26th April 2011
Livia sat on the uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room reading her storybook. Uncle Neville had brought her to the hospital as soon as the owl had come. The Healers had explained that her mother had fainted but she wasn't badly hurt. They would look after her.
Livia hadn't rolled her eyes at that or said it was their job to look after people. Instead she'd gone to the waiting room like they'd asked while Uncle Neville went outside to telephone her father. She hadn't said the hospital could have done that, if they had telephones instead of owls.
"Hello, there."
Livia looked up at the woman with red hair who was standing in the doorway like she had forgotten something. She was a witch because she gave Livia that tingle creepy feeling she felt around magic people. She was also wearing too many patterns on her clothes, which Muggles never did. Unless they were the funny spiky hair people.
"Hello." Livia replied because it was polite and she was supposed to be polite. Even to her little brother, who was a pest and moved her crayons around so they were out of order. On purpose.
"I saw you come in with Neville. My son was in his year." Molly said to the dark haired little girl. She was reading a book with a tree on the front cover, which made her smile. Neville was certainly starting his daughter early with Herbology.
"I know, Mrs Weasley." Livia knew who she was because her parents had talked about her pictures in the newspaper and because there had been photographs of her in the old albums her mother had shown her. Which had made her mother cry. Livia had made careful note of that.
"Oh, he's told you about me?" Molly had been hurt when Neville had taken Hermione's side. That excuse about Flint being his cousin hadn't held water with her. The Weasleys were cousins to the Blacks. That did not mean they popped over for dinner. "I knew your mum too. Not very well but she seemed a nice girl."
"She is." Livia agreed, though she didn't think her mum was a girl. She was a Doctor and had two jobs. And she could Apparate, which you weren't allowed to do until you were really old. "Are you going to sit down?"
"I'm not really waiting." Molly wasn't sure why she was there. When Madam Flint had collapsed and that po-faced hag had Apparated her to St Mungo's, she had followed. If it had been some sort of stunt to get out of a well deserved ear-bashing then it wouldn't work.
Except it seemed that the faint wasn't fake. The Healers had whisked that madam away to a private room while the other one had rushed off somewhere. Leaving Molly standing there with the bristles off her broom.
"You seem like you are." Livia pointed out, she thought quite sensibly, People didn't hang about in doorways for no reason.
"What are you reading?" Molly asked, taking a seat as she had to admit she was hovering. St Mungo's had a great many memories, surprisingly mostly good. She wondered idly if she hadn't had Bill so early if she might've become a Healer. But she'd wanted to feel safe, which was what she felt with Arthur. Still did.
"The Secret Garden. A Muggle woman wrote it." Putting her finger in to keep her place, Livia showed the witch the cover of her book. "I like this one better than A Little Princess, because I would've made the girls stop being nasty to me."
"I haven't read either of those." She smiled at the little girl's earnestness. Definitely a Hufflepuff mother, though she couldn't see much of Hannah Abbott in her. Perhaps that would change as she grew. Percy had looked nothing like either of them as a boy but now he was a man, he could've been Arthur's brother.
"Mr Cresswell, he's my tutor, picked it for me. He says Muggle, um, literature is broader than the stuff wizards write." Livia was pleased with 'literature'. She'd been practising the word.
"Cresswell? One of Dirk's boys?" Molly had liked the Cresswells. They'd often popped over to tea so their children could play together. But after Dirk was murdered, Dawn had cut all ties and left England with her sons.
"Yes. Mr Creswell showed me his father's name on the memorial. We always go there on the anniversary. Mummy says it's important to remember." Livia didn't understand what she was supposed to remember but when she'd asked her father, he'd said it was better to forget.
"I haven't been able to bear going." She didn't want to see Fred's name or Gideon's or Fabian's. Or the names of her school friends. Or all those people who had come to her home, shared her food, been made welcome, and then never returned. Empty places at the table.
"Mummy goes to her room to cry afterwards." Biting her lip, Livia stopped. Maybe she shouldn't have said that. Mrs Weasley seemed friendly but she was mean to Uncle Harry and her mother.
"Your mum and dad don't share a room?" Molly asked, sensing gossip. If there was trouble at home, maybe Hannah needed someone to talk to. If she could help the younger woman patch things up then maybe Neville would let her visit. She'd been so close to Frank and Alice.
"Her room room, not her bedroom. Her room where she keeps all her books that we're not allowed to touch." Livia pouted. Her mother had a lot of books and really interesting things in jars and lots of pictures of brains. But her room was absolutely off limits.
"Your mum has a lot of books?" That surprised her as Hannah, according to Ron, had rather lost the plot in her OWL year. Hufflepuffs slogged through but they weren't known for being academic.
