Happy Thursday everyone!
This chapter is the longest one yet for this story. Part of me wanted to break it up, but it kind of felt right to leave it as is since it all ties back with the chapter title.
Someone thought that Hermione detested the fact that Ron had a nightmare in the last chapter. She was upset with herself, not with Ron. Not in the slightest. I may not have made it as clear as I should have? If I didn't then I can go back and fix it.
Please, please leave a review and let me know what you think.
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the storyline and any OC's belong to me.
As always for Sable and Lais xxx
Thursday, July 19th, 1979
Potter Manor
A noise below the witch draws her attention, and a smile graces her face. The frosty haired witch is comfortably situated in one of the trees on the outer edges of the Orchard.
She doesn't know why, but she's always found it easier to think from higher vantage points: she'd been climbing trees and scaling trees for as long as she could remember—something that drove her Mother up a wall whilst Emmeline was growing up. "Pureblood girls don't climb trees, Emmeline!" She only climbed more after that.
Emmeline regards the young ginger boy below her—he's picking up a soft quaffle—and he sprints back into the backyard, where a peculiar raven haired wizard awaits him; Harry Potter.
A peculiarity. A puzzle. A man she can't figure out, no matter how much she tries. Every time she thinks she has, he surprises her.
A lithe figure calls out to Harry and the two balls of unruly energy running in circles around him. Emmeline turns her attention to the source of the noise, and smiles gently; Ron Weasley.
The ginger haired man is shirtless, and is wearing a pair of loose, light grey shorts, and her smile flickers briefly as she catches sight of his numerous scars. Attempting to think of happier things, she absently considers Ron's pale legs, and thinks perhaps he should find some sun cream or use a spell so that he doesn't burn. It is a scorcher of a day, and the sun is mercilessly roasting everything it can.
Ron makes more sense to Emmeline, although, she hasn't had the chance to interact with him as much as she would like. Ron is loyal, brave, protective as hell, stubborn, and a tad rash, but he can also be level-headed, and his knack for strategy puts the rest of them to shame. At least, that's what she's been able to garner from their limited interactions.
Ron reaches the group, and hands an ice cold glass of water to each boy, who both eagerly accept the glasses, and greedily gulp down the clear liquid. Harry leans over and says something to Ron, and a moment later Ron playfully shoves Harry whilst he cheerily replies; she can see their lips moving, but she can't make out what they're saying from here. Ron then plucks his own glass out of the air from beside him—he'd levitated it behind him so he only had to make one trip.
The tall wizard jerks a thumb over his shoulder, taking a sip of his water, and Harry shakes his head with a broad grin on his face before he claps Ron on the shoulder. Bill holds his empty glass up to the two older wizards, and begins jumping about excitedly on the balls of his feet.
Harry grabs the glass from him, ruffling the young boy's hair and then happily begins to chat with the ginger child. Charlie has stripped down to his boxers, and the child flops onto the ground before he rolls about on the grass—his own glass is discarded on top of his pile of clothes.
Ron hastily drains the rest of his glass, speaking as he hands it to Harry, who nods and turns back to Bill. Ron calls out over his shoulder before he jogs away from Harry and over to Charlie. When he reaches the boy, he scoops him off of the ground before throwing him over his shoulder, and Emmeline can hear the peals of joyful laughter from here.
Harry balances the two glasses in one hand before he waves his wand and summons Charlie's, stopping it in mid-air before it crashes into him. The raven haired boy tucks his wand behind his ear, and then grabs a hold of the floating glass.
Bill lets out an animated war cry of sorts before takes off in pursuit of Ron. Emmeline's insides melt into a gooey mess when Harry laughs heartily at the sight of his best friend and his 'younger brothers'.
Fondly, she watches as Harry strides with purpose towards the house. Part of her wonders if this is creepy; spying on the boy she is endlessly fascinated by, and as she does so, Emmeline absently plays with a small button on the front of her powder blue dress.
Perhaps it is because he constantly surprises her, and she desperately wishes he would let her in. They haven't talked about that day, and the memory of it is still vividly imprinted in her mind. Emmeline captures her bottom lip between her teeth, and her mind drifts off to that day, just under a month ago now.
