll see them tomorrow, won’t I? I’ve subscribed to the Daily Prophet again. I imagine the circulation office all agog over that even now.â€
Despite that, Lucius Malfoy strode over, unceremoniously plucked Fred from the sofa, and took his place beside Narcissa. He scooped the photos from her lap and transferred them to his.
They all watched him in silence, and he gratified their observation by lifting a horrified face when he came upon a certain photograph.
–Tell me this isn’t included among the ones to be published,†he said haughtily, and a tad threateningly. –This is humiliating.â€
–No, it’s not,†said Narcissa, surprising Fred and George. –That’s not you. That’s Draco.†Ignoring Lucius’s glare, she turned to them. –Boys, you really must sell me your camera. Or make me one. Astonishing how you captured Draco’s face from so far away, look.â€
They looked. Draco’s rather gormless expression was sparklingly clear between all that skin-toned padding. Yes, it was good photography. Perhaps they could talk with Dean about mass producing the box camera with the modern and magically modified lenses. Hmm.
The castle was still relatively empty when they arrived. Students wouldn’t start coming back until tomorrow evening at the earliest. As teachers’ children, perhaps they should accustom themselves to this unexpected privilege of having Hogwarts to themselves. As soon as the carriage stopped, Callie jumped out, Lia followed, and they had a merry time punching the untouched snowdrifts with their boots.
They dropped to the ground to make snow angels just in time to see their father helping their mother off the carriage.
And then the twins’ legs and arms froze when they saw how their mother barely acknowledged their father and then marched away without another word, chin tilted in a cold queenishness they hadn’t seen before, not in Hogwarts and certainly not in Belize, even when she was most irritated with their dad.
–Whatever in Morgana’s name’s the matter now?†said Lia.
Callie moaned wordlessly beside her.
Well, it had all been going too well for too long. He hadn’t expected the gods to keep him in paradise but still, this return of his personal hell was insanely fast. He and Hermione hadn’t even crossed the threshold of Hogwarts. What had bitten her in the arse now?
Draco had been planning to persuade his girls to spend the last couple days of the holidays at the cottage. She and Hermione were teachers, yes, but there wasn’t anything for them to do at Hogwarts other than be there and perhaps plan lessons. Of course, nothing beat cuddling in a drafty old castle, and Draco had been looking forward to that.
It looked as if his luck hadn’t held, though. As soon as the Portkey delivered them at the cottage, Hermione traipsed right back out, the girls following their mother like ducklings trailing a duck. As far as Draco knew, he hadn’t done anything since, and neither had Hermione. She’d been pleasant and rather glorious, her cheeks and nose pink from the cold. They all had lunch at Chez Belinda, and this time, it was Hermione who stole Belinda’s Daily Prophet, and then they were on a carriage back to Hogwarts.
That was it. Hermione had disappeared behind the newspaper and then, as if she’d donned a mask behind the paper, emerged as a phantom memory that would always haunt Draco still. For a moment, he saw her with her waist far, far thicker than it was now, with that exact same stony expression on her face, like she could kill him and not even care about it.
Her boots made an angry noise on the flagstones as she marched inside the castle. His legs were longer but he struggled following her. –What now? What’s gotten into you?â€
She ignored him.
Years and years of raising Callie with his father, mother and Pansy had honed his patience and thickened his hide, but whatever defence and detachment he had erected crumbled under the onslaught of fear, and the fury triggered by that fear. He didn’t want to lose Hermione again when he didn’t even have her yet, not for certain, and she should get off her high horse and stop being so bloody stubborn.
–Don’t recreate what happened twelve years ago, you insufferable cow,†he said through clenched teeth. –This is the very thing that landed us in this whole mess in the first place: you going off in righteous high dudgeon without talking to me.â€
They were halfway up the grand staircase. She was several steps ahead. She paused mid-step and wobbled for a second. Draco reached out to steady her. She sensed that movement and recoiled the minutest bit that he wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t been staring at her. She didn’t turn to him. After several moments, and without replying, she continued up the stairs, up, up and farther and farther away. He let her. He wasn’t about to go running after her when she insisted on treating him like this, like a... a stupid dog that had misbehaved and had to be locked out of doors as punishment. Dogs never knew what they were supposed to have done either.
Draco expelled an irritated sigh and pivoted to go back down and maybe look for the damned paper.
–Oi! Where are you going?†a portrait called out. Draco ignored it. –Idiot! You should come after her! Maybe you’re in this mess because she went off in a high dudgeon without talking to you, and you didn’t come after her and talk to her either.â€
It was Draco’s turn to come to a halt on the stairs. He took several deep breaths.
–Er, you have a point.†The moustachioed man in the portrait looked taken aback. And then nodded sagely and smugly. Draco continued, –But do you know that woman? If I go after her now, at best, I’ll freeze trying and failing to get her to respond to my knocks on her door. She’ll have barricaded it so tight not even Merlin would be able to force his way in. At worst, she’ll hex my balls off.â€
Mustachio-man bristled at the reference to balls. –You shall talk to her later. And not in your high-handed manner, you arrogant cur.â€
–Cur?†Draco laughed. –You can shut up now. You’re embarrassing yourself.â€
–They always tell us to shut up, these impertinent ingrates.â€
Sometimes Hermione wondered if it was true that the gods frowned upon too-happy people, and she wondered what she’d have to do so that whatever it was the gods used to spy on everyone was irreparably pulverized.
–Whoa! Easy. What have I done? If you use that glare in the courtrooms, that’s unfair. Anyone would confess to anything.â€
–Harry? Harry.†Hermione sighed and stepped into Harry’s open arms.
–Had a nice Christmas?†he asked, kissing her hair.
–It ended.â€
Harry chuckled. –Must look at the doughnut, Hermione, not at the hole. What happened?â€
Hermione sighed again. –There are times I regret I made friends with you, Harry Potter.â€
Harry laughed outright this time. –I know. It has its downsides, doesn’t it?â€
She looked up at him fondly. –And then there are times like now when I love you to pieces. You know exactly what happened, but you don’t bring it up yourself.â€
–Well, between you and Ron and Ginny, even a troll would learn to be tactful.â€
Hermione laughed softly against Harry’s chest, squeezed him one last time, and let go. –So what are you doing here?â€
He looked her up and down as if to check for injuries. His eyes paused for a millisecond on the Daily Prophet peeking out of her un-Shrunk satchel but he made no comment. –No thanks for the hug?â€
Hermione rolled her eyes. –Thanks for the hug.â€
–Minerva wanted to visit with me, that’s all. It’s been a long while since she last saw me. You’re not her only favourite.â€
–How’s Ginny?â€
–Just about bearable now that we’re close to term. How are your girls?â€
–Just about perfect.â€
–Will I be that love-struck when I become a parent?â€
Completely distracted from her snit now, Hermione smiled. –Maybe not, because you’ll keep your kids close, won’t you? You’ll be the harassed dad, snappish, bald by the time you’re forty.â€
–Bite your tongue.†He glared, and then gave her another hug. –When you want to talk, or when you want me to go after somebody, you know I can use my clout for nefarious purposes from time to time.â€
–What a doughnut you are.â€
Draco ended up going back to his cottage. Lia and Callie, still playing in the school grounds with their kitten snug in Callie’s muff, looked like they wanted to ask questions, so he waved at them, imprisoned them in a cage made of snow, and drove the carriage out the gates, sniggering at the sound of their outraged shrieks.
He had anticipated having his girls in that cottage so much that the tiny place looked somehow vast and empty.
Throwing Floo powder into the blazing fireplace, he called, –Pansy and Patrick’s Place,†and stepped out onto Pansy’s drawing room. They really had to name their house soon. The alliteration was getting old. Pansy was in the patio, feeding her daughter something odious-looking, and from the look on Theca’s face, the toddler shared Draco’s opinion.
–Draco!†Pansy put down the bowl of yellow-orange gloop and Thea promptly pushed it over the edge of her high chair. –What a pleasant surprise! How was your Yule?â€
Draco picked up a relieved and smugly giggling Thea and blinked at Pansy, who looked too tan to have spent her Yule in Europe. And she was too perky. She tended to relay bad news when she was too perky.
Delaying it a little, Draco said, –How was yours? Where were you?â€
–Belize.â€
–Belize?â€
Pansy glared at him. –Yes, Belize. At the Casa Ursula, in fact. You never do read my letters, do you? We’ve been there all December and if Patrick hadn’t been called down today, we would still have been there. I left my Yule gifts for you and the girls with your parents, but I should have left you out, you nasty little--â€
–You were in the plantation house?â€
–Why are you repeating me?â€
–I dropped in one night and saw an old man and woman dancing in the sala.â€
–Oh, Patrick’s grandparents. The ones who were trapped by a typhoon in Singapore and didn’t make it to our wedding. This time, they were on a holiday in Mexico so we had a little meet-and-greet. But what do you mean you dropped in? Were you in Belize? Did you enter the house without letting yourself known? Did you--â€
–It’s my house. And it’s a long story. And now I’ve seen and snuggled who I wanted to see and snuggle so I’ll be on my way.â€
Pansy glared again, but smiled when Draco kissed Thea as he put the child back in her high chair. –I’ll just have to hear it all from your mother, shall I?â€
–Do that.†Draco sighed. Pansy bit her lips. Right, the bad tidings. –You don’t happen to have the Daily Prophet around, do you?â€
Pansy winced and nodded in sympathy. –Thea had gotten to it, sorry. And you know the Daily Prophet put that blasted charm on their paper so you’d have to buy another if someone destroyed it. Reparo doesn’t work.â€
It was late in the day, so it took some doing before he found that morning’s Daily Prophet after getting back to Hogsmeade. You could usually find several lying around at the pubs, but Draco had bluffed when he’d invited Hermione to the Three Broomsticks (Was that only a couple months ago?). He was banned for a lifetime there and in The Hog’s Head. In the end, he ‘found’ a copy in the cloak room of Chez Belinda. He was getting really fond of the place.
The thing that had Hermione possessed with the stabbity spirit wasn’t anywhere in the front page, but was tucked in the ‘Ministry’ section where they kept track of what the Minister ate for dinner, where the various departments and offices posted open positions, where complaints and criticisms of ineptitude were published, and where, to the delight of most everyone and especially those who liked a laugh while drinking their morning tea, the Prophet ‘reserves the right to publish insider tips without implying or confirming their veracity.’
A lot of back-stabbing, courting, friendly ribbing, gossip-mongering and propaganda of all colours went on via these tips, dubbed as ‘leaky businesses’. No one really took anything in that section seriously, however cut-and-dry the articles sounded. That morning’s leaky business, however, was not even in the same neighbourhood as funny.
Leaky Business: Hermione Granger Fund
Gringotts will never confirm nor refute this, and of course, beneficiaries, if any, are bound by Wizarding agreement to silence. The Hermione Granger Fund is presumably in place for the purpose of helping Muggleborns from the moment they receive their Hogwarts letters, hence its name. Anonymous sources had further disclosed that the notorious mass detainment of Ministry workers and visitors in late August last had been connected to the discovery of the Fund, and that it was the reason Miss Granger resigned from her eminent position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The Fund is further said to be worth twelve hundred thousand galleons.
–Fuck.â€
If Belinda hadn’t come running, Draco wouldn’t have realised he’d shouted that.
