With the war over, the Burrow had returned (if a bit more heavily spelled against attack) to being a proper family home, complete with large Sunday dinners and elven wine shared among friends. It wasn't quite the loud, carefree place it had once been, but it was in recovery as much as the people living in it were. After structural repairs and some rearranging of bedrooms, it was a hideout for the Weasleys and friends, for many members of the Order, from both positive and negative attention from the public.
It had been a given that it was the perfect place to hold Harry Potter's eighteenth birthday party.
It wasn't a raucous affair, but there was Butterbeer and treacle tart and a thousand other sweet things that Mrs. Weasley pushed at anyone who glanced at her. There was even a four-layer chocolate cake courtesy of Hagrid. It was quite ugly - a sticky chocolate, with green frosting proclaiming Happy Birthday Harry - but Harry loved it, hugging Hagrid's middle as tight as he could, considering he couldn't wrap his arms all the way around.
Having been subjected to Hagrid's baking skills more than once in the seven years she'd known him, Hermione had opted for the treacle tart instead.
It was a relatively quiet afternoon, only two grief-filled months after the final battle at Hogwarts; the house was full of love but not as rambunctious as in the past. That didn't stop people from singing Happy birthday to you so loudly that Teddy started crying, and it didn't stop Harry and the Weasley boys from pulling faces at the baby to try to get him to laugh instead.
Hermione hardly noticed when Kingsley Shacklebolt arrived nearly an hour after the party had started. He probably would have escaped her notice at all if he hadn't moved immediately towards her after saying a quick hello to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. She had been talking to Percy about the rebuilding efforts in Ministry departments that had been more corrupted, but they both paused when Kingsley coughed quietly.
"May I have a word in private?" he asked Hermione.
She excused herself from Percy and went with Kingsley out into the backyard. They made it halfway to the fence when he decided not to waste any more time: "Why is there a Muggle in my office asking for you?"
Her jaw dropped. "A Muggle?" She wracked her brain for the young man's name. "Spencer Reid?"
Kingsley gave a terse nod. "He said you would know him." He crossed his arms and looked down at Hermione. She hadn't felt quite so small in months. "What is this about?"
"He's a childhood friend," she said quickly. She painted the picture that he'd always known about her magic, since before she knew he wasn't supposed to know - that he was worried about her and that she had given his office as a rendezvous point after the war.
She knew she had never been a very good liar. It was driven home when Kingsley snorted. "I'd be more inclined to believe you if this kid was from the right country."
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," she said stiffly. The July air hung heavy between them for a moment, the only sound the soft screeching of one garden gnome at another. (George and Ginny must have kept busy the last few weeks teaching them more swears.) "I'd like to go to my friend, please."
If Kingsley was surprised at her holding onto the lie, he didn't show it. Instead he just said, "Okay," and started walking back to the house.
They tried, but there was no hope of leaving without anyone noticing.
"It's just business," Kingsley said.
Mrs. Weasley was having none of it. "It's Harry's birthday!" Her hands were on her hips, and Hermione knew there was no easy way out now.
"Kingsley was contacted by a Muggle friend of mine," Hermione explained, calm under the gaze of just about everyone in the Burrow's living room. "He knew about my magic before Hogwarts, and I told him to stay safe, but not try to contact me when…" She shook herself, pretending to overcome some deep emotion. "He's come back to the country, I suppose, to let me know he's safe. I just need to go talk to him, and then we'll come right back."
The group disbursed and the room quickly filled with murmurs, some of disapproval, some of relief. Hermione was holding out hope on a clean escape until she spotted Mrs. Weasley making her way over to her and Kingsley, a small but wobbly smile on the woman's round face.
She was looking better than she had the first few weeks after Fred's passing, but her eyes were still red-rimmed more often than not, and today was no different. "Kingsley," Molly began, and it pained Hermione a little to hear such a strong woman's voice waver. "I understand it isn't exactly typical, but if Hermione's friend would be comfortable visiting with us, would you allow it?" Hermione was ready to tell her that Spencer wouldn't be visiting, and Kingsley seemed ready to tell her that it could not happen, but she went on: "It could be good for both of us - for this young man and for all of us, I mean." She was visibly tearing up. "He can meet other people close to Hermione, and the rest of us might benefit from being around someone less… affected," she decided.
"A lighter presence," Kingsley said. Hermione realized with an internal groan that he was going to give in. Spencer Reid was going to visit the Burrow, undercover as one of her childhood friends. "Since he already knows about magic," Kingsley added, sounding almost smug, "I wouldn't find any harm in him visiting. Now, Hermione, let's go get your friend from my office."
