Thanks to Owling for reviewing! Also thanks to oh nargles and Deep is desire not love for adding this story to alert.
So I've been finding that Hermione is much harder to write than Draco. She's just got fewer revelations to make about herself, while he obviously has tons to face about his prejudices and spoiled upbringing. As for the timeline, I decided that I don't want this story to be a million chapters long – which means time will speed up a bit.
J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I own Two Boxes of Memories.
She remembers a particular Sunday brunch at the Weasleys'. It was the middle of the day, but the dismal snowstorm and the nipping cold was enough to make one believe that it was the dead of night, with only the pale shroud of snow lighting the garden path outside of the Burrow. And yet, the whole family was miraculously gathered in the tiny space of the Weasleys' kitchen and dining room. And by 'whole family', she means the entire family of redheads plus its extended members – Harry, Lavender, Angelina, Fleur, and Percy's wife.
And of course, herself.
As every Burrow brunch was, it was a raucous affair. No one remembered who cast the cleaning charms on the innumerable pots and pans, or who exactly was in charge of the gnome extermination that week. The malfunctioning oven kept going off every 10 minutes, driving a very pregnant Angelina insane, so that George eventually cast a silencing spell on the oven that resulted in a heavily burnt chicken. That particular day, Harry had even brought Teddy to add to the frenzy.
So she was stuck with watching Teddy for the day. Bill, Mrs. Weasley, and Ginny had shooed her out of the kitchen a long time ago, Ginny throwing a veiled comment about her cooking skills (or the lack thereof) with a joke about how hard it was to live with her. At least Fleur shared her fate regarding the food preparation. Then again, Fleur hated cooking, Bill had said with a wink. He was better off in the kitchen, especially with any food for Fleur at the moment. Merlin forbid Fleur eat meat oozing with blood in what Fleur deemed 'the French style' while being pregnant. Charlie and Harry were usually busy scrounging up enough cutlery and plates for the entire family and making the table. The cups, silverware, and dishes were understandably mismatched at every brunch, but it was part of what made the whole spectacle every week so endearing to her.
That, and Teddy's tufts of hair going amok in every shade of the rainbow to match all the people who stopped to talk to him sitting on the booster seat next to the kitchen counter.
When the entire family sat down to eat at last, she'd already gotten stomach cramps from laughing at Teddy's attempts to imitate both Harry's and Lavender's hair colors (considering one had black hair and the other was blonde, it was no easy feat), Mr. Weasley's friendly wrinkles, and Ron's freckles. The continuous tide of conversation only made her laugh harder, and forget about the stinging fact that she was the only one there who was single other than Charlie, who was married to his dragons at his heart anyway.
As if she'd read her thoughts, Molly asked her teasingly if she still had no time for romance. She gave a genuine grin and replied in the affirmative as cheerfully as possible, earning a curious glance from Ginny. Ginny immediately piped up and reported to the family that she, in fact, spent her Friday nights reading in the armchair by the fireplace – she had time, just not the right mindset. Ginny still hadn't let go of the Aidan Kiely incident, or the barb about Quidditch players' ability to make small talk. At Ginny's announcement, Fleur and George barraged her with information about this or that man that they knew, who'd love to meet her. She responded to Fleur with yet more laughter, but shot George a glare that clearly expressed her lack of trust in George's matchmaking capabilities.
She remembers hating the way the conversation was suddenly all about her, and she still hates how this questioning reoccurs every couple of months since then.
But what she remembers about that particular brunch is Teddy. When the topic of the table finally left her, Teddy reached out with his tiny baby hand and squeezed her thumb, almost in a reassuring manner. Amused and startled, she turned to the baby and kissed him on his temple, only to have him give her what seemed like a sympathetic look. Was this baby a Seer? To her amazement, his eyes began to rapidly flip through colors, all the while staring into her own. His irises paused at a storm-blue that seemed remarkably like Narcissa Malfoy's, then continued to change as if his eyes hadn't yet decided on a suitable color.
She let out a little gasp when his eyes became grey, the color of soot. Teddy kept his little fingers around her thumb, and experimented with the shade until he hit the right color and her hand tightened around his involuntarily.
Grey, darkening to cobalt around the edges, reflective and bright as mercury or steel.
Teddy withdrew his hand from her grip, and patted her cheek before turning back to his plate as if nothing had happened. She turned her dazed attention back to the large family she considered her own, and wondered what it would be like for him, with those eyes, to be sitting where Teddy sat now. To sit at this haphazard, chaotic but undeniably happy table by her side.
She wondered if his cold eyes could learn to light up like her eyes whenever she was in this happy home.
He remembers being invited to Holloway's house for an Easter dinner. Thankfully, he didn't embarrass himself about the holiday itself – the previous year, he'd gotten confused about the rabbit sitting on his desk at work, only to find out that his supervisor also handed out chocolate rabbits at this time.