–M’seur Malfoy! What’s-- Why are you in the cloak room?â€
Draco allowed himself to be hustled to the dining room and to one of the more private tables. He paged through the Prophet until he saw what he was dreading. Skeeter’s column. No one saw or heard him pound the table with his fist, but Belinda came running again, probably in fear of her furniture.
–M’seur Malfoy, what can I do to help?†she said despairingly.
Draco took a deep breath. –Ink, quill and parchment, please, Belinda. And a fast, mean owl, thank you.â€
It could set up for life five hundred Muggleborns. Is it the alimony? A settlement in exchange for giving up one twin? It is very altruistic of Miss Granger.
Some thoughtful house-elf had arranged a vase of hothouse flowers for Hermione. She wasn’t seeing the thoughtfulness at the moment, but a jar with a fat beetle inside. The vase shattered. Long-stemmed orchids toppled and flopped onto her desk. Blinking away tears and taking deep breaths, Hermione repaired the vase and deposited the flowers back inside it.
–Mum, let’s have a bath together, shall we?â€
Hermione jumped. She’d been so busy imagining squashing Rita Skeeter she hadn’t heard Lia and Callie arrive. There they both were, red-nosed and pulling at each others’ mittens. The kitten yowled and went straight for the fireplace.
–A bath?†Hermione managed to sound casual, as if she hadn’t been contemplating multiple murders, one of those murders being that of her girls’ father. –Yes, you need one. Come on.â€
–Callie hasn’t taken a bath with us before.â€
Forget murder. Mutilation, it was. Before she could think of a reply, Lia went on. –Let’s go to Dad’s rooms.â€
They dragged her out and downstairs before she could protest. Draco wasn’t anywhere in his lodgings, however.
–It’s okay,†said Lia. –A student can take a bath with a professor, right?â€
The girls laughed at how ludicrous that sounded while Hermione, distracted again, tried to imagine taking a bath with Minerva. Tried and failed.
–I see you’ve invaded my turf.â€
Hermione stiffened, but with the girls this close and avidly watching, she found she couldn’t snub Draco. She also found her internal organs behaving oddly, and not in the churning that stemmed from a murderous rage. Damn him. –The girls want to take a bath with me.â€
Draco, who wasn’t looking at Hermione, sniggered. –How long did it take you to break out of your cage? Look at you. Scoot before you catch something.â€
–What cage?†Hermione asked.
–Mum, come on! We can’t feel our toes!â€
Hermione made the hot water froth and bubble. She revelled in scrubbing her girls’ backs and having two sets of hands scrub hers. And then she turned the little towels into terry towelling boats that sailed impassively around them as they soaked. Well, she soaked. Lia and Callie were cataloguing each other’s freckles and spots, making their mother giggle despite of her supposedly murderous rage whenever one of them expressed outrage at having or not having a certain freckle or spot in a certain place.
It seemed she wasn’t allowed to wallow in her anger these days. Not with her girls around. And maybe--it was the tiniest iota possible--Draco did not have anything to do with the Fund at all, however much Skeeter speculated.
In a vastly improved, and even a little sheepish mood, she emerged from her bath with the girls and amused herself further by thoroughly discombobulating Draco by being pleasant at dinner.
–Girls, I want to tell you something,†said Hermione while they all glutted on strawberries and chocolate fondue. Only when Callie and Lia had finished dipping and looked up did Hermione continue. –Your father and I, admittedly on less than sound minds, decided to stay apart, and branching from that decision, we had the two of you split between us. No money was involved. None.â€
Draco had frozen in dipping his strawberry in the pot. Callie nudged his hand away and stole his strawberry. Lia took a spoon and began to eat the chocolate like it was soup. –Is that what was in the Prophet and why you were so brassed off earlier?†she asked in between spoonfuls.
–Well--â€
–Don’t be affected by rubbish, Mum,†was Callie’s sage advice.
–But Uncle Harry told us you two still have to work that out.†Lia slurped chocolate. –You have a history of rubbish.â€
–He said that?â€
Over their heads, Hermione met Draco’s gaze. He rolled his eyes at her. And then Vanished Lia’s spoon and handed her a strawberry instead. When Lia made to dip it, Draco blocked her. –It’ll be coated once it reaches your stomach.â€
Afterward, Hermione declared that they were back at Hogwarts and should follow Hogwarts’ sleeping arrangements. The girls didn’t balk at having to split for their respective dorms but did embrace each other as if they were about to part for a decade again rather than ten hours.
At the door, after seeing the girls trot off in separate directions, Draco caught Hermione’s hand. –Care to talk yet about what happened this morning?â€
When she didn’t pull away, he pulled her back inside his room.
He held up a bottle of wine. She shook her head. He poured himself a goblet and perched on the sofa arm opposite the one Hermione leaned against. She was sitting sideways with one arm on the sofa back and one leg stretched out on the end of the cushions. It was an open, relaxed pose. She felt open and relaxed. She’d forgotten why she’d been so furious that morning. So now people knew about the fund, if they believed the Leaky Business. So what? Gringotts was impenetrable in its policies. No one could or would abuse the Fund. And so what if it was named after her? And so what if small-minded people like Skeeter assumed she’d sold one of her children, even for such an ‘altruistic’ cause? It wasn’t true. Even if Draco indeed financed that Fund, she hadn’t sold Callie to him. Of all preposterous things.
Suddenly, she was leaping up from the sofa. –Oh gods, my mum would employ ‘flay first-ask questions later’ when she sees that article.â€
Draco picked himself up from where he’d toppled to the floor when Hermione removed the counterweight on the sofa. He cleaned up the spilt wine. –Muggles still flay, really?â€
She gave him a look.
–And your parents have a subscription to the Daily Prophet?â€
–Of course. After I erased and then restored their memories, they swore they wouldn’t be left out of the loop again. They’re even subscribed to Quidditch Quarterly. That’s how obsessed they’ve become. I suppose I should be thankful Skeeter’s just as clueless as my mum.â€
–What did you tell them?â€
–What did you tell your parents?â€
–That you hated me and didn’t want to see me again, so much that you even gave me one of our children just so I’d stay away.â€
Almost unconsciously, Hermione stole the wine Draco had just freshly poured into his goblet moments before. She sat back down on the sofa, this time curling both legs to her chest and hugging them.
–One day, we’ll have to talk about that, Hermione.†Draco was now the one sitting sideways, framing her with his arm and leg.
–Yes, well, not yet. I--†Was so incredibly rash and stupid and you better not open an old wound, Malfoy. –So. That Hermione Granger Fund. You don’t have that kind of money, do you?â€
–Not on hand, no.â€
Hermione glared at him.
–Not anywhere else, for that matter. But extant monies and passive income put all together, and speculating on my prospective inheritances, I daresay--â€
–Draco Malfoy. You did not.â€
–No, of course not. My father did.â€
Once again, wine spilled. Hermione didn’t even realise her hand had grown slack around the goblet, as had her jaw.
–He wanted to name it after Callie, but as Callie is a half-blood, the name didn’t match. There you go.†Draco reached with the arm he had slung over the back of the sofa and nudged her mouth closed. He didn’t remove his hand, only moved it to cup her cheek. –We could have the name changed. We could also have my father flayed by your mother, if you like. I’d definitely like it. I knew that Fund was going to be trouble. I’ve written to Skeeter and told her to publish an apology for making such disgusting conjectures. Your mum will read that and won’t flay you. She’s your mum. I doubt she-- or anyone else-- would believe you gave me one of our children in exchange for money.â€
She found herself nodding and sighing, and to stop being such a ninny, she turned her head to remove herself from his touch for a bit, on the pretence of sipping from the goblet, only to discover it missing from her hand. Draco exhaled a laugh and pulled her by the hair--gently-- into his arms.
–I missed this all day,†he murmured.
Me, too. Hermione inhaled his scent. –Get used to missing it. You won’t be pulling me by the hair-- or by any appendage, for that matter-- anywhere, starting tomorrow.â€
–So I can still do a number of pullings tonight?â€
–No!â€
Draco did his silent chuckle again.
–Why were you so angry? Not at the thought of your mum, right? That was a sudden scare, not a stewed irritation.â€
Hermione seriously thought about it while she burrowed her nose into the fabric of his shirt. The answer she came up with made her ashamed.
Draco moved his hands to her shoulders and held her away a little so they could lock gazes. –Hermione, we have one mystery as big as Hagrid and as old as our twins between us. We shouldn’t make that mystery jealous by having more. From now on, when you’re angry, tell me why, won’t you? Please?â€
Well, since he asked so nicely... –I was angry with Skeeter, not you. And then I realised I was so angry with her because she made sense and why didn’t I think of it before she did? If it was you-- and who else could it be-- I thought you put this Fund in place as a security against the possibility of me trying to take Callie from you, that you’d throw it in my face and show the world I’d sold my daughter--â€
–What?â€
–I know. My brain isn’t working right when it concerns you.â€
Draco pulled away and crossed his arms. –That blasted agreement wouldn’t have allowed you to take Callie from me.â€
Hermione nodded with a grimace of self-recrimination.
–And do you really think me so rotten?†Before she could answer, he said, –That was a stupid question. I forgot we wouldn’t be here in the first place if you didn’t.â€
His tone was bitter. Suddenly, Hermione was even more furious than she’d been that morning. He had no right.
She was at the door and had wandlessly righted and cleaned the goblet and spilled wine without even being wholly aware of it.
–Actually, I didn’t, Draco. We wouldn’t have the twins if I did, would we? I wasn’t some hormonal teenager that-- If I thought you rotten, I wouldn’t have let you touch me, let alone-- If I did think you rotten-- and I admit I did, later on-- that was because you made me.â€
He spends Hogsmeade weekends toughening his hide. He has grown up being noticed, and while there might have been sneering behind that notice, it has never been blatantly made to his face before. Unlike now. Honeydukes was the friendliest place. The owners look at what he’s bought, touch his money, and even give him change.
The Kilmartins decide to open the ground floor of their cottage to the dispossessed Slytherins. Scrivenshaft had done the same, but stopped the hospitality when the rest of Hogwarts ceased making his shop bell ring. Quills and parchment and their quality don’t keep. Not without employing illegal mercantile spells. The Kilmartins, on the other hand, has nothing to lose and everything to gain. Their weekends-- at least those when Hogwarts turned its students loose upon the village-- is suddenly no longer empty.
Not to mention the glee of having their collection of knick knacks being in display. Slytherins are jaded to curios, but they like knowing what things are. One prolonged glance is all it takes to set off one of the Kilmartins on an oration.
Ria makes the mistake of stopping dead at the new display of portraits of cat eyes (just eyes, different colours, different shapes, and different levels of ogling) and Mrs Kilmartin pounced on her. Draco sniggers under his breath, and chokes on it when the door opens and Granger is framed in the golden spring afternoon outside.
She looks around, shows remarkable indifference to the cat eyes and Slytherin eyes all trained on her, and squares her shoulders. –I’m sorry. I saw the Greengrasses and followed them. I wondered if there was a new shop. I’ve never been on this street before.â€
From any other person, that would have sounded like an ill-conceived lie. From Granger, it’s simply ridiculously honest. Daphne or Pansy would have just turned up her nose, found a seat and ordered tea. Not Granger. There she stands blushing and fidgeting despite her set shoulders and chin, probably cursing herself for her too frank outburst or debating how cowardly it would look to turn around and get out.
