Hi lovelies! Happy Sunday!
I am having quite a bit of fun writing this story at the moment. I may not post daily like I've been doing the past few days, but updates should be more frequent in times to come.
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
Wednesday, September 26th, 1979
Potter Manor
The aura in Potter Manor has been tense since Dorea and Charlus announced the news of Peter's escape to the occupants in the Manor and their allies that morning. (Dorea had sent summons to their close friends and allies.)
Then, as the early morning light danced across Dorea's raven hair as it entered the room, she delivered the news.
Sirius broke a glass with a burst of accidental magic; its bouquet of yellow daffodils and the water gushed onto the floor.
There had been a grave discussion about what this meant, what the Dark Lord's goal was. Theodus and Petra retired to their room first—it is located in Dorea and Charlus's wing of the Manor. She is almost at the end of her pregnancy and bouts of nausea often plague her throughout the day. The stress of the last few days is not helping her nerves either.
Petra is a soft-spoken, gentle woman. She does needlework in the evenings, reads complex texts about transfiguration, and generally enjoys her own company. Hermione has spotted her and Theodus taking long walks through the gardens in the late afternoon, arm-in-arm. Petra asked Charlus if she could help him with his gardening in the future.
Petra's face is ovular, her chin strong, her eyes the colour of fog, her hair is pitch black, her frame is slender and she is several inches shorter than Hermione. Her small stature only makes her huge, swollen belly look even larger. All of her gestures carry practised elegance with them, and she never speaks out-of-turn or over anyone else. However, when she does speak, she is always listened to.
On the other hand, Theodus and Dorea have settled back into their old roles; their friendship blossoming once more. It is as if no time has passed since they were teenagers.
The next pair to leave the meeting is Lucius and Narcissa. Their room is directly across from the Notts. Lucius rarely speaks unless prompted to. He is emotionally ravaged by the death of his beloved Father and tends to keep to his room outside of meals. Sirius mentioned to Hermione that he misses his colourful commentary during their meetings, it had always been fun to verbally spar with the wizard.
In contrast, Narcisssa is flourishing. She is saddened by the recent bereavement and she is dutifully supporting her husband where she can, but she has not allowed it to dampen her spirits. She has chosen to focus on ensuring that Abraxas's sacrifice is not in vain. She's taken on the role of mediator between the snakes and lions with exquisite grace. As a result, she and Dorea are now thick as thieves.
It's been an adjustment learning to co-exist within one household, but Hermione thinks they are doing splendidly all things considered. Mipsy and Kreacher have formed an alliance, deciding that they cannot let the new House Elves get carried away in their home. Mipsy hissed at one of them when they tried to take over in the kitchen last night for supper.
Hours later, Hermione has spent the day holed up in her room with her mate. The Marauders are all dealing with Peter's escape in their own ways.
James has been assisting Lily with the multitude of potions that she is brewing at any given moment. Some take days, some take hours, and a few of the more potent and useful ones take over a month from start-to-finish.
(Hermione and Lily had claimed one of the unused spaces down the corridor from their respective rooms. They'd shoved a couple desks, some cabinets to house their potions ingredients and a workbench into the room over time. It is now overrun with thick tomes, jars of various sizes that hold a wide range of ingredients; some of which are extremely rare and Sirius had acquired in ways he prefers not to discuss.)
Sirius pretended the meeting that morning hadn't happened, and has been pestering Regulus to entertain him. Which Regulus allows as it gives him a reason to avoid Ron. Neither boy has spoken about what happened between them at Hermione's birthday party.
Remus didn't wish to talk about Peter. Hermione happily obliged him, respecting his wishes. She knows that when he wants to speak about it, he will.
Hermione has been content to lose herself in his embrace and spend the day lazing away in his arms. She traced patterns across his chest as he told her stories about his Hogwarts days. She tells him more about her childhood. They have an intense discussion about Charlotte's Web. They worship each other's bodies and manage to forget for a few, precious hours that they are at war.
In the late afternoon, Hermione unwillingly extracts herself from her mate in search of food. Remus clings to her like a child, and with a devilishly charming smile asks her to stay in bed. She almost gives in. Instead she rolls her eyes, affectionately ruffles his hair and kisses his forehead before she pulls out of his grip.