Flashback
Tuesday, 22nd May, 1979
Potter Manor
"Are you sure you're alright, mate?" A familiar voice asks, grabbing a hold of Emmeline Vance's attention. The witch is reading an enthralling Muggle story about a witch who exacts her revenge on all of her enemies. Normally Emmeline would ignore all outward influences and distractions when reading, but, Frank's voice sounds far too worried for her to continue to blissfully bury herself in a fictional world.
Ugh, and it was just getting to the good part, Emmeline thinks wryly, absently twirling a lock of frosty blue hair around her left index finger. She mentally takes note of what page she is on, before she places the book on the end table beside the loveseat she is currently curled up on.
The other voice is much softer, calmer, "I'll be fine. I swear."
"If you're absolutely sure…"
"I'm sure."
Emmeline recognises the other voice now, her lips part, and she begins to untangle herself from the grey knit blanket she'd loosely wrapped around her. Harry.
Emmeline creeps out of the Sun Room, only to see Harry a few feet away—he's backing her—and Frank's brawny, retreating form.
The moment Frank disappears from sight, Harry's entire body slumps, and he drops the satchel that had been gruffly grasped in his left hand with a heavy thud.
"Harry?" Emmeline asks warily, moving towards him one noiseless footfall after the other, raising her hands slightly in front of her as she does so.
Harry whirls around, guarded eyes wide, and there is a haunted look about him. Emmeline freezes once she realises his wand is pointed right in between her eyes.
"It's just me, Harry," Emmeline says in what she hopes is a soothing tone, reaching up and gently pointing his wand to the right and away from her.
Emmeline steps into him, slowly, sensing that any sudden moves are not a wise course of action right now. The witch gently grasps his face, and instantly he recoils from her touch, but she doesn't give up—and now they are so close that their fronts are almost touching.
"Emmeline?" Harry asks, his brow stitching itself together as his wand arm falls limply to his side.
"What happened, Harry?" Emmeline inquires, ensuring to keep her voice low.
"I—I...don't know…" Harry trails off, his hands moving around to the small of her back, fisting in the excess fabric of her oversized band shirt. The wizard crumples against her then, and she emits a surprised exhale of air as she lowers them to the ground.
Harry is clinging to her, his body shaking, but he doesn't make a sound. He's screaming inside. He screams, and screams; his soul is screaming.
Emmeline pulls his head onto her chest, cradles it with one hand, and makes shushing noises as she uses her other one to stroke through his unruly hair.
Fear is pumping through her now. It is slick like oil, sticky like tar, and as black as a bottomless abyss. What in Rowena's name could possibly have happened?
She has no idea how much time passes before Harry pulls back, and with a feeble smile he begins to withdraw from her. Drying tear tracks are still glistening on his cheeks, and she tenderly wipes them away.
"Thanks," Harry says with a slight quiver to his voice, and he leans forward to press a chaste kiss to her own cheek.
"I didn't do anything," Emmeline murmurs, and Harry's smile grows.
"You did plenty," Harry shakes his head, sitting back on his haunches, and Emmeline's inner voice is loudly protesting and kicking up a fuss at his sudden absence.
"Are you going to be okay? Do—do you want me to keep you company a little while longer?" Emmeline asks, and she is almost positive the heat radiating off of her cheeks means that her entire face is a flushed a pleasant pink.
Harry silently gathers the satchel and his wand. "Sure," he says, but he doesn't meet her eye, his own cheeks have pinked a tinge, but his expression remains resolutely impassive.
They end up back in the Sun Room, sitting beside each other—but not touching—sharing her large, knit, slate-grey blanket, and she reads her book aloud to him.
Harry must have been exhausted—mentally and physically—because it doesn't take long for her voice to lull him to sleep. Emmeline closes her book, this time not bothering to check what page she is on (something that causes a twinge of annoyance later), and examines the slumbering wizard.
There are a few nicks and cuts on his exposed skin that she can see, he looks paler than normal, and the bags under his eyes are more ashen in hue, and much more pronounced.
Which leaves Emmeline with her earlier question, what in Rowena's name had happened?
With a sharp jolt, Emmeline swiftly exits the memory, and her hazel eyes flit over to the raven haired boy who had just returned from inside, a tall glass of water in hand—the glass is already slick with condensation, and some of the water is gathering on the underside of Harry's hand. Harry's head tilts back as he earnestly takes large gulps in an effort to quench his thirst.
