Full Summary:
Samhain. The time of year when the spirits of the dead are close to the living once more, and with the right rituals and spells it is possible to communicate with them. Sometimes dark spirits take advantage of the opportunity too.
Broken by grief and loss, Hermione has been a recluse for almost two years, ever since her ex-husband Ron accused her of something terrible. This year she seeks an explanation and a chance to understand and apologise. Theo Nott is at the festival this year too, and their chance meeting sparks something unexpected and unlooked for.
Needs, desires, and agendas collide, but is everything as it seems, or are there hidden secrets that will tear everything apart?
This fic was originally started about 6 years ago, but never completed. It was dragged out of the dust filled shadows, reworked, given a completely different plotline, and finished in time for Samhain (I am exhausted, by the way...)
This fic would never have been possible without the able assistance of these lovely people who beta read, corrected and encouraged, and generally put up with my crap for the best part of a month. I couldn't have done it without you guys... literally!
So massive props to Shinigamioni, Imtrouble, GaeilgeRua, and CrimsonKat. Thank you ladies! x
I hope you enjoy it, as I've had a lot of fun writing it, and would love to hear your thoughts if you wish to give them :)
Blessed be!
Warnings: Child Death, Infanticide, Implied Adultery, Betrayal, Lemons, Dark
The heat from the flames was incredible and Luna's companion huddled closer to the blonde woman as they walked between the two huge fires that marked the boundary. Beyond the twin infernos lay the festival grounds and already the sound of music and laughter reached their ears, reaching to the stars in the night sky above. The person on Luna's arm was concealed in a long, dark brown robe, the hood drawn up to hide their identity. Only bare feet occasionally peeked from under the hem as they walked.
The stranger was sticking close to Luna, almost like a shadow, as they passed groups of fellow revellers, all travelling inwards towards the central bonfires and the fair that gathered for Samhain.
Where her companion stayed silent and withdrawn, Luna was bright and cheerful, much like her manner of dress. Her blonde hair was decorated with hair clips, transfigured into bright blue and yellow butterflies that flexed their wings and made her head almost seem alive. Her dress was made of a light blue, airy material; it shifted easily in the hot breeze that flowed from the fires around them. Her legs and feet were bare and she stepped lightly, almost dancing across the grass.
As she walked, she called out greetings and exchanged shouts of welcome to many others. Despite several calls for her to do so, Luna never left her companion's side, saying that she would find them later, that she would join them soon. Further into the festival the two walked.
All around them there were tents, stalls, dancers, walkers, chanters, singers; everyone here to celebrate the harvest and honour the dead. Long tables were laid in readiness for the feast to celebrate the first night of the festival. Men and women circled the table, setting the places for both the living and the dead. Others called out, reaching across the veil with their voices to call the ancestors to join the feast, to sit at the table and join the celebrations.
Gradually the pair left this area of light behind, crossing between two more large fires and into a short area of darkness. A few steps away were more tents with many people bustling about, sweeping the area clear and laying out their belongings in readiness for the feast.
Three children, no more than four or five years of age, ran from behind the two walkers, towards the tents laughing and calling to each other. Each was dressed in dark robes with their faces covered with masks and in their hands each held a large turnip, hollowed and carved with runes and a mildly scary face. The inside of each glowed with warm light, a small fire burning within without apparent source. Luna's companion gave a sudden cry as the children ran amongst them; it was a low, mournful sound that spoke of intense sorrow.
The smallest of the trio stopped and looked back at the robed figure, watching as they lowered slowly to their knees, their arms wrapped around their body. Luna crouched too, putting her arm around her companion's shoulders as the sound of bitter sobbing emanated from the dark hood.
The young boy slowly pulled his mask up to reveal a freckled, concerned face, topped with sandy hair. His strikingly blue eyes, reflecting the light from his turnip, were filled with worry. After a moment he stepped closer, reaching into a pocket in his robe, and carefully pulling out another turnip. This one was smaller and unlit, its face carved in a reassuring smile. He placed it near to the sobbing figure and stepped back.