Halfway through throwing on a decent amount of clothing to traipse about the house in, she contemplates scrapping the whole idea and getting back into bed with her handsome wizard. She peeks over her shoulder at Remus.
Remus is languidly reclining on the bed, propped up by some pillows, one hand thrust over his head, the other holding open Jane Eyre; he is re-reading the literary classic. The afternoon sunlight is pouring in through the windows on the far wall and bathing him in its golden glow; it catches in his hair and his eyelashes, setting them ablaze. Their blanket is covering his lower half, and his tongue is absently playing with his lip ring.
She whimpers internally, but her stomach growls and reminds her of the objective at hand. "Are you sure you don't want to come with me to the kitchens?" Hermione asks.
"I'm sure," Remus smiles, he folds his thumb in between the pages of his book, closes it, and rests it on his chest as he turns to look at her. "Unless you have plans for me to bend you over the kitchen counter?"
Hermione gapes at his cavalier tone and Remus's eyes crinkle by the corners before he resumes his reading.
"Do you want me to bring you anything?" She asks after she manages to calm her galloping heart. She'd begun to imagine him doing as he'd suggested.
"Just you and some chocolate crumble ice-cream," Remus says, eyes darting across the page as he reads.
Hermione swallows, throat dry. There is a tiny smile tugging at Remus's lips. The wizard knows exactly what he's doing. She ignores the heat building in her body and leaves the room before she pounces on him.
Hermione closes the door behind her and exhales harshly through her nostrils. That man is a menace and he knows it, she thinks.
On her way to the kitchens, she pokes her head into Ron's room—the door is wide open—and finds him and Harry engaged in an impassioned game of Wizard's chess on Ron's bed. The bed is neatly made but the boys are wearing the same pyjamas she saw them in this morning.
I guess everyone's having a lazy day, Hermione thinks as she leans against the doorframe.
"Who's winning?" Hermione asks, but she thinks she can tell based on the boy's contrasting expressions. Harry is scowling deeply whilst Ron is beaming in triumph. Harry's scowl melts into a warm grin when he looks up at her.
"Ron unfortunately," Harry answers. "What's up? Did they hear more about Pettigrew?"
"Nothing quite as exciting as all that," Hermione says, shaking her head. "I'm famished and was wondering if either of you fancied grabbing a bite to eat."
"Sounds brill," Harry exclaims, shooting up from his reclined position and leaping off the bed. The chess board jostles and a couple pieces fall off, the ones that have managed to stay on the board are chirping and making obscene gestures at Harry.
Ron chuckles, rolling onto his back. His head drops to the side and watches Harry join Hermione. "He's only that eager because he's losing."
"I think we are remembering two different games, besides, I guess we'll never know now," Harry replies. He tucks a stray curl behind Hermione's ear and meets her gaze evenly. His bright green eyes are filled with questions. Hermione shakes her head and shoots him a reassuring smile.
"He didn't want to talk," Hermione sighs, answering the unspoken inquiry.
Ron rolls off his bed in a swift motion and lands smoothly on his feet. He strolls over to them and drops an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Not at all?"
"Not a peep. I can't imagine Sirius or James being much different."
"I think James and Lily have discussed it, but they've been in your potions room for hours, so I don't know for sure," Harry shrugs.
The trio leave Ron's room and unhurriedly head to the kitchens. There isn't anything pressing that needs their attention today. They briefly discuss their own feelings about the Pettigrew situation on the way.
"I can't imagine why Voldemort would take such a large risk and break out those prisoners. Choosing Pettigrew is obviously intentional, and he probably did it in retaliation after everything that happened with Abraxas," Harry says pensively.
Hermione fidgets with the cuffs of her long-sleeved, lavender, knitted dress. It hugs her torso and abdomen, but flows straight down below her knees and ends mid-calf. It has a cowl neckline. "Maybe he is trying to send a message to Dumbledore somehow?"
"Like what? 'Don't get too complacent and forget that I am a viable threat?'" Ron says with a frown. "I think something more nefarious is going on. But, who knows when you are dealing with a terrifying narcissist whose hubris has led him to attempt genocide—based on rubbish ideals that he doesn't really believe in."
