At first she thought she'd misheard him. 'You're getting your portrait painted?' said Hermione. 'Already?'
Harry sighed, as if he'd anticipated her response. 'I know, it sounds absurd. But Jasmine—my auction date—made a solid case for it, and Fiona thinks it's a good idea as well.'
He explained his reasoning, and Hermione was genuinely moved. 'Harry, that's lovely. Of course you want to ensure your children have someone to talk to.'
'Cheers. But I need your advice. I wrote to the artist who helped me get rid of Walburga–'
'Louisa Gesso,' said Hermione. 'Yes, I met her.'
'Right, Louisa. Anyway, she wrote back and explained the process, and it's more complicated than I realised. Would you mind having a look?' he asked, handing her a letter.
She quickly read it, hiding her shock when she saw the price. 'Is it the blood you're worried about?'
'Yes, and the hair. Have you ever heard of using the subject's hair for the paintbrush?'
'No, I hadn't,' said Hermione. 'Did she need that for Padfoot?'
'No, because he's not sentient; apparently my Pensieve memories were enough. And we didn't need Banthora's hair for her new backdrop—or her blood, for that matter—since she already had a portrait.'
She scanned the letter again and said, 'It looks like the blood thing is standard, but not every artist uses hair. Are you worried she'll misuse it?'
He ran a hand through the hair in question. 'I don't think so,' he said uncertainly. 'But I really don't know, do I?'
'You got her name from Gringotts, right?' He nodded, and she asked, 'Do you know whether she collaborated during the war?'
'I don't, but Walburga called her a blood traitor, which might count for something. Maybe I should ask Jasmine whether she's popular amongst the Dark set.'
'Couldn't you ask Narcissa? Or Charles Selwyn?' she said with a smirk.
'I could, but I really don't want this getting out. That's why I asked to pose in the studio, and not at the house.'
Hermione could think of another reason—she'd seen Ron the night before at the Burrow, and he'd given her an earful. 'I swear I'm not jealous,' he began, 'but I'm beginning to worry Harry's going overboard.'
'You're only beginning?' she asked, raising her eyebrows.
'Well, not beginning, but I thought he'd finally settled down a bit. I was used to the robes and flowers, and even Pratt's. But with Kreacher egging him on, and all the time he spends with the Malfoys, I'm worried he'll go full pure-blood.'
'May I point out that you're a pure-blood?'
'You know what I mean—posh pure-blood. I'd have thought Fiona would stop him, since she's not like that, but she's actually encouraging it.'
'Really? Fiona?'
'Yeah. Like, he wears robes all the time now, and he never eats in the kitchen anymore, although that's because Kreacher won't let him. And I think he knows it's weird, because he'll turn to Fiona for approval, but she just laughs and says, "Why not? You're the Light Lord," or "I fell in love with a dandy." And so he's just going in deeper.'
'Is he treating you differently?' asked Hermione, not admitting she liked Harry's new persona.
'No, he's fine. He always asks me about work, and we can talk Quidditch for hours. But half the time he mentions Malfoy, and then he's embarrassed, like I found him out or something.'
Hermione had experienced the same thing, and she agreed it was unsettling. 'I don't think he'll change for the worse,' she said. 'He has way too good a heart—and Light magic, of course. But he never had a consistent role model the way you and I did, and it definitely shows.'
'I guess,' said Ron dubiously. 'I just never know what I'll come home to. Janet and I have a wager, actually—I said it'll be an accent coach, but she thinks it'll be something like Muggle duelling, and he'll start wearing a sword.'
No, it's just a portrait, thought Hermione, wondering whether the artist could be trusted with his hair. 'Should we see what Davina thinks?' she asked Harry. 'I'm sure she'd know whether the hair thing is legitimate, or if there are charms to prevent the artist from misusing it.'
'A blood oath would work,' Harry mused. 'And it's only fair, since she'll get some of my blood. I even found an Oath Vessel in the Star Chamber, although to be safe I may just borrow Narcissa's. And yes, I should probably ask Davina.'
'Be prepared for a warning about your ego,' joked Hermione.
But Davina thought it was a good idea. 'Yes, it could be very beneficial,' she said. 'Are you familiar with how portraits are nurtured?'
Hermione leaned forwards, eager to learn some new detail of magic, and Harry said, 'All I know is I should talk to him regularly, to give him more depth.'
'That's right, but there's more to it than that. He'll already have your memories, and thanks to your blood connection he'll continue acquiring them. But you'll need to provide emotional context, so he can assimilate them.'
Harry frowned, and Hermione understood why. He'll have to revisit his past, she thought. 'So, he'll have all Harry's memories,' she said, 'but he won't know how any of it actually felt?'
'He won't be a complete blank slate,' said Davina. 'At first he'll be heavily influenced by the artist's impressions.'
'Oh my god, he'll be a manwhore!' blurted Harry. 'Or some kind of exhibitionist!'
'I'm sure that's not how Louisa sees you,' said Hermione. 'If anything she thinks you're generous, since you commissioned a new backdrop for Banthora.'
His panic seemed to fade. 'That's true. And she saw all my memories with Padfoot, so she knows how fond I am of him.' Harry smiled and said, 'Maybe they can play together.'
'Not until you're dead,' said Davina. 'Once the artist hands him over he'll stay asleep, except when you want to talk to him. So it'll hopefully be a long while before he and Padfoot have any play dates.'
'That's all right—I suppose Padfoot's not going anywhere.' Harry's expression turned serious again. 'Will I have to tell him everything?'
'No, not everything,' she said gently. 'But you'll need to tell him enough that he can absorb your emotional response, and convey it accurately after you're gone.' Harry sighed, and she added, 'I know, but I think you'll find the process therapeutic. It won't be easy, of course, but it'll help integrate those parts of yourself.'
Hermione's heart ached for him, and later at Ryan's flat she was still thinking about it. 'Ryan,' she said, as they sat on the sofa reading together, 'do you reckon you'll ever have a portrait painted?'
