INTERLUDE
by Silver Phoenix
Chapter 9: Faux Pas and Photographs
They fell into a routine that was almost as familiar and reassuring as their weekly timetables at Hogwarts. Hermione would visit with Harry most mornings. Ron would go to Arbour Glen once he was finished at the shop, and would usually stay overnight. It worked out well for Hermione; her parents had finally gone back to work and thus were unaware of her long absences in the morning. Grandma Jean, blessedly, had the grace to not pester Hermione about her whereabouts and to keep quiet about Hermione's disappearances to Mum and Dad. In fact, Grandma Jean had become an unlikely ally for Hermione in the tumultuous Granger household. A brick wall seemed to have gone up between Hermione and her parents. Conversation was usually cold and brief, especially with her mother, and disagreements rapidly escalated into full-blown arguments. Grandma Jean had somehow taken on the role of moderator in such rows. She would make a well-timed comment and either Mum or Dad would sullenly drop the argument, unwilling to allow Grandma Jean to be a witness to such family discord.
Because of the conflicts at home, Hermione was rather grateful for the mornings that she spent with Harry, although he too seemed quarrelsome and short-tempered lately. Hermione noticed that without Ron as a buffer she and Harry butted heads far more frequently. Luckily, Harry was much easier to deal with than her parents.
"You know, it wouldn't hurt to learn a few cooking spells yourself," Hermione pointed out one morning as Kreacher placed a breakfast of eggs and bacon in front of both of them.
"Why?" Harry asked. "Kreacher does a great job." Kreacher bowed and disappeared through the kitchen doorway.
"Well, what if Kreacher's on holiday?" Hermione suggested lightly. Harry unsuccessfully tried to turn a chortle into a cough and she glared at him.
"Give it a rest, will you?" Harry said. "Kreacher's happy with the way things are."
"I'm not suggesting letting him go, just maybe a few days off to start, then you can start negotiating a salary…"
"I said give - it - a - rest!" Harry snapped in annoyance. Hermione fell silent and Harry immediately looked apologetic. "Sorry," he said quickly.
Hermione sighed. "It's fine. Is everything all right, Harry?"
"Not really," said Harry. "You see, there are these Death Eaters after me - "
"Harry."
Harry sighed heavily and pushed his eggs around on his plate. He suddenly seemed to have lost his appetite. "Well it's that too, of course, but to be honest…" He determinedly avoided eye contact and looked embarrassed. "It's…it's Ginny. We had a stupid row on my birthday, and I want to apologize, and I've been trying to write her a letter, but…" He trailed off.
Hermione sat back in her chair and stared incredulously at him. "You had a row on your birthday and you still haven't talked to her?"
Harry's birthday had been two weeks ago. She remembered her argument with Ron on the very same night, and how he had sent her an apology the very next day. Hermione briefly marvelled at the fact that Ron had somehow emerged as more tactful than Harry in this particular matter.
"I've sort of been busy," Harry said pointedly, but Hermione gave him a look and his shoulders slumped. "I just…I haven't really figured out what to say." He glanced up at Hermione hopefully.
"Oh no," said Hermione, trying to conceal her amusement. "You've got to sort this one out on your own."
Harry tried to wheedle advice out of her for a bit longer, but finally gave up and did not bring up the matter of Ginny again.
When she was not at Harry's, Hermione spent most of her time shut up in her bedroom. She would often nervously fiddle with the fake Galleon in her pocket which she, Ron, and Harry carried as a means of communication. They had established that it was important for all three of them to be aware when Arbour Glen was left unattended, but Hermione found herself unable to concentrate every time Harry notified them via the Galleons that he was leaving the house. She would anxiously wait for her Galleon to start shrieking, the signal that an unauthorized Apparition had occurred near Arbour Glen. Hermione harboured a secret fear that one of the trio would Apparate back to the house before the other two, and would have to face a small army of Death Eaters alone. She found that she worried slightly less when she knew that Harry was at the house, accompanied by Kreacher and another witch or wizard. Harry's dangerous position was no secret amongst those who were close to him, so there was a revolving door of guests at Arbour Glen. Ron's parents, Bill, Fleur, Percy, Neville, and the Lovegoods made frequent appearances, so that Harry was never left alone in his new home. Everyone except Hermione and Ron kept up the façade that the visits were purely social, and although no one spoke of the Death Eater threat out loud, the wary glances at the door and the nervous fingering of wands spoke volumes.