Hermione purses her lips, contemplating an answer when she hears something odd. "Do you hear that?" Hermione whispers, halting in her tracks. They are close to the main living room—it is closest to the kitchen and it is in between the two wings of the house, so it is used the most frequently.
"It sounds like someone is crying," Ron frowns, he straightens out, pushes his shoulders back and extracts his wand from his grey sweatpants pocket. Hermione focuses her heightened hearing and then the crying and screaming is loud and clear against her eardrums. Ron stiffens a fraction of a second later. "It's the boys." Ron breaks into a full sprint, heading towards the living room. Harry and Hermione exchange a glance before they run after him. The Weasley boys had been calling out Ron's name.
Hermione hears Ron speaking before they round the corner and enter the room. Ron is kneeling on the ground in front of the Weasley boys in the middle of the space.
The boys are covered in soot. Percy is sucking his thumb, tears streaming down his face. Charlie is bawling and bouncing George up and down; trying to calm down his brother even though he is crying himself. Fred and George are wailing uproariously. Bill's eyes are red-rimmed but he isn't crying like his brothers, instead he is sniffling and talking to Ron in hushed tones.
"They certainly have a set of lungs on them," Harry mutters as they enter the room. A couple of logs have been kicked out of the white, marble fireplace on the east wall. The windows to the North are open, and the cream curtains are billowing in the crisp Autumnal breezes.
The next few minutes are a blur, Harry takes Ron's place and the boys all fly into his arms, sputtering out words in between their crying. Ron had vanished a few moments ago with a boisterous crack. Bill has taken the twins over to the nearest couch and is sitting in the middle, hugging them and pressing soft kisses to the tops of their heads. Their cries have died down to soft whimpers. Hermione's heart breaks as she watches the young boy hold the weight of the world on his shoulders.
"Mum says I am in charge," Bill had said.
"Hermione, go after him. We don't know what's going on, but we can't leave Ron on his own. I've got the boys," Harry commands firmly. The haunted look in his eyes spurs her into action. She can tell he is thinking about his birth parents and the sacrifice they'd made for him. "Go!"
Hermione nods dumbly and with her wand held tightly in hand, she apparates.
"What in the blazes is going on?" Sirius asks as he, James and Remus burst into the main living room. Harry is sitting on the largest couch surrounded by sobbing ginger haired boys. The black leather squeaks as Harry shoots into an upright position, he had been lying down with Percy on his chest, stroking the boy's head and humming a soft lullaby. He cradles Percy to him as he gives them a pained, desperate look.
"An intruder at the Burrow. Molly was on her own so she sent the boys here. Ron and Hermione have gone to see—"
Harry hadn't finished speaking before Remus apparates. Sirius caught a glimpse of the panic present on his best mate's features before he disappears.
Harry inhales laboriously before he continues, "you both should probably go as well. I have no idea what's happening. I was about to go and grab a couple people to go help since it's been over ten minutes and I haven't heard anything, but—"
Harry didn't finish once again as Sirius and James both follow in their friend's example and disappear.
Harry worries his bottom lip with his teeth. He had tried to leave the room twice, but the boys crying and fussing had only gotten worse with each attempt. He was in the middle of soothing Percy since the boy had worked himself into a full-blown fit. He had been crying so hard that he was having trouble breathing. He'd quieted right before the Marauders burst into the room.
Harry has never been good at waiting around whilst everyone else's lives are possibly in danger, but he knows the Weasley boys need him. Charlie curls up on his side and places his head on Harry's thigh, his cries subdued, his body trembling. Bill and the twins are by Charlie's feet, and he reaches out to pat Charlie's leg.
"Mum'll be okay, Char. I promise," Bill says softly. The twins had tuckered themselves out and were now sleeping against their eldest brother.
Bill meets Harry's solemn gaze, his bottom lip quivering. Bill understands that he can't make a promise like that, but Harry gives him an encouraging smile regardless. He wouldn't dare take away Bill's hope. Bill slumps back against the couch and tucks the knitted grey blanket—Harry had summoned it from his room—around him and his brothers. It isn't long before his eyes droop and exhaustion claims him.
Soon, Harry is surrounded by slumbering ginger lads. Harry has never been much good at waiting, but this time, it seems like he has little choice in the matter.
Sirius and James are expecting a fight when they arrive. They are back-to-back when they land in the front garden, but they are greeted by a peculiar sight. Spells aren't ricocheting, and no one is fighting.
