The weeks went on, and Hermione's products continued to sell well.
Harry's exams were fast approaching, and most of his time when not seeing Teddy was taken up with study. Hermione had "gone nocturnal", as she liked to call it, as she had been moved onto the night duty rota at St Mungo's and except for an impromptu celebration the day after the birth of Bill and Fleur's second daughter, he saw her only briefly on a few evenings, when she would assist him with revision.
"Don't worry, Harry," she'd assured him when he asked if she wanted him to stay up with her on her nights off, both for company and to help her with the products. "I've plenty to do. A few of my contacts work nights, too, and prefer to meet at night time."
He had felt a little put out that she didn't seem to want his help, but she suggested that he come with her to meet some of her "contacts" after his exams were finished. But in the absence of their visits, he'd spent a lot of time thinking about her, and kept finding his mind drifting to less platonic thoughts, Ginny's and Dean's words from weighing heavy in his mind.
Harry emerged from the exam centre, feeling as though his brain had been wrung out and like his hand might fall off at any moment. However, he did feel quite a bit lighter at the knowledge that his final exam was over. He planned to continue his studies after his results were issued, but for now he definitely had a "school's out for summer" feeling that he never really got at Hogwarts when summer meant Dursleys.
Blinking in the bright June sunshine, he made his way across the car park to get to the main road, where he would find an alleyway to disapparate home. Hermione would likely be waiting for his phone call about how it went. As he headed through the main gates, he saw a glossy purple motorbike parked up. A rather sexy looking figure clad in fitted leathers was leaning against the bike, removing their helmet as he approached. The biker girl smiled at him, a chestnut brown braid tumbling over her shoulder. He gave a polite smile in return and continued on, while his exam-addled brain struggled to make sense of the image the girl left in his mind. His jaw dropped, and he stopped mid stride when something clicked into place, at the exact moment that a voice called his name.
"Harry?" called Hermione, looking confused, as Harry walked past her then froze, foot suspended comically above the ground. "Are you all right?"
Harry turned back towards her. His mouth flapped open and closed a few times, while he tried to make a coherent sound. His eyes flicked between biker-girl-Hermione and the motorbike.
"Er – Harry?" she tried again, stepping towards him.
"Her – Hermione? You – what – motorbike?" he spluttered, face flushed.
"Yes, it's my motorbike. Are you okay, Harry?" Hermione frowned at him in concern.
"But – but, you don't – I mean –?" Harry struggled to organise his thoughts.
Hermione raised an eyebrow and waited for him to work out what, exactly, he was trying to say.
"You – you ride a motorbike? Seriously? But you won't even sit on a broom without serious persuasion!"
"Harry," Hermione said, in what he recognised as her 'patient' tone. "It's not the travelling at racing speed part of brooms I'm averse to, it's the flying in the air part that bothers me. This particular bikedoesn't leave the ground."
"But-"
"Never mind but. Put these on." She picked up a second helmet and a leather jacket from on top of the bike's seat, and thrust them at him.
"Er – no."
"Yes, Harry. We are going on a little ride, and you need to wear these for safety."
"I can't ride a motorbike!"
"I'll be riding the bike. You will be a passenger."
"No!" he said indignantly.
Hermione put her hands on her hips. "I think, Mr Potter, given that you recently coerced – a less generous person would say tricked and blackmailed – me into a flight on your Firebolt, then pulled your favourite Quidditch stunts, a little ride on my motorbike should not be a problem for you. Unless you would like me to have a little chat with Molly about your behaviour…?" She let the threat hang, while he contemplated.
After a moment, Harry visibly deflated, and took the jacket first. Hermione gave him a wide grin that made him sure he would regret this.
"Now, how did your final exam go?" Hermione asked, twirling the straw in her Coke. She had a weakness for muggle fizzy drinks, which she put down to never being allowed them as a child due to her dentist parents. Now she could never resist one – through a straw, of course. Just because she wanted to drink them didn't mean she wanted to erode her teeth while doing so. They had pulled up at a muggle restaurant and were having a celebratory end-of-exams lunch.