It was on a stifling hot Sunday morning that Hermione finally persuaded Harry to make a decent attempt at decorating the house. Harry had thus far successfully avoided the tiresome job by pointing out that there was no point in decorating if Death Eaters were to lay siege to his home. But on this particular Sunday it was so hot that going outdoors was unthinkable, and because there was nothing better to do, Hermione finally convinced him to make an effort with the bare-looking sitting room. It quickly became apparent, however, that Hermione would be the one doing the decorating while Harry argued with everything she did.
"You're not putting flowers in my sitting room," Harry said vehemently as Hermione conjured a bouquet in a sunny yellow pot and tried to set it on the table. Harry had continued to be irritable over the past few days, which probably meant that he still had not made up with Ginny.
Hermione sighed and put a hand on her hip. "Why not?"
Harry frowned at the flowers. "They're too…feminine."
Hermione impatiently waved her wand. The flowers seemed to crumple into themselves, and then new petals burst forth in hues of scarlet and gold.
Harry continued to frown. "Now they just look unnatural."
"Well yes, Harry," Hermione said wryly. "I created them with magic, you see."
Harry rolled his eyes but she saw the corner of his mouth twitch. "Hey, turn up the wireless, will you? I think I heard something worthwhile."
Mr Weasley had managed to enchant an old Muggle wireless to behave more or less like a Wizard's Wireless and had given this to Harry as a housewarming present. They had been listening to Mungo Shewes and the Morning News, which featured a lot of talk show drivel and celebrity gossip, but occasionally discussed significant current events. However, the wireless kept sporadically cutting out to Muggle programming. They had found this amusing at first, but it was quickly becoming annoying.
" - that the Wizengamot's got tongues all over Britain wagging with their latest faux pas in the Dolohov trial," Mungo was saying with relish. "He says he'll give up the other Death Eaters in exchange for a ticket out of Azkaban…and the Ministry is biting! Is this a deal with the devil?"
Hermione chanced a look at Harry. His face was a mask of indignation and his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.
"There is, of course, this quaint little potion called Veritaserum - perhaps they've heard of it? That might loosen his tongue…then the Ministry wouldn't have to loosen his chains! But Ministry officials claim - "
Mungo's voice dissolved into static, and a female voice was suddenly crooning, "You're here, there's nothing I fear…"
Harry swore and abruptly stood up. "Can't you do something to keep it on the magical side of things?"
Hermione, who was closer to the wireless, prodded it with her wand until Mungo's voice cut back in. " - won't be having a former Death Eater prowling free. But will life as a Squib suit Mr Dolohov?"
"Life as a Squib?" Harry repeated. They had obviously missed a crucial point.
"They'll take his wand," Hermione said as comprehension dawned on her. "He'll give up the Death Eaters, and stay out of Azkaban, but he won't be allowed to do magic."
"The Wizengamot is, of course, infamous for letting known Death Eaters walk free the last time You-Know-We're-Supposed-To-Say-His-Name was around," Mungo continued, "but this little twist…unexpected…magic won't…" His voice once again was overtaken by static and replaced by the same Muggle song as before, now at a swelling instrumental interlude.
Harry was livid. "They're offering him a deal?" he shouted to no one in particular. He began pacing the room, livid, while Hermione sat quietly on the couch. She could not help but think that the deal was reasonable. If Dolohov were to betray his fellow Death Eaters, with his help the Aurors could surely find and apprehend them before they attempted an attack on Harry.
"Harry," said Hermione gently as the wireless cut back to Mungo again. "If Dolohov gives up - "
"HE KILLED REMUS!" Harry bellowed, waving his wand rather violently at the wireless. He had probably meant to simply turn it off, but instead he blasted it off the coffee table. Hermione watched helplessly as the wireless sailed across the room, wincing in anticipation of it smashing on the floor.