"I was gonna get dat ter me sister at de feast," he said, his Irish accent strong as he flicked the long fringe of hair out of his eyes. "But I tink yer might need it more, lady. I can make 'er another wan." He addressed the robed figure but his eyes flicked to Luna several times, and she smiled as his face coloured. "You're real pretty, Mrs Scamander. Jus' like me da' said yer were." The young boy's face flushed more than ever as Luna laughed. "Blessed be," he muttered suddenly and turned quickly, dashing away into the tents.
"Young Rodney Finnigan is going to grow up to be a heartbreaker, like his father," Luna said with a smile.
"I can't do this," Luna's companion muttered through her tears. "Luna please… let me just go home!"
Luna's mouth set in a firm line, all humour lost. Her eyes held an intense sympathy however and they glistened slightly in the firelight. Carefully she reached forward and lowered the hood revealing a pale but flushed face, streaks from tears tracking down cheeks that were hollow, as if the person had recently recovered from an illness. The woman's usually pretty eyes, brown and soft, were currently red and puffy from extended bouts of crying. Her hair bushed out now that it had been freed from the confines of the hood and spilled in tangled knots around her face and down past her shoulders. It was usually wild and untamed but seemed especially so tonight, as if it hadn't been cared for in a number of weeks.
Hermione Granger looked up at her friend, silently begging for a reprieve, to be allowed to leave and return to her pit of misery where no-one bothered her. "I can't… Luna… I just can't do this," she moaned, dropping her head into her hands as another sob shuddered through her body.
"You can, Hermione," Luna said softly, taking her friend's head in her hands and lifting it. Planting a firm kiss on Hermione's forehead she whispered, "You are strong and you can do this."
"The memories are too much. It's like I could almost hear her voice… somewhere nearby."
Luna sighed and nodded. "The veil is weaker here, thanks to the rituals and the time of year. It means she is closer and you have to see that as a good thing, Hermione."
"Am I doing the right thing, Luna? Will she do it?"
Luna heard the note of desperation in Hermione's voice and smiled sadly. "I will petition her and the coven… but you have to be strong. You cannot falter if you do this. What she will ask of you will be necessary but you may not want to do it..."
"If I can see her," Hermione interrupted, "just once more… I'll do whatever I have to do. Anything to see my daughter again. I need to see her… to explain…"
Luna smiled, genuinely pleased with Hermione's determination.
"Hermione!"
The call came from a tall, stocky man that walked towards the pair, his arms open in greeting. His hair, familiar as his Irish accent, was the colour of desert sand, hanging low across his shoulders.
He was different, Hermione thought and glanced at Luna. What she saw made her almost smile. Luna's face was set in an expression that bordered on lustful! Hermione had no idea that her blonde friend had any feelings for the Irish Gryffindor, let alone sexual ones!
"By all de powers it's good ter see yer again, lass!" Seamus Finnigan said as he took Hermione's hands and pulled her to her feet. He kissed her knuckles gently and smiled warmly. "When young Rodney tol' me yer were 'ere I almost didn't believe 'im! But then he described yer gorgeous companion an I 'ad to check fer meself. Luna!" he said, turning to embrace the blonde witch, "wonderful ter see yer too."
Surprised by the emotion she heard in his voice Hermione could only stare at him for a moment. Her eyes met Luna's over Seamus' shoulder and she did smile then at the dreamy look that filled her friend's face at Seamus' hug. She wondered if she had ever told Seamus how she felt, but discarded that thought straight away. Luna wouldn't have said anything to the Irish man because she was supposed to be a good little wife; she had married the grandson of the noted magizoologist Newton Scamander, Rolf. The young man was following in his grandfather's footsteps, and shared her fascination for the unexplored and unknown.
"Come on," Seamus said firmly, "yer gonna sit near us at the feast tonight! I insist!"
This last was directed at Hermione at almost the same moment she had been thinking of going home. There was a strange energy that seemed to be flowing from the well-built man, something that hadn't been there in recent years. He was stronger again, more confident, assured. And he smiled.
She hadn't seen Seamus smile in many years.
