Two Years Later...

Island Girl

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 05/07/2015
Last Updated: 05/07/2015
Status: completed

AU, EWE: Hermione is blackmailed into attending the 2nd anniversary of Voldemort's defeat. Harry/Hermione if you squint. Hermione-centric, with Ron-bashing. Resurrected Snape, Sirius, Regulus and Remus. Mild swearing, hence the PG13 rating. Companion piece to follow. Reviews much appreciated and cherished

Chapters

1. Two Years Later...

2. Part Two

1. Two Years Later...

TWO YEARS LATER….

May 2nd, 2000

South Pavilion

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Pennants flapped in the breeze.

Tables of various sizes and shapes sat under a tent so large only Magic prevented the support poles from buckling.

Temporary wooden flooring protected hems of robes from being stained by the underlying grass.

Hermione Granger sipped at the decent chardonnay that she’d snagged from a tray-bearing house elf as her gaze roamed over one and all.

All for what? Tell me again why I have to play nicely with people who never actually wielded their wand against Riddle or any of his followers.

Wizards and witches, anyone and everyone who could make the journey to the Scottish Highlands, stood in attendance. Or, in the case of those who’d grown tired of standing, sat. All enjoyed the fine food prepared and well-chosen wines served by a small army of house elves as they mingled, reminisced, and supposedly honoured the Fallen.

Wine glass in hand, and currently – blessed be Morgana – mingle-free for nearly twelve whole consecutive minutes, Hermione internally growled as she’d watched the pesky reporter from Wizards Whirl magazine push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, screw his courage to the proverbial sticking-place, and swan up to her.

He was still ten feet away from her when he’d asked her, “Miss Granger, how would you summarize the state of Wizarding Society in this post-Voldemort era?"

With a grudgingly modicum of grace, she didn’t bother to offer any comment about his unimaginative or un-original question. Instead, via her wine glass, she gestured to the throng around her, reminding him that there was an ample number of other witches and wizards to poll.

“As I neither work for the Ministry nor hold a Public Office, I believe that there are others who can answer that question better than I.”

He wasn’t going to let her go that easily.

Her reputation for being evasive and uncooperative with members of the press was well earned. Further, it was a rarity for her to attend any sort of Ministry-sponsored function. Despite Ron’s passive-aggressiveness when it came to her penchant for turning down invitations (mostly having to do with how much Ron was able to charge a paparazzi for any images that contained himself with either her and/or Harry) she ‘inadvertently’ booked her travels abroad when such events took place. And, for the most part, her work schedule usually sufficed as her ‘get out of event free card’. The only reason why she was here today was because today was the second anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts.

Her anti-RSVP, as she called it, which she’d drafted bright-and-early on May 3rd of 1999, even as her review schedule for her Eighth Year and N.E.W.Ts was well underway, she fully intended to post on May 4th, 1999.

That letter, regretfully I have to decline as I’m scheduled to be in Chad for the first ten days in May, went into her Muggle shredder when she’d received simultaneous owls from the Minister of Magic as well as the Headmistress of Hogwarts at tea-time on May 3rd, 1999. The same missive was found hidden inside the Yule cards she’d received from each of her blackmailers seven months later – just in case she’d forgotten the stakes.

The stakes? Horrid! Diabolical! Molar grinding!

If she didn’t present herself and…’behave’…for the commemoration, then Kingsley and McGonagall would make-good on their promises to send two different elves – one from the Ministry and one from Hogwarts – to her flat, hotel room, tent-site, yurt, or abode-du-jour every three days for the next five years to clean and cook and…fetch…for her.

The idea of knowing that so many little hands would be handling her laundry (knickers!), re-arranging her beloved Muggle highlighters, and ordering her coffee from her favorite caffeine-provider was enough to send Hermione to Madame Malkin’s for suitable dress robes for today’s event.

Her current project was legitimately time-invasive and far-reaching. Components necessary to complete her project were being discovered in the unlikeliest of places. More than once, her travel schedule caused havoc with her personal life. But, there was just so much riding on this endeavour. So many people had invested in her – her skills, her commitment, her ambition, and her ingenuity to create something that hadn’t been created before: a Person-to-Person Portkey. Or, as those who knew about her project referred to it: Pee-Three. If she could do this, then she and all her investors – Malfoy Enterprises, Weasley Wizarding Wheezes LLC, Black Holdings International, Prongs Investments, The Delacour Group , as well as smaller, individual investors like Neville and Andromeda Tonks – would ‘win’ and ‘win big’. If the project failed, her investors would certainly ‘feel’ their individual losses, but the deep pockets each entity possessed would provide plenty of cushioning. For her, her professional career and personal reputation would be annihilated and her epic failure never forgotten.

So say that she felt the pressure to deliver such a significant invention was an understatement.

At least when she was being left alone, excluding the sincere pleasantries she’d shared with persons she was truly genuinely fond of, there was no chance of her ‘misbehaving’. As a wall-flower, she could run simulations in her head and jot down formulas on cocktail napkins so that her day wouldn’t be a total loss of valuable work-time.

But no – now she had to deal with a wizard who’d thought he’d get a career-making headline by being the first one in a year-and-a-half to successfully interview her. Didn’t this person know that she’d cut all ties with all publications in the wake of the libellous persecution she’d endured once the press caught wind of her little tete-a-tete with Death?

Bring four wizards back from beyond the grave and suddenly you’re vilified as a Necromancer.

“But as a member of the celebrated Golden Trio –“

“The Golden, what?” She cut him off. And, she was rude about it.

The gleam in her eye and the aggressiveness in her stance at the mention of that particularly distasteful moniker was enough for the reporter to – wisely – stop speaking mid-sentence.

If Minerva didn’t have eyes on her, she’d see just how quickly she could make this by-line rent-boy cry.

Wine glass still in hand and brandishing a half-smile that displayed the tips of her teeth, to anyone else she looked like she was having a pleasant conversation with a casual acquaintance. And, for the most part, she was. For the reporter, it wasn’t as pleasant.

“Before you get your hopes any higher, listen to me very carefully.” She took a sip from her glass, preying on the increasingly intimidated look on his face. “In three minutes, you are going to walk away from me. You are going to tell anyone who asks that you and I shared a delightful conversation – I even asked about how your children are faring, irrespective of whether or not you’ve actually placed your cock in something other than your closed fist. You’re then going to walk up to Kingsley Shacklebolt, keeping in mind that the current Minister is still one of the best Aurors in the nation with an astounding capture record, and thank him profusely for doing such a good job in managing the Ministry and improving the quality of life for one and all.”

She flexed her aura, a technique she’d learned from Lucius Malfoy during one of the Pee-Three progress report meetings, and channelled a smidgeon of her formidable magical power into physical manifestations.