He looked up from his book. 'I can't say I'd given it much thought. Why? Are you wondering what to get me for Christmas?'
'Not bloody likely,' she said, laughing. 'No, I just learnt tonight how they're made. Did you know you're supposed to talk to them while you're still alive? At least, if you want them to have your personality, and not just be a glorified photograph.'
'That sounds tedious—couldn't I just play it music?' asked Ryan. 'I could even make him a mix tape. Or develop charms while I'm alive to integrate stereo speakers into a portrait, so he can bore people to tears even after I'm gone. Although that raises the copyright question, and whether I'd even be permitted to load my portrait with music.'
'I suppose it would depend on where it's displayed,' said Hermione, well acquainted with Ryan's opinions on Muggle copyright law.
'True, it's all about the audience size. I should leave instructions in my will not to hang it anywhere that might be construed as a performance hall. And yes, I know it'll all be Muggle music, unless I take a Bludger to the head and become a Weird Sisters fan, in which case we'll have an even bigger problem. But if anyone can penetrate the veil of wizarding secrecy, it'll be intellectual property lawyers.' He furrowed his brow and said, 'Would it be wrong to trap them somehow?'
'Yes, that's a classic case of Muggle-baiting. They'd send you to Azkaban for sure.'
'No, because I'd be dead,' he said triumphantly. 'They'd send my portrait to Azkaban, and he could play music for the other prisoners. In fact, I bet they'd appreciate it—I should prepare my playlist accordingly.'
Hermione frowned. 'I'm not sure everyone there deserves good music,' she said, thinking of Umbridge.
'Well, no, but I can keep a few miserable earworms in my back pocket. Hopefully I'll outlive all the Death Eaters, but surely someone there will deserve to hear "We Built This City" on repeat.' Hermione was unfamiliar with the song, and Ryan said, 'Trust me, you're better off not knowing.'
'Does this mean you'll want a portrait someday?'
He shrugged. 'I have no clue. Admittedly I like the music idea, but otherwise I doubt I'll be portrait material.'
'Why not? You're captain of the national team.'
'That's hardly portrait-worthy,' he said, making a face. 'It's not like my portrait could help someone with their flying—surely I'd be more useful as a ghost.'
'Don't you dare become a ghost!' cried Hermione, genuinely alarmed. Her parents would have laughed and called her superstitious, but they'd never met Moaning Myrtle.
'I promise, I won't. But I can't say I fancy a portrait either—they strike me as rather vainglorious. "My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings," and so forth.'
'Not all portraits, surely!'
'No, not all of them. Padfoot's all right, and I suppose Harry's fond of Banthora. But a lot of portraits are just silly, and I find it a bit depressing to imagine some version of myself mouldering in eternal insignificance.'
'Unless you get those stereo speakers working,' she said absently. Hermione didn't want to reveal Harry's plans, since he'd shared them in confidence, but she wondered if Ryan would make an exception for him. 'What about Harry? Don't you think his portrait would be worthwhile?'
'That's different—he's an historic figure. And so are you, for that matter. Although I'm not sure how I'd feel about you sharing a canvas with him and Ron for all time.'
'Good lord, we'd incinerate each other! We barely survived the tent. But I was talking about a solo portrait—for Harry, that is.'
'Yes, I'm sure he'll have several. And if they capture his personality, it would probably counteract the tendency to over-mythologise him.'
'The Boy Who Lived,' she murmured. 'But that gets back to my earlier point about the need to talk to a portrait while you're still alive, to convey your lived experience.'
'That makes sense. And I'm sure he'll have enough stories to keep it entertained, even if he doesn't continue at the rate he's been going.' Ryan smirked and said, 'I hope someone charms it for discretion, or else a lot of people might learn more than they bargained for about their great-grandmum.'
She smiled briefly, then said, 'Yes, but what about all the other stories he'll have to tell it? That's what worries me.'
'Well, yes,' said Ryan, clearly recalling when they'd met the Dursleys. 'But it'll be ages before that's necessary, and he'll surely have seen a Mind Healer by then.' Hermione gave a weak nod, even though she was uncomfortable lying, and Ryan's eyes shot open. 'Oh my god, he's getting it painted now, isn't he?'
'Don't tell anyone,' she blurted, feeling remorse she'd revealed Harry's secret but also relief.
'But ... why? He's not dying, is he?'
'No, although that's a factor.' She explained his wish to ensure his kids at least had a portrait, if he died as young as his parents. 'And apparently the artist can age the portrait later, which means in his case there's no reason to wait.'
Ryan couldn't dispute her logic. 'Does that mean you'll get yours painted as well?' he asked, his expression neutral.
'Good lord, no! They cost a fortune, for one thing. And honestly, the training process sounds a bit uncanny. I don't fancy telling my doppelgänger all about–'
She stopped short, and Ryan put an arm around her. 'No, of course not,' he said gently. 'No one needs to know what Bellatrix Lestrange did to you. In fact, it's probably better if no one can ask.'
'Actually, that's not what I meant,' she said, embarrassed. 'I was thinking of primary school.'
Ryan sighed and squeezed her closer. 'Speaking of doppelgängers,' he said, referring to the main boy who'd bullied her.
'You know I no longer see you that way! That was only when we first met.'
'I know,' said Ryan. 'But I still feel responsible somehow. Like he was my evil twin I somehow failed to subdue.'
'Don't tell me you really think that!'
'Well, no. I just hate that you went through that, and I wasn't able to defend you somehow. I mean, I know you're capable of defending yourself, but–'
'I know,' she said, leaning against him. 'I wish you'd been there as well. Although I'd probably have seen you as an elder brother, which might have derailed our current relationship.'
A smile crossed his lips, and Hermione melted a little. 'We can't have that,' he said, and they didn't talk about portraits any more that night. But she brought them up again a few days later, while brewing potions with Lucinda.
'What do you know about wizarding portraits?' she asked, determined not to betray Harry's secret again.
'That I want one,' said Lucinda with a relish. 'Only they're bloody expensive, so I'll need to learn how to paint first.'
