A/N: I swear, it's H+Hr. Trust me. I couldn't write anything else.
I blame DH mostly for how late this is, but the rest of the blame lies in RL, which has been sick, busy, and sick. Since I have now recovered from DH and my first trimester, I expect things would go faster. Thanks for your patience. Again, if you want to read up to chapter 13, you must let me friend you in LJ. Let me know your username and I'll go and friend you.
If any of you are wondering what I think of DH, I'm pretty much on the positive-feedback side of our LJ comm. DH was exciting and a real page-turner. There were many imperfections, yes, and the ships sucked, but I really did like too many parts of the book to hate it and gripe about it. No matter what anyone says, I liked the characterization of the trio. Besides that, I'm a big fan of the series. I couldn't have loved reading and writing fanfiction so much without all the books. JKR might have done our fandom wrong on a few instances, but hey, for giving us Harry Potter? She's got my gratitude. I'm just glad the general madness is over. The aftermath in LJ has been great. Everyone, happy or pissed about book 7, has been wonderful. LJ is still my haven. ::Hugs LJ::
Then there's this supposed Epilogue that everyone keeps talking about. What the hell is that? Never heard of such a thing.
Now, I'd love to say I've incorporated some Book 7 things in this story, but honestly, everything you read here was based on books 1 to 6. I've left out book 7 just so it doesn't get confusing. Anything from book 7 that appears to crop up here is coincidental.
Once more, thanks to Tome_raider for her awesome beta-reading skills. ^_^ Go read her recs. She has many of them!!! (If you haven't Friended her in LJ, do! It's the only way you'll be able to read her recs.) I myself have a lot of fics to catch up on.
Now, let the fanon begin.
Standard disclaimers apply. JKR, my ship is better than yours, but you still own one hell of a series. ^_^
PART TWO: DREAMS AND NIGHTMARES
Chapter Nine: Angel in Their Midst
Hermione knew, of course, the moment Pig clattered through her office window bearing a note, what the note would contain. Ron would never send good news of such magnitude by Owl post. If there was any such good news to be told, he would come to her office in person, brimming with it. She would, in his shoes, do the same thing in either situation.
But there was a moment of panic-there always was when Pig crash-landed. Hermione gave a mournful wail as Pig landed on a pile of manuscripts, knocking over reams of parchment and scattering them all over her desk and floor.
"Oh, Pig!" Hermione cried, trying to push past the sheaves of paper to get her hands on the perpetually hyperactive owl.
Hermione heard footsteps from beyond the threshold of her open office door and saw Olivia, her assistant, scampering to pick up the scattered pages.
"It's that stupid owl again!" Olivia hissed. "I swear that one day, I will take my wand and blow that feathery menace to bits!"
Hermione realized she didn't hire Olivia for being tenderhearted.
"It's fine," said Hermione, having Pig restrained by the neck. "It's under control. Thank you, Olivia."
Olivia sighed. "Do you want these pages arranged? It's a mess."
"Yes, please. Why don't you ask that new girl for help-what's her name? Thora?"
Olivia made a sound of disgust. "I'd rather hang myself. She's a complete klutz, she dresses funny, and she doesn't know anything."
Olivia did not suffer fools lightly, and her obsessive-compulsive disorder was just a bit worse than Hermione's, which is precisely the reason Hermione hired her. Not a strand of Olivia's smart, ebony bob was ever out of place and wrinkles on her clothes were, to her mind, punishable by death. She was quite pretty, but she had a dreadfully frosty exterior. She never hesitated to arch her perfectly sculpted eyebrow or purse her lips with icy displeasure whenever someone screwed up, and she basically terrified everyone in the office. But she was fiercely loyal to Hermione, and Hermione trusted her implicitly with work matters, so it was hard to believe that Olivia was as frigid as everyone said she was. Half the time Olivia nagged her about things was because Olivia actually seemed to care.
"I have to get this note," Hermione said. "I'll help you with those as soon as I'm done."
"I've got this," said Olivia in her crisp, businesslike manner. "You have to leave soon if you want to make it to your appointment with Headmistress Kenly. You're driving to Angelica's school today, remember? Parking Pass and everything?"
Right. "I remember." She took the note from Pig and set the tiny owl down on her desk, petting it to calm it down.
Olivia nodded, her smart, ebony bob unruffled in the least. "And you do have to get to that meeting on time so can make it to tonight's-"
"Yes, yes… like I need reminding about that."
Olivia turned her nose up but looked neither pleased nor offended. "I'll clean up in your office as soon as you leave. Best not leave that Owl sitting around when you're gone, else I'll make Owl pudding of it."
Pig gave a shriek, possibly understanding what Olivia said, and Hermione had to calm him down again.
Olivia made for the door, paused, and made the slightest, barely noticeable adjustment to the sculpture placed on the pedestal before leaving.
Hermione stifled a sigh and hastily opened the note.
~~
Wasn't the sword. ~~Ron
~~
Hermione sighed. She knew it.
Seven years.
Seven years and they still couldn't find Excalibur. Really, it felt pointless to keep looking. It was lost, and it was gone, but wherever it was, Hermione sincerely doubted it would be in any danger of being destroyed, or used for evil.
She just wished she had it handy.
You know, just in case the Priestesses of Avalon come knocking on my door, asking me to cough up their sword…
She moaned miserably. Remembering all those years ago when she asked Ron about Excalibur.
He had paled, like he was going to be sick, and he stammered for a reply. She knew, even before his sad explanation tumbled from his lips, that in the chaos of battle, finding out Harry was dead, and whisking off her barely breathing body to St. Mungo's, Ron had completely forgotten about it.
Ron Weasley had forgotten about King Arthur's sword.
She had been positively furious. She couldn't fathom how Ron could be so gone of his senses that he would forget about the most important sword in the history of man. Of course, this was Ron, but still. She had adamantly ordered him to find the sword-ask the Aurors, or anyone from the Order; the imprisoned Death Eaters even, if they had happened to see a sword lying around the site of the attack.