Immediately, ice crystals formed along the rim and stem of her wine glass. Her eyes, as she could see her reflection in the reporter’s spectacles, instantly brightened from a deep chocolate colour to fire-whiskey gold.

“If you even think of doing anything other than what this witch has just…suggested…then I believe you’ll spend the remainder of your, what you’d hoped would be life-long and illustrious, career collecting interviews from chickens about the quality of their feed and considering yourself…lucky.”

The smooth baritone of Severus Snape fell down around her like a Warming Charm. For the writer, whose IQ matched his shoe-size and not the length of his wand, it was more of a Warning Charm.

The reporter, face to face with a Resurrected wizard and the witch who’d resurrected him and three others seventeen months ago, did the best thing for himself, his career and his family – if he indeed had one.

He nodded his head, gestured politely to Severus, tucked one foot behind the other as a pathetic attempt at a curtsy to Hermione, spun on his heel, and made for the tall, elegant black man who was standing amid a cadre of former Order members.

“Ladies curtsy; gentlemen bow,” Severus sneered at the reporter’s back as he corrected the other wizard’s embarrassing breach of etiquette.

Hermione stifled the groan that originated from her outer – not inner – independent witch aspect of her personality.

Much the same way she’d cut-off that reporter, Severus stopped her rant before she could even get started.

“Before you embark on another…tedious...diatribe about how you’d had that situation in-hand and didn’t require my…assistance…let me inform you that I am well aware of your capabilities. The only time I would ever even think of a situation where I’d step on your toes would be if someone cast an Enlargement Charm on your feet.”

He reached forward and smoothly plucked her glass from her hand.

“Oi! I was enjoying that!”

He drained it and then wandlessly and silently Levitated the wine glass to a nearby tray.

“Besides… Knowing that you’d only begun to…play…with that hapless twat would have put me off any future nibbles. And, as you know, I am in attendance for the same reason you are.” His suffering was clearly her suffering. “I was here before breakfast without the benefit of actually eating breakfast. I have been looking forward to the duck confit and stuffed mushroom caps since I’d arrived here this morning. I will not be denied because some fool was foolish enough to cross your path with nothing but a fool’s hope and a pipe dream.” He gave a glance at the older woman draped in green tartan and a sporting a jaunty feather in her witch’s hat that bobbed as she moved through the crowd. “It would’ve been kinder to Transfigure that poor bastard into a gimpy mouse, roll him in catnip, then toss him at Minerva and let her have-at him than allow you to continue.”

“It’s because of….to use your terminology, Severus, twats…like that I’ll need m-a-n-y glasses of wine in order to make sure that others spend the next six hours in the same shape and form as they’d first arrived.” Hermione’s glare was more directed at the multitude that filled the South Pavilion to capacity than at his audacity in drinking her wine.

As a general rule-of-thumb, Hermione Granger was a ‘happy’ drunk when she imbibed. And, she was a light-weight. After two glasses of a good white wine, one was more likely to find themselves on the receiving end of workplace and love advice from the tipsy witch rather than learning first-hand why-and-how Potter lived long enough to defeat Riddle and that after an afternoon with her, Death himself restored four wizards to the Land of the Living.

“I don’t need to be able to think clearly. You, however, will.” He leaned closer to her. His voice low and his head bent towards her ear he murmured, “You’ll need your wits about you.”

She immediately tensed.

Without any further explanation, he placed her hand onto his arm and guided her through the throng. As she was with him, Resurrected with all his snark and cloak-billowing skills fully returned to him, no one stopped them. It was equal parts his determined stride and her consternation that prevented anyone from slowing them down.

“Where are we going?” Hem of her dress-robe in her hand, she tugged on his arm. She didn’t have to tug a second time to get him to pause.

They were halfway to the Great Hall from the South Pavilion, where the Great Tent stood. If he was going to continue at such a quick pace, then he’d have to give her a chance to shed her shoes. She understood that wherever he was leading her, it was important that they get there quickly. However, high-heeled slippers versus the smoothly-laid stone slabs that lined the corridors of a rebuilt Hogwarts? She’d prefer to avoid sprained ankles and shin splints.

She’d stared enough at the ceiling in PoppyLand to know that it probably hadn’t changed all that much since she’d last occupied a bed in the hospital wing.

Stooped over slightly, as to pry her fancy shoes off of her feet, she gave Severus a very pointed look.

The wizard actually huffed. He huffed! At her! For daring to ask, sans words, where and why they were going in such a rush.

Then, a wicked smirk bloomed under his hooked nose.

“Young Mr. Weasley has found himself to be…at the centre…at what could be considered a Slytherin Common Room reunion.”

Now she huffed. In exasperation. “What did Ron do this time?”

That smirk, the one Draco obviously mastered and then made his own, deepened. “That I cannot answer as I’d been reminded that watching you as you saw for yourself the extent of the current…situation…would be worth enduring any hex. And before you say the words to match the way you’ve now clamped your hands to your delectable hips, I will share that Phineas Black sought me out to tell me that crass-tongued ginger-haired Gryffindors clash horribly with the green and silver décor in the Slytherin dungeons.”

She rolled her eyes. In fact, if her eye-roll was attached to an oar, she’d be halfway across the English Channel with a single pull.

Severus said ‘Gryffindors’, not ‘Gryffindor’ – which meant that there was more than one Weasley in the basement.

She once again took his hand. Gaze firmly locked on his black irises, she exhaled loudly. Then, she straightened her shoulders and faced forward.

“Lead on.”

** *** ****

Severus whispered the password and the portal to the Snakes’ Den swung open.

She accepted his hand as he helped her across the wood-and-iron threshold. He continued his grip as she put her shoes back on her feet and resettled the hems of her dual-layered dress robe.

Once re-assembled, she took a look around.

It wasn’t a Slytherin Common Room reunion. It was more like a Quidditch Pitch showdown with a few token spectator-athletes thrown in for good measure. If there was ever a reason for Snakes and Lions and a Bulgarian to play nicely with another, apparently one Ron Weasley was the ‘how’ and ‘why’.

Another eye-roll from her had everything to do with the fact that Ron Weasley hung suspended from his wrists over the central fire pit in the middle of the Common Room.

George Weasley brandished his wand in one direction and then the other. From what Severus had shared on their walk to the dungeons, George was in the exact same place as when the former Headmaster left to collect her.

Severus once again murmured in her ear. “Those who have a vested interest in keeping Weasley exactly where he hangs are on the left. On the right are those who have a vested interest in keeping Weasley exactly where he hangs for the next couple of millennium. Those seated on the furniture believe Weasley is breathing good air that they might need later on in life and have proposed…alternatives. ”

Apparently, George had taken it upon himself to keep the different factions at-bay. It didn’t help matters that George was making a case for Ron to hang in front of his Diagon Alley location.

The Potions Master arched an eyebrow at the unlit pile of kindling heaped in the bowl of the fire-pit.

