After the Daoimear de Dán, what happened to our heroes? Follow them through their lives via a series of ficlets that take them right up to the time of the DDD sequel!
From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/2194/
Author’s Note: The following chapters are a series of ficlets written with the Harry Potter and The Daoimear de Dán universe in mind. They are (at the moment at least) all set in the interregnum, if you will, between HPDDD and the sequel (the first couple of chapters of which are up at Schnoogle, and the Pumpkin Cafe Y!Group and will end up here eventually too). They are independent ficlets in their own right, but can also, I think, be enjoyed as a set. Collect them all today!
Simply Having A Wonderful Christmas Time
Ministry Of Magic, December 1998.
The annual Ministry of Magic Christmas ball was a big deal this year. Normally it was reserved for the most esteemed ministry officials, but this year it was doubling as the first official Ministry celebration of the Phoenician Army’s victory against Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Now that the many trials were concluded, what was usually just a small dinner had become a huge event with tickets selling for thousands of galleons on the black market. The heroes of the war were the guests of honour, and not all of them were pleased about it.
In a room at the Hilton Diagon Alley, Maura Richards swore loudly. The mirror requested (not for the first time) that Maura limit her obscenities only to receive more of the same in response. It was not, Maura maintained, her fault that her hair refused to do anything. A knock on the door took away her attention and gave the mirror a well-earned rest. A resplendent looking Ginny Weasley bounced in, grinning happily.
“Hello there! Ready yet?” she asked. Maura growled very softly. Ginny was entirely too chirpy for this time of the evening.
“Not remotely,” Maura replied in a cold voice. Ginny ignored it and came inside.
“Sit down. Hermione said you might want help.”
“Oh she did? Well she was right. As usual.”
“That’s Hermione, for you,” Ginny said, beginning to twist Maura’s hair in strange directions.
“Do I really have to go to this shindig? Because I’ve really got better things to do.”
“Like what?”
“Flossing with barbed wire. I had also been planning to water-ski in shark-infested waters later this evening while calling the meanest shark’s mother a whore.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes I do. I’m not a sociable person. I’m the exact opposite of sociable.”
“Well, the Ministry want to fawn over the four people who won the war and you’re one of them.”
“But four people didn’t win the war. A cast bigger than that of a Cecil B. DeMille movie did. When will they realise that all I did was beat up a weird looking bloke with no nose?”
“You sell yourself short,” Ginny said, finishing up her work. In mere minutes, she’d transformed Maura’s unruly mass of hair into a neat looking plait. “Done!”
“Thanks. Look presentable now, do I?”
“Of course. And you have five minutes left before they want you downstairs at the ball.”
Ginny swept out of the room leaving a neater Maura staring at herself bemusedly.
“That’s much better, dearie,” said the mirror.
“Oh, sod off.”
***
In the room next door, Draco Malfoy rather nervously adjusted his black silk dress robes. People had long memories and could hold grudges for just as long. Since his father had been thrown into Azkaban, Draco had received countless owls containing many different sorts of threat. He had been ‘politely’ informed that his family would no longer be invited to the sort of exclusive parties that his family had always attended. All of Lucius’ contacts (legitimate and otherwise) had severed their connections with the Malfoy name and Draco was finding life in the wilderness a strange and inhospitable place that he didn’t much like.
A knock on the door jolted him out of his nerves. He opened the door and Ginny Weasley swept in looking particularly regal in purple.
“I don’t know why I’m here, but Harry asked me to just pop in and make sure you were all right. Are you all right? You look all right.” She rattled on rather quickly, and he tried to keep the startled look off his face.
Draco nodded, rather surprised at her entrance. Satisfied with his answer, Ginny swept right back out again. People had long memories all right, but in this case, he supposed it was justified. Whose father gave her a cursed diary that nearly killed her and unleashed a terrible monster upon Hogwarts? Oh, Ginny Weasley was justified all right. He supposed he was lucky that she even acknowledged his existence. This gave him pause. Since when did he even care that the Weasleys acknowledged his existence? Hadn’t he spent much of his time pretending they didn’t exist? Draco Malfoy was finding himself forced into re-evaluating everything he’d ever been told, ever thought and ever believed. How he hated his father in moments like these.
***
The conference hall at the Hilton Diagon Alley was almost full to bursting point. Like Muggle society events, everyone who was anyone was in attendance. These were the people who made very important decisions about the lives of ordinary wizards and witches. Politicians, Ministry officials, movers, shakers, war heroes. The latter all looked supremely uncomfortable in these surroundings.
“Stop fidgeting, Harry!” Hermione whispered across the table. As yet another person came over to fawn over him, he looked just like he had all night: like a deer caught in headlights. She watched with amusement as Maura came in, fidgeting just as much as Harry and looking just as fish-out-of-water as he did. The redhead stalked across the room, ignoring everyone who called to her, and sat down beside Hermione.
“Give me two good reasons why I should be here,” Maura hissed. Hermione just laughed.
“Because it’s your duty to.”
“No, Hermione. My duty is to fight people. My duty is to get battered and bloodied in the name of justice and peace. My duty is not to smile politely and pretend I’m enjoying myself.”
Hermione just laughed again and they sat together watching the rest of the guests. Sirius was here with Narcissa Richards. By virtue of the Richards name (well respected in both magical and Muggle worlds) and the very long memories of important people who could still remember her as Roger Richards’ daughter, Lily Evans’ best friend and not Lucius Malfoy’s wife, Narcissa had managed to dodge the worst of the anti-Malfoy sentiment. She hadn’t been able to do much for her son, however. Her concern for him was written all over her face as she chatted idly to Remus Lupin, her eyes searching the room to see if Draco had arrived yet.
***
Ron quietly nursed a Butterbeer at the bar. He saw Maura come in and waved to her, but didn’t go over to where she sat herself down with Harry and Hermione. He felt oddly like thinking at the moment and he couldn’t do that with Harry and Hermione canoodling beside him. He had never imagined that, of the three members of the trio, he would be the one to continue his education after leaving school. But sure enough, he was now a first year undergraduate student at the Nostradamus Academy, the premiere, highly exclusive (to the point of being secretive) divination arts university in the UK. He found that a lot of it came naturally to him through his shamanic nature, but some of it, theoretical stuff mostly, was still rather difficult. He’d never been one to study and he occasionally found himself wondering what the Hell he was doing at Nostradamus. But on the whole, it was worth it and in a few years’ time he’d be a trained shaman.
He looked over at Harry and Hermione, to where they were sitting with Maura. Harry was talking to Maura but his hand was stroking Hermione’s while she listened with a soft smile. He didn’t begrudge them a second of happiness: they both deserved it more than anyone, but sometimes.... Sometimes they just made him realise how much he wanted someone of his own. He’d dated a little, but there wasn’t anyone who really made him think of love and marriage. His mother was on at him to settle down already even though he wasn’t yet nineteen. It really didn’t help that with the exception of Bill and Ginny, the rest of his siblings had already become completely settled. Charlie and Romana were busy with dragons in Croatia. Percy was embarking on his campaign for Minster of Magic while Penny looked after Percy Jr and continued her training as a mid-witch. Fred and Angelina were expecting twins in a few months and George had been married to Jade Winters for a few months now while Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was going great guns. Bill had a good, steady career and Ginny was still at school, which left him the sole target of his mother’s concern. Ron had recently come to dread going home for Sunday dinner and enduring all his mother’s questions about ‘was he eating enough?’ and ‘found a special girl, yet?’ and ‘never mind dear, you’ll find her soon’. Fred and George usually found some way to tease him about becoming an old maid while his father shot him supportive looks. The fact that he hadn’t yet celebrated his nineteenth birthday really didn’t seem to matter to any of them. It wasn’t his fault that everyone around his age seemed to be coupling up very early in these heady post-war days. It wasn’t his fault he hadn’t found the girl of his dreams yet.
“Anyone sitting here?” someone asked. He looked up to see a familiar girl standing there. Her name didn’t come straight to mind, however. For a moment he wondered if it was one of Ginny’s friends, before he realised who she was.
“Deanna Lynott?” he asked with surprise. Deanna Lynott nodded in the affirmative and grinned.
“Wasn’t sure you’d remember me,” she said, sliding onto the barstool beside him.
“Oh, I remember you, all right,” he said, eyebrow quirked.
“The shouting, right?”
“Yeah. Wasn’t expecting it. And the nearly being cursed. Can’t forget that.”
“I said I was sorry!”
“Oh, I didn’t mind.”
“Well, I’m still sorry. I’m not usually that rude either, but...”
“But Voldemort had just destroyed your school, it’s all right. You apologised at the time,” Ron finished for her. Deanna nodded quite sadly. “What brings you to the Ministry Christmas party? Didn’t you go back to France?”
“I did for a while. But when they rebuilt Beauxbatons, they employed a full time English teacher and the new Headmistress didn’t feel like keeping me on to help with any of it.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s really fine,” she said breezily, waving a hand vaguely. “It wasn’t like I was planning to be a real teacher or anything.”
“What do you want to do, then?”
“I’d like to be a designer. You know, clothes and stuff? I’ve been in Diagon Alley the past few days interviewing to get a job as a junior designer for Gladrags.”
“Really?” Ron looked impressed. “How did it go?”
“No idea. I’m not too good at interviews.”
“I bet you’ll get it,” predicted Ron confidently. She blushed and smiled at him.
“Aren’t you one of the guests of honour tonight?” she asked. His ears went pink.
“Something like that. Don’t really see the point. Lots of people fought, you included.”
“Ah, you lot seemed to do more. Besides, people like having other people to look up to,” Deanna said confidently. “What have you been doing with yourself?”
“Not much. I’m studying at Nostradamus, you know, shaman arts and divination. Although I‘m a bit worried about my mock exams. I don’t think I did too well.”
“I’m sure you’ve passed,” Deanna predicted confidently. He blushed and smiled at her. He went to speak, but then his attention was diverted elsewhere.
***
The entire room fell silent as Draco Malfoy made his entrance. Normally he would smirk and assume that such attention was his birthright. But this was not the silence of admiration or even envy. This was the silence of hate. Practically every gaze directed at the young Malfoy was one of disgust. Draco had never had to deal with this before. Having Harry Potter publicly reject his offer of friendship when he was eleven hadn’t stung like this. He knew that he would never win any popularity contests, but it didn’t seem quite fair that he was paying for his father’s crimes.
Then it hit him. He was not simply paying the price of having a Death Eater for a father. He was paying the price for centuries of Malfoy snobbery and Malfoy injustices. He was paying for his own unquestioning condescension and blind bigotry, his cruelty as a young boy and he was paying for the privilege that used to be a part of being a Malfoy. He realised something more: he deserved every second of it. He sighed, squared his shoulders and stepped further into the room.
Harry, Hermione and Maura watched sadly as Draco came in and everyone reacted as if he was bringing the Bubonic Plague with him. Maura growled angrily at the reaction that someone who was family to her was receiving, but what could she do, shout, scream and make it all worse? Harry and Hermione looked sympathetic but equally powerless.
***
Ron watched as Draco Malfoy entered the party and got the frostiest reception since Voldemort himself had made an unscheduled appearance at the New Year’s Eve party in 1977. Ron didn’t like Draco much, but even Ron considered this to be more than he deserved. Hadn’t Draco taken his own father down? Hadn’t Draco openly testified, not only against Lucius but against everyone he could? Hadn’t he and his mother voluntarily opened up the doors to their home to allow the Ministry to search it? How much did the blond have to do to prove himself? Granted, he was still an insufferable git, but that didn’t make him evil. He turned to Deanna.
“Will you excuse me for a minute?” he asked. When she nodded, he put his drink down and approached Malfoy.
“Evening, Malfoy,” he said pleasantly. “Smart robes. Silk, are they?”
Draco was speechless. Of all the people to come over, Ron Weasley? It just wasn’t fair.
“Thanks, Weasley. Yours are... nice too.”
Ron grinned widely and held his hand out to Draco, who shook it without even hesitating. He surprised himself with the ease at which he’d accepted the hand of one of the people he’d treated worst.
“See Draco, compliments aren’t that painful,” Ron said with a bright (perhaps over-bright) smile.
“Don’t push it.”
Ron’s olive branch didn’t do the trick, but the next did. Everyone in the room watched as Arthur and Molly Weasley approached Ron and Draco.
“Mr Malfoy,” began Arthur in an agreeable voice, “I’m told that you helped my son during the battle.”
“Well, um...” Draco stumbled for words, unsure how to talk to this man. “I did. But I thought it was a tiger at the time. I was more worried about it eating me.”
Arthur Weasley laughed loudly. Draco wondered if he was noisy as he was as a hint to everyone else, but it seemed genuine enough. Then Arthur held his hand out. This was no mere handshake. This was a Weasley offering to forgive a Malfoy for decades and centuries of feuding, dislike and outright hate. This was Arthur Weasley, a man who had been on the receiving end of Lucius Malfoy’s temper more than once, offering his hand to Draco Malfoy. Lucius had been the one to send Ginny Weasley towards the Chamber of Secrets and yet Arthur was willing to shake his son’s hand. Some people, Draco thought, were entirely too forgiving. But this was not the time for thinking such things.
Draco took it without hesitation. Arthur smiled warmly at him. He’d just been given another chance and he wasn’t stupid enough to throw it away.
The dam broke as the rest of the evening contained more introductions and handshakes. By the end of the night Draco wasn’t presumptuous enough to think that he was on a level playing field, and that all had been forgiven, but he left feeling like he might just be able one day to be just Draco, not the son of Lucius Malfoy.
***
Hermione yawned tiredly as she and Harry swayed gently on the dance floor. The night was almost over, but it had become quite pleasant as it wore on. She’d been introduced to a number of people in the publishing business, which interested her greatly as she’d been leaning increasingly towards working as some sort of writer. The Daily Prophet was almost tripping over itself to sign her up as a columnist, but she was quite concerned that they should want her for her skills not her name. She was broken out of her thoughts and out of the dance by a tap on Harry’s shoulder and a sudden hand thrust towards them. A wizard she recognised vaguely shook her hand vigorously.
“Jolly happy to hear about the engagement!” he said effusively. “Can’t wait for the wedding, hope you don’t keep us all hanging on! Harry’s a lucky feller with a girl like you, Miss Granger!”
Without even waiting for a response from either Harry or Hermione, the wizard was off through the crowd. He was not the last, either. Somehow, people had decided that the emerald ring on Hermione’s hand was a definite sign of engagement, despite no announcements made. Hermione privately liked to think that his speech after the last battle had been a proposal, but it had been one for the future. They had not announced that they were engaged and had, as far as she knew, no plans for the immediate future. Judging by Harry’s expression, he felt exactly the same way. Yet here they were dealing with sudden, unsolicited congratulations for an engagement that as far as they knew, didn’t exist.