There was a sudden, ear-splitting crack and then the wireless set was hanging in midair. Hermione turned around to see Kreacher standing in the doorway, a mop in one hand and the other hand extended. His gnarled finger was pointing at the wireless set. He crooked his finger to the right and the wireless gently floated back to its place. Hermione stared but Harry did not seem surprised by this uncommon display of magical ability by Kreacher.
"Thanks Kreacher," Harry muttered. The anger seemed to have seeped out of him. He sat down heavily next to Hermione on the couch. "I can't believe they're offering him a deal."
"But if he won't be allowed magic…"
"So what? He won't be able to do magic in Azkaban either," Harry snapped. "I want to see him rot in a cell."
Hermione did not reply. Personally, she thought that Dolohov's freedom was an acceptable trade for Harry's safety and security, but Harry clearly did not feel the same way and there was no reasoning with him while he was in this sort of mood. She dropped the matter of decorating to mollify Harry, who spent the rest of the morning wandering around the house and muttering angrily to himself.
Since the shop was closed on Sundays, Ron had agreed to meet them at Arbour Glen for lunch. But noon came and went without an appearance from Ron. Hermione had begun to nervously play with her fake Galleon again when a soft pop in the kitchen announced that he had finally arrived, an hour and a half late.
"What is it? Why are you late? Is everything all right?" Hermione asked as she flew into the kitchen. Ron looked weary and grumpy but seemed physically unharmed. Hermione allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief.
"No, everything's not all right," Ron said irritably, collapsing into a chair at the kitchen table as Harry entered the kitchen. "Ever heard the phrase 'the merchandise is just walking off the shelves?'"
"Yes…" said Hermione uncertainly.
"Well it is," said Ron darkly, "literally."
He explained that he had arrived at the shop that morning to re-stock some merchandise, only to find that the merchandise he already had was literally strolling off the shelves. Nosebleed Nougat, Candy Cuffs, Dungbombs and other products had all mysteriously come to life and were inching their ways by whatever means possible towards the edges of their shelves. Once they got to the edges, the joke shop items would bravely dive off the shelves to join the melee of merchandise already writhing on the floor.
"I spent half the morning trying to wrestle with U-No-Poo's and get them back on the shelves. Don't laugh," Ron warned Harry, who had emerged from his foul mood to grin and snicker at the story, "or I'll make you my U-No-Poo wrestling partner."
"Did you try Finite Incanteum?" Hermione asked.
"Did I try…of course I tried Finite Incanteum, what do you take me for, woman?" Ron snapped. "What I need is a spell to tell me who is messing about with my products. This is going beyond pranking."
Nonplussed by Ron's tone, Hermione said, "Maybe it's a rival joke shop?"
Ron snorted. "Can you imagine old Zonko in there, cursing all the Nosebleed Nougat?" But Harry was frowning and his face had darkened again.
"I doubt the Death Eaters would waste their time pranking a joke shop, if that's what you're thinking, Harry," Hermione said, reading the look on his face.
"Speaking of which…" Harry said, and he related to Ron what they had heard on the news that morning.
To Hermione's surprise, Ron frowned and said, "But Harry, mate, that'd be good for you, wouldn't it? I mean, if they know where the Death Eaters are then we won't have to worry about them showing up here." He paused for a moment and then added significantly, "Or next door."
Ron often visited the farmhouse down the road to check up on the Muggle family that he had somehow become responsible for. It had not taken Hermione long to work out the Fidelius charm; she had performed the complex magic that bound Ron as the Somervilles' Secret-Keeper last week. Hermione was still not sure what had happened to make Ron feel responsible for the Somervilles, but his concern for them warmed her heart. Although he frequently talked about Hugh with exasperation or annoyance, Hermione could tell that he had become very fond of the little boy.
"Well, yeah," Harry grumbled. "None of them should walk free, though. Especially Dolohov."
"So what are you going to do about the walking products?" Hermione asked Ron, hastily changing the subject.
"I don't know," Ron said wearily. "Verity and Allegra are coming in this afternoon and we're going to try to figure it out. Maybe you lot could come too…Hermione, you're a genius at Charms…"
Hermione glanced at the watch on her wrist and groaned. "Oh no…I can't, Ron, I'm sorry. I didn't realize what time it was…my parents took my grandmother out this morning and they're probably back already and wondering where I've gone. Just what I need…I'll see you two tomorrow, okay?"