In the back of her mind, she is reminded of a couple weeks ago when she slept in his room. They didn't do anything that night but share a bed, side-by-side, but not quite touching. The knowledge that he was right there beside her soothed her uneasy mind; lately she'd hadn't been sleeping that well, and when she errantly mentioned it to Harry, he offered to let her sleep in his room that night.
(They'd run out of Dreamless sleeping potion, which means they've all had to combat their night terrors without any magical assistance—Hermione has been working on brewing more, but they are in dire need of new potions ingredients; they've been planning on making a visit to an Apothecary soon.)
I think I've watched him for long enough now, plus I'm a bit peckish, Emmeline thinks to herself, and distractedly she shifts her position, and begins the descent from her little nesting spot.
Emmeline clambers out of the tree. A low grunt escapes her lips when she drops onto the ground, and with a content nod, she dusts off her hands before doing the same to the backside of her.
Whilst she is occupied, the raven haired wizard spots her, and without a word he hands his glass to his ginger companion before heading in her direction.
Emmeline spots Harry approaching her, and freezes in her task. A lock of frosty blue hair falls forward into her eyes, and anxiously her fingers twist into the light fabric of her skirt.
"Hello," Emmeline says pleasantly when Harry reaches her, lifting her hand in greeting.
There is a mischievous grin on the boy's face, and without warning he lightly grasps her slightly extended hand, and tugs her into him.
"Harry?"
She has to remind herself to breathe under his intense gaze, and she suddenly feels unsure as to what she should do with her hands. Emmeline is not the sort to unsettle easily, but when she's with Harry all reason and logic flies out the window. Emmeline almost chokes on her air when Harry nudges her nose with his. Quietly, he says, "you know it's impolite to spy on people."
The mischievous grin is back, and Emmeline is so shocked that she stammers out a flimsy excuse, "I was in my tree way before you lot spilled out here with all of your ruckus and boisterous screaming."
Harry chuckles lightly, thus stealing Emmeline's breath away from her with the childlike joy on his face—he could not look farther from the broken man she'd comforted a little under a month ago.
This thing between them has been building for far too long, soaring into the sky only to tower over them and cast them in its thick shadows. Emmeline really wants to kiss him, so, she does. (Initially Harry takes a moment to reciprocate as he is caught rather off-guard by her bold actions.) She's curious, she wants to know if kissing him will be as good as she suspects it will be. It's better.
Across the way, Ron is ushering two rambunctious boys towards the back porch.
"But Uncle Ron—we want to play with Uncle Harry some more!" The boys whinge loudly, and Ron smirks. (Bill, Charlie and Percy had taken to calling the older wizards their Uncles as of late, and Molly had started to instruct them not to do so, but Ron shook his head and told her they didn't mind. It was a lot easier than explaining to them that in another dimension, he was their younger brother.)
"Uncle Harry is a bit preoccupied right now. I'm sure he'll be free to play later, guys."
The three gingers leave the witch and wizard alone to finally explore each other, the summer breeze tousling their hair and clothes, and the potent smell of peaches swirls around them.
Harry Potter is a puzzle, one Emmeline may never fully solve, but she thinks it will certainly be an adventure to try.
Tuesday, July 31st, 1979
Harry Potter's Nineteenth Birthday
Potter Manor
Warm. Warmth encompasses Hermione Granger's body, or more accurately, her radiator of a boyfriend is emitting heady waves of heat, not to mention his body is wrapped around her.
Hermione begrudgingly pries open an eye, only to be assaulted by vibrant sunshine, "Remus…" Hermione mumbles blearily. A yawn escapes the witch as she tries to rouse her boyfriend.
Remus makes a low sound in the back of his throat, nuzzles his face into the side of hers, and then goes still once more.
"Love," Hermione breathes, smacking her lips together as she reluctantly opens her other eye. "It's Harry's birthday," Hermione hums, patting his forearm that is loosely thrown over her upper body.
"That's...nice," Remus gets out at a snail's face—his tongue heavy with sleep—stumbling over the syllables.
"Remus, c'mon, wake up," Hermione says, twisting in his arms so her nose bumps against his. Sleepily her werewolf's eyes flutter open, and she smiles.