“That’s…surprising.”

“What’s ‘surprising’?” Hermione knew she shouldn’t have asked, but she did anyway.

“When I’d left, the group had unanimously agreed to remove Mr. Weasley’s shoes and were drawing straws as to see who would be the one to cast the first Incendio.”

Lucius Malfoy, one hand folded over the other atop his elegant cane, gave her one of his nods; the nod he reserved for those he genuinely respected and wanted to acknowledge when he couldn’t actually say welcoming words due to circumstance.

Standing beside him was Draco. At Draco’s elbow was the ever-so-handsome Blaise Zabini. Theo Nott stood off to the side. Next to Theo was an angry-looking Daphne Greengrass-Nott. Astoria Greengrass and her father – Hermione never bothered to remember that wizard’s actual given name as she’d renamed that slime-ball ‘Rat Bastard’ months ago – each glared at the dangling spectacle that was Ron.

Viktor Krum’s exotic good-looks were perfectly framed by a black leather club chair. His pose radiated sexy confidence. Hermione was so glad to see him even if she didn’t have a frame of reference for her friend’s feral amusement at seeing Ron strung-up. She’d noticed him earlier and had exchanged smiles with the striking Eastern European wizard. She’d planned to catch up with him properly later. Apparently, as Ron – not Fate – would have it, ‘now’ was the new ‘later’.

Beside him, much too pretty for his own good and sprawled in all his masculine Black splendour on the matching black leather chaise, Regulus regarded the situation with a calculating eye. The Resurrected wizard subtly twirled his wand. Only a fool would think that the barely-discernable patterns he traced in the air were random or indicative of a harmless or sluggish or hesitant Magical temperament. Regulus Black, repentant Death Eater though he was, was a Snake who very much had his fangs. She’d learned over the past seventeen months that he was her match when it came to talent, intelligence, and vindictiveness.

Harry, Seamus, Oliver Wood, Remus and Sirius were the unlikeliest collection of Lions in the Serpents’ Lair. Harry, Remus, and Sirius – that grouping she could understand; they were each joined at the hip, especially since Remus and Sirius were Resurrected.

Hermione didn’t know what Harry’s thoughts were. He was clearly bewildered and concerned. But as for whatever else he was feeling, or for whom, she couldn’t say. For the past nine years, every time Ron had done something inconsiderate or hurtful, Harry had always sided with her once-boyfriend.

Sirius and Remus….well, they looked…well…serious. The older Black gazed up at Ron and was making no noises to defend the chap. Remus had his head tilted towards Harry and it seemed as if Remus was explaining something while conveying his deep disappointment towards Ron.

She had no idea how Seamus and Oliver fit into all this. Though, truth be told, Oliver was definitely a welcomed sight to her jaded eyes. She’d bet a month’s worth of cauldron cleaning that Wood could still lace-up his Seventh Year Quidditch cords. It was no hardship to look at Seamus either. He might have the beginnings of a receding hairline, but the tell-tale draping of that wizard’s dress robes was nothing short of a promise that there were plenty of available muscles for a witch to hold on to.

Oliver Wood stood in a particularly aggressive stance: arms crossed against his chest, feet just shy of shoulder-width apart and soft knees. She wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest that the way he kept tapping his twelve-inch wand against his left bicep drew her…interest. Seamus, bless his soul the wizard currently had both eyebrows, each of which were furrowed in disgust. That disgust was centred solely on his former dorm-mate.

For his part, Ron’s red face and derisive expression could have everything to do with the fact that he was strung up, over a fire-pit, without an ally in sight. Or, possibly, Ron could’ve eaten too much cheese over the past couple of days and was severely constipated. Interestingly enough, he wasn’t demanding to be cut down.

Nope.

Not one word about demanding his freedom. Though he had plenty of epithets for the Slytherin alumni.

Flinging about slurs a-plenty, Ron threw his weight against the ropes at his wrists–

“Huh – anti-Chafing charm?” Hermione wondered out loud, as she noticed that ropes hadn’t cut into the thin skin at the base of Ron’s hands.

“Half of the wizards present might be dunderheads, but Black –“

“Which one?” She wasn’t being glib. To take Sirius Black at face-value meant that one – foolishly – dismissed the fact that underneath that wizard’s Gryffindorness was twenty generations of Black-ness.

Severus cut a side-long look at the Black tracing not-so-random-after-all patterns in the air with the tip of his wand. “The one smart enough – clever, too – to make sure that there are no traceable marks. As you’d reminded that twat outside, there are several…capable…witches and wizards on the grounds today.”

Ahhh – that made sense. Minerva had threatened more than just her with consequences for ‘bad behaviour’.

“What’s she holding over your head?” Hermione knew the tall wizard had very few weaknesses that Minerva could exploit. But, being the cunning kitty that she was, Hermione knew that if anyone could find a paw-hold in Severus’ all but tangible metaphorical armour, it would be McGonagall.

Severus flexed his cheek as he clenched his jaw. “Re-instating my position as Headmaster.”

“She wouldn’t!” Reflexively, Hermione inhaled sharply and latched a hand onto Severus’ upper arm. “She wouldn’t step aside just to make you –“

“I’d said the same thing, when I attempted to call her bluff. She informed me,” he ground his teeth as he continued, “that she’d been the headmistress in all but name only since Albus first took up the mantle; she didn’t need an honorific to know what she did and accomplished on a daily basis.”

His glare at the feather in Minerva’s hat, which should’ve set the thing a-flame when they were underneath the mammoth tent, suddenly made a lot more sense.

“And, seeing as how I was never actually sacked as I’d actually died while in office, she would have no qualms about expediting the necessary paperwork and to resume her place as Deputy.”

That was indeed a wicked punishment: to be out-Slytherin’ed by a life-long-well-then-into-the-afterlife Gryffindor! “I am so sorry, Severus.”

The black clad wizard held himself too rigidly to actually shrug. “As you’d stated earlier, there are six hours left to today’s…events. And, once we’re finished here, we’ll be all the closer to being able to leave without having to be put on display up there.” His wicked smirk returned as he tugged at the cuffs of his shirt. “I shall enjoy watching this.”

His shift from admitting to the Damocles Sword that hung over his head to Weasley hanging seven feet off the ground brought her focus back to the issue at hand.

From the looks of things, the group had pronounced Ron’s sentence, but had forgone a trial.

Stepping around Severus, patting him on the arm one last time as she did so, she marched forward.

“Anyone want to tell me what’s going on here?”

*** *** ***

There was something about the way the very air seemed to…shift…when Hermione Granger walked into the room.

“Anyone want to tell me what’s going on here?”

Arms crossed, wand in-hand, Oliver Wood leaned back slightly on his heels as he watched the witch take control of the room.