She pasted a large smile onto her face. "Let's!"
After a warm hug from Mrs. Weasley - and a short exchange of glances with the boys, who had no idea what was going on but looked to know something was off - they were out the Burrow and headed to the edge of the protective enchantments.
Near the edge of the property line, Kingsley held out an arm for her to stop walking. He seemed to channel Albus Dumbledore for a moment, his expression grave and almost commanding her to tell the truth. "How do you know this Muggle, really?"
It was a good thing Kingsley wasn't Albus Dumbledore, or she'd have had a harder time lying to him. "As I said, he's an old friend." She glanced to the familiar edge of the property, marked by a line of red bricks. "I think we should be getting to him, don't you? He's been sitting alone in your office for a rather long time," she reminded him.
Kingsley rolled his eyes. "Susan's been keeping an eye on him. I'll Side-Along you, so we can go directly to my office."
She held his arm through his thick robe, and after a familiar, tube-like ride, they were in his office.
Their arrival prompted a small crash as Spencer Reid - now taller but even reedier than before - jumped back and into a table of what Hermione would guess were upgraded Sneakoscopes. The devices fell to the floor, thankfully not spinning, and Hermione remembered that this was supposed to be her beloved childhood friend, and perhaps she should be seeming a little excited to see him.
She bounded over to him and wrapped her arms around his middle, her face pressed into his sweater (which did smell very nice, like wool and old books and a hint of coffee). She was dimly aware of Susan Bones watching them while she put all the Sneakoscopes back in their proper places. "My oldest friend, it's so good to see you again," she whispered. "Act like it," she added in his ear. He stiffened, but wrapped his arms around her shoulders.
"I'm glad you made it out okay," he said, and he even sounded genuine about it. He pulled out of the hug almost gracefully and held her at arms' length. "I came here before, when you told me to, but things seemed off. I figured there was no harm in waiting an extra while."
"I'm glad you didn't go inside." She swallowed. His hands were still on her upper arms, and they were still staring directly into each other's eyes. "You might have died."
"And all your negotiating would have been for nothing," he added quietly.
Kingsley coughed, and the two separated, Spencer Reid even taking a step back from her. "I trust that you can Apparate him back to the Burrow when you're ready, Hermione? You should be able to leave directly from the office. I'll have Arthur lift any repellant charms shortly."
She nodded. After reminding her that "We will be having a conversation about this," he disappeared with another loud crack. (Fortunately, Spencer didn't jump into any more tables this time.) Susan had left after replacing the Sneakoscopes, and so they were alone in Kingsley Shacklebolt's office. Hermione hoped Spencer had some concept of how much trust was being placed in them in that moment.
She worked quickly, giving brief explanations of where they were going ("It's my friend's birthday, and we're having a get-together at another friend's family's home"), who would be there ("Listen, these people were all involved in the war, and it was difficult"), and what he would see ("Half-giant, birthday cake, maybe some foul-mouthed garden gnomes, and a lot of wand-waving and redheads"). She explained that she was something of a war hero at the moment, and that these were the only people treating her normally - because they were going through the same struggle with publicity that she was.
Spencer tilted his head in thought. "Your friend, whose birthday it is… will Harry Potter be there?"
She almost held her wand to his throat. She settled for a deep glare. "I don't know how you know that name," she hissed, "but he is a normal human being and you will treat him as such."
"I did some digging," he said, running a hand through his hair. She noticed it was longer than before, and felt stupid for it. "I found some weird stories in IRC logs associated with your name, and started cross-referencing unfamiliar terms from those with other…" he trailed off, probably realizing she had no idea what he was talking about. "Computer things. It would have seemed like a fantasy piece or the strangely organized ramblings of an insane person, if I didn't have the foreknowledge that I did."
"So no one else should be able to piece things together?" she asked weakly.
"Not without seeming like a conspiracy nut," he confirmed.
It was enough for her to convince herself that the Statute was in no immediate danger, and they spoke about the people he would meet while her heart rate went back down. She was pleased at what a quick study he was; her best friend should know the superficial details, after all: names of the Weasleys, a basic outline of her Hogwarts years, and a very cleaned-up version of her plan for the last year.