"There are those beautiful eyes that I love," Hermione says, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.
Remus's hazel eyes shift to molten gold, flecked with warm amber, "morning," Remus says as he captures her lips more securely, slipping his arms around her and pulling her up against him.
Hermione lets out a soft, giddy gasp in between searing kisses, and she slides her hands straight up his bare chest and directly into his hair.
Their kisses get rougher, Hermione's hands grow more insistent, and it isn't long before Remus withdraws himself from his witch—not fully as his hands are in her hair, but enough to silently communicate that they should stop.
"Remus," Hermione groans, lightly hitting his chest with the back of her hand as she rolls onto her back. "We've talked about this."
"We did, and I told you that I don't think I can control myself…you're a lot," Remus falters, and Hermione snorts before shooting him an unimpressed look.
"A lot?"
"Your smell alone is intoxicating, Hermione," Remus tries to explain, shifting so that the length of his body is pressed against the side of hers, and she swallows audibly as she tries to distract herself from that fact. He certainly isn't making this easy, not by any stretch of the imagination.
The pair had been intimate in a variety of ways, but they'd never gone all the way and actually had sex. The tables have turned slightly, Hermione wants to, and Remus doesn't: Remus says he isn't ready, especially since he can sense that Moony is eager to claim her as his mate. Hermione's instant response had been a calm, matter-of-factly statement. "What's so wrong with that? We should seal our mate bond."
"It's something we can't take back, Hermione," was Remus's defence at the time, his eyes burning gold and sprinkled with amber.
Remus Lupin is an increasingly frustrating wizard: he has no qualms with toying with his bloody lip ring in front of her—thus enticing her—or strutting around the house with little to no clothing on, but yet still he won't fuck her cause he doesn't wish to 'entrap' her in an irreversible arrangement.
It is an arrangement that she would happily 'entrap' herself in because she can't imagine a future without him in it. She wishes to be with him—today, tomorrow, three months from now, thirty years from now, forever.
They fit together, and they both know it, but the wizard still has lingering doubts. She knows there's more to it than he doesn't wish to force her hand. There must be.
"We don't have to seal our mate bond...but we should at the very least seal our pack bond," Hermione says, her head falling to the side to look at him.
Remus's brow furrows at that, "I don't know if I can hold back—"
"Then don't fucking hold back," Hermione swears, abruptly sitting up, and twisting her body to face him properly.
Remus purposefully ignores her comment, and says, "I'm not sure how I feel about sealing the pack bond the first time we have sex." The wizard scratches his head as he falls onto his back, but he doesn't tear his gaze away from her.
"An unsealed pack bond isn't the best idea, plus this way, you'll have something else to focus on," Hermione says with an impassive expression on her face, but there's a light airy quality to her tone.
Remus purses his lips, clearly mulling it all over, and then his expression melts into a playful, teasing one, "I could have sex with James or Sirius to seal it—actually, I could have sex with both of them."
Hermione's jaw drops, and she blankly blinks at a rather rapid pace as she tries to digest his witty jest. Remus removes his hands from her entirely, laces them together and tucks them under his head as he smugly watches the astonishment work its way onto her face.
To her credit, Hermione swiftly recovers from the shock, and with a look of pure determination and grit, she readjusts her position so that she is kneeling and her entire body is facing him. Remus sees the look, and the arrogant smirk on his face falters for a moment.
Hermione cocks a brow at him as she braces one hand on either side of him before swinging her leg over him, and before he can protest, she is comfortably straddling his hips.
Remus sucks in a sharp intake of breath, his eyes widening, and the gold in his eyes flashes intensely, "Hermione—"
Hermione leans forward and places a finger against his lips, a devious smirk on her face as she rolls her hips, "I think that's enough talking don't you?"
"Fuck," Remus closes his eyes, his jaw is clenched and his body is stiff under her as he tries his hardest not to react; most of him at least.
Hermione fiercely grasps Remus's face, her own eyes glowing a honeyed brown that shimmers with rivers of coppery fire, "Remus Lupin. I want you. Now."
After a long moment, he asks, "are you sure?"
"Yes," she breathes, and her wizard's eyes fly open. It's like something has snapped, and he truly allows himself to let go as in one sharp movement his hands move from underneath him to wrap around her lower back and before she knows it she finds herself under him.