Then as the song they were meant to be dancing to ended, the Minister got up on stage and publicly announced to the world that Harry Potter had proposed to his young lady Miss Granger after the battle was finished. All Harry and Hermione could do was stand and smile politely, all the while wondering what was going on.
*
The End, but to be continued....
Spring Is In The Air
Diagon Alley, London. March 1999.
“Would you be interested in a Harry Potter action figure?” asked the shop girl.
Hermione Granger raised an eyebrow and stifled a laugh as she looked at the large display of Potter merchandise. Clearly, the girl didn’t recognise her or she wouldn’t have asked. Everyone knew that Hermione was the only person who didn’t actually need a Harry Potter action figure: she had the real thing waiting for her at home.
Hermione was a celebrity in her own right too, after all, she was a heroine of the war. Unlike Mr Potter, she was rarely recognised unless she was with Harry or Ron. She looked at the stacks of Harrys, all winking at her with lascivious grins. She grinned wickedly and nodded to the girl.
“Yes, I think I would,” she said. The girl took one from the display and moved over to the till.
“They reckon that every magical household in Britain owns one of these,” the girl said as Hermione handed over the required galleons. “Would you like to see how it works?”
Hermione tried very hard to stifle a noisy, raucous laugh that would’ve been most unbecoming.
“No, I think I’ll manage,” she said with another grin. She took the bag and headed out of the shop. She meandered down Diagon Alley looking in windows and nodding to acquaintances as they passed. She was due to meet Harry and Ron at Florean Fortescue’s in two minutes. She headed in there to find him already sitting there. A rather attractive blonde was sitting in the seat beside him. Or rather, an attractive blonde was almost sitting in his lap.
“As I was telling Ivana the other day...” the girl droned on and on. Harry looked like he would gladly face Voldemort again instead of listening to this girl carry on.
Hermione watched with amusement as the girl preened and posed to no effect whatsoever. Grinning wickedly again, for she was in a funny sort of mood, Hermione transformed into her phoenix form and picked up her bag in her beak. She flew over to Harry’s table and dropped the bag onto the table. Harry looked incredibly relieved to see the scarlet and purple bird arrive.
“Is this your bird?” the girl asked. Harry smirked.
“You might say that,” he said as the phoenix settled onto his lap.
“What kind of bird is it?” the girl inquired.
“Oh, she’s a phoenix.”
“How do you know it’s a she?”
“I have my ways,” he told her, stroking the bird’s back. It let out a contented note and snuggled its head into his chest.
“What’s its name?”
“Flame.”
“Flame? Why Flame?”
“Because phoenixes burst into flame. Not original, I’ll grant you.”
“It’s a great name,” she gushed. “How did you get it to be your pet? Aren’t they hard to domesticate?”
“Yes. You need to know how to treat them.”
“How’s that?” she asked, batting her eyelashes.
“Let them know who’s boss,” he said with a cocky grin. His ‘pet’ phoenix reached up and nipped his finger. He just laughed.
“Of course, she’s the boss.”
The phoenix nodded. The girl laughed gaily and leaned over and stroked Harry’s arm in one of the least subtle moves Flame had seen in a good long while. Flame felt Harry tense up awkwardly. He was no good at telling girls to leave him alone in a subtle manner and far too noble to be blunt.
“They’re very loyal, you know,” Harry told the girl. “Once you earn their love and their trust, you have it always.”
Flame pecked at his chest to say ‘don’t bet on it’.
“So,” said the girl, deciding to get down to business. “Does the famous hero and phoenix trainer have a girlfriend?”
Harry was unable to answer straight away because just then Flame flew out of his lap and perched in the chair opposite. Harry and the bird seemed to stare each other down for a moment before he smiled and turned to the girl.
“No,” he said. She grinned broadly before he continued, “I’m engaged to Hermione Granger. Perhaps you read the announcement in the Prophet?”
“No, I didn’t. Uh... Hermione Granger, you say? Well, that’s lovely.” The girl edged out of her chair and shot out of the ice cream shop. In a second, Hermione was sitting where Flame the Phoenix had previously been.
“Is my reputation really that scary?” she asked.
“I’m glad,” said Harry. “That girl was like a limpet. I’d barely sat down when she appeared. Thank you for rescuing me.”
“You’re welcome. I bought you a present, too,” she said pointing to the bag. He grabbed it eagerly although his grin faded when he pulled out the Harry Potter action figure. It looked up at him and waved.
“Hermione!” he whined. Both the figure and Hermione laughed at him.
“The girl in the shop didn’t recognise me. She asked me if I wanted Harry Potter. What was I meant to say?” she smirked at him and he couldn’t resist smiling back. “She even asked me if I needed a demonstration.”
Harry laughed.
“Well, I can’t wait until they release the Hermione doll.”
“Action figure,” she corrected.
“Whatever. I’ve already called the toy people to send me the first one.”
“You didn’t!”
“I did,” he said with a self-satisfied smirk. “They said they’d be happy to oblige. And Ron’s getting number two.”
“Have you heard anything more about this new girlfriend of his?”
“Not much. Apparently she was one of the Beauxbatons girls who came to Hogwarts during the war. That’s all I know.”
“When is he meant to get here?” she asked, checking her watch.
“When he turns up. This is Ron we’re talking about, after all.”
“Now Harry, don’t be like that. You know how many times we’ve kept him waiting.”
“Fine. Do you think he’ll bring his chick along?”
“Well, firstly, we’re not chicks. This isn’t 1972. And secondly, I hope so. The suspense is driving me crazy.”
“You want an ice cream to tide you over?” he asked.
“I’d love a pumpkin ice cream cone,” she replied. He stood up and moved around the table. He planted a brief kiss on her forehead before heading over to the counter. He returned with two pumpkin cones, one with chocolate sprinkles. He handed it to her and she began devouring it eagerly.
“Thought you might like sprinkles,” he said, sitting down again, this time next to her.
“You read my mind,” she said between licks. He smiled sweetly at her and kissed her, tasting the pumpkin ice cream on her lips.
“You taste of pumpkins,” he said.
“So do you.”
“Harry! Hermione!” Ron entered the ice cream parlour and bounced over to them.
“Hey Ron,” said Harry warmly. “Want an ice cream?”
“Not just yet. I want you to meet someone!” Ron seemed in danger of extreme over-excitement. He waved at someone outside. A willowy girl with hair almost as black as Harry’s came in. She looked supremely nervous.
“This is Deanna. My girlfriend.” Ron’s ears turned slightly pink.
“You’ve kept this pretty quiet,” Harry commented with a grin. He then turned to the dark-haired beauty holding Ron’s hand. “We’ve met, haven’t we?”
“I was the Beauxbatons girl who shouted at you both when we arrived at Hogwarts,” she said with a grin. Harry smiled in remembrance.
“Well, it’s lovely to meet you,” said Hermione, shaking Deanna’s hand warmly. “Sit down, both of you, we want to know everything.”
*
The End, but to be continued...
Not Just An Ordinary Day
Ruairi House, Windermere. 5th August 1999.
“If I told you once, I must have told you a thousand times!” Molly Weasley cried in exasperation. “The roses are for the centrepieces, not the aisles.”
Two Assistant Florists sighed and began carrying what seemed to be at least two hundred roses across the garden. Molly stood watching, sure that this whole thing was going to turn her hair totally grey.
“Molly?”
“What?” she shrieked, before realising that Sirius was standing there with a cup of tea for her. “Oh, thank you dear.”
“Come and sit down, Molly,” he said, leading her to one of the tables already set up.
“I’ve organised so many of these I really should go into business,” she said as she took the weight off her already sore feet and mentally calculating how many weddings she had arranged or attended in the busy year since the war.
“It’s going to be lovely. You’ll do them proud.”
“I hope so. Harry is... Oh Sirius, you know. I don’t look at him and think ‘Ron’s friend’. I look at him and see Harry, one of the family.”
“I know.” Sirius hugged her. “And he feels the same way.”
“I remember seeing him that first time at Kings Cross. He looked so lost, so alone. I was so glad when Ron wrote and said he was friends with him.”
“Well, Harry has a family now. All of us. And now Hermione,” Sirius told her. “What... What do you suppose it would’ve been like if James and Lily, I mean, what do you suppose Harry would’ve been like”
“The same sweet boy that he is. Although he would’ve smiled more.”
“Yes.” Sirius was silent for a long time.
“Hermione makes him smile, Sirius.” Molly told him. “No! No, no, no! The soup tureens are meant to go on the main table!”
And with that, Molly was off again.
***
Harry sat on his bed, idly stroking the soft purple velour blanket Hermione had bought when decorating the house. He was already in the fitted forest green robes tailored especially for today. His hair was uncharacteristically neat, or so he’d been told several times already that day. He felt quite serene, considering. Everyone had told him that he should feel terrified and nervous, but all he felt was a very real sense of calm. He remembered George’s wedding almost a year ago. The groom had been so nervous that everything he tried to eat before the ceremony was immediately regurgitated. By the time he was married and his nerves were gone, George had been so hungry he started in on the wedding buffet before all the guests were sat down. Yet Harry felt just fine. Was that wrong?
***
At the Burrow, where Hermione as being primped and preened, the atmosphere was anything but calm. The Weasley women: Ginny, Penny, Angelina and Jade were joined by Lavender and Deanna and each of them was filling her role as a clucking hen to perfection. Hermione was the calm at the eye of the storm while Maura projected an air of supreme indifference as she sat weaving tiny plaits into Hermione’s hair with surprising expertise.
“All right, mate?” she whispered to Hermione.
“Just fine, actually,” Hermione replied, although her hands were shaking very slightly from excitement.
“Yeah. All right then.” Maura sounded unconvinced. From downstairs, the sound of a child crying reached them.
“Oh, Percy!” Penny sighed with undisguised frustration. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“I’ll check on Deirdre,” added Ginny, who had become enamoured with Maura’s little girl. For whatever reasons, the rest of the women made their excuses, leaving Hermione and Maura alone.
“Done!” Maura announced after finishing the last plait. Hermione smiled beautifully, shaking her head slightly to watch her hair sway. Her hair was sleek and shiny and the plaits woven here and there made it look both formal and at the same time a little wild and informal.
“It’s lovely. Thank you.”
“That’s not all,” the redhead said, moving around to face her friend. “I have something for you.”
“I have something old, blue and new,” said Hermione, holding up her great-grandmother’s antique gold bracelet, a blue garter she’d yet to put on and the new earrings she’d received from Ron and Deanna that morning.
“Well then, this is your lucky day,” said Maura with a smirk. She pulled a box out of her pocket and opened it. Inside was a simple gold cross on a chain that complemented Hermione’s look quite perfectly.
“Maura-”
“George gave this to me as an engagement present. Of course, world-saving time restraints meant that we were only engaged a few hours, but still,” Maura grinned. “He gave me this and I wore it when we were married. Didn’t look as beautiful as you, but... if you’ll have it, I’d like you to wear this.”
“Oh, Maura! You’re going to make me cry. If I ruin Ginny’s hard work and make up charms, she’ll kill us both.” She sniffed. “Thank you.”
Hermione took the cross and fixed it around her neck.
“Are... Are wizards and witches religious?” Maura asked. “I always wondered.”
“I don’t know. Some are, I think. I was born a Catholic, just like you. Truth be told, looking back, I’m surprised my parents took my magic so well.” She stopped and fiddled with the cross nervously.
“Are you sure, Maura?”
“Yes. You and Harry are two of the truest friends I ever had. Ron’s the other one.” Maura’s eyes glinted with wicked humour. “Besides, I’m having it back.”
“Thank you.”
“You said that already. Now, I think you’re ready.”
“Do I look OK?” Hermione asked, looking at herself in the mirror nervously.
“Nah.”
“Oh.”
“Hermione, you look bloody beautiful. The Boy Wonder won’t know what hit him.”
***
When the bridal party Apparated into the living room of Ruairi House, they cleared the building of all men before allowing Hermione to Apparate in. Outside, the hot August sun glinted off sparkling crystal glasses, bright white china and shining silver cutlery all laid out with military precision on cotton and lace covered tables. Beyond the tables, in the depths of the garden, Harry waited. Nerves were beginning to get to him. He looked at the rows of chairs that were beginning to fill up as more and more guests arrived. Behind him, Ron was leaning on the lectern.
“Harry, it wasn’t long ago that you had this turf laid. Don’t wear it out already.”
“Sod off.”
“Charming. Nice to know the way you treat your pals, Potter.” Harry and Ron turned to see Draco Malfoy standing there, gift in hand.
“Hello Draco,” Harry said, shaking the blond man’s hand.
“Looking sharp, Potter.”
“Well, I’d say the same for you, but black isn’t really a summer colour.”
“It’s a Malfoy colour,” Draco explained haughtily.
“Your Mum came in pink,” Harry pointed to where Narcissa was seated with Sirius.
“Ah, she’s not a Malfoy,” Draco said breezily. “Lucky her.”
Harry went to reply, but stopped when he saw Professor Dumbledore arrive.
“Under starters orders,” mumbled Ron. Dumbledore swept down the aisle and shook Harry’s hand.
“Ready, Harry?” he asked softly.
“Yes. Is Hermione?”
“Almost, Harry. Almost.” Dumbledore chuckled quietly.
“Women always take ages to get ready,” Ron cracked, moving to sit down. Dumbledore chuckled and took up his position at the lectern. Sirius now made his way over and took the seat beside Ron. Everyone was in place now as the girls came out from the house and took their seats. All they needed now was Hermione.
***
The music began and on instinct everyone stood up and turned to look towards the end of the aisle. First came Deirdre in a floaty lilac dress. Guided by the equally pretty-in-lilac Ginny, Deirdre scattered rose petals along the aisle earning ‘ahhs’ from everyone. Then came Maura in a lilac tailored suit, arm in arm with Hermione’s mother. Finally Hermione arrived at the end of the aisle on her father’s arm.
Nobody present would forget how beautiful Hermione was that day. Her simple white dress of silk and Belgian lace skimmed her bare feet, while her hair flowed in loose waves around her shoulders, Maura’s little plaits adding detail to it. Instead of a veil, Hermione wore a crown of white and lilac flowers. She looked rather like a forest nymph and to all in attendance, it seemed a lot more understandable why Apollo chased them so fervently. Simple, beautiful, just like Hermione. No fussy ruffles or bows, no sequins or satin. The only jewellery she was wearing was Kitty MacLennon’s bracelet, her new gold earrings, Maura’s cross and her emerald engagement ring.