Grateful that Kingsley had mentioned lifting any Muggle-repellant charms, Hermione Apparated them to the very edge of the Burrow's grounds. Spencer Reid looked like he was holding back an urge to be sick, and she pulled him quickly through the wall of protective enchantments. Whatever pulse of magic he felt was enough to send him over the edge, and she patted his upper back gently while he leaned against a tree and vomited in the yard.
When he seemed done, she conjured a glass of water and held it out. He took it gingerly and stared at it with wide eyes rather than drinking it. She remembered that he was a physicist of some sort and laughed. His eyes darted up to hers. "What?"
"Don't overthink it right now," she said lightly. "I have some books you might enjoy later, but for now just take the water and try to get your wits about you."
He sipped it carefully. "I guess I am about to lie to a house full of magical war veterans. If they're all half as smart as you and Mr. Shacklebolt, I don't stand a chance."
She vanished the now-empty glass and sighed. "Fortunately for us, they're not all quite that clever."
When they entered the Burrow's living room, the entire room went silent for a moment.
Then, hell broke loose. Mrs. Weasley descended within seconds. How did they meet again? Spencer Reid - Spencer, Hermione reminded herself he was called - was much too thin, was he from America? How very interesting! Kingsley deemed it safe to leave him alone with the growing welcome committee and pulled Hermione away with a brief apology.
She found herself in the pantry, dimly lit and crowded with dry goods. "Speak," Kingsley demanded.
"I met him at St. Andrew's last year, just before the Death Eater attack." She said it all in one breath, and it felt like her heart was ready to burst out of her chest. "I got him out and I threatened him with a memory charm if he told anyone what he saw."
Kingsley's mouth opened, shut, opened again. She'd never seen such dark skin go so red.
"I couldn't do it," she said. Her hands found each other, and she twisted her fingers tightly. "I'd just sent my parents away, and he has so much raw intellect that I didn't want to mess around in his mind - I know it was wrong, but it will be okay. I will make sure it's okay," she added fiercely.
Kingsley's lips stayed pursed for another moment. Hermione's heart felt like it might beat out of her chest, but she kept her mouth shut and waited for him to say something.
"You're lucky I trust you," he said finally. She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She could have been in so much trouble, war heroine or not, if this got out. "The others need to know," he said. "He's a liability."
"The Order will know," she agreed (and readily), "but not today. No need to interrupt Harry's birthday with my drama."
He huffed, but it almost seemed good-natured.
When they found Spencer Reid - Spencer - again, he was explaining the origins of birthday candles to a small group of Weasleys. One, in particular, seemed to have taken a shining to him.
"But how would candles protect anyone from Dementors?" Percy pressed. "I see a metaphorical connection with the Patronus charm, something to do with light maybe, but practically speaking-"
"I see you're getting along well," Hermione interrupted, a smile tugging at the edge of her lips.
Spencer grinned broadly, his eyes bright. "There are some very interesting connections between classical Paganism and early wizardry - Percy's offered to lend me some books on wizarding history, but he said you might actually have a better working list than he would."
She resisted her body's instinct to blush. "I may have a few books you could use."
There was a loud snort, and she turned to see Ginny approaching, cradling a steaming mug of Butterbeer. "A few?" Ginny gave Spencer what was probably meant to be a meaningful look of some kind. "If Hermione hasn't heard of a book about something, nobody's written one."
Hermione rolled her eyes but let another smile play across her lips. "Just because someone knows how to use a library-"
"You're the only person I know who considered books a wartime essential," Ginny said, and nudged her with an elbow. She saw Spencer stiffen, as though he was expecting a negative reaction.
Hermione only sniffed. "They were useful. Now," she started, looking pointedly at Spencer, "how have you been faring so far? No spell damage, I see."
Ginny laughed, and Spencer even smiled self-deprecatingly. "Not for a lack of trying," he said. "George stopped by with some candy."
"He didn't take it," Percy assured her. "I told George to leave him alone for now."
"He should work on his approach," Spencer said thoughtfully. "He wasn't very subtle."
"He probably thought you were an easy mark," Hermione said, holding back a laugh. Annoying or no, it was nice to see George returning to himself. "Any other excitement?"
"He wished Harry a happy birthday, and Harry ran off," Ginny recounted. "Then Dad asked about his… what is it called again?"
"My pager," Spencer said, and pulled out the offending device. The back was off, and he appeared to have taken out the batteries. "It started going off pretty badly, and he got, uh, excited?"
"Sounds right," said Hermione.
"At least he didn't ask about rubber ducks," Ginny said wistfully. "You got away pretty easily."