Remus removes his hands from under her, props himself up on his forearms on either side of her head, careful not to trap any of her voluminous curls underneath them. The wizard is hovering over her, so close that she can feel his body heat radiating off of him, but not close enough for their bodies to actually be in contact.
Remus's lips ghost over hers, and every time she leans up to press hers against his, he draws back just enough so that they lightly brush, but nothing more. The werewolf will truly be her undoing, but she finds that she doesn't mind, not in the slightest.
Remus swiftly pecks her lips, not giving her a chance to deepen the kiss before his face buries itself in the side of her neck, lazily placing soft kisses along its length.
Hermione's hands slip down in between them, and she grasps a hold of his still clothed length through his thin black boxers, and Remus instinctively nips at her creamy exposed skin—drawing a low gasp from his witch, who arches upwards so that her breasts brush against his torso.
If Remus was holding back before, all reservations go out of the window: the wizard lowers himself onto her, and he gruffly grabs her face before claiming her lips, and his other hand moves downwards and insistently tugs at the affronting bit of black lace fabric on her hip.
The witch and wizard hastily divest themselves of the scarce clothing on their bodies, and they both pause for a moment as they lay bare, skin to skin, against one another.
Remus wraps his hand around his cock, and hisses lowly. Hermione smirks and tenderly grasps his face, and she finds herself admiring his long, dark eyelashes.
"Sweetness, are you positive?" Remus asks, his eyes flicking up to hers, and she is utterly lost in the pools of gold.
"Yes," Hermione manages to get out. The air around them seems to grow hotter by the moment, and an all too welcome burst of breeze comes through the slightly open windows on the far side of the room. It only then occurs to Hermione that neither of them threw up locking or silencing charms.
Remus teases the tip of his cock in between her folds, and Hermione's eyes widen. The witch mutters the incantations under her breath; they are nowhere near as strong as they would be if she'd used her wand, but they would do for now, and she honestly could not be arsed to fumble for her wand on her bedside table right now.
There is tightness growing in her lower abdomen, like a wire being wound tighter each second until it gets so taut that it threatens to snap. Hermione holds her breath in anticipation, and Remus Lupin has the audacity to grin cockily at her before he slowly slides into her wet heat.
Hermione whimpers softly as he fills her, and her hands thrust upwards and fist into the sheets above her head.
Remus breathily swears, his head falling forward onto her chest, "I am such a fucking idiot."
Hermione didn't have the wherewithal to contradict him, to tell him that he wasn't an idiot, he had just had a massive lapse in judgement. So, instead, she secures her legs around his waist, somehow drawing him further into her.
Remus glances up at her, but his mouth moves to latch onto one of her taut nipples, and she stifles a moan as her head falls back, burrowing into the sheets as her back arches. She almost swears aloud when his mouth leaves her, and she raises her head to peer at him. The moment their eyes meet he inches out of her—so slowly one may even call it a cruel act—but not all the way, and as she opens her mouth to say something (she honestly cannot tell you what), he slams back into her.
Remus drives in and out of her a couple more times before he pulls out of her entirely. The witch is about to voice her complaints when he forcefully flips her over. Hermione's teeth dig into her bottom lip as he parts her legs, and tugs her hips backwards—now she is on her knees and her arse is in the air.
Everyone says Sirius is the dramatic one, but as Remus pauses—finding great pleasure in watching her squirm—and waits for the suspense to build to a breaking point, she can't help but think that perhaps they had pegged the wrong Marauder for that role.
Remus's hot breath sends tingles across her skin, and he moves leisurely, as if he has all the time in the world. He places a light kiss to her right arse cheek before his teeth quickly but harshly sink into her supple flesh.
"Remus!"
A low chuckle comes from the wizard, and then he withdraws himself again, and this time she doesn't have to wait nearly as long, because mere moments later, his tongue dips into her cunt. Simultaneously he grips her around the front of her things in order to keep her in place.
Spots begin to dance in front of her eyes, and she finds herself grinding against his mouth, and she swears that he is smiling at the uninhibited noises he is drawing from her.
Almost as an act of defiance, her face turns into the sheets and she bites down on a mouthful of fabric to muffle her loud cries.
Remus's tongue swipes along her heat in one smooth motion, and tiny sparks of electricity weave across her thighs, and the tightness in her abdomen somehow constricts even further.