It was definitely odd to find himself in the bowels of Hogwarts Castle after living for seven years in Gryffindor Tower. But when Regulus Black had made eye-contact with Krum as George Weasley had distracted McGonagall when Ron Weasley was frog-marched by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin out of the far-end of the South Pavilion with Malfoy’s cane pressed firmly between the idiot’s shoulder blades with Severus Snape as lookout, Oliver had taken Krum up on his invitation to follow.

He was surprised to see the Greengrass family already assembled when he’d arrived at the Slytherin Common room.

Regulus Black was one hell of a crafty bastard. Oliver certainly wouldn’t have had the foresight to cast a charm on the conjured ropes.

Eyes on a slowly rising Weasley, Oliver swung his head to the left when he got clapped on the back.

Seamus Finnegan, in mid-stride, gaze fixed on his former Year-mate, proved that the lad had a talent for more than just blowing things up. The chap had a keen eye for observation. “Me Da always drummed into me head: the most important part of enna gud plan is the getaway.”

Wood’s inner – and outer – strategist agreed whole-heartedly. Even if the thick Irish accent was enough to make his molars itch.

Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, a tall good-looking black wizard at Malfoy’s side, weren’t the last to arrive.

George Weasley’s entrance definitely lightened the mood. The older Weasley burst through the portal, all but tripping over his feet, looked around, and made it a point to smooth-down his hideously garish dragon hide suit.

“Have I missed anything?” Appraising the situation as a whole, including his brother’s predicament, George’s boyish smile spread from ear-to-missing-ear. “And here I was, thinking that my little brother would never move up in the world?!”

Malfoy and his – friend? something more? – took up floor space near his Patriarch. Harry gravitated to Sirius Black. Krum settled in the chair and the other Black brother commandeered the chaise. Greengrass and his daughters stood with some dark-haired chap who seemed well-acquainted with the youngest Slytherins.

Once Oliver heard the term ‘Magical Poaching’, the debate over who was going to cast the Incendio at the kindling in the firepit made a LOT more sense. As did the Potions Master hissing, “Going to get Granger.”

Now, the most exacting professor in the history of Hogwarts stood side-by-side the witch he’d left to fetch.

To see her take command of a group of wizards such as the ones in this room made Oliver very grateful that he’d chosen a less austere cut for his dress robes.

*** *** ***

2. Part Two

TWO YEARS LATER….

Part Two…

“Anyone want to tell me what’s going on here?”

“Herms! You’re here!”

Ron threw his weight against the ropes that were wrapped around his wrists. He succeeded in twisting just enough so that he could actually see and not just hear his former girlfriend.

“What did you do now, Ron?’

“It’s not me! It’s THEM!”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Ron felt himself be hauled higher into the air. “HEY! HEY! What do you lot think you’re doing?!”

He couldn’t see who Hermione had cut her gaze to, but the drawl behind the answer her arched eyebrow asked could only belong to that should’ve-remained-dead Regulus Black.

“Every time he lies, the rope shortens.”

Of course she didn’t reprimand him. In her eyes, none of them: Malfoys, Snakes, even Sirius, could do no wrong.

“Ahhh – the oldie-but-goodie reverse-Pinocchio bit.” George was in his line-of-site, and seemed suitably impressed with Black’s wand-work. “Well done!”

“George – don’t encourage him,” Hermione asked.

Ron threw his left hip to the side. He did a full rotation and a half before he came to a stop.

Directly in front of the Ferret and Zabini.

“Oh – look, Blaise. It’s a piñata charmed to look like a wizard.”

“Break open this piñata, Draco, and the only thing that will come out of it is stupidness,” Zabini quipped.

“Now, now gentlemen,” Lucius tapped his cane against the floor – utterly poncy move in Ron’s book. “We have several items on our agenda in addition to beating this fool to a bloody pulp.”

“Touch me and everyone down at Auror Control will be lining up to have a go at you!” Ron wriggled his hips, shoulders, and knees so that he could look each and every one of them in the eye.

The rope shortened even more.

“He goes enna higher and he’ll be doin’ a fair impersonation of a squashed bug.” Finnegan scrunched up his face as if he were trying to imagine the inevitable.

“Sweet Salazar, Potter – you stepped aside so that a tosser like this,” Nott gestured to Harry, then at him, then to Hermione, “could have a chance with a witch like her?”

“I haven’t stepped anywhere!” Harry sputtered.

“Tell me, Potter - does Bell-End All Stars still pay you and Weasley to be their poster boys?”

“Cor, Ollie – hadn’t heard that one in a while!” George laughed so hard he snorted! “Remember, Harry? When Wood ran drills? That was his favourite: bell-end.”

“Tell us, Potter – how was this year’s Bell-End Pride Parade?” Zabini asked.

“I am not a bell-end!”

“And you and Weasley saying that, at the exact same time, makes it so much less true, Potter.” Ferret Face rolled his eyes.

“No one’s touching anyone –“

“Who says we have?”

Inferi Food interrupted Hermione. Ron smirked broadly. She’s so going to rip you a new one!

“I am not a bell end! Never have been, never will be!”

“Yes, Potter. Got it, Potter. You were never a bell-end, no matter how many times you let that witch down,” Regulus drawled. He pointed his wand at a mortified Hermione. “Or made her cry.” He gestured to his brother. “Haven’t you taught this ‘not a bell-end’ that the only time a wizard is allowed to make a witch cry out is when he fills the space between her knees?”

“Enough!” Hermione, embarrassed and more than a little peeved, stopped that topic cold. “I swear, Regulus! We’re going to have a ‘nice’ chat about lurking in doorways when I visit your older brother when I’m upset. And you!” She pointed at Sirius and Remus, “We’re going to have an even ‘nicer’ chat about the meaning of the phrase, ‘shared in confidence’.”

She swung her gaze to the most mature member of the group. “Lucius, could you please tell me what you all are doing and why Severus risked the Wrath of Minerva by bringing me here?”

Ron puffed out his chest in House Pride at the mention of McGonagall. Good ole McGee – cor, how he loved the way she had her fingers clamped on the ears of these wizards.

“Yeah – I’d like to know, too,” Harry echoed Hermione.

Ron threw his right hip and only managed to swing sideways instead of pivoting.

A sharp poke to his arse rotated him so that Ron could look at Harry’s eyes.

“Astoria! What did you do?”

“I know I shouldn’t have touched the tosser, Theo.” The youngest witch in the room held out her wand for her sister to Scourgify. “But his freckly arse was in my face and I just couldn’t bear to look at it a second longer or run the risk of him breaking wind.”

“That I ken understand, Lass. I had’ta look at him starkers for nigh on six years. Believe you me when I tell ya that’s a sight no one deserves ta see.”

“Seamus! What are you doing here?” Still facing Harry, Ron craned his neck as far as he could so that he could see over his shoulder.