As often occurred during conversations with Ryan's mother, Hermione was stunned. 'You mean, to paint your own portrait?' she asked, even though she knew the answer.
'That's right. It'll not only save money, but it means I won't have to spend years talking to the bloody thing, since it'll already be imbued with my personality. Honestly, I'm amazed most portraits don't just whinge about their ailments, since that's probably all they heard for the last decade or so of their subject's life.'
'Maybe they're charmed against it,' said Hermione, still floored by Lucinda's ambition.
'That must be it. Of course, I need to learn the charms as well, which is normally a challenge, since they're closely guarded within the trade. But I have an inside track.'
'Oh?'
'Cecil Spoonwocket,' she declared. 'My great-great-great-uncle, whose portrait hangs in a corridor at my cousin Alfie's house. He was a portrait artist and knows all the tricks, and he said he'd spill the beans in exchange for a bit of touch-up work. But I need to learn to paint first, so it'll be a while.'
Hermione needed a moment to collect herself. 'Lucinda, I always feel positively lazy compared to you, not to mention unimaginative. I've always been confident in my intelligence and my magic, but I'm in utter awe of your ... sheer audacity.'
Lucinda looked surprised. 'My audacity? You're the one who robbed Gringotts!'
'But that was a one-time occurrence, and frankly it was Harry's idea. My ideas are clever, maybe, but I don't smash through perceived limitations the way you do. For example, it never occurred to me to teach myself Healing so I could treat my parents.'
'I'm sure if they were sick you'd move mountains to help them.'
'Maybe,' said Hermione, unconvinced. 'But I lack your creativity. Honestly, it's a shame you won't be a legitimate Healer, because you'll probably advance the field more than anyone currently practising.'
'I doubt that. Really, I'm just a hedge witch at heart.'
'You're not a hedge witch!' said Hermione, who associated the term with the likes of Merope Gaunt.
'Well, not literally—I received a formal education. But I like to think I've retained the creative spark of a clever hedge witch. And surely you have as well! Ryan told me about those communication coins you devised at Hogwarts, for your secret army.'
'Yes, but only because I got the idea from Voldemort's Dark Mark. Whereas you'd have worked out something completely original—and probably more effective.'
'Not when I was fifteen!'
'I was sixteen.'
'My point stands,' said Lucinda. 'Furthermore, you were under tremendous pressure—you couldn't waste time chasing mad ideas the way I do. From what I've heard, your quick thinking saved the day any number of times.'
'Perhaps, but I haven't been in situations like that since the war ended, and I hope never to be again. Which means it would be nice to improve at thinking outside the box.'
With a wave of sadness, she recalled her failure to realise Harry was a Horcrux. She'd often blamed herself for not connecting the dots earlier, since it was perfectly obvious in hindsight. But her consolation was that she never had to tell Harry he needed to die.
'If I had a mind like yours ...' she said haltingly. 'Like a hedge witch ... maybe I'd have realised Harry's scar was a Horcrux. Maybe I could have devised a way to remove it without killing him, or even use it to locate the others.'
Lucinda's expression softened, and there was grief in her eyes. 'Hermione, you can't know everything. For the rest of my life I'll regret not protecting Walter's parents. And besides, it wasn't your job to figure it out. Call me crazy, but shouldn't Albus Dumbledore have done something about it?'
Hermione let out her breath and said, 'Of course, you're right. He had years to consider the problem, and the best he came up with was to leave us a few hints, which were nearly useless.'
They were silent for nearly a minute, until Lucinda said, 'So how do we cultivate your inner hedge witch? And why were you asking about portraits? Are you casting about for a Light magic angle?'
'No, they've just been on my mind lately,' said Hermione. 'But I'm intrigued by your hedge-witch suggestion. Did that come naturally to you, or did you train yourself in it?' She opened her notebook to a fresh page and exposed the tip of her biro.
Lucinda chuckled and said, 'Far be it for me to criticise your methods, but I'm not sure this calls for a methodical approach. It's more like, whenever I catch myself whinging about something, part of my mind begins hunting for a solution.' She looked thoughtful a moment, then said, 'Actually, Walter gets a lot of the credit. He's taught me to look past so-called limitations, since to his mind it's all impossible anyway. Another good reason to keep a brilliant Muggle around.'
Hermione tried to come up with a situation she'd been upset about lately. I can't exactly Imperius Merrick Bode into advancing goblin reforms, she thought. 'Secrecy,' she declared. 'I hate that I'll have to tell lies the rest of my life.'
'Hats off for thinking big,' said Lucinda, clearly impressed. 'Yes, that's a good one. How would you like it to change?'
'Good question. I suppose it would be nice if everyone had magic, but surely we'd have annihilated ourselves as a species by now.' Hermione paused to consider the issue. 'I suspect the problem is Muggle jealousy,' she said. 'Not to mention they'd see us as a threat and try to subdue us.'
'Yes, that's what I keep running into,' said Lucinda. 'As much as I'd like to believe the opposite, considering how well Walter and I get on, I don't think Muggles would feel safe knowing we could control their minds with a simple incantation.'
'And besides, they'd never forgive us,' said Hermione. 'Imagine being a Muggle who just lost a child to cancer and finding out there were people who could have helped but did nothing about it.' She sighed and said, 'Maybe I should just get a job at a Muggle children's hospital and secretly cure them all.'
'Don't think I'm not tempted. The only reason I haven't done it already is because I wouldn't know how to choose. And of course if I cured everyone, the Ministry would probably swoop in and give them all cancer again. Bloody wizards,' she scowled.
Hermione felt an idea beginning to form. 'What about Squibs?'
'Squibs? Do you mean cure them of cancer, or give them magic?'
'Neither,' she said, her mind racing. 'No, I was thinking about what Harry told me about his girlfriend Alex, or her fiancé, rather. He works with Squibs at a Muggle laboratory to devise magical solutions to things like global warming. I think the idea is to disguise them as non-magical technology or, barring that, to inform key Muggle scholars and leaders, and let them handle the cover-up.'