"Oh yes. I thought you said you knew her?" Livia was suspicious now. Anyone who knew her mum knew about all the books. Even granddad had noticed the new wing on the library.
"We haven't spoken for a long time. They don't visit the Burrow any more." Her home felt empty. She rattled around in it, trying to cheer up Ginny, trying to support Arthur in his new job that kept him out at all hours, and trying to see her grandchildren despite her daughters-in-law always being too busy.
"People come to visit us all the time." She listened in sometimes but mostly the talk was dull about Ministry stuff and laws. "Uncle Harry and Auntie Millie are staying with us with Jamie. He's boring."
"Harry and Millie." It wasn't a question but it did feel like a betrayal. Neville's excuse about family was at least accurate, for all it hadn't saved Alice. But Bulstrode was nothing to him. And Harry had named his boy, a Slytherin's son, after his father. James would've been spitting mad.
"You look tired." Livia knew she wasn't supposed to make personal remarks because her mother said it was rude. But Mrs Weasley's face had gone grey like her granddad's did when he wasn't feeling well.
"I am. So tired." Molly answered wearily. Nothing she did seemed to help Ginny, who swung from angry to sad like a dizzy gnome. "I don't know what to do."
"Are you waiting to speak to my father?" The little girl suggested, wondering if it was polite to tell the lady to go home to bed. It probably wasn't. When she got told to go to bed, it was usually because her parents were cross.
"Oh, no, dear. Neville and I haven't talked for years." Frank's boy had been such a nice little chap. Perhaps not the boldest lad but he'd come good. And like Harry, he'd dropped them in favour of Madam Flint. She wasn't even sure what he was doing with himself nowadays.
"Uncle Neville is my cousin." Livia corrected, not offended that she'd been mistaken for a Longbottom because they were a good family and Uncle Neville was very brave. But she was a Flint. "My father's name is Marcus Flint."
Molly stared at the girl in the blue smock and sensible shoes. She knew Flint had got children on his wife. That was the whole point of the marriage now, she expected, on his side at least. The Flint name had been scrubbed up and was apparently respectable again.
"Your mother is Hermione Granger?" Molly asked because the child was looking at her expectantly. Pushy little thing, but that was inevitable considering her parents.
"You make her cry." That was a very important thing because her father said to always get even when someone hurts you.
"She deserves to!" The malice sounded very loud in the confines of the waiting room. The acoustics echoed Molly's words back to her. Was that how she sounded? Like Walburga Black shrieking with shrill bitterness?
"You're not her mother. You don't get to punish her." Livia was very sure on who could tell her what to do. Her mum and dad could, and granddad, and Mr Cresswell. And her aunts and uncles. But that was it until she went to school. Then she'd have to listen to her teachers. But until then, nobody else got to boss her around.
"She hurt my children." Molly said the old excuse as though hearing it for the first time. How old was the girl? Six? Seven? Ron's eldest was nine. Had it been that long?
Livia watched as the red haired witch stood abruptly. She left the waiting room, going out into the hall without saying goodbye. The crack-bang of her Apparating away made Livia frown. That was rude. She went back to reading her book and waiting for her father.
Marcus Flint had been showing his son around the Montrose stadium and doing some covert recruiting for his wife's clinic idea. The Magpies were still one of the more conservative teams in the League, with only one Muggle-born on the team and a handful on staff. As Mr Hermione Granger, they were avid to listen to him.
Septimus charmed too. Totally fearless, he climbed onto anything that stayed still long enough. He got onto one of the new Firebolts and would've done himself a mischief except he couldn't figure out how to start the broom. He sat on it and made whooshing noises.
Marcus was too much of a Slytherin to openly fuss over his son as the upswell of pride he felt filled him almost to bursting. Hermione would hate it, even as she cheered their boy, but Septimus was born to fly.
"Flint!"
He didn't have the battle honed instincts of his wife or her heroic friends. It'd been more than a decade but the former DA still got together to practise duelling. He'd joined in once Livia had arrived because no one would ever survive hurting his children. Thus far, his training hadn't been tested. But when his name was called in that frantic tone, Marcus was not alarmed.
He grabbed Septimus and got his wand out, turning with a Shield Charm ready. His family hadn't been overtly attacked. Poison pens and Howlers, bitter words in print and shouted but no curses yet. He was wary though. He had a lot to lose.
"Marcus!" Neville's long legs had covered the endless stadium stairs and the long corridor into the dingy interior of the offices. Montrose spent money on the fans and the team. The unseen employees could make do. He expected the paint on the walls was older than he was.