"Every beginnin' has an endin', an every endin' a new beginnin'."
Seamus' voice was strong despite the tears in his eyes. It carried across the table to where Hermione stood, her hand held on one side by Luna. Her other hand rested on the back of the empty chair next to her. That hand was covered by that of her best friend, Harry Potter. She felt him squeeze gently and glanced at him to see his sympathetic, encouraging smile. The scars on his face, fresh ones from a recent investigation that had finally brought a Dark Wizard down, made her wince a little. The lump in her throat throbbed painfully as she heard Seamus continue.
"In Life is Death, an in Death is Life. Watch over me, me loved ones, an all of me Brothers an Sisters, here an departed, who tonight are joined together again fer fellowship an celebration."
Tears trickled down Seamus' cheeks and Hermione saw his knuckles whiten on the back of the seat to his right that, like the one next to Hermione, was empty. Rodney Finnigan stood to his dad's left, unusually solemn. The lad gave a little sniff and toyed with the back of the empty chair to his left. A new turnip lantern sat at the empty setting, made by Rodney to replace the one he had given to Hermione earlier. That one sat on Hermione's left, at the empty place setting.
"Bless us all as we light our bonfires, our hearth fires, an the eternal fires in our hearts. Guide us an protect us, tonight an through the comin' year. Merry meet, merry part." Seamus' voice finally cracked on his last words and he closed his eyes suddenly, seemingly unable to continue speaking for the moment. His Adam's apple bobbed several times and a tendon in his jaw flexed.
Hermione felt her heart ache at the pain she saw in his face, stood as he was between the places set at the feast for his wife and daughter, both cruelly taken from him several years before by a Dark Wizard; the very one that Harry and Draco had recently captured. Seamus had finally been able to find some measure of peace and this was his first Samhain since.
Young Rodney chose this moment to tug on his dad's sleeve and said, in a whisper that carried the length of the table, "Da, yer gotta say, 'Blessed be!'"
Hermione gave a gasp of laughter, even as tears flowed down her face. She heard several sighs of indulgence from the older witches and wizards as they smiled at the young lad. Hermione shared an amused glance with Luna who mouthed, "He is so adorable!"
Seamus looked down, smiled through his tears and opened his arms to his son. Rodney leapt into them and they hugged fiercely for a moment. Turning to the congregation, Seamus and Rodney opened their arms as if to embrace everyone gathered at the table and beyond. "Blessed be!" they cried together, and everyone responded in kind.
Dawn broke over the tents of the gathered witches and wizards, bathing the festival grounds in its vibrant light. The sun rose slowly, like a bulging yolk, expanding into the cerulean sky. The warmth that the golden disk promised would eventually follow the light but for the moment the night's cold held fast.
Hermione wrapped her cloak more tightly about her shoulders as she slipped from her tent and dashed across the chill grass, towards the area set aside as latrines. The dew splashed wetly against her bare ankles and the biting cold penetrated her slightly fuzzy mind. She had drunk a fair amount of mead last night and was regretting it, a little, this morning.
Last night's feast had been an amazing time really. Hermione had not spent any time with her friends; had, in fact, avoided them, living in a self-imposed exile. Despite her friends' efforts she had remained isolated until Luna had finally convinced her to come to the festival, to live again. Having the chance to speak to Harry, Seamus, and Luna so frankly and openly after all this time was incredibly refreshing. And Rodney had been an amazing little caricature of his father.
She had sympathised with Harry over the additional scars that decorated his face, parting gifts from the Dark Wizard so recently captured. He was dismissive of them, describing them much as 'Mad Eye' had done: trophies of a job well done. Seamus had been effervescent over Harry, thanking him several times and declaring him the greatest wizard alive. Seamus' compliments got more overblown as the night, and the mead, continued to flow onwards.
Luna chatted with Seamus and, to Hermione's eyes at least, flirted outrageously with the Irishman. She was almost scandalised at some of the things she heard. Seamus seemed to miss the obvious undertone, though Hermione and Harry exchanged several glances and grins over it. Maybe life with her Magizoologist husband wasn't quite as exciting as Luna had hoped.