–You followed us all this way, you might as well sit down, Granger,†says Daphne, indicating the remaining chair on the table she and Ria have taken.
Mrs Kilmartin eyes her red and gold scarf, but pours Granger a cup of tea and added another cake tray on the table without comment aside from a tremulous, –Welcome, Miss Granger.â€
–You’re of age,†says Ria. –Why aren’t you in London like all the rest of them?â€
At this, Granger catches Draco’s eye. They were the only two people of age in the room. –I have nothing to do in London. Why would I go there? Harry and Ron are in Auror-training and my parents are still in Australia. Erm, is this a Slytherin establishment and am I intruding? Because I can leave.â€
–Why? Are you about to erupt in hives?†says Ria, surprising Draco by punctuating that with her saucy grin. Granger also surprises him by scratching the back of her neck.
–A bit.â€
It isn’t just the Greengrasses who chuckles. Draco, with effort, takes his eyes off Granger and grins at a pair of brown cat eyes.
–This isn’t a Slytherin establishment. But all the rest of the establishments are rather decidedly non-Slytherin, so here we are.â€
Granger loses her smile at Daphne’s answer.
–What do you mean?â€
–I mean that the world is full of hypocrites who think it was wrong of us to have saved our skins during the war,†says Daphne pleasantly, drizzling raspberry sauce on her scone. –Wrong of us to not have supported a boy our own age against a powerful wizard we have grown up fearing. Really. If we weren’t willing to rush headlong into injury and death, is that so wrong? If one of our number wanted to give up Potter because we thought it would be easier and painless that way, were we evil?â€
Granger’s answer is quick and lethal. –No, you weren’t. So why do you hole up here?â€
What little conversation that has begun again stopped again. Mrs Kilmartin drops the kettle she was just lifting from the stove.
Imitating Daphne’s earlier airiness, Granger continued, –The Slytherins in their own little exclusive circle in their own little tea room. Just because the other shop owners are leery of you or snubbing you. Of course they would. One of you Imperiused one of them. The Death Eaters terrorized this village and the Death Eaters were Slytherins. They’re entitled to giving you a little grief. I’m not saying it’s fair. But let them. If you do, and ignore it, it will get old. It will pass. And before you say this is easy for me to say, remember, I’ve had my own share of shunning. I was a new arrival, so to speak, while those of your blood have been in our community for centuries. I understand why you’d think those of my kind are interlopers. I let you shun and insult and belittle away, didn’t I? But I certainly didn’t hide from you. And look at you now, having tea with me. Ma’am, I’ve never had scones like this before.â€
Mrs Kilmartin is electrified and became effusive. Even more effusive than usual. And while she gabs away to Granger, the Slytherins drank their tea and the lecture they’ve just been served.
Of course, Ria can always be counted upon. As if nothing has happened, she says, –Where did you put that bouquet, then? Is it ashes in the Gryffindor grate now?â€
Granger smiles again. –It’s in the common room. You can come see it if you don’t believe me.â€
–Are you mad?†The whole room laughs. –Throw it away!†The whole room laughs louder. –No, I’m serious. You don’t let those flowers stay in a room overnight.â€
–Why not? I mean, aside from them being in the way,†Granger asks.
–You wouldn’t know, would you, Mud-Granger? Those are dodgy things. You never know what’s been put in them.â€
–Well, thank you for the warning. I’ll throw them away.â€
–Make certain you do. It’s from Blaise, by the way, not us.â€
Granger catches Draco’s eye again. Very subtly, he nods. She nods back.
None of them places orders for things they needed to the Kilmartins that day. The next Hogsmeade weekend, Draco accompanies Ria and Daphne to Gambol and Japes. The proprietor doesn’t ignore them, but registers their purchases and recommends another product while giving them change. At Gladrags, the madam, though not at all garrulous as she usually is, makes sure the robes Ria bought were adjusted perfectly at the hem and sleeves.
It’s rather disappointing, seeing as they’ve braced themselves for being given grief. The rest of the Slytherins seem to have encountered the same better, if grudging, treatment. Those who have dared enter The Three Broomsticks didn’t find sand in their drinks and food.
They all wonder if Granger’s clout is that immense that they need only be seen emerging from the Kilmartins’ with her to lose the scarlet letters on their foreheads.
A week later, they discover something else.
They are at breakfast. Mail has just arrived. Daphne, reading the paper, made a soft noise the Slytherins all heard. There’s a flurry as everyone opens their own copies. The Daily Prophet has got wind of something Hogwarts and Hogsmeade have kept secret for almost a month. Harry Potter and his two closest friends have jointly insisted to have Severus Snape’s portrait installed in the headmaster’s office.
–That explains it, then,†says Daphne. –Everyone must think our former Head of House must have done something good.â€
–Will it never stop?†says Ria.
–What?â€
–Being indebted to Gryffindors. I was in the library last night. A pack of them invited me to sit with them.â€
–Did you?†says Blaise, his sneer audible.
–I did,†says Ria, with a tilt of her chin. –Some of us aren’t arrogant elitists. And I let them help me with my Transfiguration homework.â€
Draco notices Blaise’s dark look and barely stifles the urge to glare at him. Or thump him. Instead, Draco turns to Ria and smirks ruefully. –I have a feeling it’s only just begun.â€
End Notes:
I won’t say anything any more for fear of Mel's minions if I don't make my weekly deadline again. But I’m back on a roll with this story. Woot! Thanks to you readers and reviewers who poke me. Only, next time, please also leave some encouraging pats (real comments, you know) along with the poking.
The first three quarters of this chapter sat for weeks and weeks— poor Slytherins; the remaining quarter got written in three hours. Hermione and Slytherins just mix like vanilla ice cream and chocolate fudge. I just regret it that Ria and Daphne aren’t in the future. It’s Pansy who’s there instead. Hmpf. Let’s just say the Greengrass sisters have glamorous lives in the continent after marrying margraves, shall we? And a reunion just might still happen anyway! Sometimes these surprising people just trip up writers though, grr.
HPFacts #237: Harry fought to have Snape’s portrait in the Head’s office.
Dead Heads and Babies and Birthdays by lucilla_pauie
–Daddy?â€
That pierced through Draco’s sleep-fogged brain and he groaned at coming awake and coming aware of cold and pain and what accursed creature turned his bed into stone?
–Father, why are you in the bath? Did you sleep here all night?â€
–Pebbup.â€
Callie, bless her, understood and ran to the cupboard for the potion. She uncorked it, tipped her father’s head back, pinched his nostrils, and poured the Pepper-Up down his throat as if she was forty and he was four.
If she weren’t his daughter and he didn’t love her, Draco would have killed her. As it was, he bore the indignity with good grace and let the steam pour out of his ears while wiping his streaming eyes. He cleared his throat, testing his lungs. He was fine. His head no longer felt like it was the size and heft of a Bludger either. Who invented Pepper-Up again? Were there monuments erected in their honour yet?
–Thank you, sweetheart.â€
–Why were you in the bath?â€
I dreamed I left your mother to die in flames and I had to dunk myself in cold water to dispel the nightmare, that’s all. Instead, Draco only shrugged. He’d drained the cold water and dried himself. He had no idea why he didn’t make it back to his bed. Wait, no, he stayed here just in case the nightmare returned. For some reason, it had been more intense last night, somehow. The smell was worst. He remembered inhaling the freezing water to attempt to get rid of the scent of burning fabric and flesh. Gods.
Callie was still watching him closely so he acted as if his grimace was for his aching muscles and bones. He needed a hot shower or bath.
–Let’s go have breakfast with Lia and Mum and our kitten, please?â€
On second thought, the bath could wait. He left Callie wearing a groove on the carpet in his study while he went inside his bedroom to dress. He shot his shirt, trousers and robes with a heating charm and sighed as he donned them. He and Hermione hadn’t parted with a kiss good night at all. He’d have to make peace. And Merlin, if from now on, he would always be having this nightmare whenever they fought, he was going to die before he was his father’s age. Dreamless Sleep potion wasn’t cheap or easy to brew. Was Hogwarts bad luck to them? Maybe they should leave. He contemplated his sorry-looking reflection. Hmm. He slapped on some shaving cream and wiped it off along with his stubble. He doubted Lia and Callie would protest much if he tied their mother up and dragged her away, maybe back to Belize, where things had been so nice. Were those smile lines near his eyes? Did he smile that much?
He was just about to conjure some soft rope when Callie barged in and did the dragging he’d been planning.
They reached the Great Hall in record time. He’d expected a scowl, a glare, or outright snubbing. He didn’t expect Hermione to spit the food in her mouth at the sight of him. But then, she always surprised him like that.
–What? What?†asked the girls, sandwiching their mother and peering at the paper beside her breakfast. Oh, the paper. Hermione’d just happened to look up as he came in, that was all. He wasn’t the reason she spewed. Not entirely, at least. Quietly, unobtrusively, he sat down and poured himself a cup of strong tea while Hermione hid her mortification behind a napkin. What was in the paper? Skeeter’s apology? More lies?
When the girls started giggling madly, sweat popped out on his hands. His hands that had been so cold just seconds ago.
–Eat your breakfast.â€
Hermione’s sharp tone could not be disobeyed. Lia and Callie put the paper down and tucked in. Their kitten was on the table (he’d have to tell them later that this shall not be repeated), wiping a bowl clean with her tongue. When she was done, Callie poured her a bit more milk. She and Lia also kept passing morsels to the kitten, giggling when they caught each other’s eyes. The Great Hall was otherwise empty and quiet except for the girls’ noise. They weren’t loud, but their laughter bounced off and echoed. It was a lovely sound. It tugged the corner of his lips upward despite himself.
Hermione was chewing on her bottom lip, the paper closed but clenched in her hand.
–Can I see it?†he asked softly.
She jumped and blushed to her hairline. Draco kept his face impassive. She passed him the paper wordlessly, and then got up.
Before she could leave, however, Minerva was there.
–Good morning, all. Draco, Hermione, I need to see you in my office, if you don’t mind.â€
–Now?†Draco asked.
–Yes, now, if that’s all right?â€
–Of course, it’s all right,†said Hermione, scowling at Draco. Draco scowled back. Perhaps she was used to being summoned to the Headmistress’s office at this hour, but he wasn’t. It was intrusive. He hadn’t even eaten yet. He took one last sip of his tea and followed the two women out of the Great Hall.
They gabbed about the holidays; Draco opened the paper.
He tripped on perfectly even flagstones. Hermione and Minerva ignored his yelp and walked on.
But they turned to glare at him when he began to giggle. He ignored them and affected a serious and appalled expression, but a snort escaped every few steps as he continued to look at the photos.
For there, in the pages of the Daily Prophet, was chronicled the high points of their stay in Belize.
Many of the photos annoyed him (one showed him zipping up his trousers in the middle of a busy street, old biddies wearing veils for church scowling at him while Hermione and the girls laughed in the background; another showed him squashed under Hermione, both of them encased in that doughy, ridiculous sumo wrestler costumes) but most were simply... lovely. The four of them walking on the sand, swinging clasped hands; Hermione with one arm up to hold her hat to her head, her face tilted up to him, the dusk a golden sunburst between their faces; Hermione cutting up a fish for Callie, Draco’s arm around the back of Hermione’s chair, her leg dangling over his knee-- she’d had a cramp that day.
And the kiss. The one she’d given him while they were swinging over a two-hundred feet ravine.