Ron suddenly got to his feet and kissed her goodbye, which he had never done before - not in front of Harry, anyway. Pleasantly flustered, Hermione turned on the spot and Harry's kitchen dissolved into blackness. She re-appeared in her bedroom at home. Crookshanks lazily rose from the curled-up position he had assumed on Hermione's bedspread and began mewing plaintively.
"Sorry, Crookshanks," Hermione said, reaching over to scratch him behind the ears. "You're probably hungry, poor dear, and I've locked you in here."
Hermione opened her bedroom door and listened closely for her parents' voices as Crookshanks shot out of the room and into the hallway. The house was silent. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief; her parents and grandmother had not returned yet, which meant that she could avoid several awkward questions about her whereabouts. She traipsed down the stairs and followed Crookshanks into the kitchen, then stopped dead. Her parents were standing silently in the kitchen, both with their arms folded over their chests, glaring at her.
"Hi," said Hermione weakly.
"Where have you been?" her mother asked quietly.
"At Harry's."
"How considerate of you to leave a note," said Dad sarcastically.
Hermione bristled. "I just went out for a bit. I didn't know you had to be aware of my whereabouts at all times."
"It's a matter of courtesy, Hermione," her mother replied angrily. "Just because you can disappear into thin air doesn't mean that you can come and go as you please!"
"Actually, that's exactly what it means," Hermione retorted.
"Hermione…" her father said warningly. Hermione briefly made eye contact with her father and then quickly looked away. She knew that she was only aggravating the situation, but could not care less.
Mum pursed her lips together tightly and shook her head. "You are not permitted to leave this house without telling us," she said. "And you are certainly not allowed to…to Disappear or whatever it is you do."
"Well that hardly seems fair!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air. "I am of age and should be able to Disapparate as I like!"
"Magic does not give you the license to do as you please, young lady!" Mum said, her voice now shrill. "Your abilities do not make you better than everyone else in this family, nor do they exempt you from the rules of this household!"
"This is still about the memory modification, isn't it?" Hermione said loudly. She was displeased to hear the same shrillness in her mother's voice echoed in her own. "How many times do I have to tell you that I did that for your own good?!"
"Enough!" Dad cut in swiftly. He looked from mother to daughter and gave a deep sigh. "Hermione, Grandma Jean is sorting through some things in the attic. Go and give her a hand. I'm tired of this constant quarrelling."
Wordlessly, Hermione spun around and marched out of the kitchen, her cheeks flushed and her temper blazing. She was an adult witch in the magical community and a grown woman in the eyes of the wizarding world. After all she had done for her parents, for their safety, she could not believe they had the audacity to try to set rules about her comings and goings like a child! Hermione intentionally ignored her father's request to help Grandma Jean in the attic and headed towards her bedroom instead, savouring her feelings of indignation and relishing her deliberate disobedience.
Hermione paused in front of her bedroom door. Sadly, she was enjoying this sense of being wronged and misunderstood by her parents. She wished to be treated as an adult, yet she suddenly realized that she was behaving like an overdramatic child. Hermione's anger rapidly dissipated and she suddenly felt weary. She was tired of the constant quarrelling with her parents as well. But Hermione had inherited her stubbornness from the two people downstairs, so it was unlikely that this fight would end with a willing submission or an apology by either party. Ignoring Dad's request to help her grandmother would be only a petty victory in the ongoing battle with her parents. Sighing, Hermione turned around and headed up to the attic.
The attic was musty and warm, an unpleasant combination on a summer day. They had not tidied up the attic in ages. A layer of dust obscured the entry of sunlight through the small, round windows, so the entire attic was bathed in a muted glow. The room was cluttered with cardboard boxes, trunks, heaps of folders and loose papers which had never been filed, and stacks of her parents' old textbooks from university. Grandma Jean was crouched amidst the junk, looking oddly out-of-place in her ubiquitous black shawl, stockings, and clunky shoes. She was bent over an open cardboard box which contained several photo albums and a scattering of loose photos which presumably had never been put away properly. Grandma Jean had several photographs in her hand and was slowly flipping through them.
