Hermione pushed back from her table and left her scrolls to be examined later. It was unusual to have an actual stone cottage on expedition, but she loved it. The ornate wood carvings that served as room dividers were painted in vibrant colors. There wasn't much in the way of furniture, but there was enough for her. It was both exotic and basic.
She had set up a small work table to brew potions for the village. She was no master, but helping these people out with basic medical needs wasn't taxing. Her current batch needed some attention.
She stirred the standard pain potion clockwise and pulled her spurtle directly up from the brew. The surface of the potion shimmered and deepened to a lovely lavender. The scent of woodruff filled the air. Perfect. She pulled it to the side to cool.
She stretched her back and sighed. This expedition wasn't the challenge for which she'd been hoping, but it had been good for her. There was more to life than work.
The orphaned kirin she'd been given was snoring quietly in the corner curled up next to Buckbeak. It seemed every village nearby bred a variation of the beasts, but she had to admit preferring hers. The Himalayan prong horned kirin was an important part of the economy in this region. Their silken fur was prized by weavers and knitters for its strength and warmth. Most of the village raised them.
The rare herbs and teas required special care, but a herd of the magical beasts was mostly self reliant. The local farmers took turns minding the towns herd. When they had brought her the still and unmoving fawn, she'd wanted to cry. She'd curled her body around the beast and prayed for mercy from every god and goddess that might listen. Buckbeak had settled his bulk on the ground next to her and covered them over with one wing.
In the morning, the baby had warmed and settled into a life of domesticated bliss. Little Nanga's coat wasn't fully formed. The distinct blue and green scale shaped striping had yet to emerge in her white hair, but pronged horns were starting to shine a bit, like old pewter. It was apparently a sure sign that the fawn's health was improving. If she hadn't adopted the creature, it would have died.
Charlie Weasley was already working on obtaining the permits she would need to keep the creature in England. If he had any trouble, she would get Lucius to handle it. If they both failed, she could make a home here. It was a peaceful place. Buckbeak was happy.
She sat down to her tepid tea, but she couldn't be bothered to warm it. Her eyes slid to the pile of owl post she hadn't opened. She knew Astoria's letter would be full of wedding preparations, and Draco's would have at least one request to join her to escape those same preparations. She was saving those for later because they always made her smile. Lucius would hide his interest in her wellbeing in requests for information about the expedition. Keeping correspondence with the man was a form of mental fencing. Narcissa's letter would include offers of supplies and requests for her swift return. Andromeda's missive would include pictures of Teddy and the others. She had retreated to showing her what she was missing.
If someone had told her that she would find her family with the Malfoys and Blacks, she would have laughed. Now, she thanked all the gods and goddesses for them. They filled her life with joy from half a world away.
She closed her eyes and let her thoughts run free. She supposed it was a good thing that she no longer feared visions of the final battle or its costs. She didn't think about everything she had lost. She thought about Severus.
He was out in the world. He was living his life free of the burdens he'd carried for years. She imagined him in some apothecary, trolling for rare ingredients.
She'd read about the potion he'd helped develop to heal roanes. It was a remarkable advancement, and it wouldn't be his last. His remarkable talents would serve to improve the world
She took a deep breath and stood up. There were potions to bottle. The knowledge Severus had instilled in her was needed here.
Severus tossed in his bed. The slide of the sheets against his flesh didn't offer any kind of distraction from his racing thoughts. Nothing did.
England loomed up, a demanding dream of green fields and damp. He could feel the familiar weight of the air on his skin. Even thinking of returning to his homeland made him feel claustrophobic, but he would go for Draco. It was the right thing to do.
He rolled over and looked at the small box wrapped in white paper and tied with a black ribbon. He didn't know if sending Hermione a gift was the right thing, but he'd seen the intaglio and been unable to stop himself.
He had traced a finger over it and could imagine her doing the same. The woman carved into the stone was holding a flower that looked remarkably like the tattoo on her back. He'd barely haggled with the shopkeeper.
He wanted to see her wear it.
Was it some primal need to mark her? He rubbed a hand through his hair.
He ran his fingers over the runes carved into the stone hanging around his neck.
Freedom.
The word didn't hold the wonder it had at first.
He closed his eyes and tried to imagine her wearing it.
"She'd probably prefer a book." He flopped on to his back. He'd send the package tomorrow.
Ron stared into the cauldron. This potion was complicated, but he had managed it. He looked down at the pearlescent liquid and grinned.
It was good to succeed. He was damn tired of everything going wrong in his life. He picked up the dark glass vial and ladled the potion into it. Sunlight would weaken its strength. He corked the vial and put it into a cushion charmed box to keep it safe and sound.
His eyes trailed over the clippings on his table. Hermione smiled up at Draco Malfoy as they danced. She was beautiful. Deluded, but lovely. He felt the stirrings of his rage and closed his eyes.
He went over every Cannons roster in the last fifty years until the anger subsided.
It had been months since The Daily Prophet had published the pictures from the ferret's engagement ball. She wasn't the one tying her life to the death eater's. He knew she'd left on a trip to chase yetis or some other ridiculous thing, but none of that mattered.
He had to move forward not back. He had to think about the future. It was going to be wonderful.