"Not too badly, I think. There was one question I know I've definitely got wrong, but other than that, I think I understood a lot of it. But I'd like to forget all about it now, please," he said, to cut off the inevitable dissection of the questions he was sure would follow. Harry still felt somewhat shell-shocked from the bike ride. His hair was messier than usual, thanks to the helmet, and that along with the wild eyed look he gave her after he slid off the bike in the car park, had caused Hermione to collapse in giggles.
"Good. I'm glad it went OK. I'll say no more about it, except that you've worked very hard, Harry, and I want you to know that I'm proud of you."
"Steady on, Mione," Harry said, blushing brightly at the praise. "I don't even know if I've passed yet."
"Doesn't change the fact that you've worked hard. It's not really the result I'd be proud of, anyway – although, obviously, I want you to do well, and grades are important, and I will be very pleased if you do well – but what I mean to say is I'm proud of your attitude towards it. Whatever grades you get – and I'm sure they will be passing ones, I really am – I know that you've done your work to the best of your ability. That's why I was always nagging you at school, Harry, and Ron too."
"Eh?"
"I mean, I just wanted you both to apply yourselves, to reach your full potential. You're an intelligent person, Harry. I know I was probably too uptight at school, and I likely drove you both mad, especially around exams…"
Harry snorted.
Hermione gave him a look, but continued as if she hadn't heard him. "…But it's just because I was watching you fail assignments that I knew you were capable of completing."
Harry quirked an eyebrow at her, but he knew she was right. He sighed. "I know. I should have worked harder. It's just, I wasn't allowed to do better than Dudley at primary school. And life was easier all round if I didn't draw attention to myself. I guess it never really clicked at first that they didn't care about my Hogwarts grades. And, well…" he tailed off, looking faintly embarrassed.
Hermione leaned forwards. "Well, what?"
"It's…I never had any friends before Hogwarts, right?" Hermione nodded, she already knew this. She had also been friendless, until Halloween of First Year. "And I used to, I don't know, daydream about having friends, just hanging out with them, playing games like a normal kid. I guess I got carried away with the idea and sort of resented having to reign it in when I'd never got to do it before."
Hermione's expression softened.
"I know you only wanted to help, and looking back, I can see why. I am sorry we didn't appreciate your help at the time, Mione."
Hermione's cheeks turned pink and she shook her head. "Harry, before we became friends, I couldn't have imagined anything more important than doing well at school, learning everything I possibly could. My parents encouraged me from a young age to read, and I guess it went from there. They were always so pleased when I did well at school, I had things to talk about with them, and my fondest memories of primary school are of teachers' praise." Hermione grew redder as she spoke. "I didn't relate to other children well. I found it easier to cope with the petty taunts and feeling excluded by deciding I didn't want to be involved in their silly games. And I remember my parents, always saying how mature I was to their friends, how proud they sounded of me…
"By the time we went to Hogwarts, I suppose I got so used to identifying as the smart one, the teacher's pet, that I felt like I had to be top of the class. I wasn't any good at the normal kid stuff. But, the magical world was entirely new to me, so I devoured as many books as I could like I would with any new subject, so that I could still be recognised as clever.
"There was another part to it, though. I just…I wanted to fit in. I was so happy, the day I got my letter. There it was, the reason I hadn't made any friends. I was different, but there were others like me. I knew I'd be coming in as an outsider, so I wanted to catch up with everyone else, so I wouldn't get caught out by having grown up muggle. I had nearly the whole year between my birthday and the following September 1st, and for the first time in a long while I found myself daydreaming when I was trying to read stories at bed time, fantasising about my new school, full of people like me. I was so disappointed, so…ashamed, when I realised that it wasn't being a witch in a muggle school that made me friendless. It was just being me." Hermione bowed her head.
Concerned, Harry reached for her hand and squeezed it. "Mione…"
Hermione squared her shoulders. "But being friends with you, it gave me a sense of belonging I'd never felt before. You pulled me out of my books, away from my self-imposed separation…taught me that there were people worth breaking the rules for. You taught me there was more to a great person than book and cleverness…" She tailed off.
Harry put his hand under her chin and lifted it so he could see her face, and gave her a small smile. "Friendship and bravery, right? And…and…" he frowned in concentration; he was sure there had been a third thing on that list. "What was the other thing?"
Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but suddenly caught sight of the clock behind the bar. She jumped up. "I didn't realise the time! Come on, we're going to be late!"