Whoever took these photos had a fantastic magical camera. Draco flipped the pages looking for the byline, but found none except for the fine print in the corner of the spread. Anonymous contributor dedicates these photographs to the ingenious and untiring mischief-makers of Hogwarts.
Draco bopped his head and knee on the damned gargoyle guarding the staircase to the Head’s office. The paper crumpled; he cursed at that as much as for the pain. He wondered whether the Daily Prophet would sell him reprints of the photos.
The Headmistress’s office was silent. At first, Draco wondered why he took note of that, and then remembered the sniggering and murmuring and snoring that had become the backdrop of his visits here. Minerva went to her chair and motioned them to be seated. Draco looked up at the portraits; beside him, Hermione did the same.
They both drew breath audibly when they saw Severus Snape awake and glowering.
–Oh, he woke when Harry came here,†said Minerva, nonchalantly pouring tea. –Upon reflection, that was the first time he and Harry had been in the same room since... since.â€
–I woke because it was time. Don’t delude yourselves it was for or because of the boy.â€
–He’s hardly a boy any longer, Severus,†said Minerva.
–Hmpf.â€
Dumbledore chuckled.
–Be silent,†Snape hissed.
Dumbledore shut up. Impressive. Draco grinned.
–And what are you smirking about, boy?â€
–He’s hardly a boy either.â€
Snape swelled up like an affronted toad. Draco turned an incredulous gaze at Hermione. He could have kissed her. And then they heard a soft sound of derision from the portrait. –Of course. You are quite correct, Miss Granger. After all, as I’ve heard, my godson and former prefect is the father of two eleven-year-old girls.†At Hermione’s blush, Snape continued, –Oh! That’s right, and you are the mother. My, my. I thought better of you--â€
–Excuse me?†Hermione reared to her feet, now even redder in the face and with her wand in hand, by Merlin. –You make it sound as if my daughters are botched potions. If you weren’t school property, you’d be ashes on the floor.â€
Draco-- and Hermione and Minerva-- jumped at the raucous cheers and applause that erupted. –That’s right, you tell him, girl!†–Don’t cross her, Snape!†–I always knew someone’s his match in this school!â€
–I didn’t-- I’m sorry!†Hermione was back in her chair and had her face in her hands. Draco chuckled and patted her head; he couldn’t help the gesture. Snape was quiet in his frame, glowering left, right and centre. Draco swallowed the rest of his amusement and appropriated Hermione’s tea.
Minerva cleared her throat. When that was buried in the noise, she tapped her wand on her desk. When that didn’t work either, she nodded at a woman with ringlets--Dilys Derwent--and the portrait rang a deafening, glass-shattering bell. Everyone settled down, but the complete silence was gone. It was as if a tension had been broken and the portraits were back to themselves again. Dumbledore was twinkling in his chair, nodding at Draco with a smile.
–The reason for this conference,†Minerva spoke as if there had been no riot between now and their entrance into the office, –is your living arrangements. I think we can--â€
–Our accommodations are fine.†Hermione’s blush, which had only begun to subside, returned with a vengeance. Draco watched her chew on her lip. She wouldn’t look at him.
–Oh. Well.†Minerva had spots of pink on her cheeks. Draco turned his attention to the Headmistress. –I suppose I don’t have to tell you to--†Minerva waved a hand-- –well, remain a model of propriety to the students?â€
Hermione grimaced and nodded. –Really, there’s no--†She imitated Minerva’s vague hand gesture.
–And you, Draco?â€
–You can rely on me, Headmistress. Propriety. Absolutely. But I can’t promise anything. I mean, look at these photos. The illusion that professors don’t touch each other is now a burst bubble.â€
Several of the portraits sniggered. Draco had to bite his cheeks to keep from joining them.
The pink on Minerva’s cheeks deepened. Hermione made a noise between a moan and a groan from the chair beside his.
–Hermione, these were not published with your consent, were they?†Minerva asked.
–Of course not.â€
–We have grounds to press charges.â€
Hermione smiled ruefully. –Why should we bother? Harry might. They broke their agreement with him. I wasn’t supposed to be shown on the paper, was I? But I forget they already deduced the reason for that and as the reason no longer applies-- I’m sorry, Minerva. I hope this doesn’t reflect badly on the school--â€
–Nonsense.†It wasn’t Minerva who spoke, but three or four portraits at once.
–They’re not imposture, then?â€
–Ha! I’ll be collecting the wig later, Leonidas.â€
Dilys Derwent raised the bell; the rising demands for won wagers died down. Hermione sighed. The pink in Minerva’s cheeks didn’t leave yet, and Draco thought he saw the old Headmistress’s lips quirk.
–Where did she get that forsaken bell?†asked Snape, tugging at his earlobe.
–There’s a cowherd in the fifth floor,†answered Dumbledore, –who unwisely wagered Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger would be married before Christmas.â€
Snape made a noise of disgust. A nerve pulsed above Minerva’s eye as the portraits, heedless of the threat of the bell, chided Draco and Hermione to ‘get on with it, what are you waiting for?’ ‘My great-aunt Justina snagged my great-uncle Chandler faster, and they were eighty!’ Draco coughed to cover irrepressible mirth. He dared not look at Hermione.
Minerva rose. –That’s all, then. Have a good day, you two.†She didn’t quite push them to the door, but nearly. Before they could cross the threshold, however, Snape called out over the noise, a –Draco!†so loud and yet so soft and familiar that Draco felt sixteen again. –A word.â€
Minerva had asked earlier ‘if they didn’t mind’ and ‘if it was all right,’ but Snape was of a different breed altogether. Draco moved to return to his seat, but Minerva put a hand on his shoulder, restraining him. She turned back, paused and looked at Snape’s portrait until the scowling man scowled further and murmured, –If it won’t inconvenience you, Minerva, may I speak to my old student?â€
–Of course, Sev--â€
–And does the incumbent absolutely have no power to banish--if for a moment-- this rabble?â€
–How dare you!†–We’ll banish you! How’d you like that?†–The impertinence, sir! Why, you ought to be taught--â€
–Merlin, Severus,†said Minerva, –do you think I would bear this every single day and night if I could choose otherwise?â€
Snape smirked. With a sweep of her robes, Minerva left clutching Hermione’s arm.
As if they didn’t have an audience muttering around them, Snape said, –Well, Draco?â€
–Yes, Headmaster?â€
–Your parents are well?â€
–Yes, sir. They live in France now. We run a vineyard. Quite prosperous. And my father’s taken to golf.â€
–To what?â€
–A Muggle sport. Swinging clubs at a ball in the grass.â€
–A stupid sport. You’re Head of House now.â€
–We’re short of Slytherin professors at Hogwarts, so the job fell to me.â€
–And Slytherin’s position in the House Cup is?â€
They both ignored Dumbledore’s chuckle.
–Negligible.â€
–Dammit, boy. Who’s winning then, Gryffindor?â€
–Ravenclaw. By a hundred points or thereabouts.â€
–That’s not insalvageable. What’s the standing, exactly?â€
–A hundred or so, fifty, nil, nil.â€
–What?â€
–Gryffindor and Slytherin are both empty.â€
–Why? What have you done or not done? Don’t be negligent! It’s your duty--â€
–Now, now, Severus, we can tell you all about it,†Dumbledore said. –Let Draco go. If it’s Hogwarts news and gossip you’re after, you should have asked us. We have quite a bit to share--â€
–Be quiet, you old dingbat-- Draco, I’m not done with you!â€
Draco was already on the revolving staircase, doubled over in laughter. Merlin. He thought Snape was about to grill him about Hermione. But no, the man only cared about. The. House. Cup.
He was still having fits of laughter as he neared the Great Hall, intending to have breakfast while reliving Snape’s uncharacteristic silliness. He stopped short at the entrance hall and blinked. Was that voices he heard coming from the empty Great Hall? The heretofore empty Great Hall? With some trepidation, he stepped inside. The noise shut off as if Silenced, and then it immediately redoubled, giggles and sniggers most prominent in the cacophony. Hermione was nowhere to be found. Lia and Callie were surrounded.
Someone passed him on their way to the staircases. Draco couldn’t help blurting, –Where did you lot come from?â€
–Hello, Professor.†It was Priscilla August. –We heard you had a wonderful time in Belize. As for us--†She waved a hand at her peers-- –we got here by Side-along. And the carriages were there at the station. No one could stay away. Not after this morning’s Prophet.â€
She said all that with sombreness and gravity, as if she was relaying important--not giddy nor fatuous--information. Draco could only nod.
Classes resumed. She and Draco resumed teaching. Resumed where they’d left off before Belize as well. Avoiding each other, colliding with each other in the halls, exchanging polite greetings. Hermione busied herself with lesson plans and tried not to think or worry about him (or wish for mistletoe).
It was like trying to shift a pin away from a gigantic magnet.
–Are you all right?â€
They were in the entrance hall. Students were on their way to lunch, thankfully ignoring them for the time being. Perhaps Hermione threatening them with detention was their real reason for not lingering, but still. Good, go on, go on. Nothing to see here. Let me talk to this man without being ogled.
Despite the din, Draco heard her--he always heard her--and smiled. He dragged his eyes from her eyes to her boots and back, snagging in places in between, making her swallow and want to swat him. Suddenly, it was as if they hadn’t parted in anger the last time they’d talked. It was only warmth between them. She wanted to sink into that warmth.
–Of course I’m all right,†he said. –Why, are these trolls saying anything about my health?â€
–What are these things then?†She touched the shadows beneath his eyes, attempted to rub them away with her thumbs. When she realised what she was doing, it was too late, he’d already kissed her on the forehead and taken her hands in his, squeezing them before letting go. Someone squealed from the direction of the Ravenclaw table.
Honestly, these kids.
–I haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all. Nightmares.†Draco leaned closer and whispered, –I need someone to slap me awake from them, and then snuggle with me afterward.â€
Hermione laughed. He was outrageous. He was fine. –Put chamomile in your tea and lavender in your pillows.†She patted his cheek. Not gently either. There. She hadn’t completely forgotten--you simply didn’t forget a grudge a decade old, a grudge so freshly poked--but she hadn’t been a complete hag either. They were... friends now. They weren’t at each other’s throats, they were sensible adults.
But she still wanted to kiss him. Grudge and sensibility be damned.
She climbed the staircases instead of entering the Great Hall. She could have lunch at Minerva’s office instead. The students were getting on her nerves. They meant well, she was sure, but they were treating her and Draco like objects. A girl doll and boy doll they were intent to marry. Didn’t young girls used to play a game like that? It was probably more interesting that the dolls were resisting.
The Headmistress wasn’t there when Hermione arrived, but the small table they usually shared for tea was set with food and places already. Minerva sometimes ate here when she was too busy or too tired to come down to the Great Hall. She would invite one of the teachers to join her. Ever since Hermione joined the staff, that teacher was almost always her. And ever since the photos in the Daily Prophet, Hermione disliked being the centre of attention at the Great Hall.
The portraits were snoozing in their frames. They seemed to be mellow when it was Hermione they faced. Dumbledore was the only one who didn’t feign sleep. Dumbledore, and Snape.
The former Potions teacher stared her down as soon as she entered, but she’d ignored him at first. Now seated, she returned his gaze steadily, waiting for him to speak and finally unburden himself. She wondered what he thought of all this, of everything that had happened since he was killed. Of couse, he must have been fully reprised by now, but what went on in his mind when he looked at her?