"And whatever you do, don't tell them it's Excalibur!" she had hissed. She was so annoyed, more so because she couldn't go looking for the sword with him. She was trapped in the hospital. There was nothing she could do.
Ron had no success in the matter, of course, and when she was allowed to leave St. Mungo's, she wasn't much help, either.
They had been looking for the sword ever since, following leads here and there, unable to out-rightly ask for help for fear that everyone would think them insane. They had, after all, kept secrets about Horcruxes, Avalon, and the sword itself.
Their searches in the last three years were half-hearted and far between. They had both lost a great degree of hope, following leads by rote rather than with enthusiasm.
Still, she couldn't help but let that nagging voice persist.
One doesn't just lose King Arthur's sword…
But having thought it the last seven and a half years, she was finally beginning to accept that she had.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione tapped her foot somewhat impatiently, chancing a glance at her watch.
When she looked up, the headmistress was eyeing her.
"Am I keeping you from something, Ms. Granger?" brand, spanking newly appointed Headmistress Kenly asked.
Hermione took in the straight-backed, shoulder padded, and perfectly made-up appearance of the woman behind the desk and surmised that the woman would be about as pleased about hearing cheek as Headmistress McGonagall would be.
"No," said Hermione somewhat blandly. "Not at all."
Headmistress Kenly nodded. "Good. Or else one would think the welfare of Angelica Grace isn't your primary concern."
How Hermione mustered a smile, even a small one, without hexing the pearls off of the Headmistress would forever remain a mystery. "I was told Angelica's gotten herself in trouble again."
"Yes. She got into a tussle with Connor Wilson, a boy in her class. By the boy's account, she punched him in the nose then pushed him, bumping his head quite hard against the wall. If it weren't for his injuries, I wouldn't have believed that such a little girl could overpower someone so large."
Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Least she didn't think about inflating him… like the last classmate…
"Little witch's more like it," Hermione muttered.
"Pardon me?"
"Nothing. Did she say why she did it?"
"I hardly think it matters anymore, Ms. Granger. This is the fourth incident in six months."
"Yes, but you must know she gets provoked-especially that one time she called Ms. Emerson a stupid cow…" Hermione snickered momentarily, but upon seeing that Headmistress Kenly was not amused, she stifled her laughter and went on, straight-faced. "Her classmates tease her other friends and she defends them-"
"Which brings me to the more important point."
The seriousness of Headmistress Kenly's voice actually made Hermione's stomach flip.
They're going to expel her. I know they will… Oh, LORD!
Perhaps seeing how terrified she was, the Headmistress seemed to take pity. "It's not as bad as you think." She pulled out a chart and stood it up on her desk for Hermione to see. Hefting a pointer, she guided her attention to the upper portion of the linear graph. "Students with superior IQ are leveled here on the chart. This graph is updated, and as you can see, there are a very select few who make the superior grade." She then rested her pointer past the drawn graph, a few inches above the highest point. "Angelica Grace is here."
Hermione's eyebrow arched, knowing exactly what the Headmistress meant, and for the first time in her life considered playing dumb. It served no purpose, though, so she resigned herself to the inevitable truth. "Off the charts. Yes, haha, I get its figurative and literal meaning. Clever…"
The Headmistress was not amused.
Hermione, seeing that she wasn't going to fool anyone in this office, finally gave a defeated sigh. She knew this about Angelica, of course, but she didn't really think that her daughter being "too smart" was ever going to be a problem in school-or at least she hoped it wasn't going to be a problem. She waved her hand dismissively. "Yes, well, tell me something I don't know…"
"Angelica Grace is a gifted child, Ms. Granger," said the Headmistress without batting an eyelash, even as she set the cardboard presentation aside. "She is acting up because those around her simple annoy her. Her uncanny genius makes her a target for her more average classmates, and since she is, after all emotionally six years old, she reacts accordingly. She belongs in a more enriching environment; in a school that specializes in children like her."
Hermione grit her teeth, her defenses going up instantly. She took deep, calming breaths. "Inglewood is the best Grammar school in London. 93 percent of your students gain admittance into the most elite prep schools-"
"Yes, but that is beside the point-"
"Can't you just advance her lessons? Give her prep-school level-"
"Ms. Granger, we haven't the technical expertise necessary to teach someone like Angelica Grace-"
"Oh, you don't know the half of it."
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing. It's not your fault, and I really do appreciate the concern you have for Angelica's academic development, but I'd really like for her to develop within a normal, healthy environment-"
"There are two parts to this, Ms. Granger. There's the child's academic development and there's her emotional development. Some parents of gifted children opt to send their children straight to University, but I do not recommend that course of action at all. University brings with it exposure to adult things that a six year old cannot possibly be emotionally ready to cope with-"
"I won't dump her in a University campus, if that's what you're worried about."
The headmistress was not deterred. "I happened to review her file in the database, and I am frankly aghast that the previous Headmaster did not appear to address this issue before. Angelica Grace's file clearly states that you sent her once to Devon Science and then to Saint Vante's School for the Gifted, but your pulled her out both times. The records showed no indication of expulsion or… disciplinary issues that would-erm, merit any kind of removal."
"Right," Hermione muttered.
"Yet you removed her from both institutions voluntarily. If I had been headmistress at the time of her admittance, I would have flatly refused to admit her and sent her back to either Devon Science or Saint Vante's."
If you had been headmistress, then it would've been YOUR memory that Tonks altered…
Headmistress Kenly continued. "It is my recommendation now that you readmit her to either school. She needs a special school, where her genius can be properly nurtured in the company of children her age. She is gifted. She must be with gifted children."
Hermione sighed and leaned back tiredly on her seat. "Right. Headmistress, are you going to expel my daughter?"