"Late? Late for what?"
"Don't you remember our arrangement for after your exams?"
Harry was confused for a moment, but quickly remembered what she meant. "I'm meeting your…accomplices?"
Hermione laughed. "Merlin, Harry, you make me sound like a serial killer. But yes, I'm meeting them this afternoon, and I thought you could come with?"
"Lead the way, criminal mastermind."
Hermione insisted Harry get on the motorbike for a second trip, this time to her flat so she could park it in the garage.
"Where are we going to meet them?" Harry asked her as they climbed the stairs to her flat. "Are they coming here?"
"Oh, no. We're apparating to them. I just want to get out of these leathers first. It's a lot hotter than I thought today, even with a cooling charm!"
Hermione disappeared into her bedroom, unzipping the leathers as she walked, giving Harry a brief glimpse of her shoulder as she shut the door. He could hear her humming a tune he vaguely recognised as she changed. Harry tried, rather unsuccessfully, to keep his imagination under control, as a procession of biker-girl-Hermiones in various states of undress paraded in front of his mind's eye. He put it down to post exam stress, and being ambushed unexpectedly, and forced himself to think of less attractive things. Just then, Hermione emerged dressed in pretty sundress with a fitted top and floaty skirt, and twisting her hair into a messy knot, and Harry's thoughts scattered again. Harry jumped up, desperately trying to force his mind onto something other than Hermione's figure.
She offered Harry her arm. "Shall we?"
He reached to take her arm, and they disapparated with a crack.
Harry looked around at the rolling fields surrounding them. "Where are we?"
"Celeste's farmhouse" Hermione replied, turning him so he was facing a cosy-looking cottage. They walked up the little garden path from the driveway they were on and Hermione knocked on the door. It opened to reveal a skinny, tallish woman with black hair and amber eyes. She had a scar running across her cheek, and several more on what he could see of her shoulders.
"Mimi!" she said, drawing Hermione into a hug, before turning to Harry and sticking her hand out. "And Harry Potter, I believe?"
Harry took her hand and shook it. "Yes, it is. You're Celeste, I take it?"
Celeste smiled and nodded. "Well, don't just stand there like entrance gargoyles, come in, come in…"
Harry looked back at Hermione as he followed Celeste into the house. "Mimi?" he mouthed to her, eyes dancing with amusement. Hermione's answering scowl promised retaliation if he pressed the point, and Harry tried to straighten his face. As Celeste led them into the sitting room, he noticed a tall, blond man rise from an armchair to greet them. Celeste headed to the kitchen for drinks.
"Mimi, so good to see you!" he said, starting towards Hermione, kissed her cheek and hugged her. Harry frowned.
"Hello Mike!" she said. He lifted her up slightly, and she squeaked and thumped his shoulder, then turned to indicate Harry. "This is my friend Harry Potter. He's interested in joining our little company. Harry, this is one of my contacts, Michael Macmillan."
Mike stretched a hand out. "Pleased to meet you, Harry. I know of you, of course!" he said, laughing.
Harry shook his hand, both men gripping hard, and forced a polite smile. "Hi. Macmillan? Not related to Ernie Macmillan, are you?"
Mike laughed again. "I don't think so. Not closely, anyway."
"Harry, Mike is my main connection to the drugs industry" Hermione said.
"Oh. Right." They sat down, Mike in the armchair, and Harry and Hermione on the sofa. Harry draped his arm behind Hermione, trying to keep the annoyance he inexplicably felt at this bloke off his face.
"He's also an expelled Muggle-born."
"He's a – what?" Harry turned to look at Mike. Celeste put a tray of cold drinks on the coffee table.
"I'll let Mimi explain. She helped me to piece it together more coherently. Thinking about it causes me to get confused…possibly a side effect of what has happened." Mike said, nodding to Hermione.
Hermione took a deep breath, before launching into her storytelling mode. "Mike received his Hogwarts letter a few years before we did, but he was expelled at the end of his first year as he just could not do the practical work. Following consultation with Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore, it was agreed that although Mike had some magic to trigger his acceptance to Hogwarts, his magic was not strong enough to be counted as being a full wizard. If he had been of magical parents, they might have said he was a squib, or close enough – he had some magic, but could not use it effectively.