Lucinda's eyes grew large. 'And Squibs are the perfect intermediary, since they have a foot in both worlds!' she exclaimed. 'It's a shame there aren't more of them—I doubt they're all interested in the sciences.'
Hermione had to smile—who but Lucinda would bemoan the rarity of Squibs? She was going to comment, but Lucinda said, 'Couldn't they be organised somehow? Not by the Ministry, of course—they'd bollocks it up completely. But there could be some shadowy organisation that scoops up everyone who doesn't receive a school letter and tells them how essential they are!'
Lucinda stood up and gestured theatrically. 'I can just imagine them, still crushed after not receiving a school letter, and then some witch or wizard in a smart Muggle outfit turns up—or, better yet, another Squib—and says, "You've passed the first test." And then they escort them in a gleaming automobile to a school just for Squibs. A magically-enhanced automobile, of course—spending all day in a car might dampen the effect.'
'Could it be a boarding school?' asked Hermione, delighted with Lucinda's train of thought.
'If you insist, but no Basilisk. And there aren't that many Squibs, so it needn't be large, although I suppose it should be in reach of a major university.' She frowned and said, 'It's times like this I wish Walter's goblin arbitrage scheme could work, because we'd need a ton of gold to pull it off. But imagine the benefit!'
'Maybe we could involve the Light Arts somehow,' said Hermione. 'Davina says everyone can practise them, even without magic, and that it can unlock creativity.'
'Yes, why not? And that broadens our pool of potential sponsors, now that Light magic is all the rage.' She looked at Hermione and said, 'Did I hear you'll be attending society parties with Harry? Maybe you can prime the pump by dropping a hint or two.'
Hermione groaned. 'Yes, the first party is tomorrow night. Even worse, it's hosted by the family of one of my more disagreeable classmates,' she said, thinking of Zacharias Smith.
'I'm so sorry,' said Lucinda. 'My usual advice for avoiding wizarding social obligations is to marry a Muggle, but I'm rather attached to your marrying Ryan.'
As much as Hermione loved Ryan, she was tempted by Lucinda's advice as she prepared for the party the following night. Her mother reassured her she'd do fine, but she was nervous as she travelled to Grimmauld Place. Harry wasn't downstairs, so she went to his bedroom to find him, and after knocking on the door several times, she let herself in. 'Are you in there?' she called towards the open wardrobe, reluctant to enter.
'Sorry, just a moment,' he said, and a moment later she heard Kreacher's loud crack of Apparition. Assuming Harry was dressed, she approached and peeked inside.
'What on earth ...' she began, looking around. It was no longer the walk-in wardrobe she remembered, but a large and sumptuous dressing room, truly fit for the head of an ancient house.
'Oh my god!' blurted Harry, turning away. 'I said I'd be right out.'
'I'm sorry!' she said, reflexively closing her eyes until her brain caught up. 'Hang on, you're fully clothed.'
'I know, but that's the problem.' He sighed heavily and said, 'It's all right, you can look.' She opened her eyes and saw he was struggling to remove a large butterfly pin from his jacket. 'There's no lapel,' said Harry, 'which means I can't wear flowers, and Kreacher decided I needed jewellery instead. And I swear, he made it unremovable!'
'Maybe you should take your gloves off first,' said Hermione. 'Or would you rather avoid the trouble of putting them back on?'
He glared at her and said, 'No, they're coming off too. It's just last time I pinched my finger, so I thought I'd try it first with the gloves.'
'Last time? And by the way, where are we?'
'The master dressing room. It used to be hidden away with Walburga's things, but thanks to Kreacher's new fetish for subservience, it's all mine now. In other news, did you know the house has a music room?'
'Since I last saw you?' she exclaimed. 'But you've been Head of House for months! Why would it turn up now?'
'Janet thinks it's because Ron moved in—he's a pure-blood after all. But Ron thinks it's because I finally got into the Star Chamber, which Janet doesn't know about. It's like the house has truly accepted me, or something.'
'You'd think Sirius might have mentioned it,' said Hermione, noting yet again how odd magic was.
'You would think that, since it's actually pretty nice. All I can guess is that the Dementors stole those memories from him, which is too depressing to contemplate.' He was quiet for a moment, then said, 'Banthora had no idea I'd never seen it, and when I asked Kreacher he said he didn't want to upset me by mentioning rooms I mightn't be able to access.'
'Does that mean there are more?'
'Kreacher won't say, but Banthora remembers a conservatory, which I'm having trouble picturing given how dark the rest of the house is. She suspects there are other rooms as well—she wasn't allowed everywhere—but the other Heads of House aren't talking. The only one who likes me is Typhon, and he never lived here.'
He was still struggling with the brooch, and Hermione said, 'Here, let me try.' Within seconds, she identified the locking mechanism and slid the brooch from Harry's chest. 'Mischief managed,' she said smugly.
'Bloody hell! How did you do that!'
She showed him how it worked, then examined the brooch more closely. 'Is this really for a man? It's awfully sparkly.'
'These are the Blacks we're talking about,' said Harry, removing his gloves. 'On a related topic, did you know Kreacher can fetch jewellery from the vault without my asking? Apparently there's some loophole when it's for the glory of House Black.'
'Right, but why did you let him put it on you in the first place?'
Harry's expression softened. 'It made him happy. I think he knows I'll remove it as soon as he turns his back, but it's keeping the balance of power, which means I get the telepathic bond.'
Once Harry was back to his usual level of dandy elegance, they went downstairs to the fireplace, and Hermione said, 'Are you ready?'
He seemed surprised she even asked. 'Of course, I'm fine—this is old hat by now. But what about you? Can you handle Zacharias Smith?'
She took a deep breath. 'Yeah, I think so. Although I doubt we'll get his father's support tonight.'
'No, he's an avowed neutral. But some of the other guests have potential—Marcus gave me a list, and we'll use your talking points.'
He allowed her to go first, for which she was grateful; his appearance would undoubtedly draw attention, and she always stumbled a little when travelling by Floo. She emerged into a reception hall and scanned for a friendly face, but all she saw were strangers who seemed surprised she'd turned up. Several people whispered her name, and she felt terribly awkward and exposed.
