Disclaimer: I own nothing! The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB.
Originally written for the Granger Enchanted Christmas Prompt Table Challenge, a few years back!
My prompt words were 'Elf' and 'Thunder'
It could have been so twinkly, and shiny, with mistletoe and spiced wine, and presents under the tree, happy families... but instead a very different sort of plot bunny bit me that year... So, for Christmas, I went dark…
Hermione pushed open the door, fighting against whatever was on the other side. The edge of the door left tracks in the dust and she peered through the gap to see the large, gloomy room beyond. Lighting her wand she pushed into the dark room, glancing behind the door and seeing the bundle of cloth, old bedding of some kind by the looks of it, that had wedged under the door. A flick of her wand pulled it free and pushed it to the wall, out of the way.
The room was quite large, easily fifteen meters square, with two large built-in wardrobes along the right hand wall. Between the two sets of doors was a grand looking vanity unit. Heavy, dark drapes obscured the far wall, slivers of light visible along the top edge.
Another flick of her wand flung the curtains apart, flooding the room with daylight and clouds of dust as the bottom of the heavy drapes flicked across the carpet. Hermione grimaced at the state of the room now it was fully revealed. The old anaglypta wallpaper, with its decorative whorls and patterns, was faded and yellowed with age, peeling and lifting in numerous places. The ceiling paint blackening around the edges, especially by the window; the centre of the ceiling was flaking badly with large bare patches.
Hermione sighed, realising that this, like every room she'd looked at so far in this large house, was in the same tired and dilapidated state. It had probably lain, undisturbed, for many years and was going to take her a few days to get it tidied and clean through before she could even think about redecorating it.
From outside the room came the sound of running feet and Hugo's high pitched voice yelling for his sister. Sticking her head out of the room, Hermione saw Rose running along the corridor with Hugo trailing behind.
"Rose! Hugo! Stop running around and pick your room."
"Okay Mummy!" Her five year old daughter immediately dashed into the nearest room, forcing the door open to vanish inside.
Hugo spun around at Hermione's voice and his face lit up with one of his heart melting smiles. Hermione felt all her cares and concerns fade and crouched down as her little two year old man ran at her, arms open. She swept him up into a hug, spinning him around and hearing him giggle. From downstairs Hermione heard the moving men hauling large pieces of furniture into the house and moved to join them. Hugo wriggled out of her arms and ran off after Rose, calling her name at the top of his lungs.
The rest of the day passed in a blur as Hermione directed the men to place the larger items in certain rooms, planning on shifting things around once she was finished with the decorations and cleaning. Once the workmen were gone, she set to cleaning the kitchen and began to prepare dinner. She found her concentration wandering as she was stirring the pot, thinking of the past and wondering exactly what the future was to bring. Her attention was snapped back to the present by little feet, running at full speed and pattering across the tiled floor. Her heart leaping as she was startled out of her reverie. Little arms reached out, hands wrapping around her legs, and Hugo yelled "Boo!" before running off, giggling.
"Oh, you're a pest!" Hermione put a hand on her chest, trying to still her galloping heart.
"Oh a pest! PEST!" Hugo's shouts drifted around the corner and Hermione closed her eyes and bit her lip, a smile trying to escape her control. In Hugo's baby babble it sounded like he was shouting 'pissed'. She had to remember to tell Ron… she stopped that thought in its tracks. With a lump in her throat Hermione turned back to the dinner and continued to stir, trying not to think.
A short time later saw the little trio settled at the table, eating the simple pasta and meatballs. Tired after the long day, the kids were well behaved; Hugo, fork in one hand, was eating slowly using his other hand. He hardly took his eyes off the Muggle television Hermione had purchased. Rose quietly scribbled in her drawing pad, a variety of coloured crayons scattered in front of her. Hermione was barely paying attention, simply pushing her food around the plate, unable to eat now the excitement of moving had died down for the day.
"No crayons at the table." She finally noticed Rose drawing rather than eating. Rose quickly put the crayons aside and picked up her fork, taking a huge mouthful of pasta. She mumbled something and Hermione just looked at her, one eyebrow raised.
Chewing quickly Rose swallowed, pulling a slightly pained face as she did so. "When's Daddy coming home?"
Caught off guard by the question Hermione blinked rapidly, paying sudden interest in her plate and avoiding her daughter's eyes. She took Hugo's fork out of his hand, turning it over and giving it back, without the toddler noticing. "Soon, I hope. It's a complicated mission but he said he would visit as often as he could."
"Tomorrow?"
"Probably not tomorrow, sweetheart. Maybe Monday?"
"It's Saturday now… so that's…" Rose paused and thought for a bit, "the day after tomorrow!"