On a side table stood a miniature of the gargoyle guarding the Head’s office, functioning there as a book-end. Just then, the gargoyle spoke. –Student to see Professor Granger. Permission?â€
–Granted,†said Hermione automatically. It was probably Callie or Lia. The others wouldn’t dare disturb her now unless the situation was dire. Professor Snape was still staring at her. She wouldn’t lose the contest so she stared back.
–Mum. I think I’ve gotten my you-know-what.â€
The feigned snores and snuffles quited at Lia’s announcement. Hermione yielded to Snape and turned to her daughter. –You think? Haven’t you checked?â€
–Well, I have. But maybe I only have a wound down there?â€
Hermione didn’t laugh. She would not laugh. But gods, Lia was the silliest thing. –Were you injured, darling?â€
–I fell down the stairs last night. It was that trick--â€
–Thalia, you know this day was coming. It has come. You should accept it. There’s a powder room over here. Would you--â€
–What! Here? Eew. I only came to tell you. I’ll go and get Callie then.â€
Hermione nodded. Thalia flew out the same way she flew in. Hermione thought she heard Dilys Derwent chuckle. When Hermione looked toward the portrait, the former Headmistress returned her grin.
–Do you know, I had the same reaction. I was devastated, really, that my childhood was at an end, that I would have to worry about sponges and stains and cramps and--â€
–Someone grab that bell from her and bang it now!†cried out an elderly headmaster from higher up in the ceiling.
–Was that your daughter?â€
Hermione almost didn’t hear the soft question in the middle of the noise that had erupted. She turned toward Professor Snape. –Yes, sir. Her name’s Thalia.â€
–She doesn’t look anything like you.â€
Hermione wanted to contradict that. Thalia wasn’t all-Draco, even if she was blonde. To be congenial, Hermione only said, –I like how she looks.â€
Snape was silent for awhile, appraising her. Hermione began to eat. Minerva wouldn’t mind. –I take it, motherhood has treated you well, Miss Granger?â€
–Oh, very.â€
–Has Draco?â€
Hermione deliberately put a huge chunk of beef into her mouth. And chewed very, very thoroughly.
–I’m sorry, that was too personal, wasn’t it? I just want to hear it from you, what happened. Any of these fwoopers around me are more than willing to entertain me with the tale but--â€
–Didn’t I discover two days ago that Draco’s your godson? You should ask him, sir.†Not me. Gods. You were my Potions teacher and if you didn’t kill my headmaster or get killed yourself, we might have become friends, but as the possibility hangs on your rather scintillating personality--
–I doubt he would tell me.â€
–I thought you--†Could bully anything from him unless it could mean his or his family’s death. Hermione swallowed that and only said, –Why not?â€
–Because it’s apparent he has failed.â€
Hermione immediately shook her head. Why she did so, she couldn’t say even if someone asked her. Defending Draco was a reflex. Surprising, but true.
–If he hasn’t, why are you and your daughter not of the name Malfoy? Why is there no ring on your finger? Why is your holiday a matter of public entertainment? Why are these mouldering meddlers so titillated with your story?â€
Hermione calmly went back to her beef.
–Miss Granger, do not snub me.â€
–I’m sorry, Professor. I didn’t mean to. It’s just, you were sounding like a mouldering meddler yourself, and I would only have abetted the meddling if I answered.
Once again, there were cheers and applause. Hermione didn’t hear Minerva arrive. The older woman dropped into her chair with sigh. –I suppose, as I’ll be of their party sooner or later, I shouldn’t begrudge them their merriment too much.â€
February arrived nippy and frosty, and along with it, baby Potter. Callie shrieked ‘Daddy!’ again, and Draco, who’d been enjoying a nice snooze--ever since Hermione’s caress in the entrance hall, his nightmare had retreated--jumped from bed with an oath and a promise of mutilation to the one who made his daughter shriek.
Callie hadn’t jumped on top of his blanket in years, and yet there the girl was, bouncing like she was three. –Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny had their baby!â€
–Is that all?â€
–He came last night. And because it’s Saturday, we can go and visit, can’t we? If you don’t want to go, Mum is taking me and Lia.â€
–Get off me. I’m coming with you.â€
He wanted to talk to Potter anyway. Maybe the Boy Wonder could tell Snape to sleep in his portrait again. Draco was getting annoyed at Snape turning up everywhere to harrass him about the House Cup. Not to mention, he hadn’t forgiven Snape for that tactless remark of his to Hermione either. There weren’t many portraits in the dungeons, so Draco only got a reprieve when he was down here.
Hermione looked very fetching in her burgundy cloak and matching hat. Draco wanted to nuzzle the faux fur on her temple and then drag his lips down her silken cheek, but students loitered in the entrance hall, bundled up for Hogsmeade. Callie and Lia led the way to the gates, stomping on the snow with their boots. They were wearing black and red. He wondered if there was someone responsible for coordinating their outfits. But then, it wasn’t as if his winter wardrobe was of any other colour than black.
–What’s the baby’s name?†he asked, not out of interest, but only so Hermione would turn her smile on him. She did.
–James Sirius.â€
–Hmm. How about you and the girls go on to St. Mungo’s, and I make a stop in Diagon Alley first?â€
–That’s thoughtful of you.†Her smile intensified and he was rewarded with a squeeze of her hand on his arm. He tucked that hand there and kept it until they reached the gates, where he Disapparated alone and she did so with a girl on each arm.
The Leaky Cauldron’s Apparition room was empty. No one wanted to go shopping in this cold. Draco made it quicker to his destination without having to pause or jostle with a crowd.
Externally, the shop was unchanged. The display window still held the same odds and ends that wouldn’t be of any use to anybody, unless that somebody had plenty of space to fill. Kilmartin’s was stenciled in gold on the glass. It had become Diagon Alley’s answer to Knocturn Alley’s Borgin and Burke’s.
Mr and Mrs Kilmartin, they who have opened their house in Hogsmeade to Slytherins, discovered from the experience that they liked being in trade. They bought a spot in Diagon Alley and enjoyed the patronage of Slytherins and their friends and families. They bought and sold rarities and oddments, silver and gold and platinum trinkets, and the occasional portrait of cat’s eyes. Pansy had her and Patrick’s wedding rings made here, and often came back when her parents’ anniversaries or birthdays came around. Draco had been here only once.
Mrs Kilmartin remembered. The woman squealed and rounded her counter to give him a shoulder-ripping handshake. –Draco Malfoy! Did they like their wee rattles? Did they?â€
The silver rattles. Engraved with the girls’ initials. His secret was that he’d kept them for himself. They were still in his bedside drawer in the chateau. Side by side. He hadn’t been able to give--to leave one to Thalia after things turned out the way they had. Instead, he kept both. It was the closest he could get to having his girls together, all those years ago. He would open that drawer and stroke the smooth and cold round heads of the rattles and swear to himself that he’d give them to the girls one day, despite that blasted agreement.
–They liked it very much indeed, Mrs Kilmartin.â€
–Oh, splendid! Would you like a cuppa? Kilmartin’s just over at Wheezes. He’s looking after the shop because the twins are away. Their sister gave birth last--â€
–Yes, I know. That’s why I’m here.â€
Mrs Kilmartin squealed again. And then seemed to remember her dignity and cleared her throat. –Yes, yes, thank you for going to us for your custom, my dear. I appreciate it. What shall it be? A rattle again? What’s the name, then?â€
Draco nodded. –James Sirius Potter.â€
Mrs Kilmartin smiled widely and waddled back to her counter. She had a large collection of silver rattles, not all of them brand new. But the one she showed Draco was not unlike the ones he’d bought for his girls. The silver looked warm somehow, not tarnished, but not gleaming in a vulgar manner either. Draco nodded his approval, and Mrs Kilmartin went to work right there. It was a talent worth marvelling at. Mrs Kilmartin might be a silly old gossip, but she knew how to wield her set of burins.
She was done before Draco could finish trying to decipher the runes on a giant Japanese-style bamboo fan.
Draco paid, and she babbled something about having a handsome pair of Ilocos gold rings already set aside. He didn’t ask what or where Ilocos was. He just smiled and left before his trepidation could get the better of him.
It was the first time he stepped back into St Mungo’s since that day when he first met his daughters and only got to touch and hold one.
It even smelled the same in Ginny’s room. The scent of disinfectant, baby and flowers engulfed him as he let himself in. And then the sight of Hermione swaying and cooing at the blue gingham bundle in her arms made him pause. You couldn’t not stop moving when you felt your heart stop for a second.
–This is from Lia and Callie,†said Draco, handing a small box wrapped in red and gold to Harry. Gryffindor colours. Hermione saw Harry and Ginny exchange grins.
–Thanks, Malfoy,†said Harry, extending the smile to Hermione. He opened the box and held up a pretty silver rattle. –Engraved, too. Look, Ginny.â€
–It’s beautiful! Thank you, Draco,†said Ginny. –Hermione, this will be hard to top.â€
Hermione rolled her eyes. –Oh, I won’t bother topping it.†She sat down on the recliner, still cuddling little James. He was such a quiet baby. According to Molly, that didn’t bode well, as Fred and George hardly cried or peeped either. Callie and Lia immediately bracketed her to continue staring at the baby. They were completely fascinated and in love. Couldn’t stop petting James’s toes or head through his swaddling.
Draco gently nudged Callie away so he could sit on the arm of the chair. He peered down on the baby and made a ‘Not bad,’ expression. And then he whispered in her ear, –You didn’t look half as bloated as Ginny does when you gave birth.â€
–Oh, shush!†But Hermione was pleased somewhat, although she doubted the truth of that statement. After all, she gave birth to two babies, not just one.
She patted James’s tiny little rump. She remembered holding Lia exactly like this when she was this small. It was snowing, and they sat in a recliner similar to this one. It was her parents’ wedding anniversary. The Grangers and their extended family had come full force, not only for Helen and Logan, but for Hermione and her new baby. Despite the embraces and kisses both she and Lia had received that day, Hermione still caught the speculation and wonderment in some of her relatives’ eyes. None of them expected this. Her great-aunt said it for everyone: –I thought you’d be the type to marry, buy a house, settle in a few years, prepare a nursery secretly from the rest of us, and then surprise us with a cute, beribboned announcement that you’re having a baby.â€
–Oh, I will buy a house and prepare a nursery secretly from the rest of you, Auntie.â€
They had all laughed.
Except for the cute, beribboned part, that was all Hermione indeed. But life tended to upend and disarrange types. She was just lucky she’d been surrounded by intelligent and supportive family and friends. Snape was the first she’d encountered who uttered the dreaded ‘I thought better of you.’ Merlin, she really very nearly incinerated his portrait then. She’d been bracing herself for such a statement for years, but that didn’t subtract from her fury.
–Prove to us you didn’t just pass off Callie to a nursemaid.â€
–Do you even know how to hold it?â€
–Did you just call your nephew an ‘it?’ You’re lucky I can’t get up from this bed just now.â€
Draco shut out the Weasleys’ bickering and concentrated on aligning his arms and hands just right to hold Potter’s baby.
–It’s like riding a bike, isn’t it?†he found himself murmuring to Hermione as she tucked the blankets around the baby she’d just passed into his arms. –Once you learn, you’d always know how.â€
She looked at him and pinkened a little.
–You know how to ride a bike?†asked Harry and Callie in unison.