Headmistress Kenly blinked, caught off-guard by the question. "Well, I can't quite do that-not without reason, and I certainly can't tell the Board of Education that I expelled her for being too intelligent. This school accepted her, and because of that, she and the school are bound by the rules and standards of the charter-rules and standards which she is yet to break badly enough for the school to justify expulsion. However, her behavior lately certainly merits the question of whether she would get worse-"
Hermione groaned and rubbed at her eyes. "Look, she's a good girl, and believe me, I do make her take responsibility for her actions, for whatever reason she gets in trouble for, but she's six, and she couldn't possibly be any worse than those bullies who torment her friends-"
"Most of her behavior, I agree, could be corrected by detention, but this last one was rather alarming. Connor Wilson was unconscious for almost a minute, and when he woke, the nurse recommended a thorough medical examination of his injuries to his personal physician."
Hermione's eyes widened. "Good lord, is he alright?" she asked with true concern.
Headmistress Kenly's expression softened. "I believe the nurse was just being cautious. I think he will be fine, but Angelica Grace's… show of force still concerns me."
"It won't happen again, I swear it," Hermione said distractedly. "Just please don't expel her. Suspend her, if you must, but-"
"Ms. Granger," began the Headmistress soothingly. "As of this moment, I am more inclined to recommend keeping her in school and off the streets." She smiled somewhat good-humoredly. "But it still doesn't change the fact that she needs to be in a school for the gifted-"
Hermione felt so relieved that she couldn't even be bothered to fuss over what school Angelica belonged to. "Yes, well, I've made my decision on that. I'm not moving her to another school-for the gifted or otherwise."
At that, the Headmistress's expression became neutral once more. "I urge you to reconsider. Talk it over with others who would have Angelica Grace's best interests at heart."
Hermione wasn't sure why the Headmistress words made her bristle. "Others?"
The Headmistress seemed to redden, perhaps realizing that she had spoken out of turn. "I am sorry. It was not my place to tell you how your decisions should be made."
Hermione didn't quite want to let it go. She gave a noncommittal shrug. "I'm just curious, really. When you say others, who is it that you mean exactly?"
Headmistress Kenly looked terribly uncomfortable, but she never came across as a coward. She owned up to her mistakes and she wasn't about to turn and run. "I was thinking of Mr. Granger. Perhaps you would wish to discuss it with him."
"Mr. Granger?" Unbelievable. She gave a very tired sigh. "Are we done here?"
"Forgive me, but Angelica Grace gets dropped off at the school gates by a redheaded chap some days, and I've heard it said that he was her father."
Hermione reddened, feeling about ready to explode. "He isn't. Angelica's father is… gone. Now, I'd like to go, if I may? I've a blind date-with someone who isn't Angelica's father. I'm not looking forward to it, but society seems to think that I have to be properly partnered. Why? I don't know. Make an honest woman of me, maybe."
Headmistress Kenly looked truly apologetic. "I am very sorry. I did not mean to make you feel I was judging you. But be that as it may, think about what I said. You don't have to decide now. Just remember that your daughter's academic development may depend on it. If you ever change your mind, I will be glad to assist you in making the transition. As for the last incident with the Wilson boy… she'll have to serve Saturday detention this weekend, eight to twelve. She will help our janitor clean the blackboards and then help Ms. Blake, our math teacher, correct papers… not the usual fare for one her age, but well, we both know she's special. Ms. Blake shall be with her at all times. I trust that this punishment is satisfactory."
It wasn't phrased like a question, but Hermione nodded, rising to leave. "I'll have her here on Saturday." She turned and walked out of the office, spotting her daughter who was seated on one of the cushioned, waiting room chairs. Angelica had a magazine on her lap, but she was speaking to the receptionist. Her dark curly pigtails swished as she turned her head cutely, one way and another.
"So if a turtle doesn't have a shell, is he homeless or naked?" asked Angelica
Hermione was not amused. Sometimes, she had to wonder if her lovely little angel wasn't an imp in disguise.
The receptionist's face reddened. "Well-I-um, oh, look! It's your mother, sweetheart!"
On cue, Angelica's striking green eyes lit up. She jumped and ran to hug her mother's legs. "Mum! I was just talking to Ms. Falco about turtles. She knows so much!"
Hermione wasn't the least bit fooled. Her eyebrow arched. "I bet. Now, say goodbye to Ms. Falco."
Turned away from the delighted gaze of Ms. Falco, Angelica made a face, knowing full well that her mother was displeased. As she turned to give Ms. Falco a wave goodbye, she was smiling brightly again, as if nothing was wrong. She followed her mother outside.
Hermione said nothing, taking Angelica's hand as they maneuvered their way out of the school doors. They came out to the front yard where there were still several students either waiting for their rides home or talking animatedly to one another about something or other. Most of the younger students were already gone. The preteens that did litter the front of the school gave her only the slightest notice, the way kids looked at adults like they were invaders from some other world.
Hermione ignored them all, briskly leading Angelica to the parking lot. The car, a shiny black hybrid-because God forbid Hermione would ever own anything that guzzled petrol-had been bought for one thing, and one thing only: So Angelica wouldn't be stuck with the mum who wouldn't participate in the PTA-sponsored carpool. And since the school knew she owned a car, it would be too suspicious not to have it when Hermione had to show up in school for a parent-Headmistress meeting.
As soon as she and Angelica were buckled in, with Angelica riding in the back, Hermione started the car and rolled out of the parking lot, driving out of the school and into the London streets. She switched on the CD player. Classical music began to pipe through the speakers.
"Mum?" Angelica said worriedly.
Hermione tapped the steering wheel, assessing her feelings for a few seconds. "I'm really angry." It was very difficult to say it with that degree of calm, but she managed it.
"Oh," said Angelica.