Harry, as Maura had predicted, was speechless and felt like he was about to fall down. Then Hermione smiled and caught his eye. How he managed not to faint, he never knew.
After the shortest and longest walk of her life, Hermione kissed her father on the cheek and let go of his arm. Then she turned to Harry.
“Beloved friends and family...” began Dumbledore.
***
Champagne corks popped and laughter rang out as the reception began. More people had been invited to the reception than to the wedding itself: old school friends such as Parvati Patil, Colin Creevey and Cho Chang began arriving clutching gifts and bearing good tidings. The meal began amongst such merriment and plates filled up on command. The Grangers were still unaccustomed to such things and watched with wide-eyed wonderment and confusion. Harry and Hermione didn’t notice any of this, and when asked afterwards, neither could remember much about their food.
After dessert, Ron stood up and called for quiet.
“Everyone! Best man trying to make a speech here! Just for your information, Fred’s the one running bets on the collective length of the speeches.”
The guests roared with laughter. Ron cleared his throat and waited for them to quiet down before he began.
“When I was eleven, I met a scrawny little midget on the train. Little did I know that he was a hero or that he’d end up my best mate. Not long after that, we met a bossy little know-it-all. Little did I know that she’d become responsible for my good marks.”
He paused for more laughter.
“I’ve shared laughs, tears, arguments and life threatening incidents with these two. And although I really tried to act surprised when I found them snogging, I wasn’t surprised. You’ve never seen anyone as perfect as they are for each other. Blimey, they even make me sound soppy. Harry, Hermione... I’m not the best speaker in the world, so I’m just going to say that I love you both and there’s nobody I want more to be happy than you.”
Ron, blushing a little, sat down amidst applause. Harry then stood up and nervously cleared his throat.
“Thanks Ron. I don’t, um, have anything much to say except... Thanks for coming, um... I’m not really very good at public speaking so, um... This is the happiest day of my life and I’m so glad you’re all here to share it with me.”
Red-faced, Harry sat down. Pausing to kiss him on the cheek, Hermione now stood up.
“Apparently, it isn’t customary for the bride to speak, but I’ve never really done things the customary way.”
Hermione received yet more laughter from the guests.
“I don’t actually have much to say-”
“Makes a change!” called out Ron. She stuck her tongue out at him.
“I would like to tell you one thing. When I was eleven years old I entered a completely different world to the one I had previously known. I learned then of a young hero. Needless to say, I read everything I could find about him. Then I met him. Very quickly indeed, I discovered that the real Boy Who Lived was far greater than any legends that surrounded him. I couldn’t tell you exactly when I fell in love with him, just that I did and I can’t imagine a life without him.”
Hermione sat back down amidst applause, cheering and whistling.
***
The party continued for hours, complete with music, dancing and merriment. Then it came time for the new Mr and Mrs Potter to leave. They were portkeying to London, from where they would set off on a tour of Europe (both magical and Muggle). They had changed into more suitable clothing and now waited to say goodbye to their friends.
“Throw the bouquet, Hermione!” called Sirius, nudging Narcissa, who replied with a swift elbow to the ribs. Hermione did as he asked. She turned around, closed her eyes and let the bouquet fly behind her. When she opened her eyes and turned back round, she saw Deanna Lynott holding it. She turned to look at Ron expecting him to look scared or embarrassed, but instead she watched as a determined looking Ron pulled a small box out of his pocket.
“I was going to give you this later, but Hermione’s just spoiled it all,” he said. Deanna’s eyes widened as she found herself looking at a delicate diamond ring. Ron grinned at her. She nodded and cheers broke out.
“Two in one day, Molly. Not bad going,” Arthur cracked to his wife, who dabbed away tears and smacked him playfully on the arm. There were more cheers as Harry and Hermione made their way to the portkey- a specially charmed horseshoe. As they were about to grab a hold of it, Hermione stopped. She turned to Maura and unclipped the cross. She handed it back to her.
“Thank you, Maura.”
“Just be happy, Hermione. It’s all I ask,” she said. Hermione’s eyes widened in shock and horror.
“Harry, something’s dreadfully wrong!
“What?” Harry looked genuinely worried.
“Maura’s about to cry,” Hermione said with a wicked grin. Harry relaxed and laughed.
“Someone get a camera!”
“Sod off!” growled Maura. “And anyway, I’m not crying. Just got...”
“Something in your eye?” Harry asked. Maura glared but nodded just the same.
“You’re both gits. Sod off,” she said. Hermione and Harry both gave her a quick hug before going to take the portkey.
“What about me? You didn’t forget me, did you?” Ron was standing there, having extricated himself from his new fiancée.
“We couldn’t forget you if we actively tried,” Hermione said. She hugged him tightly before kissing his cheek. “Love you, Ron.”
“Love you too, Hermione.” Then he hugged Harry. Being too manly, there were no ‘Love yous’ exchanged. But the smile shared between the two said it all.
“We’re definitely going now, right?” Harry asked. Hermione nodded and together they took hold of the horseshoe.
***
The old guard sat amongst the half-full champagne glasses, discarded napkins and plates, too tired to start cleaning up just yet.
“That was nice, wasn’t it?” Narcissa sighed. Next to her, Sirius sniffed.
“Yeah. Just like James and Lil,” he said in a satisfied rather than sad tone.
“Well, I thought the food was just lovely,” added Arthur.
“I should think so, you ate three slices of cake,” Molly retorted.
“Did my son just get engaged?” asked Arthur as if she hadn’t spoken. Molly nodded.
“She’s a nice girl. French mother, you know.”
“Speaking of French, my son mentioned something about a girl called Fleur earlier,” said Narcissa. Molly frowned.
“Fleur Delacour?” she asked. Narcissa nodded. “She was sniffing around my Bill during the Triwizard Tournament.”
“That was years ago, Molly,” Arthur said reasonably. “I’m sure she’s a lovely girl.”
“I hope so,” said Narcissa.
“Harry knows her sister, doesn’t he? Gabrielle or something,” Sirius mused.
“Hmm. From the tournament,” Arthur said.
“Do you suppose that they’re all right?” Molly wondered out loud.
“Harry and Hermione?” Sirius asked with a smirk. “I’d say they’re probably perfectly well.”
Laughter rang out across the gardens of Ruairi House. Miles away in London, the Potters were fast asleep, exhausted from their busy day. Life could wait until tomorrow.
*
The End... of sorts.
Chapter Summary: 31st July 2000 turns out to be a very special birthday for Harry Potter, including two presents he wasn’t expecting yet.
*
A Birthday For Three
Ruairi House, Windermere. 31st July 2000.
Ruairi House was usually quiet and peaceful, surrounded as it was only by the hills and trees that overlooked the tourist trap of Lake Windermere. Today, however, it was anything but quiet and peaceful. Today was Harry Potter’s twentieth birthday and everyone wanted to celebrate. Gifts had been arriving at the house all day and guests were pouring into the house.
At first glance, though, it wasn’t clear if it was a birthday party or one of those American-style baby showers that was all the rage now for rich British Muggles. There were at least three pregnant woman, one newborn and a whole cluster of small children roaming around. If Harry was irritated by his birthday party being dominated by children, he didn’t show it. On the contrary, he seemed to revel in playing with the children. Perhaps it was the sight of his wife sitting drinking lemonade from a glass resting on her pregnancy-swollen belly that inspired it. She caught his eye and grinned up at him.
“Harry!” called Ron, waving a Quaffle. “Impromptu game of Quidditch?”
“All right,” he said with a broad smile.
“Charlie’s going to be the other seeker,” Ron told him as Harry grabbed his Firebolt.
“The famous Gryffindor seeker Charlie Weasley?” asked Harry. Ron snorted.
“Right, because you’re not in the Quidditch history books or anything, Mr Youngest Player in a Century.”
“True.”
“Don’t remind him!” called Hermione. “He’ll get a big head.”
Harry grinned back, but felt a slight pang somewhere in his gut. His getting a big head had been his undoing and the reason Hermione hadn’t spoken to him for two months. Ron seemed to notice his pause and hit him in the arm.
“Come on Potter. You’re got to prove yourself against the great Charlie.”
***
The game went on for over an hour before Harry finally caught the snitch only a second ahead of Charlie. All exhausted, they trooped back to the house. Molly and Ginny had prepared a birthday lunch for Harry and the table had been laid out in the garden. Hermione was already sat down with Maura, Ron’s wife Deanna and Percy’s wife Penelope, talking quite predictably about childbirth. The Quidditch players trooped over to the table. Only Angelina, a professional player, wasn’t thoroughly tired.
“It seems so much harder now,” said Harry.
“He’s an old man of twenty,” Bill said in a rather mocking tone. Harry and Hermione exchanged a worried glance, for this idea was yet another reason they had lived apart for two months.
“Be fair, he hasn’t played a real game since before he defeated Voldemort,” said Ron.
“And I’ve never been up against a seeker as good as Charlie. I had to make do with Malfoy.”
“Hey!” the same Malfoy shouted indignantly as he settled his wife Fleur (another pregnant woman) down in a chair at the other end of the table.
“Hey yourself,” snapped Ron. “Why is he here anyway?”
“Because I invited him, Ron,” said Harry in a firm tone designed to discourage arguing. They all began tucking into the food and chattering happily, mostly about Quidditch and babies.
Hermione got up from the table and bolted into the house as fast as a woman eight months pregnant could manage. Harry shared a concerned look with Ron before jumping up. Maura, however, pushed him back into his chair.
“I’ll go,” she said.
***
Maura had been watching Hermione for some time and had a sneaking suspicion that she knew what was going on. She went inside and found a locked bathroom door.
“Hermione?” she asked in what she hoped was a soothing voice.
“What?” Hermione called through the door.
“You all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“OK. No problems with contractions at all?” asked Maura in a casual voice. The door opened and Hermione stood there looking sheepish.
“How did you know?” she asked.
“You’ve been grimacing every thirty five minutes. And I’m guessing that your waters just broke.” Hermione nodded. “Mind telling me why you haven’t told anyone?”
“I don’t want to spoil Harry’s birthday party.”
Maura looked stunned. For such a clever woman, Hermione made some curious decisions, she thought. Maura gave her a stern look.
“I’m going to get Penelope,” she said. Hermione looked as if she wanted to object, but another stern look silenced her. Maura went back outside and spoke quietly to Penelope, who dashed inside. Maura then turned to Harry, who looked petrified.
“Looks like you’re going to be a dad sooner than you thought,” she said with a grin. Harry went very pale and then bolted inside.
“You can look forward to this, Ron,” added Maura. Ron looked at Deanna, who smirked, then he went as pale as Harry. Everyone laughed.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” said George confidently, cradling his month-old son in his arms. His wife Jade gave him a particularly dark look.
“What?” he asked. “It didn’t hurt that much, did it?”
“How would you know? You passed out the first time I screamed,” she said. Everyone directed their laughter towards George now. A moment later, Harry emerged from the house a little calmer than before.
“Hermione says we should all stay and carry on celebrating my birthday,” he said.
“Is she going to be all right? Shouldn’t she head off to Artemis House?” asked Ron. Harry had booked a room for Hermione at the premiere magical maternity hospital.
“Well normally, yes,” said Harry. “But Penelope reckons it won’t be that long.”
“What?” Molly asked, quite bemused. If there was an expert on childbirth in the vicinity, it was her. “She’s that far along?”
“Apparently,” Harry said through gritted teeth, “Someone has been ignoring her contractions for the better part of the afternoon.”
“Why?” asked Molly, now completely astounded.
“She didn’t want to ruin my birthday,” he said, clearly as astounded as her. “She wasn’t even sure if they were real contractions. She’s still got a month to go, after all.”
“When I had Fred and George,” said Molly, “they were early. Just as well really. They kicked more than the others put together. I thought they hated each other. It turned out to be the first prank they pulled.”
Fred and George both grinned proudly.
“Well,” added Angelina, also the mother of twins. “It isn’t surprising with twins, Harry. Although mine were well behaved in the womb.”
“Unlike their father,” put in Charlie with a grin. A scream rent through the air.
“I‘ll... uh... I’ll be back,” said Harry before shooting back inside faster than if he’d been on his Firebolt.
***
When the sun had gone down, Fred, Angelina and their twins excused themselves and went back home. They were soon followed by the Malfoys, George, Jade and baby Paul and Charlie and Romana. Percy, realising his midwitch wife would be busy for some time, returned with Percy Jr to their home. Eventually only Ron, Deanna, Maura, and Sirius remained and Hermione’s parents were brought via Floo by Molly. Five hours after her waters broke, Hermione gave birth to a little girl. Three minutes later, the baby was joined by her sister.
***
“This is Lilyella,” Harry told Ron, pointing to the eldest of the twins, wrapped in a purple blanket and fast asleep in a crib next to Hermione’s bed.
“And this is Kathleen,” he said, pointing to the younger twin, wrapped in a green blanket and wide awake in her mother’s arms.
“They’re beautiful, Harry,” said Ron, thoroughly awed.
“Oh that’s typical,” said Hermione “They share half my genes, I do all the work and he gets the credit.”
“Hermione, when I said they’re beautiful,” Ron said hastily. “I mean it’s because they’re your daughters. I mean, Harry’s no oil painting, is he?” He grinned at Harry.
“Hey!” Harry objected.
“You leave him alone, Ron Weasley,” said Hermione, going along with the joke. “I think he’s gorgeous.”
“Thank you,” Harry told her sweetly.
“Blimey,” said Ron. “You’re both going soft!”
“Yes, we are,” said Hermione. “And don’t shout. I’m trying to get Kathleen to sleep.”
“Sorry. Anyway, we’d better get off home. We’ll stop by tomorrow, all right?”
“Yeah,” replied Harry.
“Happy birthday, mate.” said Ron. “Blimey! This means I’ve got to get three presents next year.”
“Night, Ron,” said Hermione with a tired laugh. Ron leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
“Night Hermione,” he replied before heading out of the room.
***
Finally, with everyone gone home, Harry and Hermione were alone with their daughters.
“I bet they’ll be brilliant at Quidditch,” predicted Harry.
“No,” said Hermione firmly. “They’ll be brilliant students.”
“Can’t they be both?” he asked. Hermione snorted.
“Yes, let’s pile lots of pressure onto them already.”
“You’re right,” he said looking down at them with a mushy smile. “They’re not identical, are they?”
“No. Lilyella’s bigger than Kathleen for a start. They both have blue eyes, but most babies have blue eyes when they’re born.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
“Yes, but you didn’t read as many baby books I did.”