"Neville, breathe." Marcus didn't relax. He did stuff his wand in his pocket to have a hand free to check his phone. He'd turned off the chime so the damn thing didn't peal the hours in his pocket. It was supposed to shake to let him know if there'd been a call. If Hermione had tried to get in touch with him for the obvious emergency that had sent his cousin to Scotland to retrieve him.
"Hermione fainted." Neville sucked in a lungful of air after he got out the important details. He huffed through some more information as he got his wind back. "She's alright. Over did things at the Ministry."
"Fine." Marcus focussed on 'alright'. His wife pushed herself, over-worked and tried to single-handedly reshape the world. That was all fine if she was alright. "Why did you run?"
"It was quite a bad faint. Leota Yaxley took her to St. Mungo's." He wasn't on a first name basis with Ms Yaxley but they were friendly socially. They simply didn't have much in common and the Durmstrang alumna was inclined to be formal. Nice woman, just chilly.
"Right." Stuffing his phone back into his trousers, Marcus fixed his attention keenly on his cousin. "And what are you not telling me?"
"I'm sure Hermione would want to tell you herself." Neville hedged, trying to hint it was good news without actually saying anything. Hannah had been vexed with her step-mother for breaking the news of her second pregnancy to him before she had the chance.
"Would she now?" Marcus continued to stare at his cousin, willing him to confess. Neville's chin rose defiantly. A slow smirk twisted the Slytherin's mouth. "Really?"
"The Medi-wizard said so. But you bloody well have to act surprised when she tells you." He stuck out his hand and Marcus shook it. They Apparated together to St Mungo's.
"Daddy!" Livia had peeked out the waiting room door when she heard the Apparition noise and ran to her father when he appeared in the hallway. He scooped her up and with both children in his arms marched into his wife's hospital suite.
Hermione was clearly not in a happy mood. The Healer attending her already looked mulish and they were arguing about something. Marcus set Septimus and Livia down so they could rush to their mother and clamber into her bed, distracting her.
"Hello there." Hermione hugged her kids, shooting a last stubborn frown at the Medi-wizard, who gave her husband a sympathetic look as he went. "Hi, Neville!" She waved to her good friend loitering in the doorway. "Marcus, I'm glad you're here."
"I cannot say the same." Marcus swept a pointed look at the room. He hated hospitals. Muggle or magical it didn't matter. "Livia, Septimus, go with Uncle Neville. He will let you eat something you mother forbids."
"Bubblegum ice cream!" Septimus squealed, abandoning Hermione to rush to Neville. Livia solemnly returned her mother's hug then asked for permission to go. Trying not to laugh, Hermione granted her leave for ice cream. Neville got a slightly more friendly stubborn frown, which he ignored. He still owed Hermione for giving Frank and Alice gummy bear cupcakes.
Marcus sat down on the bed beside his wife so he could argue with her without looming. She foiled that plan by hugging him, silencing him with a kiss.
"Baby." She murmured then sighed. "Another one."
"Well, I am happy about it but I thought you had fixed the problems with the potion." Marcus stroked her hair, toying with the rebellious curls springing loose from her chignon.
"I had!" Hermione huffed. The Contraceptive Potion she had been using, the recipe for which she had submitted to the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers for approval and distribution, was perfect. "But it doesn't do much when you forget to take it."
"So I do not need to say a word about you being tired or spending too long at work or burning your candles at both ends." Marcus made no effort not to sound insufferably smug. She could argue with him, she did often, but she couldn't argue with the evidence she had provided herself. She only ever forgot important things when she was exhausted.
"The damn Healer wants me to take leave. I'm apparently wan. That probably translates into borderline anaemic. He gave me a long list of potions." She grumbled, settling into her husband's embrace. He kissed her affectionately on the forehead. "I know, I know. I will take some time off. We're in recess anyway. Stupid walk-out."
"I marvel at my own powers of persuasion." Marcus slid his hand to her stomach. "Another Slytherin, soon to bend the world to their will."
Hermione hit him with a pillow.
The five of them went home to share the news with Harry and Millicent. Neville fetched Hannah and their children, and they had an impromptu little celebration.
Later when the Potters had retired to the guest wing, the Longbottoms had gone home, sugared up Livia and Septimus had finally been persuaded to go to sleep, and Hermione was enjoying a long soak in the bath, Marcus went to speak to his father.
Octavius was standing at his window staring out at the greenhouses. Potted ferns decorated the sill and he idly stroked the soft fronds. The Flints had sponsored several Herbological expeditions to Palau, resulting in the rediscovery of many species thought extinct.
"Have you eaten?" Marcus asked as his father often forgot even with house elves reminding him.