When Harry arrived, however, the mood shifted. Her presence was no longer a mystery, and the faintly puzzled expressions turned friendly. 'Potter!' came the cries, and they were pulled into a whirl of conversation. 'Miss Granger, what a pleasure to meet you!' said a wizard who knew Harry from Pratt's. 'Are you Potter's chaperone tonight?'
'Trust me, he doesn't need a chaperone,' said Hermione. 'He's completely devoted to Fiona.'
'Then a bodyguard,' said a witch, her eyes raking Harry. 'No flowers?'
'Where would they go?' he asked, indicating the lack of a lapel.
'That's up to you,' she purred. 'You're the trendsetter.' But Harry rebuffed her so deftly that the witch appeared flattered. Thank Merlin he's not a Dark wizard, thought Hermione, and she wondered if Voldemort had marked him with charisma along with everything else.
Over the next hour, she watched him converse with potential allies, and the mismatch between his efforts and the effect was almost comical. Harry had clearly memorised her talking points about how improved goblin relations would benefit wizarding Britain, but it hardly made a difference. He could recite all 700 Quidditch fouls, and they'd still hang on every word.
The effect was magnified when Marcus Waite joined in. Marcus lacked Harry's swagger—which was fortunate, given his looks. But he exuded 'old-family pure-blood' in a way Harry or Hermione could never match, and she could see people's comfort with someone who was clearly one of their own.
Feeling superfluous, she eventually peeled away to talk to Lydia. 'Why aren't you with Marcus?' she asked. 'His star is rising as we speak.'
'I'd only distract people,' said Lydia. 'Particularly with Harry here tonight—everyone's curious how we'll interact.'
'And how would you interact?'
Lydia looked at Harry, who was with Marcus and a middle-aged witch and wizard. 'I'd say something about those robes. Did Fiona pick them out?'
'No, I think he bought them in America.'
'The lack of lapels is positively cheeky—I'm sure they'll run a photo in the Prophet. Although it's really screaming for some kind of ornament, which he'd never wear.' Her eyes slid towards Marcus, and she said, 'I should probably thank him for advancing Marcus's career, which in turn is salvaging my reputation. No one really knows what to make of us—two blood traitors living in sin. But they're reluctant to snub us, in case Marcus ends up powerful.'
'What about you? I've heard more than one person describe you as influential.'
Lydia didn't look surprised. 'I suppose I am,' she said coolly. 'But I'm taking my time; I'm only eighteen, after all. My plan is to continue my education, primarily with my tutor, Simon. I briefly considered enrolling at a Muggle university—there are ways around the entrance requirements, you know. But I don't think I could maintain the charade for three solid years.' She glanced to make sure no one was listening. 'So I'll probably study Light magic instead.'
'Are you serious?' said Hermione quietly. 'With Davina?'
'Yes, although not until January, when she starts a new class.' Lydia cast a privacy charm, then said, 'It's for people who've already experienced Light magic—we'll sign a contract not to divulge anyone's identity. So, if Ryan is interested, this might be a good chance. Not that anyone would be surprised in his case. Nor mine, really, but I'd just as soon people forget about my mad fortnight.'
'Thanks for mentioning it, but he's too busy with his Charms studies and the national team,' said Hermione. And he hasn't experienced Light magic, she thought, with a hint of sadness.
'I'm sorry he won't be there,' said Lydia. 'I'm a little scared it'll just be me and Harry's other lovers—talk about mortifying! Although he said I'm the only one to experience Light magic. Do you know if that's still true? Other than Gemma Rees, that is.'
'Actually, he never touched her.'
Lydia looked sceptical. 'I hope you're right, if only for Fiona's sake. By the way, is there anything I should know before meeting her? We're bound to cross paths, and soon.'
Hermione could tell that Lydia was still sensitive about Harry. 'They're a good couple, I think,' she said cautiously. 'She's very grounded, and of course he's the opposite, which is just what she needs.'
'Marcus is grounded,' said Lydia, glancing towards him. 'Maybe that was the problem with Harry and me: we're both too flighty. Literally, both of us; him on his broom, and me running away from home.' She looked at Hermione and said, 'But you and Ryan are both grounded. That must be nice.'
'I suppose it is,' said Hermione. 'Although I never thought of myself that way.'
'Oh, you're terribly grounded! Without you, Harry would probably have died a dozen times over, but you kept him level. As level as he's capable of being, that is.'
Hermione thought back to their teamwork during the war. I kept him from flying off the handle any number of times, she thought, recalling the Umbridge year in particular. Although some of her biggest regrets were the times she failed, like when she couldn't stop him from trying to rescue Sirius from the Department of Mysteries, or their doomed trip to Godric's Hollow.
Then again, she'd probably be dead herself without his erratic energy. I would never have come up with the plan to rob Gringotts, she thought. And if she'd known he was going to sacrifice his life, she'd have done anything to stop him.
'I suppose I am grounded,' she said aloud. 'And you're right, it's a wonderful trait in a partner. I couldn't be happier.'
Lydia spotted someone across the room, and her brows drew together. 'Ugh, it's Zacharias Smith. He tried courting Vanessa, you know, and he was cross when she turned him down.'
'Did he propose?' asked Hermione, knowing they were still protected by a privacy charm.
'No, but he was clearly headed in that direction. First he gave her notepaper, which she accepted, since he's more than eligible. It's a terrible insult to reject someone that early, if there's nothing objectionable about his family. But when he gave her a pair of silk gloves, she said "Thanks but no thanks." She didn't mention Terence, but he saw them together at Harry's drag party and made a bit of a scene.'
'Really? How did I miss that?'
'Weren't you mainly on the roof with Ryan? This was in the reception hall downstairs.'
'Yes, that explains it. What happened?'
'Firewhisky,' said Lydia flatly. 'He approached her while Terence was off fetching pastries and told her how gorgeous she was. Something to the effect of, "Drag is impossible with a body like yours. You could wear Dementor's robes and I'd still want to fuck you."'