"Grandma Jean?" Hermione said tentatively. "Do you, erm…need a hand?"
Her grandmother glanced up from the handful of photos she had been perusing and looked Hermione up and down. "Well, I certainly shouldn't be hunched over like this all day, now should I? That's what you young people are for." She stood up with surprising grace for an elderly woman and brushed herself off. "Have a look through these boxes for any other loose photographs, will you? It's appalling, the state things are in. I should have never left all of these things with your father when we moved to France."
Hermione set to work, scrounging around through the boxes and flipping through photo albums in search of photographs which had fallen out of place or had never been put away. It soon became an enjoyable task; Hermione wondered why she had never shown any interest in the treasure trove of family history that the attic had to offer. There were sepia photographs of Dad and his siblings as toddlers, small pictures of Granddad Gabe in military uniform, and faded photographs of her parents in their university days, her mother with thick, wavy hair which reached almost to her bottom and her father with funny tortoise-shell glasses that took up his entire face. Grandma Jean identified unknown relatives, explained the stories behind photographs, and directed Hermione as to where each photo was to be placed.
"Who are these people?" Hermione asked, emerging with a faded photograph of several young men on a beach. They were holding up a laughing young girl by the hands and feet. The men were barefoot and their trousers were rolled up, but the girl was wearing a pleated skirt and blouse. It looked like they were about to throw her into the water fully-clothed.
Grandma Jean, who was perched atop an old trunk, leaned forward to see the picture. "Those are your cousins on Granddad Gabe's side. Five boys and one girl in that family. That Lizzy was a firecracker, though…I suppose she had to be, growing up with all those boys."
Hermione smiled. "Sounds like my friend Ginny." She picked up a tattered black-and-white photo of a beautiful young woman with a dazzling smile and short, curled hair. "Who's this? She's beautiful."
Grandma Jean peered at it. "Me, of course," she said indifferently.
"Grandma - you were gorgeous!"
"Well, who did you think you got your good looks from, your mother's side?" Grandma Jean scoffed. "Put that one in the blue album, will you?"
Hermione grabbed the album her grandmother had indicated and began flipping through the stiff pages, searching for an empty space. These photos looked like they all belonged to Grandma Jean's side of the family. There were several other photographs of the beautiful young woman who was her grandmother, as well as some pictures of a younger boy and girl who shared the same big eyes and long eyelashes.
"My brother and sister, Russell and Ruth," said Grandma Jean, seeing that Hermione had paused to look at a picture of the two of them in matching jumpers. "Twins. Russ was a mechanic…he moved to America when he was in his twenties. Ruthie - silly girl - ran off with the love of her life when she was sixteen. They eloped, much to my mother's chagrin."
Hermione ran her fingers over a picture of Ruthie as a teenager. She had a wide grin on her face and her big eyes were sparkling. "Did she ever speak to your mother again?"
"Eventually. Took some time though. Our family has an infamous stubborn streak, Hermione."
Tell me about it, Hermione thought wryly. "Where's Ruthie now?"
"Her husband was killed in a car crash about ten years ago, and Ruthie passed on a few months later. Doctors never figured out why. She just wasted away. Poor thing died from a broken heart, bless her."
Hermione felt a pang of sadness for this relative she had never known. "And Russ?"
"Lives in Florida now with some woman half his age."
Hermione grinned. "Are you the only child who didn't cause a scandal?"
"Oh, I gave my mother a hard enough time when I was a young girl," said Grandma Jean. "She did a fine job raising the three of us on her own, though. Funny how you don't appreciate it at the time."
She gave Hermione a significant look. Hermione quickly glanced away, feeling embarrassed about the argument with her parents moments ago. She had no doubt that Grandma Jean had overheard everything.
"How old were you when your father…passed away?" Hermione asked. She remembered from some long-ago conversation with Dad that her great-grandfather had died young, but she had never heard the details.
Grandma Jean's pinched face was transformed by a sad smile. She reached out for the photo album and Hermione handed it to her. Grandma Jean flipped to the beginning of the album and held out a page which contained a single yellowing photo. An unsmiling woman stood next to a tall, broad-shouldered man who was attempting to maintain a sober expression, but whose twinkling eyes betrayed amusement. A chubby toddler stood next to the man, clutching his pant leg.
