Chapter 1

Welcome to Inverness

Autumn in Scotland had long been her favorite season. Walking through the brisk evening air Hermione was reminiscent of her very eventful youth. She couldn't help but remember long nights spent with her chosen family in Gryffindor tower common room. Memories good and bad assaulted her awareness, and before she knew it she reached the inn she had been staying in for the last week or so while on assignment. Hermione had been working with the Department of Magical Cooperation as the Liaison for new magic users and magical communities in secluded areas. The idea behind the DMC was implemented due to the depletion of the magical population after the second war against Voldemort. They were a team set out to actively recruit the populace that generally home taught their children and kept to themselves. These groups of people were often in rural hard to reach areas, or sometimes very well hidden in plain sight. Usually met with hesitancy, suspicion, and sometimes violence the witch had become adept at enticing them with the offerings of additional knowledge and communities now available to them since everything had calmed and settled.

The war had been over for ten long years. Rebuilding the Ministry had taken less than a year with former Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt as Minister, and Percy Weasley as Junior Minister. Rebuilding trust in the Ministry, however, had taken years. Trust in an institution is never an easy thing to build. Especially, when the trust had been broken so completely. A complete vetting had occurred within the ministry. All personnel had been investigated and all positions reviewed before they could reapply for whichever position they either had in the past or wanted to pursue. The hiring process was tedious, but after all applicants had been either granted employment or denied there were just enough employees to keep the Ministry running. Of these employees, almost half were without family and summarily threw themselves into their job with purpose and vigor.

Nearly everyone had lost. If they hadn't lost people, they lost property and assets. If they hadn't lost those, they lost their reputation or status. Some lost everything. After such a hard, stressful, long war there were not a lot of new people stepping forward to help with the changes. After losing so much the majority of people with surviving loved ones spent their days together. They grieved together hoping to heal the same way. While the magical population was seeing a jump, it was not quite enough to fill the halls of Hogwarts or the vacant positions left in the Ministry. That was where these newly founded recruiting positions came in. While Harry, Ron, and Hermione had made it through the war alive, Harry had Ginny and now their three beautiful children, Ron had his abundance of family, his multitude of nieces and nephews, and had taken on the majority of the running of the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shops since George and Angelina were procreating at a rate to soon top Molly and Arthur in numbers. Even Percy had married a nice girl named Penelope, and the couple were expecting their first child before Christmas. Bill and Fleur were beyond happy with their two children. Charlie was still enjoying his bachelor life, now in his late thirties, Molly had finally given up trying to coerce him into settling down to start a family. She was kept quite busy with her soon to be eleven grandchildren, not counting the many young adults she had taken under her wing.

Sunday night suppers were still had at the rebuilt Burrow. The house, after being burned down during the course of the war, was remade bigger and better than ever. An outstanding number of people had come forward to help the Weasley clan with the renovations. The family had apparently impacted a number of survivors during the war. Everyone from Rolf and Luna Scamander, to Neville and Susan Longbottom, even Draco and Astoria Malfoy had come to assist. A standing invitation was set to all of the survivors, and through these gatherings they healed, reminisced together, and maybe most importantly remembered. They refused to forget the fallen, and deemed it necessary to educate the next generation of wizards and witches of the circumstances that led to two terrible wars of Wizarding Britain.

Although the wars had reached outside of the borders of Britain, recruiting was to remain within the country. If any wished to emigrate into the country from abroad they were welcome with open arm. These were however few and far between. Not many seek a new life where the ashes of so many had perished. Many that had fled the country during the worst time had no plans on returning. Not that anyone could blame them.

"Miss Granger, welcome back. Were you able to find who you were looking for?" A plump, middle aged woman with a slightly humped posture asked as Hermione entered the building.

"No Mrs. Buchan, I am afraid they are remaining more elusive than I was prepared for. It looks like I may be enjoying the hospitality of your inn for longer yet." Hermione answered with a kind smile for the older woman. They had shared tea and easy conversations almost every afternoon since she arrived at the inn ten days ago. Mrs. Buchan was a muggle of about sixty years old. In the time they spent together, Hermione had learned Fiona Buchan was a widow with three daughters, and six grandchildren. Two of her daughters had moved out of Inverness to further their careers, and seek better opportunities with their families. The youngest daughter had stayed close not wanting to leave her mother alone. Fiona had purchased the inn shortly after the death of her husband Ernie sixteen years previously. The inn was a quaint two story aged building. The floor level held the common areas; the sitting room, the kitchen, and Fiona's wing. The upper level held five guest rooms that shared two washrooms. Fiona told Hermione she mostly needed something to keep her occupied after her girls had grown and started their own families. Fiona had been a dedicated wife and mother never seeking much of a career herself, so naturally the more logistical aspects to keeping the Inn fell to Tisha, her daughter. Fiona took care of the hospitality aspects of the business, and Tisha took care of the rest.