The evening had been a wonderful time and had awoken Hermione's eyes to the loneliness that she had wrapped herself in these last years. She had begun to feel more alive and knew that this three day holiday would do her good after all.
Passing through the trees she began to hear the sound of wood being chopped and saw, in a clearing, a small group of wizards, shirts off, wielding axes and preparing logs to keep the bonfires burning. She recognised a couple of them, but her attention was drawn to a figure who stood on the treeline, watching.
Luna was up early, spying on the men. Well, one man in particular, Hermione noticed with a grin. Stealthily she moved up besides the blonde witch. She was watching Seamus, bare chested, muscles flexing as he swung the axe. He had certainly kept himself in shape over the years and Hermione took a moment to appreciate how well put together the Irishman was. She glanced at Luna, seeing her staring, dreamy expression.
"Luna."
She didn't respond, didn't even seem to hear.
"Luna!" she said again, a little louder this time.
"Oh," she said, in a far off voice, "I can't today, the Nargles took my purse."
"Pardon?"
"Huh? What?" Luna finally looked at Hermione, seemingly coming out of a trance. "Oh, Hermione. I was just…" Her eyes drifted back to Seamus. "Just thinking… you know…"
Hermione kissed her friend on the cheek. "Good morning, Luna," she laughed and continued on towards the latrine area.
"Uhuh… morning…"
Still chuckling to herself she ducked through the material that had been raised to screen the latrine area. She quickly completed her ablutions, washed her face and brushed her teeth before turning to leave. As she pushed through the screening again she gave a startled squeak as she collided with a tall figure in a brown and gold checked dressing robe. She felt her heart lurch wildly, when she saw the man's flaming red hair.
Merlin, it's him! she thought wildly, her nerves and resolve disintegrating and vanishing from her mind. She had spent two years holding a tight grip on her emotions where he was concerned and now this chance meeting had set her back! Why was he here? she thought, furious at him for daring to be here now.
These thoughts sped through her mind as she fell to the floor and let out a pained squawk.
"Hermione!" the man said in concern, bending to offer his hand. It was then that Hermione's sleep filled eyes resolved the image before her.
"Arthur!" she almost sobbed in relief, taking his hand gratefully. "I thought…"
The Weasley patriarch smiled sadly and nodded as he helped the young witch stand. "I know dear, I know. Ronald is here but he's still asleep, as is Ginny. We arrived late last night, after the feast. Molly and I are awake and George is around somewhere, probably trying to cause mischief with Lee." He leant in towards her and took her other hand, kissing them lightly. "How are you dear? I do wish we could still talk… I miss our chats about Muggles."
Hermione sniffed as tears threatened. She truly missed the elder Weasleys, including the older brothers. It was just Ron and Ginny she wanted to avoid at all costs. Smiling sadly at Arthur she squeezed his hands. "I miss you too, Arthur. You and Molly, George, Charlie, Bill… even Percy! But it's… it just gets…"
"I know, dear. No need to explain. But he really does want to apologise to you… he is truly sorry, my dear."
Hermione snatched her hands back from Arthur as if burned and she saw the hurt in his eyes, even as her own flared with anger. "Apologise?"
"Hermione…"
"No! No, Arthur!" Her voice was rising as the wash of heated anger, drawn from the bottomless well that she had covered, but never drained, surged through her. She felt her body flush and her head spin, the pain in Arthur's eyes making it so much worse. "I can never hear him apologise again. He has said it all before, but it doesn't change what happened, what he said… when… when it happened!" Tears flowed, hot and scalding her cheeks as the terrible fury threatened to pour out of her, alongside the familiar fear and guilt. "I can't! I just… Arthur, I just can't speak to him… ever!"
His arms were around her then, pulling her close and comforting her like the father figure he had always been to her. "It's okay, Hermione. I know, I know," he sighed, as this girl, this woman that he had always thought of as a daughter, clung to him and sobbed bitterly. He was a kind-hearted man, and he truly wished to do the right thing, but he didn't know what that was.