"So, he was expelled from Hogwarts, and his wand was snapped. As a muggle-born, however, he could not be allowed to have memories of the world that he would no longer be a part of. So before returning him to the Muggle world, both his and his parents' memories were modified, and his magical core was bound to prevent any small magical outbursts occurring, on the off chance his magic flared. He was enrolled in Muggle secondary school a year late, his absence explained by ill health using false records created by the Ministry, which was backed up by their modified memories and the weakened state Mike had been left in after his magic was bound."
Harry stared at Hermione, dumbfounded. He opened his mouth, though he wasn't sure what he wanted to say. Hermione raised a hand to stop him interrupting.
"Just let me finish the whole story first, Harry. In theory, Mike should not have discovered any of this. It's standard practice for any muggle born students who are expelled before their OWLs. However, Mike, it seems, is an unusual case. About a year after his expulsion, Mike began to feel…strange. Like he was fighting against invisible elastic bands, all over his body. He'd been having a tough time at school, having been "held back" a year at school, and he put it down to stress. The feeling built, until he found himself coming round on a bus shelter floor, surrounded by shattered glass and splintered wood that appeared to have exploded inwards from shelter. There was a storm at the time, no witnesses that Mike is aware of, and I believe it was put down to a freak lightning strike.
"If this had happened at his home, the Ministry may have contacted Mike. They may not have. I don't know. As it was, as far as we know the Ministry did not get involved, and although I suppose it's conceivable that they generated the lightning excuse, Mike's memory was not modified.
"Do you remember, when you figured out what I was doing, I explained about how most children's magic has stabilised by age eleven? Well, it seems Mike's magic stabilised late. When his core stabilised, the bonds on his magical core snapped, for want of a better word. Sometimes, in the magical world, parents have their child's core bound before their magic has stabilised, usually for safety if the child is prone to particularly violent or dangerous accidental magic. They will get the bonds dissolved when their child shows the signs that their core is stabilising – the same sensations Mike felt. That way, they can be removed without any potentially dangerous magical discharge or backlash.
"Unable to remember his accidental magic as a child, nor his brief exposure to the magical world, Mike had no idea what had happened. But over the next few years, he had outbursts of uncontrolled magic in times of stress or high emotion. He also had fragments of memories that didn't make sense, ones that contradicted the memories that had been planted when he was expelled. Thinking about them made him confused. He kept it to himself, as much as he could, afraid he would be pronounced mad if he told anyone. He desperately wanted people not to notice the outbursts – and by and large, it seems he was able to hide it, though more memories that he didn't understand kept coming back to him.
"When he went to college, he made friends with a girl from a different area. As it turned out, her father was a squib, who'd been living in the muggle world for all of his adult life. He recognised the signs of undisciplined magic after witnessing his daughter trying to calm Mike down after he'd been in a fight.
"He sat Mike down, and explained that magic was real, and he thought Mike had it, though he couldn't explain why Mike was not at Hogwarts. It seemed to tally with Mike's regained memories, and following the conversation, Mike began to recall bigger chunks of what had happened, and everything married up."
"So where do you fit in with all this?" Harry asked her.
"His friend's dad, David Greengrass, works with Celeste at the lab. He realised she had lycanthropy pretty early on and covers for her when he can. She recognised his name as a magical one, but didn't dare approach him about it until he told her he knew about her "once-a-month problem". They became friends and he is also involved in our medicine company. He asked to meet with me regarding Mike, I did a bit of digging, and also…well, not just me, sort of through LUNES…although he doesn't have the same legal loophole that lycanthropes have, as he was expelled…Mike's been working on his magical education, and I've been helping him.
"We managed to surreptitiously get hold of a wand, although it was expensive. We don't know if there are any others in Mike's position. It's something we intend to look into – covertly, of course – at the Ministry, under a satellite branch of LUNES, but we can't focus on it too much just yet."
Harry was shocked. I can't believe the risks she's taking to help this bloke. I mean, yeah, I feel for the guy, but still… He's completely taking advantage of her. "So, you're illegally helping an expelled student to learn magic?"
"Well…yes. Technically."