Remus is a few steps away, frozen in place, staring at the trio of wix on the ground a couple feet away from the front door.
Sirius relaxes, taps James, and the pair jog over to Remus. A slew of questions are on the tip of Sirius's tongue, but they slither back down his throat as he gets a proper look at the scene unfolding in front of them.
Molly is sitting on the front stoop, hands on her belly. She is listlessly watching Hermione, Ron and an unknown girl. She doesn't look present, as if her mind is faraway. (Sirius doesn't know how he didn't realise it before, but the metallic scent of blood smashes into his nostrils.)
Hermione is swearing loudly, her hands covered in slick, red blood. Her hair has been thrown into a haphazard ponytail, but some wisps have escaped and they are obscuring her face from view.
Ron is shirtless—his baby blue jumper is laid across the girl and her blood is seeping into the fabric. He is openly crying, his tears streaming down his face.
Hermione's head snaps up, tears glistening in her eyes. "Do you have Dittany?" She pleadingly asks. Green light has encased Hermione's hands, she is holding them across a wound on the girl's upper arm. Sirius can't tell how bad it is because blood is everywhere.
James always had Dittany on him. It was a force-of-habit with all the trouble the Marauders had gotten into over the years. He hurried forward, twisted open the small jar and handed it to Hermione. Hermione wastes no time, siphoning away some of the blood with her wand before she sticks two fingers into the jar and scoops out a large amount of the dark green paste. The spicy, oregano-like scent springs into the air.
As Hermione applies it to the girl's wound, Ron finally turns to them. His eyes hadn't left the girl since they'd arrived. "One of you call Alfred, please."
"Who the fuck is that?" Sirius thinks aloud. He didn't mean to speak, but there is an odd feeling in his chest. A taut rope is pulling him towards the girl and he has an inexplicable need to get closer to her. He fights it off and stays rooted to the spot.
"CALL ALFRED!" Ron belows. The boy looks untethered, frantic and afraid. Sirius has never seen the wizard so out-of-sorts before. Ron had remained calm and level-headed in the storms they'd weathered thus far. Fear has possessed Ron, he is firmly in its clutches.
Sirius is enraptured by a girl whose face he has yet to see properly, but James and Remus rush past Molly into the house; heading for the fireplace.
Sirius swallows thickly. He doesn't know what's going on, but Ron needs him. Sirius takes five steps and he is beside Ron. He crouches and tentatively places a hand on Ron's shoulder. The boy starts at his touch, but he doesn't pull away. He looks up at Sirius imploringly, cheeks soaked with tears, his nose pink. "I should have called Alfred myself, but I can't move. I can't leave her," Ron whimpers, his body shaking violently with choked sobs.
"Who is she, Ron?" Sirius's tone is softer, less abrasive this time. He rubs his thumb across Ron's skin.
Several moments later, Ron pulls himself together long enough to answer. "Ginny Weasley. She's my sister," Ron cries. His back curves and he leans down so their faces are inches apart. "You're going to be okay, Gin. Don't worry, I'm here. Hermione's got you."
Sirius's breath catches in his chest. He had no idea what Ron was going to say, but it wasn't that. Sirius's eyes flick to her ginger hair and the pieces slot together in his mind. Heady shock is still pumping through his system. Ron's sister.
Which means she's from their original dimension, but…how did she get here? Sirius thinks. The timing is odd. Peter escaped from Azkaban last night, and now Ron's sister is here. Fate is toying with them.
Sirius tries to get a better look at her face, but Ron's head is blocking most of her features from view at this angle.
Ron's hands are on either side of his sister's face and they are glowing. Golden light is flooding from Ron's fingers and seeping into the girl's skin.
He's feeding his magic into her, Sirius realises. Sirius withdraws his hand, and stands up. He doesn't know how to help Ron or Hermione. However, Molly looks shaken and pale. Sirius heads over to her, and squats down in front of the elder witch. He places his hands over hers and gives her a small smile.
"Hi Molly. Where is Arthur?"
"Shops," Molly croaks.
"Are you okay? How's the baby?"
"Babies," Molly corrects. "Found out the other day that I am having another set of twins."
Sirius nods, his smile broadening. He whistles lowly, "an entire Quidditch team, now that is ambitious."