–Your mother taught me,†Draco said to Callie. –Everyone rides a bike in France. I wanted to teach you, but your grandmother was scandalized at the idea.â€
–Look at him, he’s doing perfectly,†said Molly.
–I know,†said Draco. Everyone rolled their eyes at his smug tone. She wanted to tell them that Callie spent the first two years of her life glued to him, but Hermione already knew that, and he didn’t care at all what the others thought or assumed. Passed Callie off to a nursemaid indeed. That was impossible. He didn’t think he’d even taken a bath for those first few months. He’d hop into a hot shower, stand there for a minute, and then run back to his puffskein. At the time, his father had already established himself in the community, and there had been callers who wanted to look in on Draco and Calliope, but Draco stayed upstairs in his apartments and when he came down at last, he used Pansy as a buffer against the women.
He remembered lashing out at one who whispered she would make him very happy; he must be so triste with no one but that baby for company.
His mother was so mortified at the scene Draco caused she hadn’t been able to call anywhere for a month.
Parents are feral creatures.
It snowed on Valentine’s Day. Under a thick, down blanket, Calliope and Thalia stood arm in arm by the window, watching the flakes come down, shadowed and silvered by the approaching dawn.
–Happy birthday, priss,†Lia whispered.
–Happy birthday, swine,†Callie whispered back.
–What’s the best birthday present you’ver ever been given?â€
–You.â€
–I thought you were going to say a pony, and then I would have hated you.â€
–You don’t mean that.â€
–You’ll be surprised. Ow! I’m kidding.â€
–Anyway, my filly was a Christmas present.â€
Lia laughed. Callie grinned but shushed her. The Jessie’s-- Jesusa and Jessica-- stirred in their beds but didn’t rouse. Kia slept on.
–Hey, priss. Who’s going to keep Pipi in the summer?â€
Callie lost her grin. –Both of us.†The conviction in that was pure steel.
In the Charms classroom:
–Take care of those, won’t you? Don’t lose them. I hope you wear them all your life until your husbands give you a replacement. I didn’t know what to give you. You two have everything alread--â€
–No, we don’t--â€
–Anyway, I’m glad your father didn’t beat me to giving you those. Matching lockets are a bit cliche, aren’t they?â€
–Merlin, Mum, you’re criticizing your own gifts. We love it. Thank you.â€
In the corridor:
–What did you get them?â€
–That’s for them to find out first, and you second. Look at that crease. What’s wrong?â€
–Sometimes, it’s as if Callie’s got a double-dose of angst from us instead of splitting it with Lia.â€
–She got that from you, not me. She’s used to accomplishing or getting things she wants, so--â€
–We don’t always get what we want.â€
–Unless we move heaven and earth for it.â€
In the same corridor:
–Look at them,†said Quillian. –Why don’t we just lock them up in a broom cupboard?â€
–Because it’s trite,†said Priscilla. –And we’ll be hexed and expelled.â€
–When you get a crease on your forehead, I’ll poke it, too.â€
–He didn’t poke it, you cretin.â€
In the Potions classroom:
–Callie, look, it’s Pipi!â€
–Pipi?â€
–Our cat. We named her after Pietro and Pierra. Pipi. Where did you get these made, Dad? They’re ebony?â€
–Yes, ebony. It’s a secret where I got them made. I’ll have you know I only give those little carvings to people I adore.â€
–Does Mum have one?â€
–Why, yes, my broody little puffskein, she does.â€
End Notes:
A/N: *shame-faced* I’m so sorry for the months’ worth of no-update. Same old, same old ‘busy-busy with original fiction and got side-tracked writing another fan fic’ (which placed in the Dramione Remix Round Two!). I’ll make no promises or pledges any longer, but this story’s remaining memories and events are mapped out to the end and ready to roll.
In the film version of The Secret Garden, Mary’s and Colin’s mothers are twins (in the book, Colin’s mother is sister to Mary’s father, but anyway), and they have twin ivory elephants. So here Callie and Lia have twin cats. Made by Draco, yes. He carves. If you’ve read the companion fic, you know that. If you haven’t, why go to the Abduction of Persephone for details and a preview of what’s to come here.
Ilocos is a province in the Philippines. My parents’ original wedding rings (that is, the ones they exchanged at their wedding; they have since bought/worn other ‘wedding rings’, which I think is weird and disloyal somehow, hehe) are Ilocos gold. I’ve already called dibs to inherit the things; they’re so pretty! Not flashy yellow like the usual 24k, you know? They’re...soft-looking (literally soft, too, of course. You could pull and push them in and out of shape with your fingers), as if they’re antiques though they’re not. I don’t believe in silver wedding rings because they tarnish. Gold or platinum are the ideal symbols of love til-death-do-us-part, imo, but platinum is white, and in a Barbara Cartland novel I read (ten years ago, I think) the heroine quotes, –Green and white, forsaken quite.†She (and me, by extension) is therefore leery of white metals and emeralds.
Pipi is of course a tribute to Pippi Longstocking.
Btw, I just luuuuuuuuuuuuuuurve fierce Mummy Hermione and Daddy Draco, don’t you? ;) Thank you for reading. Please review if you have time. Blubbering
thank you to my reader-reviewers so far! *gromps*
Draco loves to sit in a library and just breathe. Fortunately for him, he’s known quite incredible libraries his whole life. At school. At home. Even during the manor’s blackest days, he’d taken comfort inhaling the vanilla scent of aged paper and the sharp tang of polished leather. His mother had taken pains to keep certain people out of that sanctuary. It was where his father tried to forget being unmanned. It was where Draco napped.
His family has considerable contribution to the Hogwarts library, which is what gave his father license to demand the withdrawal of certain books from its shelves. One such book is in his lap right now. It was on the table when he arrived, and he’d automatically rescued it from the spring noon sunlight. He picks it up, leafs through it, and traces with his fingertip the intricate script spelling out ‘The Fountain of Fair Fortune’.
Perhaps his father’s got his ill-fortune from fighting against this story.
–That’s my favourite.â€
Because he’d been sniffing at the air like a desperate rodent, her champagne/ink scent had alerted him to her arrival. She also likes instigating Gryffindors and Slytherins sitting together, it seems--out of all the empty desks and carrels, she picked the one a seat over from his--but he’s still surprised she approached. Isn’t she disgusted? He’s disgusted.
–In the Muggle world, we have Cinderella--â€
–What is that? A disease?â€
–--Beauty and the Beast, Hansel and Gretel--â€
–I thought you were British--â€
–--but I love the Fountain of Fair Fortune better.â€
–Just like a girl. It’s got nothing on Babbity Rabbity--â€
She utters a library-laugh. Soft. For his ears only. And it’s amazing how quickly he forgets his feelings for his father. Just for the moment, anyway.
As though hearing his thoughts, she starts unpacking her bag, sets quill and inkpot with precision and Summons several tomes to her from the shelves. Not looking at him, giving him the space he needs, she says, –He’s doing what he needs to do to come back to you and your mother.â€
He snorts. –Of course. Why wouldn’t he want to come back? We’ve lost the manor but Mother and I have infinitely better living arrangements than he has at Azkaban.â€
She turns her head from her notes to him. One corner of her lip is slightly higher than the other. –What, are you going to make me defend your father for the sake of arguing with you?†She finds the idea so amusing and smiles outright, and then grimaces in apology afterward. Ducks her head and hides behind the curtain of her hair. Her champagne/ink scent wafts to him. He breathes it in. Again, just for the moment, he doesn’t care that his father’s just turned traitor to so many of his cronies.
Not that it’s done him any good, has it? He gets raved and reviled in the paper but he’s still in Azkaban.
He tells himself that this is what irks him. Would he have hesitated to turn in his friends if it meant his freedom?
The evidence of his answer is right beside him. He wonders how different things would have been if instead of hiding her in the necropolis, he’d turned her in to the Dark Lord. He shudders. Oh, right he hadn’t turned her in because it equated to turning himself in. But still. Would his feelings have been relevant at all? Surely the Dark Lord didn’t expect them to adore him. Surely he would have squeezed this girl’s brains for every tiny iota of information it contained regarding Harry Potter.
He shudders again.
She isn’t even his friend.
Is she?
–Find something else to occupy your time and thoughts,†she says to the parchment she’s filling disconcertingly fast. –You do know I Obliviated my parents and sent them to live new lives in Australia? Over the summer--well, it was winter there--I searched for them and restored everything. Oh, almost forgot, not everything. And I don’t blame them for holding a grudge. But when it’s a matter of survival, morals take a backseat. It’s only levels then, of how far you consent to sink. And anyway, why would it bother you that your father’s turned in Death Eaters? They’d do the same to you.â€
When will she stop doing this? Or would he always be stupefied by this Muggle-born? –How can you talk and write an essay on... effacement of wandless magical creatures at the same time?â€
She twitches her essay farther away, looks up and scowls at me. –Find something else to do and think of. Or, to quote my mother who’s still in bloody Australia and still bloody irate with me, ‘Go play.’ I never did obey her on that, but on the rare occasions I did, I always felt better. You will, I promise.â€
The Vow-maker
Parent promised funds but is now planning on reneging as a punishment to a misdeed?
Sweetheart promised you forever and is now promising said forever to another?
Neighbour promised to return your willowware but has probably broken it?
Friend promised servitude but is now begging off due to a piddling injury?
Never again!
Seal promises with signatures!
Jab signatures with jinxes!
With the Vow-Maker
vow-breakers won’t get away with it any longer!
Choose from a wide variety of home-grown,
horrible but harmless (non-debilitating, non-fatal, non-traceable)
WWW patented hexes.
Choose their longevity, too!
Antidotes sold separately.
Only efficacious if administered by jinxer.
–Look what Uncles Fred and George sent.â€
–I’m looking.â€
–You don’t like it?â€
–I’m not fond of vows, are you? This day twelve years ago, our parents made vows and--â€
–Don’t discolour our birthday like that, priss.â€
Lia hadn’t thought she was one for hugs but she’d received plenty all her life, and giving one to her sister now was not only easy but necessary. Callie sighed into Lia’s hair. Callie’d been right miserable all day. Lia was barely succeeding in not joining her in the sigh-boat.
The snow had stopped just after lunch and they were on the lakeshore, on a patch of pebbles and sand inexplicably dry and snow-free. It was still bloody freezing though. The blanket where they were taking inventory of the day’s haul was charmed to stay warm and to give off warmth, but Lia could no longer feel her nose and toes. The bluebell flame in Callie’s jar seemed feeble for some reason.
Callie leaned on her sister and took what comfort Lia could give. And she could give a lot. She supposed she should stop being a sourpuss and count her blessings, wasn’t that the Muggle expression? But that was just it, she was counting her blessings and she couldn’t help begrudging the imminent loss of said blessings once term ended in June.
She hadn’t thought she was one for acting spoiled but she’d received plenty all her life, and having them taken away when she felt like she’d worked for them herself was not only hard but infuriating.
–This didn’t really come from a dead camel, did it?â€
Callie pulled away and saw Lia, one hand gloveless, stroking a riding habit without taking it out of its nest of tissue. From Grandmother Narcissa, of course. Callie had a matching set.