"Alongside helping build up the legal but against popular opinion LUNES and running a not-technically-illegal but definitely underground medicine company?" Merlin, Hermione, are you TRYING to get yourself up in front of the Wizengamot? I've GOT to tell her not to do this, right?
Hermione put her hands on her hips, having watched Harry's face move from shock to slight outrage, and the hair that had escaped her messy bun seemed to flick and crackle around her face. Harry recognised her 'I dare you to contradict me' pose. "Yes."
He ducked his head, as his cheeks flushed. "Oh. Er. Right then. Just so we're, you know, on the same page." Bloody coward. "Celeste, how about you, is Hermione helping you with magical studies or anything?" he said, trying to change the subject.
Celeste gave him a sympathetic glance. "No, Harry. I was bitten after my sixth year so although they wouldn't allow me back for seventh year, I already had my OWLs by then. I have no need for NEWTs as I'm pursuing my studies in the muggle world. As I've got my OWLs, I'm allowed to use magic."
"Oh. Of course. Hermione did mention it. You want to be a – a – genetics-person?"
"A geneticist, yes."
"So what did you think, when Hermione came to you about the whole medicine-potions thing?"
"Well. To be honest, the thought had crossed my mind before, that the magicals should start trying the muggle ways. I mean, I've been working in the labs for a while now, and it's obvious these things work where magic can't. But I'd never thought about actually getting the stuff out there. I agree with what she's been doing completely, and I'd have helped her with it anyway – not just because I'm eternally indebted to her for everything she's done for me, and for my fellow lycanthropes. Even before LUNES came to fruition, she spent her own time and money making as much Wolfsbane as she could, for people that couldn't afford to pay her for it…She's a godsend. I can honestly say without her, I'd probably still be begging for potwashing jobs and being sacked every month for something I can't control."
By this point, Hermione was scarlet. "Celeste, I didn't do that much to help…LUNES is from your hard work, not mine."
"Mimi, without you, LUNES would never have got off the ground."
Harry was surprised Hermione didn't spontaneously combust, based on the colour of her face.
They spent the remainder of the afternoon, right into the evening, discussing the setup of the medicine-potions business. How, using Celeste's and David Greengrass' acquaintances, they identified people within the muggle world with knowledge of the magical, but who could be trusted not to run to the Ministry or the Prophet. How the factories making the products reported to Michael and David, who reported to Celeste, keeping Hermione removed from the day to day processes as she was so well-known in Wizarding Britain. How Hermione always Apparated to Celeste's from her flat, and went on from there to avoid being spotted and followed. Celeste brought some food out as it grew later.
When Hermione mentioned again about St Mungo's refusal to trial these medicines in the muggle guise, Harry thought of a question. "Hermione…I know you must have thought of this before you started…but how did you make sure it was safe?"
"Do you mean, did I do something like drug trials?"
"Yes."
"Well, I knew the drugs themselves were safe for human consumption. It's not like I was making new ones…but in regards to working specifically on magicals?" Harry nodded. "Anecdotal evidence. I spoke to a lot of muggle-borns, subtly of course, seeing if they'd used it. And of course, our contact network. Some are magical, or have magical children. They've all used non-magical medicine before. It's not strictly how it should be done, but physiologically there's no real difference between magical and non-magical people, so…"
Harry nodded in understanding. Celeste got up and stretched, yawning hugely. "Well, I don't know about you guys, but it's getting late and I'm tired…shall we call it a night?"
After various goodbyes, handshakes (for Harry) and hugs (for Hermione), they headed out into the night. Mike gave Hermione a last peck on the cheek before heading to his car, parked in the lane, Harry glaring at the back of his head. Hermione waved Mike off as he drove away.
"So, Mimi, huh?"
Hermione raised an eyebrow.
"Well, Mimi…goodnight. Just so you know…what you said earlier, about being proud of me…I'm proud of you too. I mean, I think you're taking on a huge amount of risk here especially with Mike, but…I'm proud of you, all the same. You're just so…so…good, so fair, so selfless and brave with all of this… and I really… I…" Say it Potter, go on. Say the L word. "am so proud of you for that."
And with that, he quickly hugged her, dropped a kiss on her head and apparated away to his flat, where he threw himself down on his bed. Bloody coward.
Once again, he left behind a thoroughly confused, and slightly disappointed Hermione.