"That's right, sweety. I'll have to write to him and it may take a while for him to respond." Hermione tried to summon up more enthusiasm and change the subject, asking whether Rose had had any magical moments yet.
"Not yet." Rose wasn't too worried but Hermione was starting to get a little concerned that her daughter had not yet shown any magical affinity. Hugo had already levitated his cot, several times, and made his toys dance, all the time laughing and clapping along.
"All done, Mummy! All done!" Hugo was pointing at the television, distressed and unhappy. His little hand opened and closed and he was staring at Hermione, shaking his head and whining a little under his breath.
Hermione looked at the screen and saw a strange cartoon with an animated baby body and a photo realistic head. The child narrator referred to the baby as Baby Jake and Hermione was inclined to agree with Hugo's sentiment. That baby was likely to cause nightmares; especially the bizarre rabbit next to him! With a flick of her wand she changed the channel to something that Hugo found a lot more palatable; an aptly named story about two strange creatures, one very small and loud and the other very big and careful. She was sure she recognised the voice of the larger creature from her youth, from before Hogwarts.
Hugo clapped in time with the small one's squeaky song, before holding up his empty bowl and saying "All done!" happily. Hermione made a fuss of him for finishing his dinner and they all rounded off the meal with bananas and custard, retiring to the lounge and reading a story together in front of the fire.
The older witch enjoyed the simplistic scene she saw when she glanced up at the mirror above the mantle. She was not housewife material; that she was sure of. Her relationship with Ron had also proven that, if nothing else, her husband needed a wife that had similar housekeeping skills to Molly Weasley. That, unfortunately, was more of a housewife than Hermione was willing to be!
At this moment in time however, with her children squished in beside her on the sofa – Hugo fast asleep and Rose hanging on her every word – she knew why Molly Weasley did what she did and seemed to love every second of it.
3rd December
Monday afternoon was surprisingly warm, especially for early December, and Hermione was unpacking all of Hugo's things and packing them away neatly. His room had been completely cleared of cobwebs and dust and all his furniture had been moved in.
Ron was there, playing with the kids in the garden and Hermione had taken advantage of the situation. She was aiming to complete the cleaning of the property, from top to bottom including all the smaller side rooms that hadn't yet been examined.
As she packed away Hugo's clothes she wondered at the last two years, how fast they had gone by and the changes those years had brought about. The path Hugo's birth had forced upon her. The people she had met… had gone too far with.
A little later on and Ron had taken the children out for dinner. Hermione was sorting out her own room when she caught sight of the letter she had received yesterday, in response to her own message;
Of course I would like to see the kids tomorrow. 2 o'clock is fine. Ron
Despite herself Hermione had felt her eyes fill up at the brevity and lack of affection in the letter. It had been received shortly before dinner, a couple of hours after she had sent the invitation to Ron. The happiness on Rose and Hugo's faces at the news that their father was coming to visit them almost made her tear up again.
Partway through her tidying she had another moment of weakness. She had filled the wardrobe with her clothes but had automatically left room on one side for Ron's clothes. The reminder had caught her off guard. What was going to happen?
It was just after six when Ron returned with Hugo and Rose, arriving by the same Ministry car that had taken them away. He came into Hermione's room where she was still unpacking. His steps hampered slightly by a giggling Hugo, clamped onto his leg.
"So, have you got everything then? Completely moved out?" His voice was not rough, it was not angry. It was just, empty.
"Ron!" Hermione gestured at Hugo, worried about him hearing this and wondering. At least Rose was downstairs at the moment! She would definitely have had questions.
"It's fine, Hermione. Hugo's too little to really understand."
"I feel that he understands more than he lets on!"
"Hmm, that's true." Ron gave Hugo a suspicious glance that the little boy returned with a large smile. The older red-head ruffled Hugo's hair and watched as he ran off. "Look, if there's anything else left, I can have it delivered tomorrow for you."
"Ron, can't we talk about this?"
"I think we've said enough, don't you, Hermione? I thought you had got him out of your system… that we could try and rebuild, if only for the kids' sakes. Guess not."
"Ron… I'm sorry, it's just…"
"It's fine, Hermione. I don't want to keep dredging it up. I think we were heading this way anyway. Probably since Rose was born, if we're honest with each other. I gotta go, owl me if you find anything missing."
He looked around, taking in the piles of boxes and clothes, paperwork and various ornaments. Hermione knew the room was looking a little crowded but she had a plan and wasn't concerned.
"You sure you've got enough room here?"
Hermione nodded, holding onto her emotions, not wanting to break down now. "There's a basement and a decent sized loft here so I'll move some things around and get rid of the excess into one of them to give me room."