'Oh my god,' exclaimed Hermione. 'What did she do?'
'She didn't hex him, if that's what you're asking. I certainly would have done, but she still felt bad for rejecting him, so she pretended it was a joke. Luckily Helena Strauss was nearby, and of course women have a sixth sense when a friend is being hassled. So she waved Vanessa over, only Zacharias followed and made comments about Helena as well.'
'He didn't know who she was, did he?'
'No, thank Merlin, but he was still revolting. He said she was pretty but needed some padding on top. Even worse, he said he was good at Transfiguration and actually pulled out his wand. But Helena was faster—she immobilised him, then levitated him to the floor in front of the fireplace. His fingers were wrapped around his wand, so she tucked in a pinch of Floo powder and left him there. I don't know how long it took for the charm to wear off, or whether someone took pity and cast a Finite, but that was the last we saw of him that night.'
'Well done, Helena!' said Hermione. 'It's probably a good thing I wasn't there, since I'd have done something far worse.'
'As would I. Her boyfriend Brian was furious when he heard what happened, and so was Terence. But Helena just laughed it off and said her mother made the same threat all the time.'
'Does this mean you and Helena are friends?'
'So it seems. Marcus thinks the world of her, and so does Vanessa. Although I haven't spent time with her on my own, and I don't fancy having the Harry conversation. But she's clearly exceptional, and I definitely want her at my salon.' Lydia frowned and added, 'Which brings up a question: should I invite Harry?'
'That's up to you, I suppose. What do you want?'
'I'm torn,' said Lydia. 'He certainly qualifies, and now that he's sponsoring Marcus it would be more than appropriate.'
Hermione was waiting for the 'but,' and when Lydia didn't supply one, she said, 'But you don't want him there?'
Lydia briefly closed her eyes. 'No. I'm thrilled he's working with Marcus, but I can't spend an entire evening with him. Not in my own flat.'
'Are you still upset about how things ended?' asked Hermione.
'It's not that,' said Lydia, looking oddly young and insecure. 'It's remembering what it was like when we were together. It was all so new—I'd barely kissed anyone before him. But Harry knew every inch of me, and I didn't hold anything back.' She paused, then said, 'I'll never do that again, not even with Marcus. I've learnt to protect myself.'
Hermione's compassion stirred but she couldn't entirely relate, since she didn't hold back from Ryan. 'Are you afraid Marcus will hurt you?'
'No, not really. As I said, he's much more grounded than Harry. But ... I was Harry's entirely. I gave up my entire world for him.' Hermione was sceptical, recalling her independent fortune, but Lydia continued. 'I'd have taken his surname and even lived in his dreary townhouse if he'd insisted. That's how much I wanted him—I was ready to subsume myself completely. And I'll never do that again, not even for Marcus.'
'Nor should you,' said Hermione, realising she hadn't submitted to Ryan nearly so much. 'But why did you tell Harry you were willing to see other people, if you were so determined to have him for yourself?'
'I honestly don't know. All I know is I wholeheartedly surrendered to him—without his even asking—and that must have included his vow. He didn't want to date exclusively, and so I didn't either. But when he came back from the brothel ...'
She took a deep breath, and Hermione finally understood why Lydia had been so angry at him, despite having sent him there. 'The illusion shattered?' she prompted.
'I saw who he was. He wasn't the world's most perfect wizard—he was just another boy who can't keep his trousers buttoned. And I clearly didn't mean as much to him as he meant to me.'
'I'm sorry that happened,' said Hermione sincerely. 'Harry means well, but he's human just like anyone else. Although this might explain why you caught his Light magic. Davina says the initial transition is hard because we cling so tightly to our old self. But you surrendered entirely, which made room for Light magic to arise.'
Lydia's expression was thoughtful. 'Then maybe it's better if Marcus doesn't catch it from me. At least not like that.'
Hermione suddenly felt better about Ryan's lack of acquired Light magic. 'And in answer to your question,' she said, 'don't invite Harry to your salon if you'll be uncomfortable.'
'Oh, thank Merlin,' said Lydia. 'I don't hate him—not at all. But I don't want to spend time with him.'
They chatted a while longer before Hermione excused herself to circulate. She'd noticed several Ministry colleagues she wanted to greet, but unfortunately she was waylaid by Zacharias Smith.
'Granger,' he began, and his glass of amber liquid made her wonder if he was drunk again. 'I didn't realise you were close with Lydia Travers.'
'Yes, I met her while she and Harry were dating, and we've remained friends.'
'Uncanny. You're almost as good at insinuating yourself into the elite as Potter is. Will you be Sorted into Slytherin as well?'
'Unlikely,' said Hermione, deciding Zacharias was merely pissed and not plastered.
'No, you always struck me as more of a Ravenclaw, although the Hat is awfully stingy about sending people there. Frankly, I saw myself in Ravenclaw, but I suppose my ancestry took precedence,' he said, in reference to his descent from Helga Hufflepuff.
Hermione stifled a laugh, having long suspected Zacharias was Sorted into Hufflepuff by default, and not because he was hardworking or loyal. 'Are you enjoying the reception?' she asked. 'There's certainly a good turnout.'
'My father votes independently, so we always have a good turnout. I suppose that's why you and Potter are here? He's positively shameless, with his goblin agenda.'
'There's nothing shameless about it! He's trying to undo a grave injustice, after all.'
'Yes, and to line his pockets,' said Zacharias, taking a sip from his glass. 'Between that and his adverts, he's shockingly mercenary! I never would have expected it, frankly.'
'It's not for him, it's for his entire family. I'm sure you know what he's doing for all his new cousins.'
'Buying back their virginity, you mean? I heard what he did for Catherine White.'
Hermione considered marching off, but she realised she wanted to stay and fight. 'Where do I even start?' she scowled. 'She and Malfoy never slept together! At most they had a good snog, which isn't against any rules I've heard of. But that's besides the point: why do wizards like you insist on marrying virgins? And don't embarrass yourself by mentioning Squibs.'