–No. Grandmother would never drape us in animal pelt, don’t worry. She used to have real furs, though, when it was the thing and no one pondered how disgusting it was. I remember the face of the shop owner who came over to appraise them. He nearly cried when Grandmother said he has to take everything away that day, never mind that he can’t pay what he thought they were worth.â€
–Longest speech you made today.â€
–Shut it.â€
Lia went along, pursuing the subject that got Callie talking. –Where would I wear this thing?â€
–Riding.â€
–Riding? Really? Poppy Lucius got us brooms?â€
–Oh, keep the dream alive. We won’t be getting a broom any time soon, not from Grandfather or Father, not so long as they fear Grandmother. The costume is for riding horses.â€
Lia was unimpressed. –I’ve got boots and denims for that.â€
Callie was undeterred, even though she’d seemed to be. –I think we can use this Vow-maker ink.â€
Lia rolled her eyes. –I was wondering when you’ll catch on.â€
Hermione loves to watch the Highlands change colour. The shift from winter to spring, from white and brown to green is what she likes best. It helps that the morning is inexplicably still. The March winds are somewhere else that day. The temperature still numbs her nose, but the promise of warmth is visible.
Especially when you’re in the Quidditch stands.
What is she doing there again?
Oh, right. Everyone’s playing. And she means everyone.
Officially, there are no scheduled games this year. There’s not even a House Cup. The period of mourning will only end on May second, when the first Hogwarts Victory Fair will be held.
For now, no romping. That was the rule.
The staff and rule caved to demand and necessity, though.
The castle is being rebuilt, and along with stones and mortar, it needs high spirits. This from Dilys Derwent, who had eavesdropped as usual when several individuals traipsed to the Headmistress’s office to ask for permission.
But couldn’t they have had indoor tournaments? Gobstones, exploding snap, chess, debate, poetry slams, table tennis? Nice games Hermione can watch without having to leave her N.E.W.T.s notes behind? Why did she leave them behind? She could turn them into stone slabs safe from any puffs of wind and Confundo her bench mates into thinking she’s avidly paying attention to the game when in fact she’s very adept at tuning out noise because she happens to have lived with girls who tittered and chittered night and day--
–Stop looking like you swallowed something Hagrid cooked. This was all your doing.â€
Hermione stares at Ria incredulously. –My doing? And how would you know about Hagrid’s cooking?â€
Ria just smirks. Without the malice usually behind it, she looks rather like a Botticelli angel who’d just done something naughty, like pinch someone who’s made a baby cry. Ria’s blonde like Draco. If they marry, their children will carry the traditional Malfoy blondness another generation.
–What, did I step on your cloak or something?†Ria peers down at their feet and sidles a little. Hermione shakes her head with an apologetic smile.
It’s Saturday. This match is... Pink versus Violet. Both teams have a mix of players from all four Houses. The stands are absolutely packed. Even the castle’s volunteer restoration teams have laid down their wands and tools for the day. She can’t remember going to matches when Gryffindor wasn’t playing, and she certainly hadn’t been alone in the castle those times, but now if she went back inside, she’d probably be alone with the ghosts--well, no, there they are, all clumped together.
–Is this Umbridge versus Lockhart?â€
The Greengrass sisters swivel on the bench to stare at her, and then burst into laughter. –My goodness, we’ve just been thinking of good names for the teams!†says Daphne.
–I was in charge of uniforms,†says Ria. –Both should be neutral colours with no connotations like white and black--and black’s a Hufflepuff colour anyway, so I went for purple and pink.â€
Hermione wants to say those colours do have connotations, but she bites her tongue and can’t help grinning at seeing several boys still looking gobsmacked by what they’re wearing. But as soon as they leave the shadow of their lockers and set foot on the thawing ground, they seem to forget about it.
–How did this come about? Only got wind of it because I was on my way to see Professor McGonagall when she was petitioned for this match and there was this chorus of yells that shook the revolving staircase.â€
The Greengrasses find this terribly funny. –I told you, it was all your doing, Draco said. At first, it was a two-a-side Slytherin game. Some people saw and watched. And then they joined in, and word spread, and teams were formed, thanks to someone’s redoubtable charms,†Ria says, pointing at herself.
–It was very nice of you, Hermione,†Daphne says.
This is punctuated by Madam Hooch’s whistle and Daphne and Ria turn eagerly to the field. Hermione gives up. She can ask Draco later.
Deafening cheers and laughter erupt after the first score when Ria announces, –Cadwallader scores! Ten - nil to Umbridge! And Corner of Lockhart takes the Quaffle.†Even Professor McGonagall is smiling at the impromptu team names.
And then Draco is there, hovering on his broom before them.
–Pink becomes you,†Daphne says.
–I’ll get you for this, Ria.â€
Ria sticks her tongue out at him.
And then he abandons looking for the Snitch to look at her instead and she must have inhaled air that’s much too icy and it’s the reason her lungs and heart are suddenly tripping up in the functions they’ve mastered since she was born. Yeah, it’s the cold, not his hair, not his eyes, not his smile. –I feel better,†he says. –And since you like nauseating stories like the Fountain of Fair Fortune, you’ll like that this is the start of nauseating amity between the Houses, I promise.â€
Quillian entered Priscilla’s room and dropped himself on the sofa with a sigh. He wished he could lynch whoever invented and approved N.E.W.T.s. His eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, but seeing Priscilla cured them in an instant. –Was that the twins?â€
She looked up from her mountain of notes and wordlessly conveyed that she shared his sentiments about the culprits of N.E.W.T.s and wanted to include him in the lynching for asking pointless questions.
Quillian chuckled. He liked her glares, he didn’t know why. –What did they want?â€
She went back to her notes, brow furrowed in concentration. For several seconds, he thought she was ignoring him. And then she said, –Something their parents have to sign.â€
–Interesting. What did you come up with?â€
She growled. –This stack to my left--extreme left--look what you did, you dolt. These are spread here by importance and date and subject--distribute that, would you?â€
Quillian danced away with the correct stack, avoiding her slapping hands. –Sorry, sorry.†He read the words glowing in purple ink on the top flyer. We’re doing a play?â€
–No, of course not. That’s all I need, isn’t it? A play on top of studying my arse off--â€
–Your arse is safe--â€
–Stuff it and get out.â€
–I love you, too.â€
She stopped glowering, but still muttered to his departing back, –I’m changing the common room password.â€
He poked his head back in her room. –I always get it out of you eventually, don’t I?â€
She threw the nearest stack of notes at him. Laughing, he waved his wand and sent the shower of parchment fluttering back where they came from. And on top of them plopped a small card and an even smaller box. Priscilla made a soundless, –Oh!†and casually read the card, raising her eyebrows and nodding as if what was inside was a Transfiguration diagram. But her face was splotched now--which was why she hated blushing, because she didn’t blush, she splotched --and the splotches darkened when she opened the box.
–Happy Valentine’s day,†said Quillian.
She looked up from the box, face still splotchy, eyes now shining. –I--I--You are an absolute toad. I’m studying--how could you--this is--â€
Quillian laughed and strode to her side, kissed her soundly. –You’re welcome. Now go back to studying, you harpy.â€
They are back in the library.
The Olde English translation of the Tales of Beedle the Bard is back on the table, probably the very same copy he’d held a week ago, probably yellowing by the second from the sunlight, but now Draco can’t rescue it, because several people are between him and the book. Several sweaty people. Several sweaty people still grinning from the game. Several people who’d left books they’d just opened on the tables, reluctant to go back to studying just yet, they’re –...eschewing the do anyway, dammit.†Grinning.
Is he grinning himself? Can’t tell. He doesn’t care.
Game was close. Feels good. Umbridge--Draco--caught the Snitch. But Lockhart had scored a lot. Score was two hundred ten to two hundred sixty.
It’s early. He regrets ending the game.
He looks around. Everyone on both teams here. Plus prefects. Head boy. Head girl. Lots of fifth-years and seventh-years who probably felt returning immediately to the library after spending three hours at the game would earn them points in their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Madam Pince probably Confunded. Surprisingly mellow and uncomplaining at her desk while muddy and noisy students stomp around.
–... could just sign here, I’ll release you to the showers and I’ll release Madam Pince from the Daydream Charm. Although I don’t know how to do that. We should just let it run its course, eh?â€
Laughter. A queue forming, moving forward and sideways, people shoving good-naturedly.
–What did I miss?†he asks Ria, blinking at her. –You’re not a prefect.â€
She grins back. –Ditto.â€
He actually puts his still-gloved hand to help his face dispel the grin. –So what are we signing?â€
Someone else answers. Cadwallader from Hufflepuff. –Granger says it’s all your doing, Malfoy.â€
All your doing, Malfoy.
No malice, no censure, no hatred. Instead, a grin-grimace and a slap upside the back of his head. No one’s done that before. If someone’s done that before, there would have been hell to pay.
Is he in a Daydream Charm?
Not that he’d daydream about this. Too... tame.
At last--he’s the last-- he’s at the desk. Same desk that had been between Hermione and his, last time they sat here. First, he shoves the Tales of Beedle the Bard to the shade. Second, he looks at the sunlight burnishing Hermione’s hair. And then he looks down at the parchment. In the centre of the signatures, like a rock in a rippling pond, is a single sentence.
I solemnly swear to henceforth uphold amity between the Houses.
Still bent over the desk, he raises his eyes to Hermione. She raises her eyebrows at him in return.
–What prompts your hesitation?†she asks.
He turns around. –Corner, how long did that hex last? You know, when she turned you into a walking, talking sausage?â€
Corner winces. –Three days. On the third day, I rose again!†When no one laughs at his joke, he amends, –I rose from bed and sent to detention every single one of my prefects because they knew about the ongoing amusement of misinforming the Slytherins about meetings.â€
–If you hadn’t done that, the hex would have lasted a month, Michael.â€
–Bloody hell, Granger.â€
There were more epithets and speculations as everyone recalled their own hexes and what they’d done in a desperate attempt to cure themselves.
–I should tell Logan to do atonement, then,†one Hufflepuff says, running off.
–It’s all right, Abbott!†Hermione calls. –If Logan didn’t glower and complain about the mixing of teams at the game, he should be fine now, I think!â€
–Are you going to have us mix the teams for always now?†Cadwallader says. –That’s not on. It’s tradition--the House Cup, the House rivalries--â€
–As it applies to Quidditch and the House Cup, it’s all right to win and to wish to win, so long as you don’t pummel or bad-mouth the other House to win or when you lose.â€
–Who do we bad-mouth then?â€
–Why do you have to bad-mouth anybody? It’s just a game.â€
Groans all around. Cadwallader actually sort of crumples using Draco as support and sort of bellows like an injured elephant onto Draco’s shoulder.
–You just came from that game, and here you are grinning like fools and not bad-mouthing anyone, you can’t groan at me like it’s impossible!â€
Draco unbends from the desk and shakes off Cadwallader. His back was beginning to hurt. He turns to Hermione and tries not to look at the sunlight still burnishing her hair. Where’s the frizz when he needs it? –It’s not impossible, it’s dictatorship. Use your formidable magic and amend this right now. Myself bad-mouthing Cadwallader doesn’t necessarily mean Slytherin bad-mouthing Hufflepuff. We as individuals should be free to bad-mouth whoever we like. And the other party should take it. Especially if they won anyway.â€
Cheers all around. Cadwallader grabs Draco’s shoulders and shakes them. That’s all right because just as he turns around to tell Cadwallader to sod off, Draco sees Corner pounding Cadwallader on the back. The Huffelpuff’s eyes waters, but he goes on whooping.