The mantle of a clueless, childlike six-year-old fell away, replaced with that extraordinary genius which seemed to prove more trial than gift at times. Angelica put the mantle on whenever she deemed fit. It was almost unnatural, but as the daughter of the two oddest persons she knew, Hermione wasn't all that surprised.
"Are you going to ground me?" asked Angelica
"I don't know. I've certainly tried that before. Maybe I should just hang myself, or jump off a cliff."
Angelica paused, eyebrows knotting in deep thought. "Mum, it's so hard to tell when you're joking, sometimes."
Hermione cast her daughter a weary glare. "If i were one of your teachers, I might fall for that act, but I am your mother, therefore I know you very-well understand the extent of my irritation now. I am supremely upset with you, but I have more sense than to let my anger kill me slowly. I'm an extremely practical person, therefore I will kill myself quickly through the aforementioned methods."
Angelica gave a dramatic sigh. "Oh, mum, that's not funny."
"Tell me about it."
"'Twasn't my fault, you know," said Angelica, pouting. "Connor was being so mean."
"And you had to use magic to punish him. Clever."
Angelica fell silent for a moment. "That was an accident."
"Right. At any rate, you shouldn't have lost your temper. I swear, you inherited your father's tendency to get in trouble in spades-"
"He took dad's picture. I was showing dad to Pramilla and Milhouse, and Connor took it. He said he wasn't going to give it back."
Hermione frowned. "It was a Muggle picture. I told you things like that could be recopied and replaced. You could have just let him take it and-"
"Did daddy really die, mum?"
Hermione was a bit shocked by the question. "What-Angelica! Of course he did! Why would I lie about something like that?"
She glanced briefly at Angelica's image on the rearview mirror. Her daughter wasn't crying, but Angelica was blinking furiously.
When Angelica stifled her tears, her sorrow was real, not pretended.
Oh, balls…
"It's just that…" Angelica paused, visibly considering her words. "Connor said that the bloke in the picture probably wasn't really my dad; that whoever my real dad was probably abandoned the both of us and I don't even know what he looks like…"
There was a sniff then all was quiet in the car.
Hermione gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. Taking a deep breath, Hermione tried to control her anger for Conner. The boy was six-probably seven years old. Children were cruel. Children were children.
"You know none of what Connor said was true," Hermione said gently. "Your father… he never abandoned anybody. Not for anything. And he certainly wouldn't have abandoned us if he were alive. Believe me, sweetheart. Your father was a good and decent man. The best I've ever known. He would have loved us both very, very much…" Hermione had to stop talking. She didn't know if she could hold out without bursting into tears. Talk of Harry still made her quite emotional.
"I-but everyone heard him, mum. What if they believe Connor? He's the biggest boy in our year, and kids think that makes him smartest. They all think I'm weird and swotty-"
"Pramilla and Milhouse would believe you. They're your friends. Didn't you say they were smart and loyal? It's why you like going to school here. Because of them."
Angelica seemed to ponder this briefly. "I s'pose… and even if they didn't believe, Julien would never think I was lying, would he?"
"No doubt about it. So, did you get the picture back?"
"Yes'm. Connor bent it a bit, but it's still whole."
"Good. At least it'll be worth serving your punishment."
Angelica sighed.
Hermione looked up at her rearview mirror, watching Angelica grumble. "Oh, yes, I haven't forgotten. Aside from your Saturday morning detention-"
Angelica groaned.
"I forbid you to go to the Beauxbatons carnival with Julien and Aunt Fleur."
"Mum!" Angelica shrieked. "That's not fair!"
"Neither is it fair that you keep getting in trouble at school. I let it go when you were at Devon Science and Saint Vante's because you managed to convince me that you were miserable, apart from the fact that the teachers kept recommending you to be the subject for scientific research programs, but I'm taking no excuses here. This is a normal school with normal kids and you have friends that actually like you. If you wish to home-school with the Weasley children-"
"No!" Angelica cried. "I want to go to school like you and dad did!"
Good heavens, such conviction to GO to SCHOOL. She really IS my daughter! thought Hermione with secret pride.
"Then control yourself," Hermione said curtly, masking whatever feelings of approval she had. "There will be no magical bursts-"
"I can't help those, mum!"
"Can't you?"
Angelica stared at her, open-mouthed. She was at a complete loss of her mother's unreasonable demands.
Hermione waved her own words away. "Never mind. It's not your magic than needs controlling. It's your temper. If you would just breathe and count to ten, many of these types of incidents wouldn't have happened."
Angelica sniffed and crossed her arms over her chest petulantly. "I'll be sooo bored on Saturday."
"No, you won't. You will do the things you usually do on Sunday, on Saturday… while Julien and Aunt Fleur are having a blast at the carnival."
"Not fair," Hermione heard Angelica muttering.
"Shush, before I recant my offer to take you to next month's Muggle Science Fair."
Angelica looked shocked for a few seconds before she pursed her lips, saying nothing more.
Hermione figured that little threat would check Angelica for the duration. Hermione would have to think of a new incentive to get her explosive-tempered daughter to keep behaving.
"Mum, are you still going out tonight?"
It wasn't a subject Hermione was very happy to discuss, either, but it was better than school trouble and punishing a six year old. "Yes. I'd rather not, but since you've been nagging me about getting you a new dad…"
Angelica giggled, as if she hadn't just been punished well and good. Hermione always thought she got her mood swings from Harry.
"Oh, mum, tisn't like that…" she said affectionately.
"Yes, I know," Hermione said dryly. "You want Uncle Ron to be your new dad."
Angelica nodded eagerly. "He's my favorite."
"Because he gives you candy and tricks from Uncle Fred and Uncle George's shop."
Angelica looked pensive as she shook her head slowly. "Noooo, because he makes you laugh."
Hermione didn't quite know what to say about that. "George and Fred make me laugh. You don't want them to be your dad."