Her last line seemed to derail him. 'That's just a superstition,' he said, as if he hadn't been ready to use it as an excuse.
'Then what is it? Do you prefer someone inexperienced?' She said it as a joke, but his expression spoke volumes. 'Oh my god, that's it! You're afraid she'll make comparisons!'
'I beg your pardon!'
'Oh, that's definitely it—don't bother hiding it. But is that really worse than rushing into marriage after only a few months?'
'No, it isn't,' he grumbled. 'But those are the rules.'
'Then change them! Harry can't fix everything.'
Zacharias snorted in derision. 'Not this, certainly. But you try getting a witch you're courting to sleep with you—you're lucky to get a kiss goodnight.'
'So widen your pool. Wizards of your class all seem to be fighting over the same half-dozen witches.'
For a moment he looked trapped, and he took another sip of whisky. 'Look at my parents,' he said quietly. 'And this house. I can't just bring home some nobody—she needs to have been raised for all this.'
'So, women aren't capable of learning new skills?'
'Of course they are—I'm not that old-fashioned. But she'd always be an upstart, and people would criticise her.'
'Oh no!' said Hermione with mock horror. 'They might criticise her! How ever would she survive?'
'They might shun her, which would be worse. It's not fair to the witch—better to marry someone who already belongs.'
Hermione looked him in the eye. 'Zacharias, forgive me, but you're living through a revolution and you can't even see it. Now that those wards are gone, young witches and wizards are intermingling more than they have in a century. You can either fight duels over a handful of acceptable brides, or avail yourself of a whole new world of potential partners.' In a whisper she added, 'You can even shag them, if they're willing.'
His cheeks reddened, and he said, 'Have you convinced anyone else to look farther afield? Besides Potter, that is—obviously he didn't require any arm-twisting.'
'Well, no. But I don't exactly run in those circles.'
'What about Draco Malfoy? He and Potter are thick as thieves now.'
She couldn't help grimacing, and Zacharias laughed. 'I'm sure I'll get used to it eventually,' said Hermione. 'And yes, I think he's trying to bring Draco around as well.'
'I suppose Potter's taken it one step farther, dating that widow, although I'll admit she's pretty. You haven't seen her son, have you? Someone like that would be an easier sell if you knew how the kids would turn out.'
Hermione proceeded to give Zacharias an earful, which he waved off. 'Come off it, Granger, we're far better than Muggles about that sort of thing. I'm not saying I wouldn't marry someone like that—just that it would raise a few eyebrows.'
She saw little point in continuing to argue, particularly since she may have convinced him to date witches from other schools. Although I'm not sure if I've done the world a favour, unleashing him on a wider population.
'What are you doing with yourself?' asked Hermione, as he finished his drink. She realised she had no idea what people like Zacharias did after Hogwarts—she vaguely recalled seeing him at the Ministry, but for all she knew he was renewing his Apparition license or some other routine task.
'I work for the DRMC, in the Beast division. Currently I'm stuck on the Ghoul Task Force, which is about as interesting as it sounds. But there should be an opening next spring in the Centaur Liaison Office, and I'm told I'm a lock for it.'
'I had no idea you were interested in Centaurs,' said Hermione, still wary after provoking them in her fifth year.
'Oh, I'm not, but the Centaur office is one of the best posts you can get. Its existence is required by the ICW, to comply with the Statute of Secrecy, which means the funding is assured. But the Centaurs want nothing to do with us, so the workload is entirely manageable.'
'Manageable?' exclaimed Hermione. 'It sounds nonexistent! How would you even spend the day?'
'Don't worry, there's enough to do. Centaurs live in forests, after all, and magical forests have heaps of valuable flora and fauna. Play your cards right, and you'll be up to your ears in commercial opportunities. Oh, don't look at me like that—it's all legal. The Centaurs have no use for Galleons, and it's not as if they brew potions.'
'What about actual Centaur diplomacy?' she sputtered. 'Maybe if we didn't restrict their territory—and plunder it—they'd be more inclined to cooperate.'
Zacharias rolled his eyes. 'Granger, quit fooling yourself. Centaurs will never like wizards, full stop. Same with goblins, frankly, but at least we speak the same language,' he said, rubbing an invisible coin. 'I know you want to make a difference in the world, but you'll never get far if you deliberately ignore what's in front of you.'
Hermione took a deep breath in a futile attempt to control her anger. Here was Zacharias Smith—who'd fled the Battle of Hogwarts, and who'd grossly insulted both Vanessa and Helena—accusing her of being obtuse.
'Ignore what's in front of me?' she spat. 'If that were true, I'd probably be dead by now! And besides, big change never happens without out-of-the-box thinking.'
'Out-of-the-box thinking?' he said with contempt. 'Is that a Muggle expression?'
'Yes,' snapped Hermione, mortified. 'It means innovative.'
Zacharias laughed out loud. 'Innovative thinking from the witch who memorised her textbooks? Face it, Granger—you had a lucky break falling in with Potter. Without him you'd still just be an awkward know-it-all. And that's the best-case scenario.'
'Yes, you're right,' she said facetiously. 'If I'd had to depend on wizards like you to fight Voldemort, I'd probably be dead, or in exile. We're only lucky you didn't trample anyone trying to escape from Hogwarts that night.'
He surprised her by having the decency to look embarrassed. 'I'm my parents' only son. They ordered me to stay safe above all else. And besides, if I'd fought on the wrong side and You-Know-Who had won, he'd have come after them.'
Hermione felt a faint stir of compassion but was still mostly angry. 'So you just followed the party line,' she said a bit too loudly. 'Oh, sorry, neutrality. Can't take an actual risk, can you?'
Many of the guests were staring, and their look of shock told her she'd blundered. Zacharias clearly noticed as well, and his contrite expression vanished. 'Stick to your books, Granger,' he said, too quiet to be overheard. 'And for Merlin's sake, shut up for once. Thanks to Potter you've been admitted to the elite, but you can't just insult us and expect to be invited back.'