The colour rushes back into her face, she scowls and swats his hand. "You are ridiculous, Sirius Black."
"It's a gift," Sirius smirks.
Molly's lips press into a grave line. "Is that girl going to be okay?"
Sirius's smile falters, and his brow furrows. "I don't know, Molly. I honestly don't." But he hopes she will be, he hasn't even seen her face yet, but his magic is thrumming at their proximity and every part of him is screaming that she is important.
News of a possible attack at the Burrow spread like wildfire through the Manor. Shortly, everyone is gathered in the living room. The room is divided into arbitrary, smaller groups that are all having hushed, heated discussions; trying to decide on their next course of action.
Some of them want to send more aid to the Burrow, whilst the others insist that they should wait a little longer. Eventually Dorea states that she has faith in the capabilities of those that went ahead to the Burrow and they will just have to wait.
As the sun is heading to sleep for the day, Hermione and Remus pop into the living room. A sea of questions crashes in their direction, but Hermione ignores all of them. She is staring directly at Harry. Emmeline had taken Percy from Harry—she'd been at Marlene and Dorcas's—and was helping him placate the Weasley boys.
Hermione knows she looks a mess: her curls have escaped her pink scrunchie, her eyes are bloodshot from crying, and she is covered in blood and dirt. She only has a few moments before everyone descends upon her in worry, trying to ascertain if she is injured and what's going on.
So, she blurts out the words between pants without an ounce of finesse. Harry has jumped up, concerned at the state of her, but he freezes at her words.
"I don't know how it's possible, but it's Ginny. She's here, Harry."
"What?" Harry blinks. His fingers are furling and unfurling the hem of his oversized, black, pullover hoodie. He anxiously rubs a hand through his hair before pulling his hood over his head. "I swore you said Ginny…"
"I did. She's here. She splinched herself pretty badly. The cut is a lot deeper than I originally thought, it went down to the bone, but—"
"Where is she?" Harry demands, closing the remaining distance between them. The same fear and panic in Ron's eyes earlier is now present in Harry's. He pushes his glasses back on the bridge of his nose and he is shifting from foot-to-foot.
"With Alfred, she's in the room across from yours—"
Hermione didn't finish before Harry makes a dash for the door; the agility and speed due to his animagus form showing. He is gone in a matter of seconds. He didn't look back.
Hermione faces the others, preparing herself for the storm of questions. She spots Emmeline towards the back, hovering off the couch as if she is about to stand. The girl bites down on her bottom lip and carefully sits back down.
"Who is Ginny?" Narcissa asks, flicking her pale hair over her shoulder. She says what is on everyone's mind. Theodus grunts in agreement.
Lily, Charlus and Dorea are sitting off to the side, the twins and Bill in between them. Theodus is perched on the couch's arm next to his old friend. Lucius is standing beside his wife, Regulus is with them and Charlie Weasley is braced on his hip; Regulus doesn't look as uncomfortable as she thought he would. Petra is absent.
Remus inches closer to her and he loosely loops his arms around her from behind, he places his chin on top of her head. She leans back into his comforting warmth.
"Ginevra Weasley," Hermione clarifies with a shaky exhale. "She is the seventh child and daughter of Molly and Arthur Weasley in our original dimension."
"What?" Lucius hisses between his clenched teeth, more passion in that single word than he'd expressed in days. "The Weasleys had a daughter? And she was the seventh child?"
"Yes."
"Do you have any idea how significant that is?" Lucius asks, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Lucius," Narcissa says gently, but the steel in her gaze and the glare she sends his way are an obvious threat.
"The Weasleys rarely have daughters, it is extremely rare for them. And seven is a powerful number. In our history there have only been a handful of similar occurrences and seventh children have always changed the course of history."
"Always is a bit of an overstatement, boy," Theodus scoffs, but he shoves his hands into tailored trouser pockets and a grimace of heady concentration tugs at his features.
"What are you trying to say, Lucius?" Dorea asks, primly stroking Bill's head. The young boy is listening to the conversation intently, his brow knitted together. Hermione isn't sure how much he understands, but she is sure that he will pester Molly and Arthur with a myriad of questions at the earliest opportunity.
"This girl will either be our salvation or bring death to us all."
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