"That's me, there," Grandma Jean said, pointing to the little girl in the picture. "This was probably taken around 1932. The twins were born the next year, and Father died just a few months after they were born. It was a…an accident at work. Mother never really went into the details." She handed the album back to Hermione and without even looking at her, added casually: "I think he was one of your sort."
Hermione's fingers slipped on the photo album and it fell to the ground with a thud, causing a cloud of dust to rise. Her heart had started beating faster. "What?"
Grandma Jean's eyes met Hermione's. "I was very young when my father died," she said slowly, "but one does not forget…when they've seen magic. Real magic."
Hermione could only stare at her grandmother, her mouth agape. Thoughts were bubbling to the surface of her mind but they seemed to be moving very slowly.
"My mother never spoke of it after he died," Grandma Jean continued. "She must have thought it was better for us children if we didn't know. I think he got into some kind of trouble in that world, you see. I think that's why he died."
Grandma Jean picked up the fallen photo album and turned back to the photograph of her father, the man with the twinkling eyes. "The twins were just babies, of course, so they didn't remember. But I did. Of course I still don't really understand it…I know that there were others like him, many others, a whole world of people who could do magic. And I remember him telling me once that I might have the magic too when I got older. After he died, Mother tried to convince me it was just a make-believe game I used to play with Father. Eventually, I gave up talking about it to her and the twins. But I never forgot."
The thoughts that had been slowly pushing their way forward in Hermione's brain suddenly burst to the surface. Grandma Jean knew about magic, had seen magic…
"Your father was a wizard?" Hermione finally croaked out.
Grandma Jean looked amused. "Is that what your people actually call it?"
"How did you…why are you telling…?"
"Hermione, my dear," said Grandma Jean, with a hint of fondness in her voice, "I have long suspected that you are much more than an average girl."
Hermione's head was spinning. "But Dad…he never knew before…you never told Dad about your father? About magic?"
"Heavens, no," Grandma Jean said, smoothing her skirt as she shifted positions. "Can you imagine, a grown woman filling her son's mind with such nonsense?"
"But you said - "
"I never forgot," Grandma Jean interrupted, "but there were times when I stopped believing. There were times when I convinced myself it had been just a game or the product of a little girl's overactive imagination. Flying on broomsticks and turning coat hangers into canaries…it did seem silly. But every now and then something inexplicable or bizarre would happen. And I would remember Father saying that strange things sometimes happened because something went wrong on your side and they had to fix things on ours. And I would believe again."
"But why haven't you said anything?" Hermione cried out. "I've had to keep it a secret from you all this time and you knew!"
"I didn't know, Hermione, I suspected," said Grandma Jean with uncharacteristic gentleness. "You were always so smart and different. Funny things used to happen around you as a child and I always wondered…I didn't get the magic, but perhaps it skipped a few generations…"
Grandma Jean sighed. For a second, Hermione had thought she'd heard a trace of jealousy in her grandmother's voice.
"When you came to visit that one summer, I kept looking for signs, kept waiting for odd things to happen like they used to when you were small, or when Father was around. But I suppose you've learned to be careful about that around people like me, haven't you?" Grandma Jean smiled ruefully. "Then your parents disappeared for a year, just like that, without telling anyone anything. I knew something was wrong, and that it probably had to do with or with your people…so when I found out your mother and father were back, I decided to see what was happening for myself."
Hermione stared at her grandmother in disbelief. Grandma Jean knew about magic. Grandma Jean knew she was a witch. Hermione was still in shock. "So you're…it's okay then? You're not…afraid, or…?"
Grandma Jean threw back her head and laughed. Gone was the stubborn, critical old woman Hermione had come to know over the past few weeks. Her grandmother's eyes twinkled as she laughed, and she suddenly looked very much like her father - the wizard in the photograph.
"Afraid? My dear girl," Grandma Jean said warmly, "I've been waiting to see magic again for sixty-five years."
Author's Notes: Thanks again to everyone who has continued to review! Thanks also for the best wishes on my move overseas and my new job. I am moving to the UK, for those of you who asked. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as it was one of my favourites to write, particularly the end.