His mouth leaves far too quickly, and he brushes his lips across the bite mark he'd placed on her arse earlier—she just knows there is going to be a bruise there later, but frankly she couldn't care less.
Remus lines his cock up with her entrance, and without warning he slams into her once again, and his hands have a bruising grip on her hips as he moves in and out of her.
She doesn't know when it happens, but he stills inside of her long enough to tug her upwards so that her back hits his chest, and one of his hands slides across her sweaty skin so that he's lightly holding her throat, and a low growl rips from her lips.
Remus chuckles lowly, and his hand repositions itself so that he is gripping her jaw. Remus turns her face towards his, and for the briefest of moments their eyes meet, and then he's kissing her.
Remus's tongue swipes across her bottom lip seeking permission, and with a low moan her mouth parts and grants him access. Time seemingly stops as their tongue eagerly move against each other's, and Hermione is so lost in her werewolf that she doesn't realise that his other hand has slipped down the front of her abdomen; she doesn't realise until his fingers find her clit, and teasingly begin rubbing against it.
They part, and Hermione's hands find the mattress in front of her, and her head bows as Remus begins to piston in and out of her again—his hand continuing to rub against her bundle of nerves. Hermione is riding long, torturous waves and her walls clench around Remus's cock.
Hermione hears a dull popping sound, time crashes back into place, and they find a rhythm—albeit a wild rhythm, but a rhythm nonetheless.
Hermione is eternally grateful that she threw up those silencing charms as they are making quite a bit of racket with all of their grunts, groans, moans and breathless exclamations.
"Fuck, I'm close," Remus breathes against the shell of her ear as her legs begin to quiver. Me too, she screams mentally, but she's seeing bursts of colour in front of her eyes, and the air is compressing down on them—there is a crackling noise that is sharply piercing her ears.
Remus pants heavily as his thrusts become more erratic, with no rhyme or reason to them, a grunt rumbles in his throat before tearing from his lips.
"Remus," Hermione exhales, and closes her eyes as she feels her own release mounting up inside her.
Remus rubs his cheek against the side of her head for a quick moment, and then ducks his head down to her right shoulder. The wizard's mouth hovers over her shoulder, still slightly at war with himself as he continues his sloppy thrusts.
"Do it," Hermione coaxes, and it must assuage any fears or reservations he has because moments later his teeth are sinking into her shoulder. Hermione winces as his teeth pierce her skin, but she doesn't linger on the stinging feeling that prickles across her skin before it slices straight down. There is a sore, aching that gathers in her shoulder, and wraps around the rest of the bones in her arm.
Remus does not let up with his ministrations, and soon Hermione tumbles over the edge right after him.
The taut rope in her abdomen snaps, her legs tremble uncontrollably, and Hermione's body instantly sags as she rides out her wave of bliss. Her mouth is open but no sound is coming out, and her eyes flutter shut.
Remus removes his mouth from her shoulder, and then the force of the bond smashes brutally into them; Remus's arms envelop Hermione as they both collapse onto their sides. Neither of them moves as the intangible strings that tie them to the other pack member grow hot, unbearably hot. The strings are almost visible, golden tongues that float through the sky almost languidly before they grow taut and with purpose they burrow directly into the witch and wizard.
Hermione's chest is ablaze, and the flames lick at the wound on her shoulder. The pair's souls are set ablaze, and through fire their pack bond is cemented.
Hermione blinks, and the strings fade into nothing, and all that remains is the warm feeling in the centre of her chest.
Remus slips out of her, and presses a kiss to her temple. Hermione makes a content, purring sound, and then she wiggles out of his embrace and rolls onto her stomach, crawling across the bed until her wand was in her reach, and she snatches it up off of her bedside table.
Hermione shifts onto her side, points the wand at her abdomen, and a pale blue light emits from the tip. Cold fingers spread out across her skin before seeping into her and travelling all the way down to the tips of her toes.
Hermione shifts back onto her stomach long enough to place her wand back from whence it came.
Hermione can't help but smile when Remus's arms encircle her and tug back against his front.
They both lay in pure bliss for a few moments before Hermione recalls what today is.
"We need to get up, it is Harry's birthday after all," Hermione hums, closing her eyes and drinking in the scent of parchment, freshly cut grass and spring showers.