“Well, seein’ as how I’d been the one who’d caught ya. Seemed only fittin’ that I get ta be here when ya get your arse good-en-spanked for what yer did.”

“Ron – what did you do?” Harry repeated himself.

“I already asked that question,” Hermione huffed. “Twice.”

“The Lady shouldn’t be required to ask thrice.”

“Who said that?” Ron didn’t recognize the voice. But, seeing as how he figured Harry was still his best chance at getting out of this, he stayed put.

“Viktor, I appreciate all that you do for me–“

But not silent.

“What can he do for you that I can’t! Tell me, Herms!”

If there was one wizard Ron loathed more than Regulus Black, either of the Malfoys, any Snake, or the Greasy Git, it was Vicky.

“Well, for starters, he doesn’t call me by a nickname I detest, Ron.”

“Thank you, Mila.”

That didn’t make any sense to Ron. Not any more than the flash of jealousy that crossed Harry’s face or the low growl that came from Wood’s direction when Vicky called Hermione ‘Mila’.

“Your name is Hermione. Herms comes from Hermione. How can you even say that when he calls you ‘Mila’. That’s not even part of your name!”

“You know what, Ron?” He waited for her to tell him, but she didn’t. “Never mind. Just, for the love of Merlin, will you STOP calling me Herms!”

“Not a problem, ‘Mione.” Witches could never resist his saucy wink and natural charm

This time, instead of a sharp poke to his arse, he got a Stinging Hex. “Oi! Who did that?!”

“Ever hear of a muggle scientist named Pavlov, Ron?”

“Professor Lupin?” Ron didn’t expect his favorite professor to turn on him!

“This explains how you got the mutt to finally stop drinking out of the toilet bowl.” Snape actually sounded…intrigued.

“I’ll let you know that I did that all on my own!” Sirius exclaimed, not letting himself get riled by the Greasy Git.

“Yes, well, what worked for Padfoot has to work on Ron.”

“Eventually – maybe. But don’t hold your breath, Lupin.” Once again, Ferret Face joined in. “Every experiment has a failure ratio.”

Those Snakes were talking like he wasn’t even in the room! “Hello! I’m still here, you know.”

“Unfortunately.” Poncy Malfoy, Snape, Zombie Black, and Wood all chimed at the exact same time.

“I want to know two things and I want immediate answers! One: what did Ron do? Two: what are THEY doing here?” Hermione demanded.

“We’re here because the charges levied against us are false.”

Ron knew that voice. Herbert Greengrass, father of Daphne and Astoria, and Chief Financial Officer for Greengrass Consolidated. The same company that was being Scrutinized – the legal term pertaining to a wizard, witch, or entity, under investigation for the most serious of business-related violations – for Magical Poaching by the Ministry’s Patents and Implementation Office as well as the DMLE.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here.” Hermione practically vibrated with emotion. “Come to steal more of my hard work and research?”

Her accusation drew everyone’s attention away from him. Glancing up, Ron eyed the ropes around his wrists.

“Neither myself nor anyone in my employ or family ever stole from you, Miss Granger.”

“LIAR!”

“It’s true!” Herbert struggled to stay calm, even as every wizard in the room could feel Hermione’s power pulse against their auras.

“Granger – hear him out.”

What was Ferret Face playing at, sounding so reasonable and…gentle?

“Why are you defending him, Draco? Why aren’t he and his hanging from the rafters alongside Ron?” Hermione waved a hand to the extra space on either side of Ron. “Just a few weeks ago, you were hell-bent on destroying him for what he’s done to me and to our project.”

“Oh, believe me, Miss Granger. My son and I, assisted by both Mssrs. Blacks, made good on that vow. Greengrass Consolidated is just steps away from utter ruin.”

“You and your bloody fucking PROJECT!” Ignoring the byplay about Greengrass for a moment as well as the fact that he now hung lower than before, Ron latched onto the reason why he’d… He hated that fucking project! He was the one who was learning to be an Auror. He was the one who was supposed to be the bread-winner in their soon-to-be-family. He was the one who was going to be the winner in all this! All his hard work…

“You – keep your mouth shut.” She snapped her finger at him. “I’ll finish dealing with you in a minute.”

She then turned her attention to every other wizard and witch assembled. The confidence and authority she’d used with Ron evaporated in the wake of insecurity, hesitance, and a hint of abandonment

“You’re all defending Greengrass? You’re picking Greengrass over me? I know there’s a lot of work left to do on Pee-Three, that I haven’t even reached the half-way point. Greengrass, he has resources I don’t. But I’d thought you all believed in me, trusted me…”

The crestfallen look on her face was exactly what Ron had been hoping for. He knew Hermione’s Achilles’ Heel was her need for approval. That’s why his plan was pure genius! Except it was Sirius Black, Harry Potter, and every other wizard in the room who were the ones to validate her and not him, because he was currently HANGING FROM THE CEILING!

“Hermione – I’ll NEVER stop believing in you or anything that you do.” A swirl of magic stretched between Harry and Hermione, the likes of which Ron had seen several times during the course of his friendship with the other members of the Golden Trio.

“Our faith in you has never waivered.” Malfoy tapped his cane three times.

On the third tap…

…the cane glowed purple, the same purple that flared in Ferret’s eyes, Zabini’s eyes, and Ferret’s father’s eyes as Malfoy Family Magic spread from wizard to wizard to wizard.

…an amber glow spread up from and across Lupin’s chest and remained bright and true.

…Snape’s aura physically manifested.

…both Blacks nodded in agreement of Malfoy’s declaration as Black Family Magic verified the loyalty between the House of Black and Hermione.

…a slow, steady, pulse of deep red from Viktor conveyed without out words what existed between the Bulgarian and ‘Mione.

“Kitten – look at me.” Sirius waited for the magics to subside before he reached for both of Hermione’s hands with his own. “Seamus came to me, to Remus actually, a month ago. Said he had proof that the case against Greengrass Consolidated wasn’t on the up-and-up. But, he didn’t know what to do about it. That’s how this all started.”

No. No. NOOO! This isn’t what was supposed to happen! How did Seamus find out?! Ron refocused on the ropes looped around his hands. If he could get free, he could still salvage this.

Sirius continued. “Remus fired-called me. Once I’d listened to what Seamus had told Remus, I knew that the only thing I could do was bring in Malfoy and Snape.”

“Damn near crapped me-self at that meeting, let me tell ya.” Seamus shamelessly shared.

“The mutt is telling you the truth, Miss Granger.”

Ron grinned. Snape vouching for Sirius? That definitely works in my favor!

“Once we,” Malfoy Senior pointed his cane at Snape, Ferret, Ferret’s pillow friend, Remus, and Sirius, “determined that Finnegan had disclosed everything he knew –“

“Kinda hard not ta when pumped full-a Vertiserum.” Seamus groused. Apparently being two years out of Hogwarts and the go-to ‘explosives expert’ during the Final Battle gave Seamus the courage to interrupt a poncy Death Eater. “Like I was lyin’ in the first place!”