"Mam, leave the poor girl alone. She's scarce had a chance to dry off." Tisha had come through the door leading to the kitchen. "Hermione, would you like to join us for tea?"

"I would love to. Let me go freshen up a bit, and I'll be right down." She agreed, and headed to the stairs. The room she was renting was modest and warmly decorated with floral wallpaper, dark wood furniture with a soft bed, and a fireplace. After a quick towel dry for her hair, she removed her outer layer and headed back down.

"There you are dear. Tisha was just regaling me with the latest tale of horror that wee Emily has become. She says darling Emily refused to enter the school grounds today loudly declaring she was already smart enough, and doesn't see why it is necessary to continue to go if she hasn't learned a new thing all year." She leaned towards Hermione conspiratorially and loudly whispered, "She's a bit of a book worm, our Emily." Fiona winked straightening back up.

"I'll have you know, I myself was known to be a bit of a book worm when I was younger. Always had my nose in a book. I even earned myself the title of the resident know-it-all of the school." Hermione stated, continuing with a grimace. "The other kids tormented me until they needed help, or were asking me to do their school work for them. Actually, it was quite awful at times."

The mother and daughter shared a sympathetic half smile with the witch. "Well if little Emily's head gets any bigger, she may just float away", Tisha joked, puffing her cheeks full of air in demonstration. "So, was that just a stage you eventually outgrew, or did your parents wean you out of it?"

Hermione felt herself pale slightly. Even after all these years, sometimes an unexpected memory of her parents still caused a painful shock. The guilt was constant, sometimes it lay more dormant, but it was always there. "I suppose I grew out of it eventually", she said recovering some of her composure. "I lost my parents many years ago. Circumstances outside my control made me become an adult a bit sooner than I'm sure I would have otherwise." Taking a sip of her tea, she offered them a smile, and changed the subject. "I would like to meet your daughter though. Us swots have got to stick together, yeah? Maybe I can offer her some advice?"

"Of course, dear", Fiona answered. "You must join us for dinner. We are planning for Samhain, and if you plan on sticking around for another week, we would love for you to join in the festivities." Fiona's twinkling hazel eyes seemed to stay a bit longer on Hermione, causing an eerie almost Deja vu feeling to crawl across her. Hermione was discreet as always about using magic in muggle dominant areas, but she got the distinct impression that Fiona knew more about magic than she let on. However, the feeling passed almost as quickly as it came.

"I would hate to impose", Hermione said politely.

"Och, never you worry dearie," Tisha joined in. "In all honesty it would save us a trip back here as you're our only guest. Not many people come out here so close to the changing of the seasons. Many superstitions remain even most people if directly asked would deny such. As long as you're not the finicky sort to that kind of tradition I think you'd fit in with our family just fine." Tisha nudged her mother with her elbow, and gestured to the woman. "What do ya think Mam? She may even be a good candidate for our women's club."

"Tisha! You know better than to be blabbing to our guests with that. She hardly knows us, and we hardly know her." Fiona was gazing at her daughter sternly. "You can't just go inviting everyone we meet. It's not your say to do so yet." She paused, and looked speculatively to each of the young women. "Even if in this case you may be right."

"I assure you I have no delicate sensibilities to the magical or pagan." Hermione said laughingly. "I have actually studied quite a bit of folklore in my spare time. What, may I ask, is the nature of your women's group?"

With a sigh and a slightly exasperated glance at her daughter, Fiona turned an appraising eye to Hermione. "Before I tell you that, child, would you allow me to read you palm?" She extended her hand out for Hermione's.

"I've never been much for Divination, but sure. Do your worst." Hermione placed her right-hand palm facing up in Fiona's hand.

The older woman contemplated the hand in her own for several seconds before her lips twitched a bit, and she glanced up to meet Hermione's eyes. Returning her gaze to the palm, she began tracing the lines with her own fingers.

"Well...don't keep us in suspense", Tisha leaned over to get a look at what had her mother in uncharacteristic silence. Her brow began to furrow slightly, as if seeing a new puzzle for the first time, but it smoothed out almost as quickly. A quiet "Oh", was her only response.

"Well I'm not set to die tomorrow or anything as sinister, am I?" As the silence stretched, Hermione began to feel her stomach squirm with nerves under the mother and daughter's examination. "Out with it you two".

"No dear! Nothing so perverse, I assure you. I learned to read lines from my Mam, and she hers before her and so on. I've only seen this pattern", she gestured to Hermione's hand, "thrice before, and we shall get to that in a moment". She gave a warm smile her mind clearly somewhere else. "This here though", she gestured once more, "Only once have I seen it, and never before had it noted inn our journals by Mam or anyone else." She looked to her daughter. "Wee Emily has a similar mark on her palm. You're a traveler, dear."