"Maybe start with the basement? You'll be able to move things back up easier than down from…" Ron stopped, seeing Hermione's jaw clench and her eyes narrow slightly, stubborn and annoyed. He held up his hands. "Sorry, do what you want… you usually do." He turned to go and Hermione heard him mutter, as he went. "Generally the opposite of whatever I advise but there you go…"
4th December
The next day Hermione led a floating box through the house, intending on taking it upstairs to the loft, when Ron's words come back to her. In a fit of pique she decided to prove him wrong and use the basement, muttering under her breath the whole time about how he was impossible and out of line. Crookshanks, recently arrived from Harry and Pansy's, followed but stopped at the top of the stairs. His fur rose and he began to growl, low in his throat.
Hermione looked from the stairwell, to her half-Kneazle companion and back again. Her gaze was drawn into the darkness; creepy and cobwebbed with a cold chill creeping up from below. A shiver chased through her body, not helped by Crooks' strange behaviour. She attempted to reassure the cat, who hissed at her touch and backed away, beginning to yowl. The bushy-haired witch, more disturbed than she wanted to admit to herself, sent a glowing ball of light down the stairs to light the area. The shadows were chased aside, revealing a small stairwell with bare stone walls lining the way. At the base was a flat stone floor, devoid of anything other than dust. The wooden door that led into the basement proper was closed, dripping with cobwebs and dust though no actual spiders were to be seen.
Leaving the box at the top of the stairs she headed down, her wand held in a firm grip. As her foot touched the stone floor at the base, she got another terrible chill and an irrational fear crept over her, shrinking the flesh of her scalp. It felt as if the walls are closing in and something was watching, something that wished her ill. At the top of the stairs, Crookshanks spat and yowled angrily before running off in a rattle of claws on the wooden floor.
Hermione thought she could hear whispers in the shadowy corners of the stairwell; tiny voices that whispered mysterious and unidentifiable words. Telling herself that she was letting her imagination get the better of her she scanned the area with her wand and, surprisingly, found something that resonated magic. Crouching down Hermione found a small sliver of silver, almost three inches long and blunted at one end, standing up in a crack in the floor. It radiated a residual magic and quite powerful too, for its size. Curious she took it back upstairs, secretly grateful for the excuse to leave the basement area for the moment.
Unseen by the witch, there was a movement at the bottom of the door; something shifting in the dirt at the base. The bright ball of light began to sink, as if it was being pulled downwards. There was a sudden crackle of silver lightning, chasing over the door and, with a low roll of thunder, a bolt of light struck the floor. There was a hiss of pain, sibilant and angry.
Silence descended for the moment, until Hugo appeared at the top of the stairs. He stared down into the stairwell, one hand holding onto the wall, the other toying with his shirt. The whispering started again, the less pleasant hiss joining in and calling to the little boy.
Hugo began to head downwards.
With each step the whispering increased, the dark voice urging the boy onwards. Calling him deeper.
He had gone down two steps when Hermione abruptly appeared once more and swept him into the air. Hugo instantly began to cry and struggle, pointing down the stairs and demanding to go down there.
"No darling, you're not going down there by yourself. Rose! You're supposed to be watching Hugo!"
"I am! He's aslee… oh!"
"Hugo, go to your sister."
"Mummy!" Hugo was desperately pointing over Hermione's shoulder, down the stairs. "People. Mummy, people!"
"What, darling?"
"People! People!"
Hugo's voice was filled with an urgency usually reserved for things that scared him and Hermione got another chill. Looking downwards she thought she saw a glimpse of something moving at the base of the door.
Rose screamed from the lounge and the sound of an explosion rocked the house. Glass shattered in the direction of the scream and Hermione ran, forgetting what she had seen and heard in the stairwell.
Reaching her daughter, Hugo still kicking and crying in her arms, Hermione took in the scene with a practiced eye. Rose had been drawing and painting using her craft set that her uncles, twin brothers Fred and George, had given her from their shop, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The girl had knocked her paint and water over, a milky pink puddle extending in front of her over the cream carpet. Rose herself was pressed back against the sofa, staring out the patio doors.
Hermione saw a man, sprawled out in the middle of the patio, unmoving; the glass was broken and scattered around the garden as if smashed outwards. Tendrils of smoke rose lazily from the man's clothes.
Hermione got Rose's attention, giving her Hugo and instructing her to get behind the sofa and stay there. Rose tried to protest, wanting to stay closer but Hermione would not listen. After a moment the girl obeyed, half carrying, half dragging her brother behind the sofa. Hugo continued to shout for his Mummy but the witch was already stepping out into the garden, through the shattered doorway.
Muttering about reporters and how she wished they'd leave her alone for five minutes, Hermione stepped closer, wand drawn. Standing over the man, she stopped and put one hand on her hip.
What was Theo Nott doing, unconscious, in her garden?
With a sigh of consternation she scratched her head, staring down at the man she had, until recently, been having an affair with.