“We set up an investigation of our own, Granger,” Zabini added. Like Ferret Face, there was unmistakable kindness and compassion in his every word. “We knew that if we proved our suspicions, you were going to be the one who suffered.”

“Potter was the only one who we’d kept in the dark.” Ferret Face didn’t offer an apology to Potter as much as he blithely stipulated why Harry was excluded. “We couldn’t run the risk of exposure. Not until we were sure.”

Harry looked…shocked and indignant. “I would never do anything to hurt Hermione!”

“You have. I know it’s tough to hear, Pup, but it’s true. We did the right thing by leaving you out of the loop.” Sirius pulled Harry aside, slightly away from the others as Snape rested a consoling hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “I know first-hand that precious few things in this world trump the bonds of brotherhood, Harry. I have a feeling that after tonight, you’re going figure that out.”

Green eyes wide and shoulders squared, Harry accepted what Sirius said. Bollocks if Ron knew what Padfoot was talking about, but the way Harry now looked at him and took two steps closer to where he hung made Ron think his secrets might just remain a secret. Harry defeated Voldemort! Harry could just as easily wipe-out everyone in the room in the name of his bestest friend and ‘brother’.

Moving into position beside Harry, and then pushing him behind her, Hermione dashed away the few stray tears from the bottoms of her eyes. She spared a scant moment, long enough to face Harry and placed her hand on his chest. “This has everything to do with me, Harry.”

This was something else Ron had seen over the years – where Harry and Hermione become so…eye-locked…that no one else existed until that eye-lock ended. Cor, it was bloody annoying! No wizard worth his weight in spells should ever succumb to something like that! It was bloody Dark, that’s what that was! His mother had told him so.

Harry placed his hand over hers and then nodded. Looking in her eyes, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. He quietly asked, “We’ll talk later?”

“Okay, Harry.” It was Hermione’s turn to nod and squeeze his hand.

Quiet moment done, Hermione seemed to grow by several inches as she separated from Harry and turned back to face him.

“For the last time, Ron: what did you do?”

Ron had seen that particular expression on Hermione’s face before. He called it her Veela Mind Trick - something Ron blamed Fleur for teaching Hermione. Each and every time she’d used it on him, he’d caved.

*** *** ***

“Resist! Must resist Veela-mind-trick. Must. Resist!”

“What the fuck is he blathering on about?” Zabini looked at Seamus, for no other reason than the Irish lad stood closest to him, for an explanation

“Bollocks if I know ennythin’ about what goes on in that head of his.”

“When we were in school, when Beauxbatons first arrived and Ron saw Fleur for the first time – well, any time he saw Fleur for that matter – he’d blurt the first thing that came to his mind, regardless of what it was.” George laughed at some memory that only he remembered. “Ron thinks that Fleur taught Hermione how to make him confess to anything using her…feminine wiles…and a specific tone of voice.”

Harry glanced at Hermione, who was standing close to Ron. To him, there was no Veela Mind Trick at work. “She sounds like Molly did when she’d corner you and Fred after Percy would discover one of your prototypes in his bed.”

George beamed nostalgically. A hint of sadness tempered his mental inventory of all the things he and his twin had planted in Percy’s room over the years. “Those were good times, my friend.”

“So Granger, mimicking his mother, is what Weasley considers to be a cross between Allure and Compulsion?”

Oliver did exactly what every other male in the Slytherin Common Room did when Daphne Greengrass hit the proverbial nail on the proverbial head: they all shuddered in revulsion.

Though, Snape’s last word on the subject was spot on. “You’re in luck, Lupin. Apparently Mr. Weasley can be trained to respond via Pavlovian conditioning.”

“Don’t look at me like that, ‘Mione!” Ron scrunched his eyes shut and twisted his head to the side.

“Look at me, Ronald Weasley!”

“Cor – she really does sound like Molly.” Sirius whistled low and long; he was impressed. By Merlin, they all were!

Oliver just wanted to hear Granger wring the truth out of Weasley. The sooner this whole thing was done, the sooner he could speak to the witch without an audience.

Weasley, cracking open one eye, enough to see Granger with her wand in her hand and tapping it against her thigh, started the verbal diarrhea.

Ron built a false case against Greengrass Consolidated. Greengrass faced charges on the grounds of the wizarding equivalent of industrial espionage – the DMLE statute identified as Magical Poaching – pertaining to Pee-Three. To hear Ron explain himself, if he created enough public controversy about Pee-Three, the investors would have no choice but to pull-out, Hermione would then have to give-up Pee-Three, which would free-up Hermione so that she could marry him like a proper witch would-and-should. And, if Ron happened to discredit a family of former Snakes in the process, then bully for him.

Oliver felt like he needed to shower after hearing ten minutes of pure shite flow out of Ronald Weasley’s mouth.

The fact that Weasley’s feet met solid ground meant that everything he’d said was the absolute truth.

Done with Ron, Hermione waved her hand at him. All sound ceased. She’d Silenced him.

For a third time, Magic flared true and potent.

This time, the origin was Hermione’s aura as it glowed as she drew upon her powers.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley: I renounce you. I renounce your friendship. I renounce your place in my life.”

Arm fully extended, her right hand rose from her hip to her chest. With each item she listed, royal blue tethers between her and Weasley revealed themselves.

“Stay close, Harry. You’re going to feel this.” Sirius anchored Potter with a hand to the Chosen One’s shoulder. Lupin, too, moved closer. Regulus added his own magic to the dampening cocoon Sirius created.

Nearby, Oliver heard Seamus and Zabini uttered the same word reverently. “Magnificent.”

“I renounce my friendship, my magic, my affinity.”

Arm fully extended, her left hand rose from her hip to her chest. Streams of rose-gold coloured magic shimmered into being.

“What was once a bond built on life and experiences, offered freely and nurtured, honoured and respected…”

Her wrists rotated so that her shoulders, elbows, and fingers aligned.

“Is. No. MORE!”

Arms brought to centre, she made a slashing motion through the ribbons that represented the core components of a nine year friendship.

A pulse of bright light made spots dance in front of Oliver’s eyes. Once he could see again, it was Ron who was on the floor, panting heavily, with a truly bewildered look on his face and tremors throughout his whole body.

A shaken Hermione turned to Sirius, who was supporting a sagging Potter. “Harry – are you okay?”

“M’fine, Hermione.” Potter nodded, grateful to have been shielded by Black, Black, and Lupin.

Shock, disbelief, and shame, not at what she had done but at what Ron had done, made her body tremble and her skin ashen.

“I am at a complete loss about what to do to make this right.”

She glanced at the Greengrasses.