"I'm knackered...can we stay here for a few more minutes?" Remus yawns nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck.
"Mmm, just a few..." Hermione trails off. All too quickly drowsiness overtakes her and plunges her into a dreamless sleep.
Almost two hours later, the couple strolls into the Sun Room, both dressed in soft, pastel colours. On their way over to the other side of the house, Remus had commented on what a remarkable job Hermione, Dorea, Lily, James and Ron had done.
Every inch of the ground floor has been decorated: there are powder blue and white streamers twirled together and hanging from the ceiling, a staggering number of balloons—all different shades of blue—bob about as the light breeze brushes past them, and the only reason they don't float away is because there are weights at the end of their silver strings.
In the actual Sun Room, the balloons have been released to float in and amongst the ceiling that is covered with an elaborate flower arrangement. Dorea and Hermione had worked together, and used quite a few spells to pull it off, but they had created a temporary wall of ivy that has delphiniums, larkspurs, snowy white tulips, and white gerbera daisies woven throughout it. To add to the magic of it all, glass bubbles containing gentle blue flames slowly twirl around the room—a few feet above Ron's head as to not collide with anyone.
The furniture had been pushed up against the far wall, to make room for everyone to mill about, enjoy some drinks and finger foods, all whilst pretending as if the war is a non-issue, and as if a madman would not gladly relish in seeing them all hang.
The Weasleys, the Prewett brothers, Frank, Alice, Marlene, Dorcas, Lucius, Narcissa, and all the occupants of Potter Manor are in attendance. It is a joyous affair, and even Lucius and Arthur are getting along—at least that is what one could infer from the fact that their banter is accompanied by warm laughter and friendly claps on the shoulder (a sight Hermione Granger never could have imagined possible).
Hermione catches sight of the raven haired boy that they are all here to celebrate, and smirks at his expression. He's smiling, but inwardly she can tell that he's slightly uncomfortable with the spotlight burning brightly on him; especially since Hermione knows Harry hasn't had a birthday celebration quite like this before.
Hermione briefly recalls an exchange she had with Harry a couple days ago: "Am I nineteen now? My birthday was right before we left our time...and it's only been a few more months since we've been here...so how old am I really?"
"As old as you want to be," Hermione responded, "I would want to enjoy my youth and stay eighteen, but that's just my take on things—you can be nineteen if you wish. It's all up to you."
Harry smirked deviously, "does that mean I'm older than you now?"
"I was a month away from my nineteenth birthday before we left, Harry."
With a far too smug expression on his face, Harry said, "so in a couple months, you can turn nineteen too."
Hermione rolled her eyes, "you are utterly ridiculous."
Back in the present, Hermione tiptoes to kiss Remus on the cheek, and is about to let him know that she is going to go over to Harry, when his warmth leaves her and she catches sight of him being dragged off by James; the wizard has a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and Hermione shakes her head. Remus mouths his apologies, and Hermione blows him a kiss before she heads towards Harry.
"It's unfortunate that we haven't been afforded the privilege to interact much since your arrival." Hermione catches the end of Minerva's statement as she saddles up to Harry, Minerva, Dorea and Emmeline.
"It is rather unfortunate, seeing as you were always one of my favourite teachers in school," Harry remarks. The wizard notices Hermione, turns to her, and shoots her a heartfelt smile before he steps into his best mate and bestows a swift peck onto her left cheek. Harry is about to pull away but Hermione wraps her arms around his neck and draws him in for a tight embrace.
"Happy birthday, Harry," Hermione murmurs, and Harry wraps one arm around her waist—the other is holding his pint of butterbeer out to the side as to avoid spilling any on her airy, dusty pink coloured dress.
"Thanks, Mione," Harry says, in a warm, buttery sort of way that makes her feel like she's come home, but before he pulls away, he says, "did you do what I think you did this morning?"
Hermione's eye twitches. Then, due to her keen hearing she catches a loud snort that comes from across the room, and she instantly knows that it came from Sirius. The animagus is going to be bloody insufferable from now on.
Despite her prior knowledge that the other pack members would also feel it as they sealed their bond, she hadn't truly allowed herself to ponder on how they would all react.