His youngest son had behaved deplorably a couple of years back and it caused Arthur great pain to think of what Ron had said and done to Hermione. And as for Ginny's response… He was getting too old for this sort of thing. Young people and their volatile relationships gave him a migraine. He looked at his relationship with Molly, his wonderful 'Mollywobbles', and he actually felt sorry for the younger generation. Of course he and Molly fought and argued, most married couples did plenty of that; if there were no arguments, there was no passion in the relationship, no fire.
But Ron and Hermione's relationship had been destroyed in a burst of fire and vehemence that transcended all 'normal' arguments and in circumstances that should have seen the pair of them draw together, rather than tear each other apart.
Yes, Arthur thought to himself as Hermione continued to soak the shoulder of his robe with her tears, Ron had behaved terribly in blaming Hermione the way he had. How could he have thought little Rose's death was Hermione's fault… It had been horrible, but nothing more than a terrible accident… but for Ron to have pursued that line of thought so aggressively, and for his sister to support him? It had nearly torn the whole family apart.
It had led to Ron and Ginny losing all of their friends and most of their family. Only he and Molly had stayed on speaking terms with them both. Molly had been very tight lipped about the whole affair and Arthur had had several very stern conversations with his two youngest. But he was their son, and she their only daughter; they couldn't have abandoned them no matter what had been said and done. It was like Percy all those years back: the rest of the family had turned away from him, but he and Molly had prayed for him to return to the fold and, eventually, their prayers had been answered.
Arthur didn't hold out much hope of any such reconciliation for Ron and his brothers, or his friends. He had alienated a lot of people. But, as a father, Arthur had to do what he could for his son. Ginny remained very angry and bitter, but she had returned to live at the Burrow at least, where they could care for her and try to bleed away some of the poison in her heart.
"Hermione," he said firmly, making his decision suddenly, "listen to me, my dear."
Hermione looked up at the elder Weasley with red-rimmed eyes and nodded slightly, wiping the sleeve of her sleep robe over her eyes.
"You need to go through with the ritual, no matter what happens, okay?" He was speaking quietly but firmly. "Ron is here, yes, but his presence is not something you should be concerned about."
Hermione started to speak, surprised at Arthur's knowledge of her intentions. She had thought her wishes had been kept secret, known to only a few. Clearly those 'few' were greater in number than she had anticipated. "Luna," she said in sudden understanding, a surge of annoyance at her friend's indiscretion flowing through her.
"Yes," Arthur said, quietly, "Luna mentioned why you are here. Molly and myself have added our voices to Luna and Harry's and asked that Narcissa perform the ritual for you."
"Harry knows!?" she squeaked, mortified.
"Dear, of course Harry knows," Arthur laughed. "You can't hide anything from that man. He is your best friend and the most talented Auror the Ministry has had since Mad Eye. He fully supports you and will be taking part too, giving his magic to the coven with the rest of us." The red-haired man lifted Hermione's chin with one finger, raising her eyes to his. "This is your chance to get the closure you so desperately need… and…" He sighed, suddenly looking older than his years.
Concerned, Hermione placed her hands on his. "What is it, Arthur?"
"I have a favour to ask you, my dear. But I know that you will not like it."
"Ask it," she whispered, suspicion forming in her mind and struggling not to walk away from him now but to hear him out.
"If you find the answers you seek… if you get the closure you need… speak to Ron. Please Hermione," he said, imploringly, feeling her start to pull away. "Please help him to find the peace that he lacks so that you can both move on, completely."
"I… I don't think I can, Arthur."
"I'm not asking you to reconcile with him. I know that is not possible, not after… everything. I wouldn't expect you to do that. But finish the chapter, close the book completely, for both your sakes. He is so broken by what happened, so hurt. I know he truly regrets everything. Please, Hermione, for Molly and my sakes too…"
Hermione looked into his eyes for a moment before stepping, deliberately, out of the circle of his arms. For a moment she stared at him, a torrent of emotions crashing inside her.
Then she turned and walked away.
Arthur, his head bowed and feeling older than ever, listened to her footsteps as they rapidly receded.