“I don’t know how to even begin to put this all back together.” She turned to Malfoy. “What Ron has done, Draco… The ramifications!” Eyes wide and mind whirring, she locked gazes with the Malfoy Pater, both Blacks. “Once everyone finds out what we’ve done, to someone innocent…”

Regulus Black palmed his wand. This time, it was Severus Snape who stopped his hand, but not his words. “That was his intention all along, Hermione. You heard him yourself: if he managed to discredit a few Snakes in the process of securing your affections then good on him.”

“Aside from financial penalties, the legal fall-out from facing such charges; the public outcry alone… Someone – more than one of you – could’ve gone to prison! You still could! If Greengrass or any member of his Board decide to press charges, there’s no recourse! ” Her hair flowed from one shoulder to the other as she shifted her attention back to Greengrass and his family. “I had no idea! The information came to us through third-parties and what we thought were logical, fact-driven conclusions.” Her skin paled even more as her words tried to keep up with pace of her thoughts. “The damages to your business, your reputations!”

Her gaze roamed to Viktor, then to Snape, then to Regulus, begging for guidance as her sense of justice propelled her to right the wrongs she and hers committed against Greengrass and Greengrass Consolidated. “I don’t know what to do!”

Herbert Greengrass, hard-nosed businessman and serial opportunist, offered an unexpected olive branch.

“I believe a pensieve session with the DMLE and the Patents and Implementations Office would suffice to see that the charges are dropped and my assets released. I’m sure I can call upon you all,” he specifically looked to the Blacks, Malfoys, George Weasley, and Potter as they had the deepest financial pockets in the room, “should there be any shortfall in operating capital.”

All the wizards that Greengrass looked to nodded, pledging monies to stabilize Greengrass Consolidated.

“As for my reputation…. I believe that a public invitation from yourself, Malfoy, Black, and Potter to join in the actual development of your Person-to-Person Portkey would be a potent restorative as would being a shareholder.”

“For a discount, of course.” Eyes narrowed with suspicion, Lucius wasn’t fooled for a moment by Greengrass’ seemingly gracious terms.

“I’m still several years away from completion, Mr. Greengrass,” Hermione cautioned. Her faith in her work was unshakable. Her faith in her ability to perceive the truth about other people was in shambles.

“Prepare yourself, Miss Granger,” Greengrass warned.

“For what?!” Granger swung her head at all of the Greengrasses and Theo Nott.

Through instinct, Oliver could guess at what Greengrass was going to do: attack. Immediately, he threw his body into motion – as did everyone else.

Viktor and Regulus surged to their feet and had their wands at-the-ready. Potter, Black, Snape, and Lupin formed an unlikely but potent forward-line.

“At no point in time has myself, my family, nor anyone in my employ or business dealings ever sought to steal, copy, undermine or sabotage Hermione Granger in any way, shape, or form – not ever, not now, not in the future.”

Herbert Greengrass extended his left hand to his youngest daughter and right hand, as his heir, to his oldest daughter. She joined her other hand with her husband, Nott. In unison, the foursome invoked their Family Magic.

“Frater ut sanctimonialis , pater ut filia , matris ut filius , maritus ut uxor a prosapia concordis. So mote it be!”

Tendrils of blue-green magic swirled from the two wizards and two witches and connected with Hermione’s aura. Hermione step-stumbled backward with the force of the incoming magic.

“Sirius – do something!”

“I can’t, Harry!”

Oliver joined the Malfoys, Zabini, George, and Seamus. Each watched helplessly as Hermione’s magic grappled with an outsider’s magic. A frantic Ron Weasley wriggled like a baited fish as he struggled to free his hands from the ropes wrapped around his wrists.

Oliver drew a parallel between this stand-off and watching the ground rush up at him while free-falling on his broom: he was either going to pull-up at the last minute and continue on as if nothing had happened or he was going to crash.

She stilled. She centrered herself. The tips of her curls and the hems of her dress robe began to lift and flutter. Head bowed and angled deeply to the left, her chin nearly to her shoulder, a second skin of light and magic pulsed into being.

She lifted her head, her gaze inward as much as it was firmly focused on Greengrass. Her eyes brightened to a shade of caramel gold. Backlit by her own power, Hermione’s magic surged. Then, it heaved.

Greengrass’ steam of magic shattered into thousands of blue-green sparks that winked out of existence.

Weakened, Hermione sank to one knee and leaned over her leg as she breathed harshly and heavily. Fingers of one hand on the ground, her other hand was on her thigh.

Her long wavy hair fell around her shoulders and over her face. She pushed it back with one hand as she found her breath and lifted her chin.

“How dare you try to do this!” Lucius Malfoy’s voice thundered loud and fierce.

Oliver’s feet once again moved without a deliberate command from his brain. This time, it was to help Sirius Black prevent Harry Potter from charging wand-first at the nearest Greengrass.

“Oh. Holy. Fuck. Shite.” Severus Snape’s Cokeworth roots broke through twenty-five years of accent re-training.

Lupin translated the Latin in Greengrass’ invocation. “Brother to sister, father to daughter, mother to son, husband to wife; a family united.”

Malfoy Junior crouched at her side, just as Viktor Krum reached her other side. Together they helped her to her feet.

Oliver whispered a translation charm, so that he could make-out what Krum was saying, as the wizard was speaking Bulgarian. Hermione seemed to understand him perfectly.

“Mila – breathe. It is done. You were bombarded by protective magic. You were attacked, yes, but it was done out of selfishness, not malice.”

Still trembling, she barely acknowledged Krum’s words.

Oliver scowled scathingly at Greengrass as Hermione struggled to find her balance. As a man, his need to protect this woman climbed exponentially. As a wizard, he was even more drawn to the witch than he’d ever thought possible. His magic craved her. Just imagining his hand on her elbow and around her waist, Oliver’s own magic thrummed with the reverberations of Hermione’s new nuances to her aura.

He wasn’t the only one. All the other wizards in the room looked to be similarly affected.

All except Greengrass, his two daughters, and his son-in-law.

“Like all of the Sacred Twenty Eight, family is the cornerstone of our magic, our creed, our code of honour; the underlying motivation in all that we do and strive to accomplish.” Completely unrepentant, Greengrass waved a blithe hand at Granger. “The House of Greengrass extended to Hermione Granger the status of Daughter.”

“Why didn’t it work?” Oliver looked at Granger, then at Lupin, then, unexpectedly, at Snape for an explanation.

Malfoy looked torn between wanting to rip Greengrass limb-from-limb and buying the wizard a new unicorn. That is, until Malfoy came to a sudden realization.

“You were rejected, Herbert, because this witch already belongs to a Family.”

“Fleur. Fleur is my Sister.” Hermione sounded drained, not strong. Her need to explain over-rode the weakness she felt.