“Hermione, nobody’s read as many baby books as you. Not even Penny when she was training to be a midwitch.”
“Well, what did you expect from me?”
“Nothing less, love. Nothing less.”
“Harry?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think we’re too young?”
“I think it’s a bit late to worry about that.”
“But...”
“Shh... Hermione, we faced Fluffy when we were eleven years old. We fought a war when we were seventeen. We’ve been ‘too young’ for everything. I think age is a moot point. We’re going to do fabulously.”
“I suppose...”
“Well, I know. We’ve both been dreaming about this for a long time. Besides, with a mum like you, how can they go wrong?”
“By having you as a role model,” she joked.
“I’m hurt, Hermione,” he said in a teasing voice. “How?”
“Well, I have never met anyone who’s managed to get himself into more sticky situations than you.”
“But you’re there to get me out of them. What’s the problem? Besides, how many other kids have their very own lion to play with?”
“Ron’s kid will have a tiger,” she said.
“Yes, but Ron’s child will also have to deal with that red hair.”
“That’s true,” Hermione yawned loudly. “Can I go to sleep now?”
“Course you can, love.” Harry kissed her softly and she settled down in the bed.
“Aren’t you coming to bed?” she asked.
“I’m not tired yet,” he told her.
“All right. Night Harry.”
“Good night, love.”
Long after Hermione had fallen asleep Harry remained awake, watching over his three girls.
*
The End... for now.
Draco’s Big Idea
Malfoy Manor, England. May 2001
Draco Malfoy slumped into a worn leather armchair in his study and kicked his shoes off. The perpetually poised Monsieur Malfoy slouched and began picking at the arm of the chair. He sighed, and then he sighed again. Then he sighed a third time for good measure.
He wasn't sure what to make of it all and he had no idea how he was meant to break the news. How was he to tell the world that Draco Malfoy had been dumped? He scrawled a hasty note on a piece of Malfoy Magical Enterprises headed notepaper before summoning a House-Elf who duly took the note to be owled. Then Draco reminded himself that he was a Malfoy and Malfoys do not mope. Malfoys do not mope with bad posture. He got up out of the chair, paced up and down the room before then heading out of the room, down the hall and into the nursery.
Flynn Francois Malfoy lay fast asleep in his cot where Draco had left him only five minutes previously. Draco beamed briefly with pride: his son was an excellent sleeper and had always slept well through the night, unlike Kathleen Potter who apparently caused her parents no end of night-time grief. He smirked, temporarily forgetting that he was now friends with Harry Potter and therefore had no need to make himself feel superior. Well, he told himself sternly, you do need to feel superior at the moment even if the only thing you can find is baby fashions. His son was well dressed, he thought, smiling proudly again. At almost a year old, Flynn had beautiful soft blond hair and according Narcissa, looked just like Draco had at the same age. Draco smirked: he must have been a very handsome baby. Then the sighs returned. He slumped down into the chair beside his son's cot and leaned his head against the wall. Handsome baby or not, it didn't seem to have helped him now.
After about ten minutes of silent sitting, the House-Elf appeared in the nursery.
"Your guest is here, Sir," he said before disappearing again. After a moment, Harry Potter came into the nursery looking extremely concerned.
"What's the matter?" he asked. "I just got your owl."
"Fleur's gone."
"Gone?"
"Gone. Left. Absent. Departed. Vacated the premises," Draco said, waving a hand nonchalantly. Harry sat down opposite him.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes."
"You don't look all right."
"Well I am all right. I wasn't in love with Fleur any more than she was with me. We were two beautiful people who became attracted to each other, got married almost immediately, had a child and then got bored with each other."
"You sound like you've spent a while thinking about this."
"Not really," he lied.
"Talk to me, Draco."
"I thought I was."
"There's a reason you owled me. Talk to me. I can help."
"How? Hermione came back to you. Fleur isn't ever coming back. I don't want her to. You know, she doesn't even want to see Flynn."
"What? That's-"
"That's just Fleur. Whatever maternal instinct she had she sold for expensive shoes."
"Maybe it's all for the best," Harry said, groping for something, anything to say to Draco that might help.
"I'm sure it is."
"So why do you look suicidal?"
"No reason. Just a new look I'm trying out."
"Doesn't suit you."
"Well, the rich and handsome thing didn't work."
"That's it, isn't it? You've never been dumped before." Harry tried very hard not to laugh. Draco raised an eyebrow and didn't look amused.
"I am a Malfoy. We aren't dumped."
"Draco-"
"Don't Draco me. What are you doing here, anyway?"
Harry nearly laughed again but managed to push the laugh down his throat.
"Draco, you owled me not fifteen minutes ago asking me to come here."
"Did I?" Draco looked genuinely surprised.
"Yes. It seemed urgent."
"Oh. Sorry." Draco didn't sound remotely sorry, which wasn't surprising. Receiving an apology from Draco Malfoy was rather rarer than reading a truthful Rita Skeeter article.
"Why did you owl me?" Harry asked. Draco sighed again- it seemed to be becoming a habit.
"Because I didn't know who else to talk to. Because-"
"Because we're friends?" Harry asked. Draco looked as if he were choking on something unpleasant as he always did when confronted with the horrific truth that he and Potter were on friendly terms now.
"Something like that. And I didn't have anyone else."
"What about your mother? Sirius?"
"Off in Jamaica on holiday. Besides, I'd just get a big fat 'I told you so' and I can live without that."
"Neither of them would say that."
"Humph."
"They wouldn't. Not at first, anyway." Harry tried valiantly to inject some humour into the situation. He had never, ever seen Draco this... defeated. Not even during that first post-war party at the Ministry when everyone had snubbed the Malfoy boy. At least then Draco had shrugged his shoulders and at least pretended to not care.
"None of you ever liked her," Draco said. Harry went to say otherwise, but Draco waved his hand again. "I know you didn't. A lot of the time I didn't even like her."
"We tried, Draco."
"I know. More than I would've done. Uppity, snobby, cold..." Draco trailed off, too depressed even to snipe at Fleur.
"Well, at least you've got Flynn."
"Yes, fantastic. I'm a twenty-one year old single father. This is not how I imagined my life ending up."
"A lot of stuff isn't how we imagined it. I mean, witness us standing in a room together talking and sharing instead of cursing and hexing."
"Who would've thought it? My reputation is ruined, thanks to you."
"Only from a certain point of view, Draco."
"My point of view."
"You're insufferable, Malfoy," Harry said, beginning to get a little irritated. "You owl me because you're obviously upset, then you pretend you didn't. You want my help but you won't ask for it, let alone accept it."
"How can you help?" Draco snapped. Harry noticed that Draco was rubbing the tip of his nose and remembered Narcissa saying something about him doing that when very upset or aggravated in some manner.
"Sit down, Draco. I'll get you a cup of coffee."
"Make it more Irish than Paddy McGinty's goat."
"No."
"Worth a try."
***
A few minutes later, Harry and Draco were sat together in the expansive Malfoy Manor kitchen. Draco looked rather out of place in his own kitchen, and Harry realised that with his cadre of House-Elves, Draco didn't need to enter very often.
"How's the business going, Draco?" Harry asked in a now-desperate attempt to get a conversation started.
"All right."
"If you're going to just mope and give me one word answers, I will go home."
"I won't stop you."
"No, but you want me to be here, don't you?"
"Not really."
"You're a terrible liar, Draco."
"So sue me."
Harry looked at him strangely. That was an awfully Mugglish word for him to use.
"Have you been watching that television Maura got you?"
Draco's face flushed rather pink.
"Perhaps."
Harry couldn't suppress the grin that spread across his face.
"I know what you're thinking, Potter. What would everyone say if they knew that a Malfoy was a big fan of Eastenders?"
"You like Eastenders?"
"Yes. I tried to watch that other one..."
"Coronation Street?"
"That one, yeah. But they have ridiculous Northern accents like Longbottom. Couldn't stand it."
"Hermione still watches that, and Dean Thomas was telling me in Diagon Alley the other day how he bought a television so he could watch football. Ron was jealous that we don't have anything similar in the wizard world for Quidditch."
Draco was silent. Then suddenly, he sprang out of his chair.
"That's it!" he cried. "The thing I've been looking for!"
"Thing?"
"I've been searching my brain for something to kick start Malfoy Magical Enterprises and this is it!" Fleur was completely forgotten as Draco began searching for a piece of parchment to write on. "I can't find anything in here!"
Harry watched as Draco shot out of the kitchen. He drained his cup and followed. He found Draco scribbling furiously at his desk.
"Draco... care to explain?"
"Television!"
"Television?"
"We don't have anything like it, but it's one of the few half-decent things the Muggles have come up with. Imagine the possibilities: live Quidditch coverage in your living room, wizard soap operas..." Draco trailed off and stared off into space for a moment.
"A lot of magical people have television, Draco," Harry reminded him.
"I'm not talking about just getting television, I'm talking about all-magical channels..." he paused to scribble some more. "But it wouldn't just be television, it would be magic."
"How so?"
"I don't know... I'll get Development on it."
"You have a Development department?" Harry asked. Draco scoffed.
"Of course I do! How else does one get anything developed?"
"Good point."
Draco suddenly remembered his previous mood and his face fell again.
"Look," said Harry. "Why don't I take Flynn home with me? You can concentrate on this or... whatever you'd like. Have some time on your own."
"Harry, I know you think I can't ask for help, but you don't need to do that. You have the twins to look after."
"It's really-"
"It's all right." Draco smiled fairly unconvincingly at him. "I'll be fine. We'll be fine."
"OK. Do you want me to... spread the word? So you don't have to break the news?"
"I think... Yes. Please."
"I will. I'll see you soon, all right?"
"If you like."
"I'd better head home now."
"All right," Draco paused awkwardly. "Thank you Harry."
"You're welcome. Can I Floo from here?"
"Yeah. Powder's on the mantelpiece."
"Bye," Harry shot him a bright smile before heading into the fire.
***
Harry was true to his word, and within about two hours, Draco had owls arriving from across the country from various people. Maura arrived via the fireplace demanding to know if he was all right. Molly Weasley arrived with a casserole for him and instructions to contact her if he needed anything. Eventually, he bit the bullet and contacted his mother in Jamaica to break the news.
There were no 'I told you so's'. The news only became public when Fleur officially filed for divorce at the Ministry. Molly insisted he and Flynn come over for Sunday lunch while Narcissa and Sirius cut short their holiday and arrived home on the Monday. By the end of the first week, Draco decided that he was almost enjoying his new life on his own. By the end of the second week he was so delighted by the amount of money he was sure he'd make on his magical televisions that Fleur was nothing but a distant memory.
*
The End.
Chapter Summary: Ginny has to deal with the fall out of a nasty break up.
*
The Lunchtime After The Night Before
The Burrow, England. September 2004.
On Sunday morning, Magical Britain was ablaze with the news about the big fight between Rodney Mayhew and Ginny Weasley at the Three Broomsticks on Saturday night. The fight had even featured in the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet. It wasn’t really that surprising: Rodney was a prominent businessman in wizarding London and Ginny was the pretty war heroine who now owned a prosperous fashion house with her sister-in-law Deanna. Both were celebrities in the magical community and there had been whispers about the rocky nature of their three year long engagement for some time.
***
The Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade. The Night Before.
This most recent argument started as all their fights did. Rodney, a man renowned for being snobbier than a Malfoy, made a particularly snide comment about her family and the ever-loyal Ginny argued back. It was a fairly common fight between them, although in the beginning Ginny had been too blinded by love to really stand up for herself. This time however, Rodney had lashed out with more than words. Every person in the Three Broomsticks watched as Rodney’s palm slapped against Ginny’s cheek hard enough to make her stumble. On reflection, it wasn’t the smartest thing to do when Ginny was surrounded by friends- big powerful friends with names like ‘Harry Potter’. For a moment, time stood still as the patrons of the pub held their breath, waiting to see what would happen. They expected Harry to step in, or even their companion Draco Malfoy, but before either could do anything, Ginny did it herself. In fact, she hit him hard enough to send him reeling into a table. She then looked at him with fire in her eyes.
“Don’t ever come near me again,” she said, the fire in her eyes matched by the ice in her voice. Rodney stood up, surprised that the supposedly meek Ginny had fought back. He opened his mouth to speak, but the sight of Ginny, eyes ablaze and now flanked by Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy was too much for him. Attempting to leave with a shred of dignity, he picked up his cloak and walked out of the pub. Before he even got out of the door, applause for Ginny had filled the pub. She went rather red and slid back into her chair.
“Are you all right, Ginny?” Draco asked. She nodded silently, looking into her Butterbeer. He shared a worried look with Hermione and Deanna, who had seen the whole thing from the vantage point of their seats.
“For once, I’m glad that Ron’s late,” Deanna muttered to Hermione. “Rodney wouldn’t have made it out of here alive.”
“Don’t tell Ron!” Ginny suddenly said. She looked scared now.
“Ginny-”
“Please, Deanna. Don’t tell him. He’ll go and do something stupid. I don’t want him to get into trouble. It’s all over now.”
“Has he hit you before, Ginny?” Hermione asked gently, reaching over for the younger woman’s hand. Ginny shook her head.
“No. But he’s hardly a gentleman. I know none of you liked him. You don’t have to pretend anymore. Not for my sake.”
“We didn’t like him,” said Harry “because he didn’t deserve you. He didn’t treat you like a princess and you don’t deserve anything less.”
Ginny nodded, not looking convinced. She looked at Harry for a moment before getting up.
“I’m really quite tired now. I think I’ll get off home.”
“Are you sure?” Hermione asked with concern. Ginny nodded.
“Yes. I should probably talk to Mum anyway.”
Before any of them could reply, Ginny had rushed out of the door to Apparate to the Burrow.
***
The Burrow. The Lunchtime After The Night Before.
“Is she all right?” Harry asked. He’d Apparated to the Burrow to check up on Ginny after reading the Prophet that morning. Molly sighed.
“She says so. Although I don’t really believe her. Did she really hit him?”
“Yes.”
Molly looked a little conflicted for a moment before answering, “Good for her.”
“I know,” Harry said with a smile. “Where is she?”
“Out in the garden setting up for lunch. Will the rest of the Potters be joining us?”
“Hermione was trying to make Kitty get dressed when I left. I wanted to make sure Ginny was OK. They’ll be along soon.”
“Good. I hope you can get more out of her than me.”
Harry squeezed Molly’s hand and then stepped out into the garden. Ginny was busily preparing the table for lunch. When she saw him approach, she stopped.