Hermione looks both exasperated and amused. –Look at you. Amazing how much Quidditch can accomplish. I knew I should grab the opportunity while you’re all drunk on Quidditch... But since you’re all drunk, let me clarify. You do know what this means, don’t you? The prefect speeches to first-years should no longer predispose them to which House is the rival and which is ‘the one we get along with best’ and--â€
–We’re not Confunded like Madam Pince, Granger.†Draco signs.
More cheers.
–She’s not Confunded! I wouldn’t!â€
And that’s how it went. As if to prove Hermione’s drowned sputtering, the agreement to amity is punctuated by Madam Pince suddenly shrieking at them to –Get out, get out! Mud! Mud! What do you mean holding a rally in the library! I’ve never! I’ll see you all in detention and you better not have besmirched any of my books, you animals!â€
Oh, and ‘bad-mouth’ becomes a vocabulary trend for several weeks.
The morning after goddamned Valentine’s found Hermione breakfasting at Minerva’s office. Hermione was in a fine temper that day, reflected in the angry explosion that was her hair. Instead of attempting a futile battle, she’d simply stuffed it into a barrette large enough to cut blood supply from body to brains. Minerva had sensed her mood and finished her own tea and toast quickly without commenting on the mutilation of kippers and teabags.
–Miss Granger--â€
Just one look and even Snape was quelled in his frame. The portraits were too mindful of self-preservation to even titter audibly.
The little gargoyle seemed to be dancing on his spot on the shelf. When Hermione looked up from glaring at her plate, the gargoyle stilled and threw its chest out. Most admirable. –Students to see Professor Granger. Permission?â€
–Don’t they have classes? Let them up.â€
In the interval, Hermione drank her tea and thought of Lia and Callie when they were babies. So when the girls knocked and opened the door, they had no reason to scurry back out. Hermione even smiled despite--because of--the fact that she and her girls had something more than genes in common that day.
–Hello, you two. Why the long faces?â€
–Mum, we need you to promise that you won’t separate me and Callie for the summer. And ever after. Unless we decide ourselves to go separate places.â€
–Of course, sweetheart.â€
–Promise.â€
–I promise.â€
–Thank you. Oh, I need you to sign this permission thingie.â€
Lia handed over a piece of cream parchment with purple lettering. –The Fountain of Fair Fortune? But how can Miss August make time for this? She has N.E.W.T.s.â€
Hermione signed the parent/guardian’s permission blanks. The very second she lifted the quill, Lia sprinkled the signature with sand. She got some on Hermione’s hand. It smelled like orange blossoms.
The girls shrugged as Lia rolled up the parchment. –If it pulls through, great. If it doesn’t, that’s fine,†Callie said.
Hermione smiled at Callie. –What did your father give you? Where were you yesterday? I hardly saw you. I wanted us to have dinner.†Not that I saw your father either. He left me to the wolves. Pitying looks from girls half my age, for Merlin’s sake.
They unpocketed tiny black cats. Just big enough to fit their palms. Exquisite, with onyx eyes.
Suddenly surging to the forefront of her mind was the memory of owls, hippogriffs, unicorns and Persephones.
–That’s what your father gave you.â€
–Dad says he only gives these to people he adores. He says you have one--â€
–I do?†Hermione snatched her hand back from the cats.
–Can we see it?â€
The evil pall that had draped on her the moment she woke up and receded when the girls came, now descended on Hermione again. She wanted to blurt, ‘Your father’s never given me anything. And that’s just rich, isn’t it? Nothing for Christmas, nothing for Valentine’s-- not that I care, but if the matchmakers knew--oh, I forgot, they do know--they’d burn him on a stake. I wish they would!’
Hermione had to fight not to grit her teeth. That was hardly creditable. Did someone feed her something while she was asleep?
Instead, she merely told the girls, –You have classes, don’t you? Go on.â€
Why was everyone glaring at him? There was a time when he kept his eyes on the floor to avoid girls’ fluttering and flattering looks, but now if he tried that, he might fall over from the weight of the figurative daggers being thrown at him left, right and centre.
And where was the only person whose glares he rather liked much more than he’d like?
He’d been looking for her all day. But he always seemed to just miss her, catching sight of her hair, catching a whiff of her peculiar personal scent, catching the flick of her robes swishing around the corner and into doorways that always closed on him decisively before he could go through.
What now? Honestly. She drove him mad.
Nothing for it but to wait until after dinner and she’d be in one place for sure, not showing off her bewildering expertise on the castle’s corridors.
To be absolutely certain, he waited until midnight. He’d used a warming charm on his boots no less than twenty times while he sat in the library, where everyone’s eyes were too busy studying to spare him any glares. And then curfew arrived, and they all left. Madam Pince stayed on, even offered him a cup of tea. If she puzzled over his stroking a tatty, yellowed translated copy of Beedle, open to the Fountain of Fair Fortune, she didn’t voice it.
And then, at midnight, he bid the old librarian thanks and good night, and went upstairs to the Charms classroom. One knock and Hermione answered the door in his favourite red nightgown.
She just gazed at him. Not even glaring. Shame.
–Can I come in and thaw a little by your fire?â€
Still wordlessly, she opened the door wider and left it for him to close after himself. He strode to the fireplace and basked in the warmth with a smile to Hermione, as if calling at midnight was utterly conventional.
For her part, she was now looking unsure and even contrite, and annoyed. At herself. He could tell because her mouth was pursed. When she was annoyed at someone else, her lips thinned. Like Snape. He congratulated himself on effectively distracting himself from the urge to kiss her. She shook her head. –Tea?â€
–No, thank you, just had some from Pince.â€
–You were at the library?â€
–Here, this is for you.â€
She took the rectangle parcel. –From the library?â€
–No. From me. Didn’t want to give it to you for Valentine’s. You wouldn’t want it to be tainted with triteness, would you?â€
She looked startled. –No.â€
–Open it.â€
He’d wrapped it in plain brown paper on purpose. So that the drabness would contrast and highlight the book’s complete un-drabness.
–Oh, gods,†Hermione breathed, tearing at the wrapping now and letting it unceremoniously drop to the floor. Gratifying.
–Yes, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?†he murmured, moving to her side so they could both look down at the book.
Hardly that. It was an illuminated manuscript of the Fountain of Fair Fortune, preserved within slabs of hand-tooled leather and embroidered silk. Someone--perhaps a lonely convent novice, because this book had been in auction from one of those nunneries in France--apparently loved the story so much to put such effort into copying it and saving it for posterity.
Hermione still hadn’t shut her mouth. She was staring at the golds and greens and pinks in the first page. Whoever that nun had been, she was a witch, and she’d used magic to keep the ink and dyes not only legible but breathtaking, even now, centuries later.
–Beautiful?†Hermione tore her gaze away from the book for a moment to let him know she thought he was quite mad to call this ‘beautiful’. He grinned. –You’re--you’re giving this to me?â€
It’s his turn to let her know he thought she was mad to ask that question.
–No, no. I can’t.†Tried to very gently push the book to his hands. –This is priceless.â€
–Of course it’s priceless. Why would I give you anything less?â€
Did he just say that? She made him say that. She was impossible.
Before he could vent anything on the book, he very gently placed it on the sofa. She very gently moved it to the coffee table and encased it in protective charms, the very same charms he had placed on it while it had been Shrunk all day in his pocket. And then she very gently unbent from the task, as if she might disturb the iridescent arch over the book. And then she very gently stepped toward him as if he might bolt.
He’d never bolt. Bent his head and very gently kissed her instead.
It was exquisite and disconcerting. Each brush and touch insidious, searing him all the way through, like she was tickling whatever it was that bound him to his soul, to his mind, to earth.
Tickling was right, because they were both smiling while kissing.
Neither of them noticed the rose that popped and flopped onto the coffee table just outside the arch of protection over the book.
The kiss lasted long and would have gone on and on if their bodies were immune to strain. Moving to relieve strain broke the spell. Damn you, strain.
–Did you get the idea from the play?†she murmured almost casually after they drew apart.
–What?†He loved her shoulders, wanted to stroke them, but he kept his hands on Hermione’s cheeks. She was already moving away from him, in keeping with this tango they were perpetually in. One step forward, one step back.
–The play. Didn’t Callie ask you to sign something?â€
–Oh. Right. Yes.†Callie. Daughter. He expelled breath, succeeded. Expelled bespellment, barely but enough. –Also promised we won’t separate them again.â€
–We should plan the summer. Maybe they can go with you first. If they can spend spring break with my tribe.â€
–I’ll ask Mother.â€
Did he just say that? Do not grimace, Draco.
Hermione was grinning, so he was probably grimacing.
–Well, good night, I think?â€
–Yes, yes, good night.†He wanted to kick himself on the way to the door. But that would just infuriate him further.
She stood by the door as he went out. –Thank you for the incunabulum, Draco. It’s a treasure. You can take it back any time you want. I’d understand.â€
Instead of feeling offended, he laughed and couldn’t resist tweaking her pert chin. –Of course you would, because you don’t see yourself giving something like that to someone else, do you?â€
–No.†She swatted at him. He caught her hand, squeezed it. –I vow not to take it back.â€
She scurried back inside and closed the door.
I, Hermione Granger, on my blood, do pledge to keep and cherish my one daughter, Thalia, golden-haired and brown of eye. Her twin, Calliope, dark of hair and grey of eye, is not mine to hold.
I, Draco Malfoy, on my blood, do pledge to keep and cherish my one daughter, Calliope, dark of hair and grey of eye. Her twin, Thalia, golden-haired and brown of eye, is not mine to hold.
I, Hermione Granger, on my blood, do pledge to not reveal myself and Calliope to Thalia, nor cause the revelation.
I, Draco Malfoy, on my blood, do pledge to not reveal myself and Thalia to Calliope, nor cause the revelation.
I, Hermione Granger, on my blood, do pledge to sever all claim on Calliope. I will not allude to, admit or acknowledge our kinship, on the event that we should meet or be questioned.
I, Draco Malfoy, on my blood, do pledge to sever all claim on Thalia. I will not allude to, admit or acknowledge our kinship, on the event that we should meet or be questioned.
I, Hermione Granger, on my blood, do pledge to stay in England with Thalia, in wisdom of keeping the secret.
I, Draco Malfoy, do pledge to stay in France with Calliope, in wisdom of keeping the secret.
On my blood, I, Hermione Granger, do pledge.
On my blood, I, Draco Malfoy, do pledge.
End Notes:
Recognizable ‘disease’ line by Ron from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, ‘course. And Babbity! Who doesn’t love Babbity? I think Draco loves that she one-upped that king, and that she
escaped. Poor Draco-coo-kins.
Lucius Malfoy weaselled from prison again after Voldy’s second attempted coup by turning in and helping apprehend Death Eaters, says JKR in new Malfoy content at Pottermore. Only here he doesn’t quite weasel away at all. Not until Hermione swoops in.
‘Of hair and of eye’ stuff borrowed from HBO’s version of le Game of Thrones, heh. :D
Lots of references to the Abduction of Persephone here. Have you read that? Do.
Thank you so much to Callie and Lia’s patient readers and recommenders (‘reccers’ sound sort of reprehensible rather than adorable, which is what reccers are!). *huggles you* Please keep being patient, and please review.
Thank you! We are on the home stretch. Walking the plank. Nearing the end. Just a few more traps.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.