He stalked off, and Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot. Lydia was nowhere in sight, and people were still staring and whispering. She had a mad urge to Disapparate, but she knew the wards wouldn't allow it, which made her feel even more trapped.
Harry was at her side in an instant. 'Are you all right?' he asked softly.
All eyes were on them, and she didn't trust herself not to cry, so she only nodded. Harry led her from the room, and when they reached the corridor he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She threw her arms around him, and he enveloped her in a hug. 'It's fine,' he murmured. 'He's always been a wanker.'
'But I antagonised him,' she said through tears. 'Why can't I just keep my mouth shut? And how will I change society if I can't fit in?'
'Society will have to make room for you. And you're worth it—you're brilliant, you know.'
'I'm book-smart, not people-smart,' she said, pulling away. He handed her a handkerchief and she blew her nose. 'Zacharias was right. I act like I know everything, when I can't even see what's in front of me.'
'I'm sorry, but that's complete bollocks,' said Harry. 'I mean, yeah, sometimes you're too many steps ahead, but thank god for that! I didn't think to prepare for our time on the run the way you did. And you've plotted out every step of the goblin transition, which really impressed people tonight.'
'Really?' she said, finally meeting his eyes. 'I didn't just screw everything up?'
'By telling off Zacharias? Not bloody likely—no one likes the neutrals, and the Smiths in particular. Romulus Wynter at least leans Dark, and same with the Greengrasses, but the Smiths are just ... nothing.'
She felt a little better, but she was reluctant to rejoin the party. 'Would it be wrong just to go home?' she asked sheepishly.
'Er, you should probably thank the hosts,' said Harry. 'At least, that's what Daphne says.'
'Of course, you're right.' She blew her nose once more, then tucked the handkerchief into her pocket, assuming he wouldn't want it in its current state. They returned to the drawing room, and somehow Hermione got through another half-hour, finally escaping to Ryan's flat.
'Are you back already?' called Ryan from the kitchen.
Hermione marched straight to the worktop. 'Yes, and I wish I'd never gone,' she said, filling the kettle. 'Tea?'
'No, thanks,' said Ryan, rising to greet her. 'What happened?'
Settling into his hug, she told him about the fight with Zacharias Smith. 'And yes, I know he's a wanker, but he was right: I'm still just a bossy know-it-all, same as always.'
'Hermione, that's not true!'
'Yes, it is. You probably don't notice it, since you're used to your mum. Only she's creative, and I'm just ...' Hermione sighed. 'I'm just thorough.'
Ryan tried convincing her she was being too hard on herself, and for a while she believed him. But as she sat alone on his sofa, after he went to sleep, her doubts returned. 'Face it, Granger—you had a lucky break falling in with Potter,' Zacharias had said, and it was true.
Harry's the only reason I'm not just toiling in a Potions shop or shelving books somewhere. The Department of Mysteries had sent her to Hogwarts rather than Wipperham or North Squiffing, presumably because she'd been essential to Harry's fight against Voldemort. But that doesn't mean I'm good at anything else. Maybe he just needed a book-smart, hyper-observant swot.
She thought again about Lucinda, who was probably the most creative person she'd ever met. Not for the first time, she wondered how Lucinda would have done in her shoes, during the war. She'd have been much better at facing facts, thought Hermione. Lucinda would have marched into Dumbledore's office and demanded answers, as early as the disaster with the Philosopher's Stone. I was so in awe of him that I never questioned his thoroughly questionable decisions.
Hermione's mind slipped into a well-worn groove: I should have done better. She'd been lauded for her role during the war, and she mostly knew she deserved her Order of Merlin. But she'd spent so many months doubting herself, and dwelling on all the ways she'd failed. It was worst when she'd worn the locket, but even when Harry or Ron wore it her thoughts followed the same pattern: How do I solve this? What might I have missed? And her worst fear was that Dumbledore's faith in her was misguided, and she was worse than useless.
During those agonising months, no amount of inner argument could convince her she wasn't a failure. You brought tea but no vitamins? was a common refrain. And why hadn't she brought more Muggle currency? Admittedly, there wasn't much left after transferring her parents' savings into their new account, and she needed to leave enough for an unknown duration of taxes and insurance. But a few hundred quid more wouldn't have signified, and Merlin knows they could have used it.
She was still wearing dress robes from the party, and even though she wasn't crying, she pulled out the handkerchief Harry had given her. After casting a charm to clean it, she looked at the Slytherin crest. Harry's changed, she thought. Not in the ways Ron was uncomfortable with, like joining Pratt's or hanging out with Malfoy. No, Harry was slowly discovering who he actually was, free from the Horcrux, his Muggle relations, and the weight of the wizarding world.
Who am I? thought Hermione. Was she still just the girl who'd memorised her textbooks? Or Harry Potter's brainy, Muggle-born sidekick? The brightest witch of her age, but lacking the creative spark of a common hedge witch?
She recalled Lucinda's reaction when she pulled out her notepad and biro, to take notes on how to be more innovative. 'Far be it for me to criticise your methods, but I'm not sure this calls for a methodical approach,' she'd said, and together they birthed a mad idea regarding Squibs. Imagine being that creative all the time, thought Hermione longingly.
A familiar, cruel voice in her mind told her she couldn't, which felt both disappointing and safe. Then another voice—Luna Lovegood?—argued otherwise. But really, what does Luna know? the first voice scoffed. She lives in a fantasy world.
Ashamed of her own disloyalty, Hermione realised Luna, more than any of her friends, retained the spark of a hedge witch. And she was already in Luna's debt for their strange, life-altering conversation at a mysterious London café. Hermione longed to ask for her advice, but she'd left for South America the previous week.
And what would I even say? she thought despairingly. 'Luna, I'm clever but unoriginal. Can you tap me with your wand and unleash my inner Lucinda?' The cruel part of her mind just laughed, and she crushed the handkerchief in her fingers. But amid the storm of self-doubt came a faint, dreamy voice, almost too quiet to perceive. Yes, it said, and Hermione burst into tears.