“Don’t bother asking, Harry. I’m really fine. I even went and got the things I’d left at his flat. I’m fine. See? Witness me being fine.”
“Ginny-”
“Don’t Ginny me, Harry! What would you know about it anyway?”
“OK, that’s enough,” Harry slammed down the fork she was about to place down. He took her by the arm and sat her down. “Talk to me, Ginny.”
“What about?” she asked stubbornly. Harry was suddenly quite glad he never had to contend with a five-year-old Ginny.
“About what’s going on in your head. About anything you need to talk about.”
“I don’t need to talk about anything.”
“Yes, you do. Your mother is in that kitchen worried sick about you because you’re pretending everything is OK.”
“Harry... I...”
“Why would you stay with that bloody fool?” he asked. “He treated you alternately like a child or a servant. You can do better than that.”
“Can I?”
“Of course you can! Ginny Weasley, you’re one of the most beautiful witches around! And you’re kind, sweet, loyal, generous, funny. Do you want me to go on?”
“No. You’re wrong. I’m just yet another in a long line of Weasleys.”
“You’re bonkers, woman! Any bloke would be insane to turn you down.”
“You did,” she said. Harry didn’t reply and instead looked down and the ground. He really had no idea what to say.
“So many girls lost their hearts to you, Harry. But you only gave yours to one girl. You never even noticed the rest of us.”
“I never-”
“I understand, Harry, I really do. And you know, I’m not in love with you. Perhaps I never really was. But you see, whatever it was, you’re the first person I thought I loved. Not many people end up with their first loves, and I don’t think I really wanted to. But you did. You got your idyllic life with Hermione. And I’m happier for you than I can describe but... It’s not that I want you, I really don’t. But I want what you have.”
“I know Ginny,” Harry told her, hugging her warmly. “And whoever he is, he’s out there waiting for you. There are wizards out there willing to worship the ground you walk on if you’ll just give them the chance.”
“Really? Who?”
“I can’t tell you, silly! But I reckon that Draco Malfoy has his eye on you,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye.
“Draco?” Ginny’s mouth dropped open in shock. Harry grinned. “Are you aware that you just recommended Draco Malfoy to me?”
“Well, I don’t know for sure. But he seemed very concerned about you last night. He’s not a bad bloke really. Once you get past the deeply entrenched snobbery, one-upmanship and sarcastic remarks.”
“Oh yeah,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “He’s the picture of masculine perfection.”
“Hello!” Hermione’s voice floated through the garden. They looked up to see her standing at the back door, waving to them. Ginny watched as Harry’s entire face lit up and he drank in the vision before him of the woman he loved more than anyone. No, she realised with a bittersweet smile, she’d never had a chance. Then as she saw Hermione smile at Harry, her entire face lighting up as she saw him, she realised that she didn’t even mind.
***
Lunch was a raucous affair that Sunday. Everyone was wholly relieved that Rodney was out of the picture, even if they didn’t say it to Ginny’s face (although Fred did say it to her face). Draco sat at the other end of the table talking animatedly with Molly about what he should do about Flynn’s pre-occupation with turning his father’s hair red. Ginny looked at him in what she hoped was a surreptitious manner. Once, he caught her eye and smiled quite sweetly. Draco Malfoy talking to Molly Weasley about children while smiling sweetly at Ginny. What had happened to him since leaving school? Was it really conceivable that Draco Malfoy had even noticed the youngest Weasley child? Did she want him to notice her?
***
“Hey Ginny,” Draco said quietly. Dinner was long over, the sun was about to sink beneath the horizon and she had just had to escape the melee inside the house. Escape meant sitting almost out of sight under a tree in the garden.
“Hello Draco.”
“I... I won’t ask if you’re OK.”
“All right.”
“I mean, it’s not that I don’t care... I just, you look fine. I mean-”
“I am fine, thank you Draco,” she said kindly, finding it highly amusing and uncharacteristic of him to be so tongue tied.
“That’s good. I mean, last night... I was ready to hit him myself.”
“You were?”
“Of course. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“I think so, Draco.”
Draco kicked at the grass, not quite looking at her.
“There’s something I’ve never said to you. I should’ve said it a long time ago, but I’m really something of a coward.”
“Yes?” she asked, caught between amusement and concern at his behaviour.
“My father... I’m sorry for what he did to you, you know, in your First year. With the diary and... everything.”
She wasn’t sure what she thought he was going to say, but that wasn’t it.
“Oh. Well, all right. Thank you.”
“I just wanted to tell you that. I mean, I want you to know that I’m not like him. My father, I mean.”
“I know that. You think you’d be anywhere near the Burrow if any of us thought you were?”
“Well,”
“You know Draco,” she said, getting up, “keep this up and you might make a fine human being one day.”
So she made sure he knew she was being light hearted, she reached over and gave him the briefest of pecks on the cheek.
“Come inside,” she said. “It’s getting cold.”
*
The End?
Chapter Summary: Being Harry Potter’s daughter isn’t always the easiest thing in the whole wide world.
Family
Ruairi House, April 2007.
There were some days when Lilyella just hated being a Potter. It didn’t usually when she was at home with other Potters, except when Kitty had managed to get both of them into trouble with one of her Great Plans and Schemes.
Usually, Lilyella hated being a Potter when she was around people who were decidedly not Potters. Like Courtney Beaufoy, a girl a year ahead of her at Hogsmeade Primary School. She had clearly vowed to make Lilyella as miserable as possible. Or Thomas Shilbottle, one of the boys in her class. He liked to annoy her by suggesting that she was a teachers’ pet because the teachers were all scared of her dad. Thomas himself, of course, proclaimed that he was not scared of Harry Potter, but always ran in the opposite direction if Harry picked up the twins from school. People either tried to make friends with her just because she was Harry Potter’s daughter or they hated her.
If Kitty suffered from the same, she didn’t tell her twin. On the contrary, Kitty thrived on the Potter legend and was one of the most popular girls in school. Lilyella wasn’t sure if it was her surname or Kit’s naturally vivacious nature that made her so.
She hated being a Potter at other times too. Like a few weeks ago, when her class was asked to write about their grandparents. She didn’t have grandparents to write about. What was she to say exactly, that an evil wizard killed them, but don’t worry, Daddy got his own back a few years later? Was she to tell them that she had no grandparents because the other two had come to despise the magical world for taking their daughter away from them? Lilyella wasn’t supposed to know that, strictly speaking. But she heard things. She hadn’t seen her Granger grandparents since she was two years old.
Again, Kitty didn’t seem bothered by any of this. When called upon to write about an aunt, she wrote about Auntie Deanna who designed clothes or Auntie Angie who was a Quidditch star. An uncle? What about Uncle Bill the tomb raider or Uncle Charlie the Dragon man? When asked about grandparents, she wrote about Molly and Arthur. Lilyella couldn’t do that. They were Weasleys and she wasn’t.
Lilyella loved the Weasleys, she really did, but sometimes... it didn’t really feel like family to her. Friends. Very good friends, but were they really family? She was sure that every time she arrived at the Burrow she had a big flashing sign above her head that said ‘Not Family’ or something. And tomorrow she was going to be surrounded by Weasleys. Her muddy brown hair would stick out like a sore thumb amongst all the red. It was Fred and George’s big birthday party and all the Weasleys would be there. Despite knowing that her best friend Paul would be there, she was still dreading it. It was a family occasion, and surely she wasn’t family?
The day arrived as days do, this one obscenely bright and sunny for April. Lilyella was woken up by her mother and half-heartedly dressed herself in her favourite blue robes. Then, as they always did, the Potters Flooed to the Burrow. Harry always went first, then Kit, then Lilyella and then Hermione went last with Richard because he was too little to go on his own. As always, the Potters were bombarded with greetings on their arrival. Lilyella hung back awkwardly before they were all herded outside into the garden. As she watched everyone else, she noticed with a miniscule smile that a couple of dizzy gnomes were already battling their way back into the garden.
Throughout the day, Lilyella’s mood was quite dark. She wasn’t even moved by Fred’s spirited demonstration of the latest Wheeze.
“Ella dear!” Molly called to her. “Don’t you want some pumpkin juice?” Lilyella shook her head. She didn’t notice the worried look shared between Molly and Arthur, who had both been watching her all day. Arthur paused whatever conversation he was having with Sirius and came over to her.
“Lilyella!” he said excitedly. “I’ve got something I’ve just got to show you!”
“Really?” Lilyella’s voice was curious if still toneless. She loved the weird things he managed to acquire. She took his hand and they went into the new outhouse Arthur had built with money from WWW. In the centre of the room stood a television. Not just any television, but a particularly old one from about 1970. It had huge buttons and a dial for the volume.
“I’ve been trying to get it to work,” said Arthur, looking and sounding a lot like mad professor. “I know it needs eckeltricity but I still can’t get it to work.”
“You need an aerial,” Lilyella said in the knowledgeable manner of a seven year old.
“Oh.... Well it didn’t come with one of those,” he said, sitting down in a big red armchair. Lilyella remained standing by the television. Arthur smiled at her.
“What’s up, chickadee?” he asked. Arthur had a nickname for all his grandchildren and this was Lilyella’s.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? You’ve been walking around like the Cannons got beaten by Puddlemere.”
Lilyella remained standing alone. Arthur sighed sadly, trying to think what he could say.
“You know, most people think I’m a little bit batty what with all my Muggle bits and bobs. But I remember when you used to sit in here for hours watching Ron and I muck about with these things. I remember how proud you were when you first wired a plug. You came running over, jumped on my lap and bellowed in my ear ‘Granddad! Look what I did!’”
Lilyella burst into tears. Without a second thought, Arthur pulled her onto his lap and rocked her gently until the sobs had quieted a little.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asked.
“You’re... not really...” she stammered “my Granddad. I’m not really a Weasley.”
Arthur did something quite curious. He laughed.
“Oh chickadee, that’s not important.”
“But...”
“It doesn’t matter, love. You’ve been family since the day you were born. Probably even before that. The name isn’t what’s important. It’s not even having red hair.”
Lilyella hiccupped and giggled slightly.
“I met your dad when he was 12. He was a scrawny little thing, black hair sticking up all over the place and those glasses. He was Ron’s best friend and then later that same year, he saved my daughter’s life. It’s things like that which make a family, not a name. It must be hard not to have James and Lily here, but even if they were, we’d all still be family,” he paused for a moment. “You would’ve liked James a lot. And he would’ve loved you. But if it’s all right with you, Molly and I would like to stand in for him and Lily.”
“I...”
“Lilyella, you are a Potter. You always will be. But you’re also a member of a big Potter-Weasley family. Have you ever heard the saying that ‘you can choose your friends-”
“But you can’t choose your family,” she finished.
“That’s right. But we did. We all chose. And we are family. When we’re all out there, it doesn’t matter what your surname is. You’re Lilyella, I’m Granddad. Ron is Ron, Paul is Paul, Fred is George and George is Fred.”
For the first time that day, Lilyella really laughed. Then, she thought of something.
“Granddad?” she asked. He smiled. “I could ask Daddy if he has an aerial for the television.”
“Or...” Arthur grinned impishly. “We could try some magic on it.
Lilyella jumped up and began pulling at his hand.
“Come on then! Maybe we can get it to work by dinner time.”
Harry had noticed Lilyella’s mood. He had in fact, noticed her growing unease for some time. He worried about her sometimes. She was more sensitive that Kathleen, who felt like she had all the answers to all the questions in her life. Harry made his way through the garden until he heard Lilyella’s tinkling laugh- a child’s version of Hermione’s laugh. He turned the corner and smiled at what he saw. Through the open door he saw Arthur tinkering with a clapped-out old telly and Lilyella sat on the floor beside him calling out suggestions.
At dinner, Lilyella excitedly told Bill all about the television before getting into an ice cream eating competition with Paul, George, Ron and Maura. Harry caught his daughter’s eye and she sent a blinding, happy smile his way. She had found her place in the family and now she understood.
*
The End.... at the moment.
Chapter Summary: Halloween is always a bad time of year. Only the kind of bad seems to change.
A Very Potter Halloween
Ruairi House, Windermere. 31st October 2007
“Harry! Are you ready yet?” Hermione called up the stairs. She heard a muffled voice reply, but as it was likely a curse, she didn’t listen too carefully.
“Mummy!” Now another voice demanded Hermione’s attention. She turned back into the living room. This was usually a fairly neatly kept room but at present looked like a bomb had hit a sweet shop and craft shop and the two had been terribly mixed up.
“Yes Kitty?” she asked, looking down at her seven year old daughter.
“I’ve changed my mind,” said the raven-haired girl, her green eyes glittering with untold mischief. “I don’t want to go as Angelina. I bet everyone will go as Angelina.”
“But you were adamant that Angelina was your hero and you wanted to go to the party as her,” Hermione reminded her daughter gently.
“But Rain said she was going as Angelina. I don’t want to be the same as Rain!”
“Well, what do you want to be? Bearing in mind that we’re meant to Floo to the Burrow in five minutes.”
“I want to go as... I want to go as...” Kitty began to give this serious consideration.
“Mummy? I’m ready now.” Hermione turned. The eldest twin, Lilyella, was standing in the doorway. She’d chosen to go as a fairy princess and her dress sparkled in the light, changing colour from pink to blue every so often. Her brown hair was curled up just as Hermione had done it five minutes ago and her green eyes sparkled as brightly as her dress.
“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” breathed Hermione. Lilyella blushed quite furiously and came further into the room.
“You really think so?”
“Yes dear. Don’t eat all of those sweets now,” she said as Lilyella’s hand crept into the large bag of sweets. The fairy princess had the good grace to look abashed and moved away from the temptation of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans.
“Mummy!” shouted Kitty. “I’ve thought of what I want to go as!”
She was practically hopping up and down in her Official Angelina Weasley Chudley Cannons(TM) uniform.
“I want to go as... him!” she pronounced, shoving a Muggle CD under Hermione’s nose.
“John Lennon, dear?” she asked doubtfully. She had been playing the girls some of the Beatles’ music, but hadn’t thought either had liked it much.
“Yes! I want to go as John Lennon. He’s the bestest wizard ever.”
“Yeah, but he pretended to be a Muggle,” said Lilyella. “How stupid is that?”
“Don’t you call him stupid, Ellie!”
“Don’t call me Ellie!”
“Stop!” Hermione shouted before a full-scale fight could break out. “Don’t call her Ellie. Lilyella, don’t make fun of John Lennon. Now, Kitty come here.”
Hermione paused for a moment.
“I’m going to transfigure your Cannon uniform for the night, all right?”
