This is a work of fanfiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All familiar characters are created and owned by J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter.
The stories I tell here about characters from the Harry Potter world are my invention and are not purported or believed to be part of J.K. Rowling's story canon. These stories are for entertainment only and are not part of the official storyline.
I am not profiting financially from the creation or publication of this story.
I am grateful to Ms Rowling for her wonderful stories and characters, for without her books, my story would not exist.
The Augeretis Fons - By Relish_Redshoes
Prologue.
May 2nd 2004. Morning at St Mungo's.
Bertram Aubrey, the night orderly in Ward 49 at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, jolted awake with the realisation he had been asleep, dreaming about the delicious breakfast that awaited him at home when he finished up his shift. Wishing young Healer Pye would get a jolly wriggle on, Bert stretched the kinks in his lower back, rubbed his gritty eyes with balled-up fists and huffed an irritated sigh as he spotted Augustus Pye hurrying through the door shuffling great sheaves of parchment and nodding apologetically to the clock on the wall. He noted with some unhappiness that the cuffs of his shirt were dingy and grey around his knobbly wrists as he grabbed the jangling bunch of old keys from their hook behind his desk. He tugged at his robes trying to hide the fact, wondering what he might have done to get so grubby.
As they did most mornings, the two men made their way first to the locked section of the ward where the patients who were a danger to themselves or others resided. Bert unlocked the door and let it swing open as he again tugged the ends of his too-short robe down over his grimy cuffs, looking up only at the sound of a startled oath from his companion.
The woman's body hung heavily from the knotted sheet around her neck. The little of her face that was visible to Bert from beneath the dull curtain of dun-coloured hair was mottled and blue. The Mediwizard immediately drew his wand and began uttering diagnostic charms, but as Augustus seized her wrist to check for a pulse, Bert glanced at the dark mark on her forearm, starkly black against her pale flesh, and mourned the bacon butty his wife would have waiting. It was hard to care that there was one less Death Eater left in the world, especially today.
Chapter 1. In Memoriam.
Hermione rose well before dawn and showered before slipping into sober, navy blue robes and shoes. She grimaced as she pinned the Order of Merlin to her robes, disliking the way the medal pulled the material askew, but it would not do to be without it today. Taking extra care with her hair, she coaxed it into a low chignon, and after a glance in the mirror showed her to be somewhat paler than usual she added a touch of lipstick.
She examined the mirror critically, knowing she looked older than her twenty-four years. The cause was nothing she could put her finger on. No silver hairs or spreading crows' feet belied her youth.
"It's something about my eyes," she thought. They looked weary to Hermione, even careworn.
She patted the wand at her waist, the wood worn shiny and smooth from nervous fingers constantly brushing across it, before she disapparated with a loud crack, rattling the diamond-paned windows of her cosy study.
o0o
The air was full of the sound of people apparating around her as she reappeared below the winged boars of the Hogwarts gate posts. The crowds coming to the commemoration of The Battle of Hogwarts grew larger every year, and she was momentarily overwhelmed. There was too much noise, too many people hastily shoving in the darkness, and the beginnings of an old panic tugged at the edges of her nerves as she stumbled on the uneven ground outside the school gates.
"Granger!" A familiar voice called her name. Its owner was invisible in the crowd, but a second later a hand on her elbow steadied her.
His black robes were simple, although beautifully tailored, and he kept the hood of his cloak up concealing his white-blond hair from the thronging crowd. Hermione suspected he was afraid there would be a scene if he were recognised, although he would never admit to such an idea.
"Thanks," she murmured as he guided her to the edge of the crowd and toward the roped-off seats in front of the stage set up on one of the lakeside lawns.
Hermione's name was visible in shimmering gold ink on a purple place card in the front row. They were almost to it when she spotted several familiar figures exchanging embraces.
"This is where I'll leave you," he said, dropping her arm and stepping away. She caught the sleeve of his robe, and he paused without looking back at her.
"Thank you, Draco," she said again. He hesitated another second before giving her a curt nod and moving into the crowds jostling for a seat.
o0o
Kingsley spoke eloquently, she thought, though with passion tempered by politics. However as always, it was Harry the crowd came to see. He delivered his speech this year with his newborn son in his arms.
"We would do well today to remember not only those who fought and those who fell. We would be better served to remember that when we stand as one, tyrants who seek to divide us, into whatever measure, will always fail." he said. As the sun was breaking across the horizon, the baby stirred, so it was looking at the waking child in his arms that Harry concluded his speech. "My hope for the future, now more than ever, is that we stop looking at what separates us and look to whatever brings us closer together."
Hermione was now deftly dandling baby James and listening with half an ear as Ginny allowed herself to be subject to the happy clucking of Professors McGonagall, Sinistra and Sprout. She acknowledged to herself the pang she felt as she watched Ron and Bill chase a happily squealing Teddy and Victoire across the lawn.
"Second thoughts?" asked George, who had come up beside her unnoticed.
"Not really," she answered truthfully, "It's just sometimes I can see how it all might have gone, and I miss the idea of it, even if we couldn't have made it work, you know what I mean?"
George reached out to take James from her.
"Couldn't? Really?" Hermione bit her lip, her gaze shuttered as she pondered the best way to answer the question. It was a fair one, she supposed, at least looking in from outside. She and Ron had five good, largely happy years, why hadn't they been able to get past their issues?
"He didn't ask me to marry him" Hermione said. George's eyebrows leapt so high they disappeared into his fringe.