Angelica frowned into the rearview mirror. "They make everyone laugh. They're supposed to do that-`specially when everyone's watching. Uncle Ron makes you laugh even when it's just you two, and it's a happy, real laugh, not the store-bought kind."
Sometimes, Angelica said the most uncomfortable things. Hermione decided to use evasive maneuvers. "Angelica Grace Granger, you sound terribly ungrateful of your Uncles George and Fred."
"No, no, no. I'm not ungrateful! I'm just explaining why they're different from Uncle Ron."
Right back to Uncle Ron…
"Besides," Angelica continued. "It's not as if he wouldn't want to be my new dad. He still wants to be."
Hermione was silent for a bit, turning what Angelica said over in her head. "He'll always be your other dad if by some freak of a miracle I find someone I'd like to be your new dad."
Angelica shrugged. Hermione was yet to decipher what those shrugs of her meant.
They reached their townhouse in Paddington and Hermione turned the corner to get into their garage. She pressed the controls for the garage door and it wouldn't work. It always happened with the garage door. She could never get the Muggle-Electronics warding right in the garage.
"Bollocks," Hermione muttered, jabbing her finger on the controls again and again.
Angelica gasped. "You said a bad word!"
Hermione rolled her eyes secretly, never letting on to Angelica how annoying that spiel was getting. "You're right, baby. I'm bad. I hereby punish myself and will not eat tonight's dessert."
Angelica seemed satisfied.
Hermione was still jabbing the controls, though, and she was cursing each time in her mind's voice.
Fed up, she whipped out her wand. "Hang it!" She waved it and the garage door opened.
"Oooh, you'll get a citation for that, mum."
"To keep my sanity? I almost think it's worth it," she muttered.
She figured that she was only just a few inches away from the "privacy of one's magical home" as the Ministry regulations said pertaining to the use of magic in Muggle residential areas. Surely the Ministry would cut her a break.
As if on cue, the tawny owl of the Ministry's Improper Use of Magic Office flapped down from above and settled on her side-mirror, a well-familiar citation clipped in its beak.
Hermione gave a frustrated growl. "Bol-"
"Mum!"
"-lywood!" Grrr.
"Nice save!"
Hermione shoved her car door open and the owl flapped away, dropping the citation on Hermione's head and pooping on the windshield as it went.
Angelica giggled.
Hermione crumpled the citation in her fist. "Oh, what I would give to shoot that little bug-er, owl."
Angelica pointed an accusing finger at her. "You still said it! That was sneaky, mum."
"It's only dirty if you know what it means, now come on, and stop policing your mother."
Angelica unbuckled her seatbelts and pushed her door open. She hopped out and slammed the door with a loud bang.
Hermione bit her lip to keep from nagging about closing car doors more gently, deciding that it was Ron's fault Angelica insisted on shutting the door so loudly. Since Harry almost fell out of the flying Ford Anglia, Ron had some kind of unholy fear of not closing the door enough, and his solution thus far was slamming it really hard.
As they entered through the back door, Hermione could hear the high-pitched whistle of a kettle. Ron was already there, waiting for them. She had given him a key, and he was free to come and go into the house as he pleased.
"We're home!" cried Hermione.
"Uncle Ron!" Angelica cried, her eyes alight as she rushed through the hallway to the kitchen.
Hermione stifled a smile as she heard Ron's affectionate, "There she is! Inglewood's Imp! Your mother punished you yet?"
"Yeah… aside from Saturday detention at school, I can't go with Julien and Aunt Fleur to the Beauxbaton carnival."
Hermione walked in just then. Ron was shaking his head with a tragic expression on his face while Angelica sat on the high stool beside him, eating Molly's treacle tart like there was no tomorrow.
"Such cruelty, Hermione," Ron said with affected gravity.
Hermione tossed her bag and keys on the central kitchen counter. "Oh, just wait until I can send her Howlers. Then you'll see cruelty." She poured a glass of orange juice for herself with several flicks of her wand.
Ron hadn't changed a lot in the last seven years. He was still tall; he still ate like a bear but never gained an ounce; was still running off at the mouth; and still more likely to argue with Hermione rather than agree with her, but she had to admit that when it came to Angelica, he knew responsibility, and that really made up for many, many things.
Most of the time… Hermione added, remembering Angelica saying that Ron still wanted to be her new dad. It bothered Hermione more than she'd like to admit. Over the years, the issue between her and Ron had been a constant point of conflict, but in the last six months, Ron had shown a considerable degree of evidence that he was finally growing past that. He even joked about it once, how he had finally kicked the habit, meaning her. Hermione had thought that the fact he could joke about it so casually was actual proof of his cooling un-platonic affections.
He also had a rather serious relationship with one Sheila Thornbrush a few months ago.
Which he broke off last month… now Angelica tells me he still wants me THAT way…
She didn't know how Angelica ever knew these things, and Hermione couldn't say for sure that Angelica understood it completely, but Angelica was hardly ever mistaken about it.
"Got my note?" he asked casually.
"Yeah," she replied.
They shared a moment's pause-a moment's futility, before they went on to do what they were doing, as if their exchange was of little significance. It wasn't, really. Each time they ended up following a false lead, it just reminded them of how intimidating not knowing was.
Well, until the next time we catch a lead…
"You still going on this blind date?" Ron asked, reminding Hermione of now and why Ron was there to baby-sit Angelica. She remembered her concerns of him and his supposedly still-existent feelings for her.
Hermione tried to be as nonchalant as she can about observing him. "Yes. In case you haven't heard, Ginny will skin me alive if I stand him up."
Ron rolled his eyes and sat in his own stool, grabbing some treacle tart. He was unable to hide the hint of dejection that flashed in his eyes. "As if Ginny could scare you into doing anything."
"I agreed to this because she agreed to baby sit for Angelica that one time. Come to think of it, this is your fault. If you hadn't begged off babysitting Angelica that night, I wouldn't have had to ask Ginny."