Not wanting to fully release Harry as of yet, she slips an arm around his waist, hugs him sideways, and gives her undivided attention to the three witches Harry had been conversing with.
She cordially greeted all of them, and a soft smile brushes her features when Dorea sends a quick wink her way.
In her peripherals Hermione spots Ron merrily making his way over to Sirius, James, and Remus. That can't be good, she thinks, and as she is about to attempt to eavesdrop on their conversation, Minerva addresses her.
"Dorea has told me all about you, Miss Granger...I must say, it is quite tragic that we have not had the opportunity to converse properly before now," Minerva says, the corners of her lips twitching upwards as she clasps her hands together in front of her.
Hermione knows that Dorea invited Minerva as she is the Potter Matriarch's distant relation, but also because she wishes someone on the inside of Hogwarts; someone that they trust. That being said, Minerva understands exactly why she was invited today, and she clearly does not have any qualms with it.
Unbeknownst to most others, Dorea and Minerva have been communicating quite frequently, and Dorea has had more than enough time to explain—in rich detail—what Albus Dumbledore has been up to since the Golden Trio arrived. Minerva almost choked on her tea when Dorea informed her of her duel against Hogwarts's Headmaster—the duel that she had won.
Minerva McGonagall is a beautiful young woman with inky black hair, fine features, and green eyes that one gets lost in the depth of—they are the colour of an evergreen glade that has sunlight filtering through it. The witch also appears to be wise beyond her years, which does not surprise Hermione in the slightest. She is wearing simple yet elegant emerald green robes, with long sleeves that have slits along the length of them that expose her arms as she moves them.
"It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance in this time, Professor," Hermione says, inclining her head politely.
Minerva's eyebrows rise slightly, and amiably says, "you need not call me, Professor, Miss Granger. I insist you call me, Minerva."
"HERMIONE, YOU KNOW WHAT? YOU SHOULD CALL HER MINNIE, SHE LOVES THAT!" Sirius bellows from across the room, and Minerva's eye twitches at the outburst. Silently she turns to Dorea as if asking permission, which the witch gives with a bemused smirk.
"Excuse me, it would appear that one of my former students requires my attention," Minerva smiles tightly before she whirls around and storms towards the corner of the room where the Marauders are gathered (whilst they had been chatting, Regulus had joined the boys).
Ron sees the irate witch marching towards them, his smile dies, and he tugs on Regulus's sleeve thus bringing her to his attention. The two wizards hastily slip away and make a beeline for the opposite side of the room where Lily, Alice, Frank and Narcissa are gaily conversing.
Dorea saunters after Minerva, whilst maintaining a healthy distance as to not be caught in the crossfire. She is not going to intervene, she merely wants to get a better view of the proceedings.
"This is bloody brilliant," Harry says, eyes alight with wonder as Minerva twists Sirius's ear and berates him on his manners, 'you ought to have some level of decorum, Sirius Black!"
Hermione's response is a low hum, and it only then strikes her that Emmeline is also here. I've been hogging Harry for long enough, Hermione muses. The witch stops to press a kiss to his cheek before she untangles herself from him and heads towards Molly, Gideon and Fabian (the Weasleys managed to get Pandora Lovegood to babysit for them as the witch lives just down the road from them).
Hermione hears Emmeline and Harry now quietly talking behind her as she strolls away, but she quickly gets lost in conversation with Molly and her red haired brothers.
Andromeda, Ted and Tonks arrive a bit late, and immediately Narcissa heads for her sister to warmly embrace her, and it is as if no time at all has passed for either witch. Tonks skips about, and when she almost breaks one of Dorea's vases—the witch in question used wandless magic to stop it before it crashes onto the ground—James takes it upon himself to entertain the young girl.
Ted then gets brought into the fold as Lucius, Arthur, and Charlus heatedly discuss the corruption within the Ministry—a very popular topic with the current political climate and all. Abraxas is still the Head of the Malfoy house, but he has been allowed Lucius to sit in on some of the Wizengamot gatherings so that he will be well-equipped when it is time for him to take over.
Summer is lazily drifting past them, and not for the first time are they able to forget about the War that is still raging on.
Regrettably, their carefree summer days could only last for so long; eventually they would need to come to an end. An end that abruptly takes them all by surprise. An end that harshly reminds them of their cruel reality.