"Don't nag me, boy." Octavius said brusquely. "Treacle brought me some cake." He eyed his son, who had crossed his arms over his chest and was staring impassively. "Which I ate."
"Hermione is pregnant." He relayed the news before he became irritated with his father. They still had a difficult relationship, which like the greenhouses and the stubbornness was unfortunately a Flint tradition.
"Good." The older wizard snapped. Marcus was good for that at least. Hermione, remember her name, you like her, he chided himself, Hermione was a good wife and a good Lady of the Manor. The whole house felt much, much less empty. Happier, he supposed. But there were little things that were off. "She isn't a pure-blood, is she?"
"No, father." Marcus had been waiting for this conversation for eleven years. He uncrossed his arms, leaving them loose at his sides. Standing easy and ready. He didn't expect violence. His father had never been a bully. Marcus had fallen into that habit on his own.
"Good." Octavius could recall being so sure about things, a long time ago. Sure and safe, surrounded by school chums then by men of influence. When he'd ascended young to the Head of the House after his father had succumbed early to his own apoplectic temper, he'd been free. Sure, safe, free and deeply in love with a sweet girl his father would never have chosen for him.
And then it had all gone wrong. The politics had got darker. The coded language about revolution had become blunt. The threats more obvious. He was still safe but much less sure. He'd kept his mouth well shut and protected his family. Most of his family.
"The little girl's name is Alice." He'd heard the children laughing and had gone down the back stairs to check on them. Octavius was too tired to play today but he liked watching the young Flints amuse themselves. They'd had some friends with them.
"Livia." Marcus corrected, eyes narrowing. His father had never got that wrong before. Mrs Shaw had started him on some new treatments. Were they making him more muddled not less?
"Not my granddaughter. The fair girl who was here today." There had been a boy too, slightly older, but he hadn't heard his name. "Her name is Alice."
"Yes." Marcus confirmed. This was another conversation he'd been grimly anticipating.
"Longbottom?" Octavius asked, his face crumpling into tears. Alexandra had been very close to her sister. There'd been less than two years between them. Of course, once Alice became an Auror, he couldn't welcome her at Flint Manor but he knew his wife used to sneak out to see her.
"My cousin Neville and I are friends." He asserted curtly as though their good relationship had just started one long weekend while neither of them were paying attention. His father didn't need to know Hermione had all but resorted to blackmail to get them to talk.
"Friends?" The word didn't make any sense. Friends? His son and the boy orphaned because he, Octavius, hadn't thought to warn his sister-in-law? He had trusted his friends to know where to draw the line, and they hadn't.
"I stood up with him at his wedding." Marcus hesitated and despised himself for hesitating then approached his sobbing father to put a hand on his arm.
"And he brings his children to this house?" Octavius struggled to collect himself, not to be weak, not to shake. Not to remember the furious Aurors coming to his home, hauling him out in the middle of the night to the Ministry and interrogating him for hours before telling him bluntly, brutally that it was his fault his sister-in-law would never know her own son.
"Often, and my children visit his. Livia was there today for a play-date with Frank." He found some fucking compassion to console his own father rather than stand there like a golem. "He understands. Neville does not blame you."
"I didn't warn them." The confession seemed to come from the depths of the old man's soul. "I let Alice die."
"There was a prophecy. Riddle went after the Longbottoms and the Potters because of a drunken Seer's babbling." Hermione had told him all about Trelawney's forecast, the Department of Mysteries, the lot. Marcus doubted Dumbledore had bothered to warn the Longbottoms either.
"A prophecy?" Octavius sniffed derisively. He found a handkerchief and tried to restore his dignity. "Superstitious nonsense." He had cheerfully avoided all the books he could during his years at Hogwarts, Divination most especially. "Drivel."
"Riddle believed it." And after learning that, Marcus had been very thankful his father sent him away during the war. Being branded by a lunatic would have been a fast road to damnation.
"He killed Eileen's son's sweetheart." That the Snape boy loved a Muggle-born was a bit of gossip he'd heard from Lucius when they'd all been in their cups. Eileen Prince had been a friend, until she married that Muggle. They'd been in the Gobstone Club together. "He killed so many people."
"He did. Not you." Marcus insisted. Octavius nodded dully.
"I'm tired. I think I will go to sleep." He turned away, shuffling towards his bed. "Please tell Alice's boy we have some of his mother's things. Seems right they go to his little girl."
Marcus agreed then went to find Hermione. She was still in the bath, idly charming the bubbles into different colours. He stripped off and joined her, pulling her close.
"Are you okay?" Hermione wrapped her arms around him, feeling his tension.
"I'm fine." Marcus took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her hair. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him. "Everything is fine."