Percy coughed gently. "Are we not going to talk about Ron's attempt at conversation?" He took a deep sip from his glass of wine while Spencer started sputtering and Ginny giggled madly.
"Do I want to know?" Hermione asked faintly.
"I'm going to have another piece of treacle tart," Spencer announced, and almost tripped over himself trying to escape so quickly.
Ginny, of course, only laughed harder.
"He seemed a little embarrassed when Ron started asking about his intentions towards you," Percy said, and Hermione wondered just how much he'd had to drink that afternoon.
Her gaze wandered to the kitchen door, through which she could see Spencer plating another piece of treacle tart. She hadn't realized how tall he was until she saw him standing next to George. "Spencer doesn't have any intentions towards me."
"Only because he thinks you wouldn't like it if he did," Ginny said. Although still a little breathless, she was able to speak now. "Honestly, would he be here if he didn't have any?"
"An interest in a brand new, magical world does not equate to a non-academic interest in me." Hermione crossed her arms when this only set Ginny's giggling off again. "Both of you are drunk," she decided.
It wasn't much later before Hermione decided to sneak Spencer out of the party. "Let's get going," she murmured when she spotted him finishing a bottle of Butterbeer.
He told her where his hotel was, and thankfully, she'd been in the area before. She Apparated him to a spot that he said was about a ten minute walk away from it. "You can come with me - to talk, I mean."
She looked at him and fought back the words appraisingly or appreciatively. Ginny and Percy were just getting to her.
They walked to his hotel in silence, and she was relieved when the first thing he did once the door to his room shut behind them was to dive into a messenger bag for a spiral notebook. "Please, sit." He gestured to the little loveseat shoved in the corner of the room. "I have some questions written down - in code, of course." He flipped to a certain page and handed the little yellow book to her. She eyed it for a moment while he settled into an armchair in a matching upholstery. She couldn't immediately decode it, and that was enough for now. She would offer to charm it later.
She handed it back, and Spencer just looked at her without saying anything. "Go ahead."
He jumped up and dug around in the bag again, this time pulling out a ballpoint pen. "You've already answered a few, or others did at the… Burrow," he said, making a few quick marks in the notebook and taking a seat again. "Is it all right if I ask some more?"
She smiled. The curiosity was something she could wrap her head around. "Go ahead."
The first few questions were impersonal. When do children discover they are magical? Is it common for people like me to have children who are magical? Where did this war come from? Why Harry Potter? It was almost a relief to talk about it all to someone who hadn't been raised with it, hadn't been stewing in this for the last seven years. She was reminded almost blissfully of her and Harry in their first year.
Then it started to get personal. How did you get so involved? It was a bit of a long story. What other memory wipes have you performed? "Memory charms," she corrected with a cringe. What is a mudblood? She barely stopped herself from scratching at her scar. Who is Fred?
As though he sensed her unraveling, the questions turned more lighthearted again. Is there a difference between a witch and a wizard? A mage? A sorcerer? Are werewolves real? Why does Ron Weasley care about my intentions towards you? She snorted. Are bugbears real?
Partway through a discussion of the (many) differences between House-Elves and Tolkien's elves, Hermione realized it was nearing midnight. "I should go," she said. "We can talk more soon, but I don't want to worry the Weasleys."
"Of course," Spencer blurted. "I didn't mean to keep you."
"You aren't," said Hermione stiltedly, standing and looking around the room at anything but Spencer. She felt like she was bumbling through this suddenly, like she was suddenly fourteen years old again. "Do you want to talk more in the morning?"
"Yes!" Spencer coughed and stood, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. "I mean, yes, that would be great. Nice. That would be nice. Do you have a phone?"
She wrote down the number for his hotel phone and promised to call it the next day. She wasn't sure if she should hug him or just leave, and they exchanged a handshake that could only be described as "clammy."
When she arrived back at the Burrow, Kingsley was still there, chatting with Arthur in the sitting room over a game of chess. He raised his brows at her late arrival.
"Hermione!" Arthur exclaimed. "We weren't sure if you were coming back tonight!"
Kingsley smirked ever so slightly. "Did you have a nice evening with your friend?"
If she blushed, she would never admit it.
A/N: Increasingly popular: me being prompted. Here's what happened:
HPFC'S FRIENDS Competition: Season 3 - TOW Monica and Richard are Just Friends (Write about Hermione)
HPFC's "Are You Crazy Enough to Do It?" Challenge: #216 (food - Treacle Tart)