Those who bothered to read Ron’s Silenced lips groaned when Weasley mouthed repeatedly, “Veela Mind-Trick!”

Regulus laugh was biting. “Hoisted by your own petard, Greengrass! Trumped by a family older and ‘purer’ than yours will ever be!”

Completely unfazed, Greengrass merely shrugged and dusted off his proverbial gloves. “Can’t blame a wizard for trying.” He raised his eyebrow as he gave Malfoy Senior a calculated look as more undercurrents passed between the two peers. “Though, this does explain why you hadn’t done this yourself, Lucius.”

“Which is why Malfoys always win, Greengrass.” Powered by undiluted superiority, Lucius smirked with his whole body. “We never barge into a situation without thinking about all the possibilities or possessing all pertinent information.”

Something unsaid but clearly important passed between the two older men – something that definitely involved Hermione Granger. Whatever it was, Oliver couldn’t fully grasp, but while it was evident that Malfoy was the overall victor, it wasn’t absolute. Greengrass had made his mark known as well.

“Mind your Pater, boy. There’s a lot he can teach you.” Greengrass focused on Draco. “One doesn’t have to be smartest nor most powerful wizard or witch in the room. All one has to be is able to draw on those who are.”

Once again facing Hermione, Greengrass tipped his invisible hat at the still-recovering witch. “We’ll be in touch as to how, when, and where to sort out the details.”

She nodded, still supported by Draco and Viktor.

Without another word, two Greengrasses and two Notts took their leave.

Seamus scratched his head as he struggled to put the pieces together of what happened in the past five minutes. And came up with nothing. “I dinna understand.”

Draco carefully led Hermione to the chaise where Regulus had previously been sprawled. Zabini transfigured a nick-knack into a water glass and Potter provided the Aguamenti.

Once she was seated and had taken a sip of water, Sirius crouched down in front of her. Much like before, he clasped her hands with his.

“You’re going to be okay, Kitten.”

She nodded. “I know, Sirius.”

As her strength returned, her embarrassment increased.

She looked at Seamus.

“Fleur and I bonded at Solstice. Greengrass tried to make me a member of his Family, for so many reasons.” The unspoken, ‘for good and self-serving motivations’ was heard nonetheless. “But he couldn’t,” she added, stating the obvious as her magic had rejected his attempt so spectacularly.

“Crafty bastard, that one.” Seamus glared at the portal where Greengrass had exited.

“Slytherin,” was all Hermione said, as if that justified why Greengrass tried to do what he’d done.

“Oi!’ Draco, Zabini, Regulus, Malfoys, and Snape all took exception.

Their exception brought some much-needed levity.

She looked at both Blacks, both Malfoys, Lupin, Potter, and Snape. “We still have to make things right for Greengrass. Ron might have instigated this mess, but it was we who all but bankrupted him as well as compromised his reputation.”

“True.” Lucius Malfoy shifted his cane from one hand to the other. His contemptuousness for Greengrass palpable, “This little stunt of his has cost him whatever discount he thought he’d wrangle from us. Our moral obligations do not exclude him from interest-free loans.”

“Always liked the way you did business, Malfoy,” George approved whole-heartedly, sans his usual grin. The stiffness in his posture mirrored Snape’s.

“I don’t want to know what you two are concocting.” Hermione rolled her eyes at the former student and teacher that was Snape and George. Somewhat recovered, she withdrew her hands from Sirius’ gentle grip and gave the former prisoner much needed assurance. “I’m fine, now.”

Anyone could see that Granger was making to leave.

This time, Oliver was quicker than anyone else.

He extended a hand, an invitation to help her to her feet. Which she declined with a soft genuine smile. “I’m good.”

She pushed herself upright.

“I’ll see you all outside?” Her ruefulness even caused Snape to crack a partial smile. “Don’t want to give McGonagall or Shacklebolt a reason to think I’m not ‘behaving’.”

Every wizard in the place watched her stride out of the Slytherin Common Room.

She paused at the portal, one hand splayed against the jamb and her chin angled over her shoulder. “See you all at the next board meeting?”

With that, and an all-too-feminine swish of dress robes, she was gone.

It was several long moments before anyone said anything.

Oliver’s own thoughts had everything to do with planning an intercept course so that he could taste every inch of that witch.

“We are in trouble, Gents, but in the best possible way.”

George – paraphrasing everything every wizard was thinking: which one of them was going to be the first one to successfully wed-and-bed the Brightest Witch of her Age?

“But so is she. In trouble. And not in the best possible way. ”

Regulus Black’s bluntness definitely snared everyone’s attention.

“Aye. Even I canna see a way ‘round that.” Seamus agreed, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“Greengrass will not keep his mouth shut or his memories to himself.” Snape scowled as he ran a mental inventory of who Greengrass knew.

“Most assuredly,” Lucius concurred.

Always a tad smarter than what people usually expected, Harry chimed in. “She’s going to need protection.”

“A witch like her, able to do what she does, and that information in the hands of someone like Herbert Greengrass? There are a lot of contingencies to plan for.” Lupin, too, tucked his hands into his pockets. There was nothing of the gentle professor in the werewolf’s determined words or stance.

Much like his best friend, there was nothing of the live-for-the-moment wizard in the Resurrected animagus, only the seasoned warrior of two Wizarding wars. Toning down his intensity just a bit, Sirius crossed his arms across his chest as he planted himself on the chaise. “It’s one thing to guard her here in London. But she travels – a lot.”

“That will not be a problem,” Viktor promised.

“Not at all.” Oliver added himself to her protection detail. His Quidditch schedule had him crisscrossing the Wizarding world and he had a lot of free time during the long off-season.

“There’s something to be said for ‘an ounce of prevention’.” Regulus volunteered himself to oversee that front with his lieutenants Draco and Zabini. “As Granger said: Slytherin.”

Oliver stamped down his urge to glare at everyone. They were on the same team, but each playing their own game. These wizards also admitted their ulterior motive. If one of them was with Granger, then that meant that they’d be alone with her.

“At the moment, there are other, more pressing, matters.” George sauntered over to where his younger brother was still slumped on the stone floor. “Anyone want to help me ‘thank’ this bell-end for making Greengrass a part of our lives?”

Plans to pursue and protect Hermione Granger collectively shelved for the moment, Oliver and ten other wizards closed in on Ron.

*** *** ***

Bell End, Bell-end, Bellend: British slang for a moron, asshole/arsehole, prick, dick. Bell end/bellend refers to the end/tip of the penis, i.e. the glans.

The use of the term ‘bell end’ in this story is an homage to the hysterical Brit show Bluestone 42. I watched the show from the beginning, not knowing that our beloved Matthew Lewis joined the cast in Season 2.

Anyone needing a list of excellent Brit slang insults?

http://www.anglotopia.net/anglophilia/british-english-the-top-50-most-beautiful-british-insults/