“Yes Mummy,” said Kitty, minding a little that her precious replica Angelina kit might be ruined, but not wanting to wind up her mother any more and risk losing sweet privileges. Hermione worked for a moment to transfigure the bright orange Quidditch robe into a grey collarless suit fit for a Beatle. Then she simply combed Kitty’s hair.
“Accio Sleekeasys!” she called. The tube of straightener flew down the stairs into her hand and from there she tamed Kitty’s usually untamed hair into something to make any Beatle fan proud.
“There!”
“Do I look like John Lennon, Mummy?” Kitty asked eagerly. Hermione nodded.
“Now, where’s your father?” she asked. As if on cue, Harry Potter came down the stairs with his two year old son in his arms.
“We’re ready!” he said brightly. The lion animagus was dressed up as... a lion, while his son was dressed in a furry suit to match. “You’re not ready, Hermione.”
“Yes I am.”
“What are you going as?”
“Watch,” she said. She waved her wand once and was dressed from head to toe in a fine gold costume.
“Cleopatra, Hermione? That’s not very, well, you.”
“That’s the point dear,” she said, adjusted her braided wig. “It’s Halloween. Now, hands out for Floo powder.”
She gave out rations of the powder to the girls, who then got into the fire and shouted ‘The Burrow!’.
“You want me to take Richard?” she asked.
“Nah. We’ll make a better entrance this way,” Harry said with a lopsided grin. “You look... fantastic.”
“Like Elizabeth Taylor?” she asked. His face was a blank. “Never mind. I’ll fill you in later. You first.”
***
“Hermione! You look beautiful!” called Ginny Weasley, herself dressed as Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz (a popular factual book for magical children) right down to the ruby slippers. The Burrow was filled with people dressed as weird and wonderful things. Many people had attempted a go at dressing like Muggles for the event with varying degrees of success. The party was mostly held in the garden despite the cold spell that had hit Britain over the last few days.
“Did Harry and Richard get here all right?” Hermione asked Ginny. Ginny nodded.
“Yes. They got taken outside as soon as they got here. Richard makes the sweetest little lion cub I’ve ever seen. Although Harry looks more like the Cowardly Lion. Me and him make quite the pair. Especially with Percy here as the Scarecrow.”
“Percy came as the Scarecrow?” Hermione didn’t bother hiding her surprise.
“Penny made him,” said Ginny with a snicker. “Let’s go outside. Bill’s doing the food. Should be ready soon.”
They headed out into the crisp October evening. The garden was full of adults and children all dressed in various costumes. Although some looked oddly familiar....
“Ginny...” she started. Ginny laughed, knowing what Hermione was about to say.
“So far, I’ve counted eleven Harrys, six Hermiones and six Rons.”
True enough, a group of children dressed as school-age Harry Potters were stood talking to several Hermiones and Rons. Each had the messy black hair, the slightly wrinkled Gryffindor robes. Two were clutching fake Snitches. Three Hermiones were carrying fake copies of Hogwarts: A History. One of the Rons had a plate piled high with food balanced precariously on his knee.
“Can you believe this?” Harry asked as he saw Hermione and Ginny.
“I think it’s sweet!” said Ginny.
“Strange. The word is strange,” Harry amended. Ginny just laughed and headed off to the food table.
They mingled for a while, meeting and greeting Charlie and his family who were visiting from Croatia. Hermione cooed over Anna, the two month old daughter of Charlie and Romana who was making her very first visit to Britain, while Harry got into an in-depth conversation with Romana about dragon-rearing.
Lilyella and Kitty had gravitated of course, towards the other children. Both found it highly amusing that most of their friends had come as their mum and dad. Rain Weasley, daughter of Ron and best friend to Kitty, hadn’t come as Angelina either.
“But you said you were going to!” she protested, suddenly deciding she didn’t like her Martin Miggs costume at all. “I only didn’t come as Angelina because you were going to!”
“Well, I didn’t because of you!” countered Kitty. “But I think my new costume is much better anyway!”
Lilyella’s best friend was George Weasley’s son Paul. He’d come as a Filibuster Firework- his father’s idea. At certain intervals, red and gold sparks shot out of his sleeves. It had, he proclaimed proudly, been his dad’s idea and creation.
“Where’s Ron?” asked Hermione. “Or Deanna, for that matter?”
“No idea. Rain’s here. Haven’t seen either of them,” Harry replied, looking around for his friend.
“Hi guys!” They turned to see Deanna, Ron’s wife, standing in the kitchen doorway. She was dressed up as Harry as he was during the final battle, down to the messy black hair, dragon-hide trousers and a replica of Gryffindor’s sword.
“Deanna! You look fabulous!” exclaimed Hermione. “Although the robes look a little long for you.”
“It’s Ron’s old school uniform. Genuine stuff these. Not the fake Harry Potter costumes they were selling down Diagon Alley.”
“Where is Ron?” asked Harry.
“Oh Harree!” a voice screeched at a rather high pitch. The entire party fell silent. From the kitchen emerged a woman with impossibly bushy brown hair. Ron had come as Hermione. Everyone burst into noisy, raucous laughter. Ron was wearing what were probably Ginny’s old school robes and his fake breasts were far too large for them. His hairy legs were visible where they were too short, although he’d shoved his feet into a pair of girl’s shoes. On his face, someone had drawn the lipstick particularly badly while his eyes looked rather more like a panda’s than Hermione’s. Unlike the little girls who made do with one fake copy of Hogwarts: A History, Ron was carrying a huge pile of books.
“I do NOT look like that, Ronald!” yelled Hermione. More laughter.
“Oh Harree! I simply must do some more studying tonight. No snogs for you!”
“Thank God for that,” replied Harry, having no luck with not laughing.
“What does he look like?” called another voice. Maura Kennealy had arrived, her daughter Deirdre in tow. For her part, she’d come as a wizard, being a Muggle herself. She had long emerald green robes on and a pointy hat to match. Deirdre had come as a warrior queen, complete with the shield of Connaught.
“Maura! Come help me study more!” screeched Ron-Hermione as he bounded around the garden to the amusement of all present.
“Naff off, Hermione,” she said.
“Charming,” said Real-Hermione.
“Aw, I don’t mean it. You look nice. Very Egyptian,” said Maura as she hugged her old friend.
“Well, actually, Cleopatra was mostly Greek. Her ancestor Ptolemy was an advisor to Alexander the Great...” she stopped herself. “Sorry. Ron’s right.”
“Ron is never right,” cracked Maura.
“I heard that!” Ron-Hermione called.
“You were meant to!” Maura shot back immediately. “You all right Hermione?”
“Yes. You?”
“Can’t complain. Not too much work to be done at the moment. Went to visit Narcissa. Jamie’s got dead big. Like that lion cub I just met. Speaking of...”
Maura pointed to where Sirius Black was watching over his son Jamie and godson Richard. Jamie, for his part, was dressed as a black dog.
“I think Sirius and Harry swapped notes on costumes, you know,” said Hermione with a grin.
“Oh Harree!” Ron-Hermione screeched again. Hermione growled.
“I’m going to kill him.”
“He didn’t exactly have an original idea, did he? All these Harrys and Hermiones? I’m very scared.”
“Thanks. Hi Maura,” said Harry, approaching with two glasses of pumpkin juice. He hugged his friend before handing her one of the glasses. “I think he’ll behave now. I threatened to deflate his breasts.”
“Oh bloody Hell!” said Hermione. “Look at that pumpkin.”
She pointed at one of the pumpkins floating above the tables. It had a wide smile and a scar in its ‘forehead’. Harry could only laugh.
“I’m going to have nightmares, you know,” he said. “I haven’t seen this many Harrys in one place since I got drunk and stumbled into a three-way mirror at Harrods.
“When were you drunk in Harrods?” Hermione demanded. Harry looked abashed.
“Never. It must’ve been a dream I had. About someone else.”
“Dinner time everyone!” called Molly Weasley over the din. Slowly, everyone filed to the tables to eat.
***
A number of hours later, the Potter family arrived back home through the fireplace. The children were immediately put to bed, but they were so tired that there were no complaints. Then Harry and Hermione readied themselves for bed.
“No!” Harry called as Hermione prepared to take off her Cleopatra costume. He grinned devilishly. “Keep it on.”
“You get worse, you know.”
“I try. Have a good night?”
“Once Ronald calmed down. I’m going to have words with that boy.”
“It was a joke, Hermione. Do you remember them?”
“Yes. But Deanna didn’t mercilessly take the mickey out of you did she?”
“Well there was one moment-”
“Oh be quiet. Just answer me one thing, Harry Potter. Did you find Ron as me remotely attractive?”
Harry hooted with laughter.
“Are you mad, woman? He looked like all blokes do when they dress up as girls. About as feminine as Hagrid.”
“Good,” Hermione sighed. “He was awfully funny, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. Speaking of, you didn’t think Deanna was...”
“No dear. Dragon hide looks much better on you.”
“I’ll bear that in mind. Now, where would you like me, your Majesty?”
“Well, next year I want you to swear that we’ll get them back.”
“Done.”
“Right. Now, Mark Antony.......”
*
The End of sorts.
Chapter Summary: Sometimes it’s hard to be alone.
*
A Maura Moment
Connaught Manor, Co. Galway. November 2008.
The wind whipped from the fierce autumn seas over the cliffs and towards a lone woman standing near the edge. The wind caused the woman’s long red hair to fly up and around her pale, thin face. The only colour in her face was provided by a pair of eyes the shade of blue ice. She stood, not caring about the chill winds that made her black trench coat swirl around her as if she were one of those ancient banshees from around these parts.
“It is better to have loved and lost than never have loved at all,” she murmured. The words were carried away on the air. As she said it, she wasn’t convinced of their truth. Perhaps it was that she’d only ever known love for a fleeting moment before it had been stolen from her.
Maura’s home was so isolated from the few friends she had that sometimes she almost forgot she had them. Making friends had never come naturally to her, and if she was honest, they had worked to make friends with her, not the other way around.
Her friends were magical, but she didn’t think they were psychic (although Ron had his moments). Yet, every time she felt truly isolated or truly alone, they’d do something to prove her wrong. She was a lot lonelier since her daughter had started at Hogwarts and was away for most of the year. Maura was, at thirty, an old woman who had seen and done things most people would never see in a complete lifetime. Her work during a frenetic three year period had ensured peace and quite for most of Europe- at least from mystical and magical forces. It also meant that Maura Kennealy Richards was bored. She was born for action and she’d done very little for a long time. She hadn’t noticed when Deirdre was around, but now... She almost felt like starting a fight to have something to do. Almost.
Money wasn’t an issue. She had a particularly large amount of the stuff- a legacy that had its beginnings with Queen Maeve herself. She didn’t need to work and she didn’t really want to. Yet, she needed to do something. All this alone time was making her think and it was her strict policy not to think. Thinking brought ghosts to her. The parents she treated so coldly all her life. George, even Katerina. Especially Kat. She wondered where Kat was, if she was happy, if she was even still alive. Yes, the ghosts came back to her when she allowed herself to think.
She turned away from the sea and trudged back to the house. The house was part of the legacy too- it had been built by an Heir in the 1800s and stood overlooking the West Coast of Ireland. Maura shivered as she took her coat off and let it fall to the marble floor of the hallway. She slumped down in a chair in the sitting room and tried to keep her ghosts at bay.
Then, a voice jolted her from her dark mood. A small boy of about eight years, with messy blond hair came barrelling out of the fireplace.
“Auntie Maura!” he squealed excitedly. She got up from her seat and allowed the boy to bounce at her and wrap his arms around her.
“Hello Flynn,” she told him with a smile. The ghosts disappeared. “Where’s your dad?”
“Here,” announced Draco Malfoy, stepping out of the fire, hair immaculate even after a long Floo journey.
“Draco, what bring you here?” she asked, taking his coat.
“Flynn wanted to visit you.”
Ah, she thought, Flynn Malfoy: the most spoiled boy in Europe. And according to his grandmother, his father had been exactly the same. Maura smirked. Flynn missed out on the Death Eater training, at least. They settled down and began talking about the things he’d been doing at school, and he presented her with a picture he’d drawn of her.
So once again, Maura was saved from her ghosts by her friends. They may not have been psychic, but it felt like it sometimes.
*
To be continued…
Chapter Summary: There have been First Days before, but none quite like this one.
*
Another First Day
Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft & Wizardry. 1st September, 2011.
The new First years crammed into the entrance hall, waiting eagerly for admittance to the Great Hall for the first time. They chattered amongst themselves while they waited. Some of them looked particularly nervous about what the mysterious Sorting might entail, while some looked quite cocky, prepared to take on anything or anyone.
“My dad said that we have to wrestle a giant troll,” said one wide-eyed boy, his auburn hair falling into his eyes. The brunette girl standing beside him sighed dramatically.
“That’s not true,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “That’s just your dad winding you up.”
“Why would he do that?” the boy asked. Another roll of the eyes followed.
“Because that’s what he does. He winds people up for a living.”
“He’s made loads of money from wind-ups,” added another girl. She had the same green eyes as the first girl, but instead of slightly bushy brown hair, hers was the colour of raven feathers and particularly unruly.
“So we won’t have to fight a troll?” the boy asked, looking equal parts relieved and disappointed.
“I doubt it,” answered the brown-haired girl with cynicism.
“Well, my dad said we have to do some sort of magic test,” said another girl. She had red hair like the boy, although hers was a little darker. In contrast to the boy’s concern, she seemed quite confident. The raven-haired girl looked at her with a particularly sceptical look.
“Right,” she drawled. “Like I’m going to believe him.”
“Why wouldn’t you?” the redhead asked hotly.
“Because he makes stuff up all the time! I mean, last week he told us that in their first year, him and my dad rescued my mum from a troll.”
“I didn’t believe that either,” admitted the redhead. “What do you think we do then, Kit?”
The raven-haired girl, Kit, contemplated this for a moment.
“Mum says we put on a hat and it reads our minds.” This suggestion earned more scoffing than the troll idea. “It’s true! Deirdre said it’s true too,” she said vehemently.
Before she could continue, however, a tall man in black robes entered. He looked particularly unpleasant and intimidating to the group of eleven year olds.
“I am the Deputy Headmaster, Professor Snape,” he said in a low, threatening voice intended to command complete respect and obedience. “First years, in a moment you will join your classmates in the Great Hall. First you must be sorted into your houses. They are Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Over the next seven years your house will become like your family. If you misbehave you will lose your house points. If you work hard and obey the rules, you will earn your house points.”
He turned and opened the huge doors into the Great Hall. Everyone inside turned to watch the ‘ickle firsties’ enter.