"You wanted him to propose?" he asked
"I knew he planned to on Christmas, but no, I didn't want to get married, or to suddenly face the expectation that any minute I'll be having children. I told Ginny so at the baby shower and either she or Harry must have said something" her voice trailed off. George looked nonplussed as he patted the baby over his shoulder. "See, when he didn't propose I suddenly realised how much Ron was willing to change, to even give up for me and how unfair I was being because I might not ever want the things he does" she spread her hands and shook her head helplessly. "There are so many things I want George, and when I accepted that being 'Mrs Weasley' wasn't one of them I had to let him go to find someone else who could adore him back" George nodded gently and pulled her into a one armed hug.
When he released her she looked more closely at her friend; the circles beneath his eyes were so deep that they looked painful, and his hands trembled slightly as he settled the baby in his arms. She looked away over the rapidly thinning crowd as she drew a long breath, trying to loosen the sudden vice around her chest. A flicker of movement among the trees beside the path caught her eye and she spied Draco making his way toward the castle. His shoulders slumped, he trudged toward the castle on some pilgrimage of his own design. This was always a hard day, no matter which side you had been on in the end.
"How are you doing, George?" she asked gently as he busied himself with his newest nephew.
"Good grief! Is that Dennis with Harry and Neville?" George said, glancing over her shoulder. Hermione sighed but accepted the change of subject and, looking over, saw a tall young man she didn't recognise deep in discussion with her friends and shrugged.
"The last I had heard Dennis was in London looking after his parents. Shall we join them and find out?" she asked. George shook his head and wrinkled his nose with a show of melodramatic disgust.
"No, I think this smelly young man needs to go back to his mother, and you should join Angelina and I for a quick drink at The Three Broomsticks before we head to The Burrow for all the birthday celebrations, what do you reckon?"
"That sounds like a good idea, George" she replied, smiling and offering a quick wave to the heavily pregnant Angelina who was now the subject of the cackling from the delighted Professors.
o0o
"You outdid yourself this time, Molly," Hermione said as she hefted the last of the dishes into the already overflowing sink. "I may not eat for a week."
"Nonsense, dear," said Mrs. Weasley as she put the final flourish of icing on the towering cake resting on the kitchen table.
Mrs Weasley paused and scrutinised Hermione so closely the younger woman blushed to the roots of her hair. "Are you taking care of yourself? We don't see so much of you these days, and you work so hard. Everytime I see you in The Prophet you look like you're spread too thin." Hermione smiled; she didn't mind admitting that occasionally it was nice to be coddled and Molly Weasley could always be trusted to mother everyone.
"I'm alright, Molly" was all she said, however. Sensing that was an end to the subject, Mrs Weasley sniffed but allowed the matter to drop. She had learned over the last half-decade that Hermione would not be coerced into a conversation she did not wish to have.
"I shall cut you a large piece, dear," Molly said as she levitated the dessert toward the sounds of the party outside.
Hermione dried her hands on the dish towel with a wry smile and followed a moment later, bumping into George standing at the foot of the stairs, a peculiar look on his face as he stared into space.
"Are you alright, George? Did Angelina head off ok? I'm not surprised she needed an early night," she said, touching his elbow and causing him to jump
"Hmm, what? Sorry?"
"Is everything ok?" Hermione repeated, but he shook his head, still looking somewhat dazed.
"It's nothing. I mean, ow." He rubbed his temples. "I have a headache. Think I'll skip cake. Maybe later, when it's quiet." With that he turned and vanished upstairs toward the room he had once shared with Fred.
The volume of the hubbub swelled as the collected Weasley family and friends began a rousing, if rather tuneless, rendition of "Happy Birthday" and Hermione emerged into the yard at Ron's elbow in time to see Victoire blow out the candles. As the clapping and cheering faded and everyone got down to the job of demolishing their allotted slice of cake, Harry plopped down beside them in a garden chair.
"Ginny's putting Jamie down," he said as he took a large bite of chocolate cake. "Was that Malfoy I saw you with this morning at the Service?"
Hermione nodded, dreading the inevitable follow up.
"What did he want?" asked Ron, as he too folded his lanky frame into one of the low chairs.
She shrugged, unwilling to revisit previous conversations about her cordial acquaintance with Draco Malfoy.
"Nothing. I stumbled in the crowd and he helped me to my seat is all," Hermione said, ignoring the inelegant snort from Ron. Harry looked up from his dessert.
"I know you two had to bury the hatchet when you both went back to do your N.E.W.T.s, but I trust him about as far as I could throw him" he said and Ron nodded in agreement. Hermione absently rubbed a smear of icing off his cheek, sighing. "In fact, I only ask because I saw him after the service skulking about in the grounds and then heading into the castle. I wondered if you had any idea what he was up to?" Harry asked.
"No idea," she murmured, putting the plate holding her uneaten piece of cake down on the arm of her chair. "But I saw him speaking to Professor McGonagall at one point; perhaps she knows?"
Ginny emerged from the house into the darkening evening and came to sit in Harry's lap.
"Jamie's down," she sighed contentedly. 'Have you pigs left me any cake at all?" she said, digging an elbow into Ron's ribs. He grinned in reply. Hermione passed over her own plate and let the conversation flow around her.
o0o
"Is that right, Hermione?" someone asked.
"Sorry?" she said, coming out of her reverie. Ginny and Harry looked at her expectantly.
"Harry and Gin were wondering if you were staying as it's so late, but I said I expected you'd want to go home. That you were bound to have a breakfast meeting with the Goblins' Delegation or something first thing," said Ron.
"Centaurs at Breakfast," Hermione replied with a sigh. "Not that I seem to be making progress with them. At least with the Goblin delegates, the rules of negotiation are concrete, but the Centaurs are a different kettle of fish; they look at the world so differently." Her voice trailed away and Ginny laughed merrily at her.
"Maybe you should ask Luna to come and talk with them for you," she suggested.
"Or Professor Trelawney," said Harry.
"And there's always Umbridge," said Ron, as the group descended into gales of laughter.