He shot her a sardonic grimace. "Excuse me for having a social life."
Hermione made a face.
"Besides," Ron continued, stuffing the treacle tart in his mouth. "It isn't my fault you didn't know how to cast that charm properly when you and Harry boinked."
Her face collapsed into a horrified scowl. "Ron!"
"She doesn't know what that means." He looked to Angelica. "Do you, imp?"
Angelica shook her head.
"See?"
"What does `boinked' mean?" asked the imp. "It sounds like something a clown would do."
Ron laughed. "Clown. I like that."
Hermione shot Ron a glare before turning to Angelica. "It's an adult word, darling. It's not appropriate in civilized conversation."
Angelica frowned. "Then why does Uncle Ron use it?"
Hermione didn't even bother to answer that question. It was too easy. Instead she shot Ron a derisive sneer. "I have to go get ready for my date."
"You see," Ron began with a sigh. "I can't ever win with your mum, imp. How do you do it?"
"Ron…" said Hermione in a warning tone.
Angelica flashed Ron a beatific smile. "Easy. I'm cute and I'm my father's daughter."
Ron's amusement vanished with a scowl.
Hermione smirked. "That's my girl," she said, smugly, as she left.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione watched-not listened-to her date babble on and on about the most insignificant things while he cracked the most inane jokes.
Chaucer Blythe was young, trimly built, dark-haired, blue-eyed, and shadowed just right around the jaw.
Man-scaped…
The suit beneath his wizard robes was crisp, classy, and up-to-date. When he smiled, he had a perfect set of teeth. When he gestured to the waiter for wine, or more cheese, Hermione could see that he had perfectly manicured hands. He did not have a wristwatch. He kept a time-piece, and it was expensive. He had flashed it out once, already, presumably to check how much time they had before Opera started.
He was an intelligent and successful wizard. Editor-in-Chief of Wizard's Compendium, only the most reputable men's style magazine this side of reality. He was also single-just divorced from his model wife-literally a runway mannequin, and Ginny had straightaway commissioned him to be Hermione's date for that evening.
Hermione had asked Ginny why she didn't just take this so-called Adonis for herself, for Ginny was none too lavish with her "perfect" men.
Ginny's reply had been, "Oh, we work too closely together, being in the fashion business and all that. It wouldn't be professional."
Hermione's response was, "You slept with him, didn't you?"
Ginny had seemed a little offended by this. "I did not… okay, I almost did, but he was with his wife, then, and I didn't want to be anybody's mistress. Even if it's all just for fun, I like to pretend I'm looking for someone I can take seriously."
It didn't quite answer why Ginny had passed Chaucer on to her, but Hermione was getting a clearer picture of it now. As perfect as Chaucer seemed, the man clearly wasn't over his wife yet.
He would never talk about her continuously, but his subtle injections of things that suggested female influence had Hermione thinking that his model wife still hadn't quite left the building.
Then again, maybe Hermione was just fishing for excuses to ditch her date after Opera.
So she liked Die Walkür. If she was going to hate this date, she might as well make the most out of it.
"So are the rumors about Peacock true?"
Hermione's mind snapped back to their conversation. "Pardon me?"
"Drew Peacock."
Hermione winced inwardly, as she always did when the author's name was said like that.
Chaucer continued without batting an eyelash. "You're his book editor, aren't you? Rumor has it you're his favorite. Is he really as demanding and impossible as they say he is? Has he ever pointed Muggle firearms at you?"
Hermione organized her thoughts. If she was going to use her date for Opera tickets, the least she could do is give an involved response.
Drew Thurston Peacock, as he preferred to be addressed on his book covers, was a fiction and non-fiction author-one of the many Hermione handled as one of the more successful Senior Book Editors of WhizzHard Books. Drew was brilliant-a genius; successfully writing and publishing sophisticated pseudo-magic fiction like the Rune saga (four thick tomes so far) and the Echo's Castle trilogy. His non-fiction books delved in ancient history, seeped in political intrigue. All his books were successful, and he was WhizzHard Books's official cash cow, but he was notoriously difficult to work with, mostly because he was stubborn, eccentric, completely unafraid of authority, and had a chip on his shoulder the size of England regarding his dreadful name. He had two infamous collections: First were the guns, thanks to his Muggle father, who used to hunt deer professionally until an agitated elk charged him in the hunt, pushing him off the slope of a hill, and effectively breaking his neck on the way down. Drew's second collection involved elk heads, for gruesomely obvious reasons. He'd been known to point the barrel of his gun down (or up) the noses of dissenting book editors in the past, as a result of which he was passed on from one book editor to another. He was handed over to Hermione five years ago, and for some reason she couldn't readily explain, he had stuck with her, and appeared to like her.
"Drew's… eccentric," Hermione said somewhat uneasily. "And he has never pointed his guns at me, no."
"How can you stand him? I met him in a luncheon, once. He's an ornery bastard, that."
"Well, not that ornery," she said, stamping down her rising temper. Drew could be impossible at times, but she had certainly grown to have some kind of fondness for him, much as she hated to admit it. Chaucer was certainly making her work for those opera tickets. "We're both professionals. We do what we have to do to finish the book."
"Ah, yes. He's on his fourth book in the Rune series, isn't he?"
Hermione pursed her lips. "It's a saga, and he's on his fifth. The much anticipated Rune Charmer. Preceded by Rune Writer, Rune Dancer, Rune Singer, and Rune Keeper. His grasp of Alchemy and existential Arithmancy in the writing of all these books is extraordinary. Just when you think he's gotten something wrong, he proves to everyone he's right. The problem with his former editors was that they didn't know enough about Alchemic and Arithmantic theory to understand where he was headed, so they all thought he was committing mistakes, when in fact he was laying down the correct foundation. I happen to be the only one intelligent enough to be on the same page with him."
Chaucer stared at her ever so briefly. "Okay."