“Follow me. And no talking,” demanded Snape. He led them down the length of the Great Hall towards the Head Table. A quite kindly looking witch was standing at the centre place at the table and smiled at the new students.
Minerva McGonagall, head teacher since 2000, leaned over to Remus Lupin, the Defence of the Dark Arts teacher and Head of Gryffindor House.
“I suspect you’ll be getting a lot of new students Remus,” she said pointing to the redheads and the green-eyed girls.
“Quite,” he said with a grin. The black haired girl waved at him and he grinned back. After the Hat’s mercifully brief song, the sorting began with ‘Appleton, Elsa‘. The new first years looked rather disappointed that the Sorting only involved putting on a very worn hat, with the exception of the raven-haired girl, who smirked triumphantly.
“Malfoy, Flynn!” barked Snape. A blond boy with fine-boned features elbowed Kit out of the way, stepped up to the stool and smirked at the other First years. The hat stayed on his head for a moment or two before shouting out:
“Slytherin!”
McGonagall leaned over to Lupin again as the Sorting continued. “I rather feel like I’ve stepped back twenty years in time.”
“Well, if my memory serves, he’s barely old enough to be in this year.”
“Had he been born thirty minutes later, he’d have to wait until next year,” Minerva confirmed. “I had Draco owling me over the summer to make sure that his son would be included in this year.”
“Potter, Kathleen,” called Snape. The raven-haired girl stepped up eagerly. The hat was on her head for about half a second.
“Gryffindor!”
“Potter, Lilyella,” said Snape. The brown-haired girl now stepped up looking a little more apprehensive than her sister. The hat spent about as much time on her as it had with Kathleen.
“Gryffindor!”
“I’m not surprised,” said Remus to Minerva.
“Neither am I,” she said. “I don’t think Harry and Hermione even know how to raise a Slytherin child.” Remus chuckled as the Potter girls joined the Gryffindor table to cheers.
“Weasley, Paul,” said Snape. The slightly nervous red-haired boy sat on the stool.
“Gryffindor!
“Weasley, Rain.” Now it was the bolshie redhead’s turn.
“Gryffindor!” The hat spent as much time on the two Weasleys as it had on the Potters.
“Has there ever been a Weasley who wasn’t a Gryffindor?” asked Remus.
“Yes, but he was in the year above Albus.”
“That long ago?”
“Yes. He was a Hufflepuff, I believe,” said the Headmistress. Remus looked over at the redhead girl.
“Whatever possessed Ron to name his kid Rain?” he wondered. McGonagall smiled.
“He didn’t want his children to have normal names. Ron always did try to set himself apart a little from the rest of the Weasleys. He likes to be individual. Although Remus, is it true he named his son Bowie?”
“No. That was one of his ideas, but Deanna vetoed it pretty quickly. The boy’s called Romeo.”
“Romeo Weasley?”
“Yes.”
“Dear God. When will he be arriving here?”
“September 2022.”
***
“We just knew you’d be in Gryffindor,” said Danita Weasley with a grin as the feast began. Danita and her twin Robert were second years and as such, old hands at the Sorting game.
“It tried to argue with me,” said Kitty. “Mentioned something about Slytherin. When I started arguing back, it told me it was having me on and that I should ask my dad.”
“He nearly got put in Slytherin,” said Lilyella knowledgeably. “Because he and Voldemort shared a connection. Voldemort’s why Dad can speak Parseltongue.”
“I think it’s creepy,” said Rain. “The way he hisses and snakes do as he tells them.”
“It was handy when we went to Egypt on hols the other year,” said Kitty. “He talked an asp out of biting me.”
“That’s cool,” said Paul, bravado back now that he didn’t have to worry about the Sorting.
“Well, my dad’s a cool bloke,” said Kitty confidently.
“Yeah?” Paul challenged. “My dad invents fireworks and fake wands and pranks.”
They were on the verge of a huge argument about who had the coolest parents, when Robert suddenly spoke up.
“Well, my mum’s the greatest Chudley Cannon in the last four hundred years.”
The argument was finished right there. They were all passionate, dyed-in-the-wool Cannon fans and they considered Angelina Weasley to be a goddess amongst women and Quidditch players.
***
That night, they all settled down into their new beds in their new dormitories.
“Ella?” Kitty whispered, snuggled down in her bed.
“Yes Kitty?” her sister replied with a yawn.
“Do you think we’ll like Hogwarts?”
“I’m sure we will,” Ella assured her.
“I mean, as much as Hogsmeade Primary?”
“Kitty, how do I know? I don’t have a crystal ball and we don’t get Divination lessons until the Third year.”
“You don’t need to be mean about it. I was just asking.”
“Go to sleep.”
“But-”
“Go to sleep!” another one of the girls called out. “You’re not at home anymore and some of us want to sleep.”
Kitty, feeling quite thoroughly told off, curled up into a ball. As a feeling of homesickness hit her, she remembered that Gryffindor had a good Quidditch team. Hogsmeade Primary had only played boring old Kid Quidditch, so this new place couldn’t be all bad.
“Night Kitty,” her sister whispered in a voice intended to soothe her.
“Night Ella!” she whispered excitedly. It was going to be good here, she’d make sure of that.
*
The End... but not really.
Chapter Summary: Because everyone has shadows in their past and everyone sees the shades of grey.
*
Black. White. Shades of Grey.
Dogstar, Alderley Edge, Cheshire. November 2011.
“You’re mental, woman!”
“Not half as off my trolley as you are!”
Sirius and Narcissa Black’s arguments always ended up plumbing the depths of adolescent insults. She’d always thought it was because it was easier that way, because then it was never entirely serious.
They’d only been married for eight years, but it always felt like much longer. It was probably something to do with them having known each other for so many years. Was it since they were eleven, or before?
She remembered now: Salome Parkinson’s fifth birthday in 1968. Sirius and Narcissa were both eight years old. It was one of Narcissa’s first run-ins with the snooty pureblood set- her father, upright and moral Roger Richards, had managed to keep his precious girl away from the nastier elements of the magical world. Her mother Bathsheba, on the other hand, was a Borgia through and through, and was more than happy to have her precious girl mixing with the Parkinsons, Borgias, Malfoys, Blacks and other ‘Pureblood and Proud’ families.
It turned out that Narcissa didn’t much enjoy spending her day with the snobby children. Although it had been Salome Parkinson’s birthday, only two people stood out in her mind. The first was an older boy, who stood out for his complete, flat-out refusal to join in with the little kids. He was clearly there under duress and made no effort to disguise his contempt for the proceedings. Narcissa remembered two things about him clearly: his sneer and his shining, golden hair. She hadn’t spoken to Lucius Malfoy that day, but remembered him just the same.
The other was a boy only eleven days older than Narcissa, but just as unhappy to be there as Lucius. Although he was wearing the same kind of fancy dress robes as every other child, his looked so much scruffier, as if he’d slept in them for two days before coming to the party. His black hair was messy and he had ink on his hands. She remembered the ink well, and being shocked that anyone would be happy to walk around like that. He wasn’t at all happy about being at the party, but where Lucius Malfoy sat quietly sneering, this boy chose to wreak havoc instead. His mother had been forced to take him home, while his little brother stayed behind and got cake. Narcissa knew even then, that the black haired boy had got exactly what he wanted. He always did.
Almost always, anyway.
***
“I don’t see why this is such a problem!” Narcissa yelled at Sirius, who made a derisive sort of snorting sound.
“It’s a problem because you want to take my son to the grave of one of Voldemort’s groupies instead of going to the Burrow for Halloween!”
“My mother was NOT one of Voldemort’s groupies!” she shrieked, vaguely aware that this was not going to be the sort of argument that was resolved by willingly descending to childish banter.
“No? What do you call an addled minded old broad who kills herself the day after he was defeated by baby Harry Potter?”
“She believed in what he believed in, not the methods!”
“Just like every other pureblood. After Voldemort lost,” Sirius sniped.
“Perhaps so, but she was my mother, Sirius!” she shouted. “My mother! She wasn’t perfect, and I never agreed with her about that stuff, but she was my mother nonetheless.”
“A bad one, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you,” she said tartly. “It’s thirty years. I just want to see her. I hardly ever go down there these days.”
“Fine, but why do you have to take Jamie?”
“Because it’s his grandmother! I just want him to see the stone. Just once, so he knows he had a grandmother!”
“You don’t see me dragging him to the Black crypt to prove the existence of a grandmother.”
“I know. But I never hated my mother.”
“Well more fool you,” he shouted, and she knew she’d crossed a line bringing his mother into it. There was only one rule to talking about Sirius’ family: don’t. Still, she was determined on this point.
“I’m taking him down there and there isn’t a thing you can do about it!”
“Why can’t you go the day after? The day your bloody mother actually died!”
“Because, as you well know, Jamie has school that day! I can’t just pull him out of school!”
“So go on your own!”
“Don’t make me explain again, Sirius!”
“What do you care about some bloody Borgia anyway? Bunch of inbred, bigoted, evil and semi-evil... morons!”
“How dare you!”
“Like you care about the Borgias! Come on, you know you don’t! What’s this about?”
“She was my mother, Sirius! I loved her! After my dad died, she was all I had.”
“She sold you to Lucius Malfoy!”
“No she didn’t!”
“Might as well have. Waited until your dad died and then swooped.”
“How dare you!”
“Are you going to stand there and tell me you married Malfoy entirely of your own free will?”
Silence. This question had been hanging over their heads for many years- perhaps since she resumed her relationship with Sirius after the war, or perhaps since the moment she married Malfoy in 1978. Sirius had not had the courage to ask it, and she had not had the courage to answer it.
“No,” she replied. He looked visibly relieved. “But if you want me to tell you I was miserable from the moment I married him to the moment I left him, I can’t do that.”
“What?” All the air seemed to be sucked out Sirius’ lungs.
“I can’t stand here and tell you I hated every second, because I didn’t. Did I dislike him? Intensely. Always? No. There were a few times, in the beginning, when I liked him. Not loved, never loved. I allowed myself to be happy with my lot, especially after Lily and James died, and you ended up in Azkaban. I didn’t want to marry him, that’s true. But I was not miserable for twenty whole years. It was only later that it got truly horrible. I can’t tell you I hated it all the time, because I didn’t. I can’t tell you that I didn’t like the carefree life of the idle rich, of the society wife. I did, for awhile. More than that, I had Draco, and when he was at home with me, life was never truly awful.”
“Malfoy used to put you under Imperious to go out! When he let you out, that is.”
“I know,” she said with a heavy sigh, wondering what she could say to make her feelings clear. “I’ll never forgive him for the things he did to me. The only truly good thing he ever did for me was letting the isolation charms at Azkaban incinerate him. It might have been the last of many cowardly acts, but it gave me my complete freedom.”
“You’re unbelievable! You liked him?” Sirius was apparently still on the earlier point.
“He could be considerate sometimes. I didn’t realise at the time it was a sham. I was young, Sirius! When he said he loved me, I believed him! I didn’t ever return the feelings, although I parroted the words back to him convincingly enough. And this is what this is all about, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“You don’t care whether I go to my mother’s grave or not. You care that she’s the one who arranged for me to marry Lucius. I’ve been married to you for years and you’re still jealous of a murdering, wife-beating, child-abusing bastard I came to truly hate!”
“But you liked him?” he repeated.
“Yes! Fine, I admit it! When Draco was very young, our life wasn’t all bad. Voldemort was gone, so I didn’t have to face the knowledge that my husband was a Death Eater. I had a beautiful son I loved more than life itself. What else was there? My parents were both dead. You were locked up, my best friend was dead and her son was who-knew-where. I resigned myself to it, I suppose. How do you think I feel now, knowing that there was a time I was contented to live that life? How do you think it feels now, knowing that once upon a time, I thought he was a decent enough man?”
Narcissa was sure she’d never been this angry. Not ever before. Sirius seemed just as surprised. She continued to speak.
“I hate him, Sirius! He made the rest of my life a misery, which makes those few happy years all the worse! I hate him! You know what, I do hate that my mother set me up with him, but I loved her for other things! There are shades of grey, as well you know. She wasn’t some fairytale evil witch, she was my mother! I hated some of the things she did and almost everything she stood for, but I loved her because she was my mother!”
After her outburst, Narcissa found that she couldn’t bear to be around him any longer. She picked up her cloak and stormed out into the garden. She didn’t linger on the patio, but kept right on walking. She kept on walking right to the edge of the vast lawn. Under the shade of an oak tree, she sat down.
***
Thoughts swirled around in her head, fighting for supremacy. The struggles and contradictions she’d fought so long to keep under had made their way to the forefront of her consciousness and she couldn’t bear it.
She’d never understood how her mild-mannered, liberal-minded father had ended up with her mother and understood less how they seemed to love each other. As a child she’d certainly loved them both, but by the time she was at Hogwarts, she thought of her mother as something of a harridan. She wasn’t lying to Sirius when she said she loved her mother, but she also knew that she was defending Bathsheba more than she really wanted to. She wasn’t lying when she said she loved her mother, but she disagreed with everything her mother had ever stood for.
She hadn’t been lying when she told Sirius there were times she’d liked her life with Lucius. It was hard for her to explain it to him, because it was hard to understand it herself. She felt guilty for having felt contented with her life at one point. Not really for very long, and she knew full well that what came after it cancelled out any good. That’s why she felt guilty she supposed, for remembering that it hadn’t always been gut-wrenching horror, that she hadn’t always recoiled at her husband’s mere look. For once believing that he really had been coerced into working for Voldemort. Perhaps for being persuaded into marriage in the first place. For not getting out of it earlier. For being as passive as she was in regards to his tutelage of Draco. She hadn’t known at the time where it was leading, but she was not a fool and remembered suspecting.
Everything had changed in 1991. The return of Harry Potter to the wizarding world had started a chain reaction that culminated in the war, and for her, in leaving her husband. She loved Harry for that, for enabling her to leave the life she had not wanted to begin with and the life she had come to hate. She loved Harry even more for the world he created that allowed her son to find the courage to stand up to his father and then move on from it.
Sirius would never understand the conflict she had inside her. She loved him dearly, but everything was black and white for him. He hated his mother, his father and his brother. He hated Voldemort and Peter Pettigrew. He hated Lucius Malfoy. He loved Narcissa and Jamie. He loved James, Lily and Remus. He loved Harry. He hated bad things and liked good things. He didn’t understand, simply could not understand, how she could love her mother. Perhaps his parents had been so truly awful that there had been nothing to love (she wouldn’t be surprised- she had met Mrs Black as a child) and so he could not conceive of there being anything to love about Bathsheba.