So it was with some trepidation that he clutched a basket full of the delicious little critters and rang the doorbell of the Holloways' residence. Holloway lived in London, but his parents and younger sister lived in Oxford, in a neat house just outside of the bustle of Oxford University. Holloway opened the door, and eyed the basket with an impish grin before muttering that his sister wasn't four years old, for god's sake. He ignored Holloway and straightened his tie, getting more nervous with each quiet step he took in the hallway. He stopped when he heard voices floating out from the sitting room, with the buzz of a telly in the background. Holloway nudged him forward, announcing to his parents that his guest was here.
Instantly, three pairs of eyes turned toward him. For a second, he could hear the thudding of his heart in his ears, his body going extremely still. Almost instantly, a friendly smile lighted the face of Mrs. Holloway as she bustled up to meet him in the hall. Holloway's father and sister followed, the latter giving her brother a meaningful smirk that Holloway returned with a roll of his eyes. Mr. Holloway was a surprisingly fit man, with a bookish sort of look that befitted an Oxford professor, while Mrs. Holloway was pleasantly plump with dark curls framing her face. Erin Holloway was the sort of girl that he probably would've thought attractive in Hogwarts, pretty face, slender form, long hair, and good fashion sense. But all he sees in Erin now is that she's a high school teen, who has the same easy grin as her brother.
The dinner flew by him in a whirl – the conversation flowed like the generous amounts of wine that Mr. Holloway poured for him. His luxury-accustomed taste could tell that the wine wasn't as nearly fine as the bottles that lined the cellar of the Manor, but it wasn't cheap either. Erin had pouted when her mother firmly poured grape juice for her into a cup, causing Everett to roll his eyes again. Mr. Holloway talked about his economics classes at Oxford, Everett talked about football like the Arsenal fanatic that he was, and Mrs. Holloway described her work as a real estate agent for uni students who wanted to move out of the dormitories. He silently reveled in the normalcy of this family, so in contrast with the extravagant but quiet meals back home. He almost felt like an intruder, unfamiliar as he was with such cozy, comfortable settings and the joviality of a daily meal. He wondered if the Weasel's family was like this, with every person inquiring after each other, sharing stories, arguing for no particular reason other than for differing opinions on the better type of pudding. It was the first time he'd envied Ron Weasley for anything.
When had it been since all three members of his small family had even sat down to a meal together?
He stiffened when Mr. Holloway eased into a question about his own family. He bit back a sharp retort, knowing that the man really hadn't meant any harm and that it was unreasonable for him to snap at a most gracious host. He picked up the wine glass with a tight grip, and schooled his voice into a calm tone as he replied that he'd lived in Wiltshire before moving to London. Mrs. Holloway immediately launched into a discussion about how beautiful Wiltshire was in comparison to Oxfordshire in the summer, although the two neighboring counties were both in South England. With a internal sigh, he almost relaxed when Erin asked where he'd gone to school. He couldn't hold back the slightly strangled tone that time – thankfully, no one seemed to notice anything amiss. Unfortunately, that meant no one took the hint either; Everett gave him a surprised glance when he told the Holloways that he'd attended a boarding school in Scotland since he was eleven, and the entire family seemed to light up with curiosity.
But barring the momentarily unpleasant experience of having to lie about Hogwarts, the rest of the evening passed peacefully. He was genuinely surprised when Mrs. Holloway thanked him for taking care of their dear Everett in London (to which Everett groaned), and when Mr. Holloway shook his hand with a firm grip and told him to visit again. He was doubly surprised to feel the smile on his face as he returned the handshake, and had a slightly ominous feeling that his holidays wouldn't be quite so solitary anymore. Well, ominous wasn't the right way to describe it. But he was going to have to come up with a more complete backstory by the time Christmas rolled around again.
As he made his way to the station, feeling the warmth of April seep into him, he was almost tempted to make a quick visit to Wiltshire. It wouldn't be so hard to find the Manor the Muggle way, considering that it was glamoured as a tourist attraction that was barred from the general public. It would be so easy to just slip into his home, surprise his mother…
But as he boarded the train back to London, he realized that he wouldn't want to enter the dark, at times foreboding halls of his ancestral home. Not when he felt such a foreign giddiness and warmth coursing through him from his visit to the Holloways.
He'd never felt so uncertain in his life, except for the time that he'd faced Dumbledore in the tower, petrified with fear. But this uncertainty was a strange one for him. Looking out the window to the countryside sunset, he almost wished he'd been a Muggle or a Muggleborn – perhaps then he would've been born into a normal family. Perhaps he might've met her when they were younger. Perhaps he would know what it felt like, what it took to achieve such simple domestic happiness that Holloways seemed to have.
And perhaps, if he ever had the slightest chance at all, he would've had it all with her by his side.
I have a present for you all - the next two or three chapters will be the last of the exile chapters! Yay!