Think of those opera tickets…
Hermione flashed him a bright smile. "I'm sorry. I'm very passionate about my work."
"Evidently," said Chaucer. He didn't sound that much appeased.
Their dinner arrived, and Hermione tried to be more pleasant. She thought she succeeded quite well, but when it was time to have dessert, a waiter came by, telling him that there was a gentleman at the door asking for Chaucer-that it was an emergency.
Hermione watched Chaucer excuse himself to attend to the said gentleman. She said there, mildly confused as she turned this strange interruption over in her mind. When she saw Chaucer heading back, she knew what was coming before he told her.
"I'm sorry, Hermione, but that was Leon, my personal assistant. He just told me there's been-"
"A family emergency," she finished for him, piercing her strawberry shortcake quite forcefully. "You better go. It must be serious."
"I'm sorry," he said apologetically as he left in a hurry.
Moments later, a waiter came by with a bottle of wine and the opera tickets she had been whoring herself for in the last hour. The wine and dinner had been paid, and the waiter had instructions to take whatever other order she wished to make.
She sighed and took some of the wine, but she asked that the tickets be given to someone else that might be interested-she didn't quite care to whom.
After she downed two glasses of wine, she packed up for home.
It wasn't very late, but Angelica should've been packed off to bed by then. Ron was still up, naturally, and he had switched on the television, a Muggle device he enjoyed from time to time.
She hung her coat up on the rack and set her wine bottle aside. Ron was watching Roman Holiday on one of the movie channels, and he looked up at her questioningly.
"You're home early," he said.
She sniffed and summoned her dignity. "He had a family emergency."
Ron blinked several times to process this then he made a face. "Ouch."
"Yeah." She dropped to the couch beside him. "He gave me wine, though, and opera tickets. Paid for dinner, too."
"Classy of him-I mean, apart from the fact that he ditched you."
"Yeah."
"You should've taken the rest of the wine and used the opera tickets."
She shot him a glare. "I'm a ditched date, not Eurotrash."
"I wonder what Gin'll say to you when she finds out."
"Probably chew my head off for being less fanciable than my usually more fanciable self."
He arched an eyebrow. "Need Angelica to be dropped off at school tomorrow morning?"
"No. I'll do it," she replied. "You've done enough."
Ron's gaze darted sharply to her.
Defensively, she pursed her lips. She hadn't meant to say that last bit, and she'd like to think she meant no malice in it, but with Ron looking at her the way he did, she couldn't help but wish she had been more prudent in her word choice. She wasn't in any mood to soothe Ron's rather sensitive feelings for her.
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" he asked, scowling.
"Nothing."
"No, what?"
"It didn't mean anything. Just that you've already helped above and beyond the call of duty. Know what I mean?"
His face reddened with hurt rage. "Perfectly." He got up to leave.
"Ron, don't walk out of here angry. I didn't mean anything by what I said."
He looked back at her irritably. "Can't I ever do anything for you and Angelica without being suspected of wanting something in return?"
Hermione frowned, holding her temper. "Look, this argument is silly, but if you're going to bring up things like that while you're at it, I'm warning you, Ron, it's not going to be pretty when I start running off at the mouth."
Ron glared. "And what makes you think I haven't heard the worse of it from you, Hermione? I can't even begin to count the number of times you've told me to stop trying to be like Harry. Or the number of times you've reminded me that I'm not Angelica's father-as if I could forget."
She sighed and threw up her hands in surrender. "Alright, then. The truth is, maybe some subconscious part of me remembered what Angelica told me this afternoon in the car. She said you still think of me in that way. Is that true?"
The silence that followed and the deepening red on his face was confirmation enough.
"Oh, Ron!" she moaned miserably. "We've gone over this!"
"I couldn't help what I feel!" he yelled desperately. "And how does she do that, anyway? How does the little imp know-"
"That's beside the point! Have you been lying to me all this time? Did you really go on those dates with those women? Were the women even real?"
Ron shot her a sneer. "Oh, stop being so full of yourself. Of course they were real! And I did go out on dates with them!"
"So-what, you just used Sheila Thornbrush as some kind of pretend girlfriend. Did she know you were pretending?"
Ron glared at her. "Oooh, Hermione… you know I love you, but sometimes you can be a real bitch, you know that?" He turned and headed for the door.
She pursed her lips, watching him go. He stopped beneath the entryway of the living room and turned to look at her.
"Sheila Thornbrush was a nice girl with a big heart. I really tried with her, you know, but she joined the Peace Corps. She had to go to Africa. That's why we broke up."
Hermione stared at him, speechless.
"So you can just stop thinking it was about you, alright?" He finally turned and left.
The door slammed shut.
Hermione then collapsed back on the couch and closed her eyes, tired.
There was a shuffle coming from the top of the stairs to the bedrooms. Hermione looked up and saw Angelica sitting at the topmost step, rubbing her eyes sleepily.
She yawned. "What're you fightin' `bout this time?"
Sighing, Hermione dragged herself from the couch and up the steps. "Did we wake you, love?"
Angelica nodded.
Hermione picked her up and Angelica instinctively curled around her mother, burying her face in the crook of her mother's shoulder.
"You fight lots," Angelica whispered. "So I understand why you don't want him as my new daddy…"
Hermione smiled a bit, kissing Angelica's forehead. "You are your father's daughter."
Angelica just snuggled closer.
Hermione put her back to bed, pulling the covers over Angelica and tucking the comforter around her. "Sweet dreams, baby. Don't you worry yourself about me and Uncle Ron. We'll make up. We always do."
Angelica nodded and almost instantly dozed back to sleep.
Hermione pushed some of the dark curls off Angelica's forehead and found her eyes settling on one of the pictures on Angelica's bed stand.