Everything in black and white. She envied that element of his personality. She would love for her thoughts and feelings to be so easy. That way she could choose to hate her mother for her archaic, bigoted views and the trust she put in Voldemort to solve the ‘problem’. She could then forget all about the granite gravestone bearing the name Bathsheba Borgia Richards, forget she ever had a mother. That would be easy. It would not be true. Ultimately, Narcissa would always see the shades of grey. She saw them in herself and in the people around her. Even Sirius had his shades of grey, although they didn’t trouble him as often as they did other people. It was probably the reason, above everything, that he would never get on with Severus Snape- he’d decided long ago that ‘Snivellus’ was bad, that he fell into the black category, and almost nothing would be able to change that. In the same way, there was almost nothing Harry Potter would be able to do to dislodge himself from the white category. After all, Aberforth Dumbledore still fell into that category, and after his questionable conduct! There was only one person who had ever managed to switch from one side to the other in Sirius’ mind and Narcissa knew him well enough to know that the betrayal of Peter Pettigrew still tore at him, many years after the fact.
It was this thought that began to make her anger slide away. Not entirely, but Wormtail was proof that Sirius did see the shades of grey. He didn’t always understand them, but he saw them. He’d spent decades wondering why Peter had done it, decades wondering what he could’ve done and decades feeling guilty about doubting Remus. It was Wormtail who truly inspired Sirius’ hate for the dark forces, not his family. He’d hated his parents and his family and everything old pureblood families usually stood for, but Peter had spurred him to the next level. It was because of him that Sirius could not understand how Narcissa could still love her mother- Sirius was still at a point where ‘tarring with the same brush’ was the most painless thing to do. Accepting that Narcissa still managed to love her mother despite everything would have to one day lead to him accepting that yes, Peter had once really been a trusted friend. That Peter Pettigrew had been a good friend, a close friend, a Marauder.
Perhaps that day would never come, but Narcissa hoped for his sake that it would, if only for his own peace of mind. If he could accept Peter, perhaps one day he might even be able to forgive and accept himself.
She turned at the sound of rustling in the near distance. Although it was starting to get dark, she could clearly see the outline of a dog walking across the lawn.
The dog padded over to her quietly, pausing a few metres away to gauge her reaction. When she nodded, it came right over to her and put its head in her lap as if it had always belonged right there. Idly, she stroked the dog’s fur and smiled despite herself as it let out a contented sort of growl.
She knew this old dog very well, and knew that this was about as close to an apology as she was likely to get. She also knew that somehow this dog had a great deal of charisma and could charm birds from trees.
“Snuffles,” she said. “You’re getting grey fur. What am I to do with you?”
Snuffles looked up at her with big eyes, and she knew he was trying to decide whether she was still angry or not. He put his head back down in her lap and let her continue stroking his fur. She reached down to tickle his tummy, and within a second there was a man in place of the dog. She smiled in spite of herself at the grin on his face, before remembering that, yes she was angry with him. Not as angry as she had been, but quite a lot.
“I’m sorry,” he said without prompting. “I really am.”
Narcissa had nothing to reply with. Getting Sirius to admit he was actually wrong sometimes was a hard thing to do.
“I want to understand what it was like, I really do,” he said, taking her silence as an opportunity. “I’m not sure that I ever will though. Maybe that’s not a bad thing.”
“Sirius-”
“No, let me finish. I like Jamie not having all that much idea of his family. I really do. I know Harry hates that Richard and the twins don’t have grandparents around, but his parents, his grandparents, were good people. Mine weren’t. Some of yours weren’t and I don’t want Jamie to have to know that. Not yet at least. Honestly, I really... I don’t like even admitting to myself that I was spawned by that... woman and her unsuspecting prey. Well, he wasn’t really unsuspecting at all.”
“Sirius, the only way we will ever learn from our mistakes is to remember them.”
“What?”
“I wasn’t going to sit Jamie down in front of my mother’s tomb and start saying how wonderful she was. She wasn’t. I’m not lying when I say she stood for everything I’m opposed to. But Jamie deserves to know where he comes from, and he deserves to know that not all of it is bad, but that where he comes from does not dictate who he will become.”
Sirius looked at her suspiciously and said, “All right Dumbledore, what did you do with her?”
Narcissa laughed.
“It is me, you idiot. How much worse do you think it will be if one day we sit him down and say ‘now look here, Jamie, I know you think everything’s fabulous and good, but your grandmother was so infatuated with the worst dark wizard of our time that when he was apparently defeated she killed herself?’”
“Well...”
“Or how about telling him about the most ancient and noble house of Black, hmm? You know I love you, but finding out about the not-so-illustrious history of your family will be a bit of a shock.”
“I-”
“It didn’t dictate what you became any less than being a little bit Borgia dictated mine. Although perhaps my sentence with Lucius was enough for that. You know as well as I do that we can pick and choose what parts of our families we decide to follow and emulate.”
“Some of us had less to choose from,” he grumbled, his gaze darkening as it always did when thinking of the people he came from.
“Exactly! Sirius, you’re the perfect example of how your family does not make you who you are!”
He seemed to looked equal parts pleased and uncomfortable with this declaration. He sighed heavily, and his 48 years of his age all seemed to settle in his face for a long time.
“Fine. Take him. Teach him. Anything to stop him being anything like them.”
“All right.”
“But-” he stopped.
“What?”
“Don’t not come to the Burrow. It’s thirty years since they died. For Harry’s sake, I think we should all be there.”
“Sirius, I miss her as much as you miss James. We were never not going to come.”
“What?”
“You’re an idiot, Sirius!” she said, now giggling, realising that this entire fight had been almost completely in vain. “I was only trying to tell you we might be a little bit late!”
“What?”
“Oh... Never mind!”
“You were always going to come to the Burrow?”
“Of course I was! What kind of heartless mare do you take me for? Of course I was!”
“Oh. Well you didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t give me the chance.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. Oh.”
“Is there any amount of grovelling that will make up for this oversight on my part?”
“Oversight?”
“Extreme and careless oversight,” he amended.
“That was never the point of this argument.”
“I know,” he said sincerely. “I’m glad we had it.”
“You are?” she asked dryly. “I’m so happy for you.”
“I think it cleared the air.”
“You mean, you finally got angry enough to ask me about Lucius? It’s only taken you... eight years?”
“Longer than that. I’ve been dying to ask you since you turned up at Hogwarts that night.”
“That’s a long time. I didn’t know you had such self-control.”
“You’d be amazed.”
“I most certainly would not. I know you far too well.”
“Oh yeah?” he asked, cocky grin turned up to its maximum effect.
“I know, for instance, that you must be the cheekiest, most insufferable person alive.”
“True.”
“And the randiest old dog I know.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he replied, grin still cocky. She laughed at him, despite not wanting to. He pulled her head down to kiss her for a moment. When she pulled away, the cocky grin was gone.
“I love you,” he whispered. “No matter what.”
She smiled, thinking that sometimes, black and white was never really a bad thing.
“I love you back,” she replied, knowing that although the thought was cliche in her head- it was said with no real shades of grey at all.
*
The End
Big News Day
The Burrow, England. August 2014
It seemed that half the magical community had been invited to a big party at the Burrow for Romeo Weasley’s third birthday. Molly Weasley had taken a great shine to her latest grandchild and had gone all out to make his third birthday one to remember. Even Charlie and his family were at the Burrow- the first time they’d all been back to Britain from Croatia in three years. Harry, Hermione, the twins and Richard were there. Maura and Deirdre were there. Even Sirius, Narcissa and Jamie were there with Hogwarts’ Professor Lupin in tow. The only person not there was Ginny. And Draco, but Ron cared a lot less about that.
“Has anybody even spoken to Ginny?” Ron asked, worry furrowing his brow.
“I spoke to her last night on the phone,” Hermione said. “She sounded... strange. Not in a bad way. But... I don’t know.”
“Uh! You’re no help, Hermione,” said Ron before he flounced away to the table full of food.
“Ignore him,” advised Deanna. “He’s not comfortable unless he’s got something to gripe about.”
“I know,” said Hermione with a wry smile. “But I am worried. Ginny isn’t the sort to just not turn up.”
“Have you seen her recently?” Deanna asked. Hermione shook her head.
“Last Tuesday. I met her in Diagon Alley for ice cream. She was fine. She said she was looking forward to the party.”
“Do you think we should worry?” Deanna asked her anxiously. Hermione pondered this for a moment.
“Not yet. Ginny’s been known to be late. But not absent.”
“Hello darlings!”
Every single person in the vicinity of the Burrow turned to see Ginny Weasley bouncing towards them hand in hand with Draco Malfoy, with fourteen year old Flynn in tow looking like the cat that got handed the keys to the Anchor cream factory. On her ring finger they could see a brand new, gleaming, expensive looking gold ring. A matching one adorned Draco’s hand. Silence reigned supreme for a long moment. Then everybody began talking at the same time.
“I have an announcement to make!” Ginny bellowed after standing on a chair, Draco’s hand still in her own.
“I’ll bet she does,” growled Ron. Ginny glared at him.
“Draco and I got married in New York on Monday.”
To his eternal credit, Draco managed not to laugh or smirk at the Weasleys’ collective shock. Ginny sighed dramatically.
“Oh come on. We’ve been going out for ages! We‘ve been involved for eight years!”
“Yes, but we didn’t know you were going to naff off to New York and get married,” Ron snarled in the direction of Draco. Harry immediately grabbed Ron’s arm to prevent any violence. Hermione stepped forward and hugged Ginny.
“I’m happy for you, Ginny,” she said loudly, pointedly. “Congratulations, Draco. You’re a very lucky man.”
Draco nodded solemnly.
“I know that.”
The dam broke and everyone swarmed forward to congratulate Ginny. Some of them even congratulated Draco as well. Ron, on the other hand, stayed on the edge of the party playing with Romeo and glaring at Draco.
“Ron!” Deanna shouted sharply. She stormed over to him. “Go and congratulate her.”
“Not on your life.”
“Ron...” Deanna said in a low, dangerous voice. “Whatever he did to you and your friends was a long bloody time ago. You have children of your own at Hogwarts now. Bloody hell Ron, Rain’s been playing with Flynn Malfoy since she was a baby.”
“Not by my choice,” he muttered. Deanna sighed angrily and she gave up. She walked away from him to speak to Molly and Penny.
“Ron?”
“Don’t even try, Harry.”
“You saw him during the battle. You’ve seen him since. He’s not a bad guy.”
“He is if he married my sister.”
“Why?”
“Because Ginny deserves better than Draco sodding Malfoy,” Ron told him, kicking the tree angrily. Several leaves fell from the branches and landed in his hair.
“I don’t doubt that,” Harry said. “But isn’t it more about what she wants?”
“No,” he growled, pulling leaves from his hair.
“Don’t you think that your family wished you’d found someone who wasn’t a struggling fashion designer?”
“What do you mean by that?” Ron’s temper flared quickly and easily.
“I don’t mean anything, idiot. I mean that nobody will ever be good enough for Ginny in your eyes just as nobody would have been good enough for you in hers. Besides, would you prefer she married Rodney?”
Ron looked up at Harry. There was no love lost between Rodney Mayhew, Ginny’s former fiancé and her protective brothers.
“I should go and congratulate them,” he said. Harry laughed. “Malfoy... I’m related to Malfoy. I should go and be sick first.”
“Don’t be stupid, Ron. You and Draco have managed to get along for fifteen years. I even thought at one point the two of you might be in danger of becoming friends.”
“Don’t talk crazy talk,” Ron said with a grin. He sighed and approached Ginny and Draco.
“Congratulations, Ginny,” he managed to say with sincerity. Ginny threw her arms around her brother.
“I’m so glad!” she exclaimed. “I was so worried you’d be angry or you’d hate me or-”
“I could never hate you, Ginny,” Ron said softly. He looked at Draco. “I could hate you,” he said. Draco suddenly looked rather disappointed. “But I won’t.”
Ron stuck his hand out and Draco shook it, the blond heaving a sigh of relief as he did.
“Congratulations Draco, Ginny. I hope you’ll be very happy together. And of course, if you hurt my sister, I’ll kill you.”
“You know,” said Draco. “Every single person who has congratulated me has said the same thing. I think I’ve got it. But thank you... Ron.”
“It’s all right,” he said, managing a genuine smile. “So, how was the wedding?”
“Well,” said Ginny, breaking out in a smile. “We’ve had it planned for a while. Draco got a license and we just went off and got married. Then we had lunch at the Plaza, that’s a fancy Muggle hotel, and... it was so lovely!”
“Why didn’t you tell us? Or more importantly, invite us?” Ron asked.
“Because we didn’t want a fight. We didn’t want it to be about anything but us,” Ginny said firmly. “I’m happy Ron. Very happy.”
“You’re not pregnant are you?” he demanded, eyes narrowing towards Draco. Ginny blushed slightly.
“Ron! No, I’m not. Honestly, do you have to see ulterior motives everywhere you go?”
“Just thought I’d better ask.”
“Well don’t,” she said with an over-exaggerated pout. She let go of Draco’s hand and pulled Ron aside. “You are happy for us, aren’t you Ron?”
At that moment he felt like answering back with something snippy, but the happy smile on her face and the plea for approval in her eyes sapped the desire to be sarcastic from him. He threw an arm around her.
“Course I am, Gin. Course I am.”
“Good.”
“Of course, you know this means you’re a step-mother now?”
“I don’t mind. I don’t want to be the wicked kind, though.”
“You’ll do a grand job,” he said warmly. He lowered his voice. “Better than bloody Fleur.”
“If I didn’t know you better,” Ginny teased “I’d say you actually care about Flynn Malfoy.”
“He’s a good kid,” he admitted. “Knocks Kit down a peg or two occasionally. Someone’s got to do it, right?”
Ginny laughed loudly before saying, “Don’t let Harry hear you say that!”
“Moving into Malfoy Manor, are you?” he asked. She nodded.
“I practically live there anyway.”
“True. Very true. Don’t think that escaped our notice.”
Ginny blushed slightly.
“Ginny!” They turned to see Flynn bounding over. “Ginny!”
“Yes sweetie?” she asked.
“Dad says that if I ask you nicely, you’ll help me with my birthday party next week.”
Ginny smiled and put an arm around him.
“Course I will. You don’t even have to ask nicely.”
“But I will!” he said firmly. “I thought we could...”
Ron watched as Flynn dragged her away to talk about his party, feeling much happier about the life Ginny now had than he expected to. He didn’t dislike Draco and he genuinely liked Flynn. He was happy that she was called Ginny Malfoy now.
Sometimes, life really could surprise you.
*
The end... to be continued...