It was a Wizarding picture of her, Harry, and Ron. It had been Christmas, when they were supposed to be seventh years. It was George who took the picture. There was mistletoe above them, and of course, that meant kisses all around. Harry, ever the gentleman, scooped her into his arms and pecked a kiss on her cheek, which she returned heartily, along with a warm hug. They danced a bit under the mistletoe, giggling, before she turned to get her kiss from Ron. Ron had made such a sour face that it made her scowl just as fiercely. He eventually dropped a kiss on her cheek, and she did the same, both of them doing so reluctantly.
Hermione chuckled. So telling…
Her eyes roved to her daughter's dresser. It was a mess, and with her nerves so frayed, she needed to put something-anything in order.
She sat at the dresser, flicked on the table light, and started clearing the tabletop. Books, parchments, quills, and notebooks were piled over unused barrettes, broken-toothed combs, strung beads, and one or two hand mirrors.
Hermione arranged the books, quills, and parchment on the study desk nearby, then she started putting order to the dresser, throwing away the toothless combs and sweeping the barrettes in their little decorative boxes tucked neatly in the dresser's drawers.
Opening the top-most drawer, she started putting away the mirrors in it-adding to the ever-growing collection. The mirrors were mostly smudged and scattered all over. Some had come with dolls, as toy accessories, and others had come with the combs as a set. Her daughter, with the bushy, unmanageable hair, always broke her combs.
Underneath the cheap, plastic-encased mirrors were a couple of elegant antique-set ones-baby-shower gifts, two of many gifts she received from strangers and family alike, from way back when Angelica was only just a life inside her.
Hermione picked one up, slid it out of its pouch, and snapped it open. Holding the mirror close to her eye just where the light fell on it, she randomly began to look for wrinkles.
You're only twenty-five-twenty-six in a few months. There won't be any wrinkles…
And even if the wrinkles were there, Harry wouldn't have cared…
Her thoughts began to drift anew and she looked up at the large mirror mounted on the dresser. She saw a woman with perfectly coifed hair, perfect make-up, and maybe even the perfect first-date dress.
Under the layers of "perfection," Hermione knew she hadn't changed all that much. When she washed her face, undid the clip in her hair, and shed her clothing, she was still the plain, bushy-haired, often inflexible bookworm.
People have called her pretty, on occasion, usually when she had to dress up and play nice for galas and book launchings.
The gossip magazines were generous enough to call her "stylish" and "well-dressed" in the rare occasion her boss managed to convince her to show up for media social events legitimized as charities and benefits. She only ever went for the cause: Orphans, Free Magical Education for Impoverished Children, Feeding the Hungry. She was yet to get invited to an Elven Rights benefit-a cause no one has bothered to help her with.
She wrote and submitted articles, mostly in criticism of Ministry leadership and red tape-most of them were published in the Quibbler, and the occasional public-uproar of Ministry policy forced the Daily Prophet into publishing her opinion, usually when-on rare instances-she actually took the opposite of public opinion and saw things from the Ministry's perspective. She wrote and submitted papers to I'M of Magic, Independent Magazine of Magic-the Wizarding world's equivalent to the Muggles' Scientific Journal. They were almost always enthusiastically accepting of her research, most of which the more commercial publications had out-rightly rejected.
She had established a reputation she valued, and these were things she would've been if Harry were still alive.
Just like I promised…
She often asked herself what would've happened if he hadn't made her promise. Would she have done as much in her life?
Most days, she believed she would have, but when the overwhelming, near-debilitating sadness of having lost Harry overcame her, she could certainly imagine how her life could have ended up in ruins-or at least in mediocrity, because even now, so long after his death, she still felt the devastating effects. She wasn't quite sure if it was mostly the guilt of having him jump in front of her to take the killing curse or the maddening, unending what-ifs. All she knew was that sometimes, she missed him so much that she would dream of him alive and with them-her and Angelica, and then end up being woken by her tears.
She instantly closed her mind to those melancholy thoughts. She was spiraling downward, and her night was depressing enough.
"Lord," she muttered to herself in disgust.
She finished tidying up what remained of the mess on the dresser in haste before she finally stood and left to retire to her room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Between her hands, the pages of an ancient diary crackled; stained blank pages of secret after secret…
The feather quill quivered, rising from its inkwell and a drop of black hung precariously at its flinted tip.
The ink fell, blossoming on the paper like a dark flower.
~~
Hello there, Angelica…
~~
Her name disappeared, the page drying beneath her fingertips.
Not a trace…
The windowpanes shook violent and it flew open with a rogue wind, knocking the inkbottle over.
It bled all over the pages, its black, glossy coat seeping to form swirling visions of two men, one dead and the other in the throes of defeat.
The first burst into flames, reduced to ashes and receding into the wind like a black phoenix in flight. The other screamed horrendously as he collapsed within himself, skin stretching over skull and bones, life withering into overdue decay.
The book slammed shut and the wind picked up-a howling gale that took everything with it, far from her reach; questions unanswered.
~~
Angelica woke, and she saw, beneath the crack of her door, that the lights were only just being put out beyond her door. She could hear her mother's footsteps receding, and she heard the careless closing of a latch.
She hadn't had that dream in ages.
Angelica sat up in bed, wondering, and realizing as her eyes adjusted to the darkness that her mother had put order to the disarray of her dresser.
She frowned a moment, thoughtful.
It's gone now. Can't feel it.
The dream wasn't going to come back.
She thought maybe the wards needed strengthening, anyway.
Decided, she tucked herself back into bed, closing her eyes.
She did not dream of the speaking book again.
TBC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: Like I said, this is definitely H+Hr. This isn't going to be like Paracelsus's Restoring Hope-which is brilliant and all things wonderful. If you haven't read it, you must read it, but be assured that I won't be stealing any of the clever ideas of that fic in the least. So there will be no helpful portraits, and the HHr won't be (SPOILER WARNING FOR RESTORING HOPE) strictly confined to flashbacks.
Until the next chapter!
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