Chapter 7

Sitting in the Great Hall was quite different from before, with the girls sitting on the Gryffindor table, looking up at their mother. Hermione sighed- her little babies were growing up. She wished she had a camera to take photos on the twins' first day of classes. She didn't however- magical cameras made her a little edgy for some reason; it just didn't seem natural to have people walking around in pictures.

So she watched her children chatting to the others at their table. There were two red-headed children: one who looked like a child of one of the twins- it must have been the mischievous glint in his eye: or maybe the canary cream that somehow turned a little mousy-haired boy into a fluffy canary for a few moments. There was much laughter all round. There was also a little red-haired girl, and Hermione supposed that she could be Ron's daughter.

She sighed. It had been years since she had talked to either Ron or Harry, despite teaching Harry's kids, and soon teaching Ron's. She wondered if they even knew she was teaching here?

They had been the first to find her…

~*~

Auror training had been hard, and after Harry defeated Voldemort in their Seventh Year, there was little motivation for new recruits. The trio had joined anyway- Hermione had since wondered if, had she taken another line of work, she would have ended up at the house anyway.

Three years of Auror training had produced three rather green but- in their minds at least- quite adequate Aurors. They had risen quickly through the ranks, although Hermione might have liked to rise faster. She had almost had to bodily force the boys through some of the tasks and tests.

The only one to openly despise them was Draco Malfoy, who had joined the ranks in a surprise move. Hermione, at least, had been left standing open-mouthed at their entrance exam to see the still rather short and scrawny pinch-faced blond turn up, swishing through the door. In the year following their graduation, Malfoy had gone from being quietly antagonistic to almost an all-out side-taking war. Hermione didn't understand it at all, until one day when she had been in the library, reading up on resurrection rites.

Malfoy had been sitting quietly in a corner, reading the book she had been hoping to study. Before he saw her, she had slid back around the corner, watching him surreptitiously through the books. If he'd been looking, he would have seen her. Maybe he had.

There was a strange light in his eyes as he turned the pages of the book, a burning, an obsessive shine that set of warning bells in her mind. Malfoy scratched at his left forearm absently as he read, and finally pulled back the sleeve of his robes to scratch at the irritant. It took all the training she had to stop from gasping openly. There, embedded in his arm was a full tattoo of the Dark Mark, blazing black in all its glory. Hermione didn't stop to consider before she rounded the corner.

She had quietly confronted him, asking him why he, as an Auror, had the Dark Mark engraved in his arm. He had jerked his sleeve down, stood, placed the book down, open to the page he had been looking at. A quick glance noted it was similar to the spell Voldemort had used to resurrect himself when she had been in third year. His eyes narrowed at her, asking her why she was spying on him. She had replied that if he was a Death Eater, he deserved to be spied upon.

At this, he had looked guiltily at his arm, glanced at the book, flicked it closed, and stood facing her again. He had asked her what her problem was. She had pointed out that he was the one being openly hostile to her and Harry and Ron. He had glared at her, before replacing the book on the shelf, and swishing past her. There was a worried shadow in his eyes, and Hermione wondered at its cause.

If she spoke out, he would be removed from the ranks of Aurors. If she didn't, or if he wasn't really a Death Eater, then they were totally different reasons. Hermione was still roiling in inner turmoil when news reached her that Draco Malfoy had fled the premises.

After that, her vendetta had been against the remaining Death Eater cult. It was classified thus, as their leader was now merely a dark-cloaked man rather than the Dark Lord himself. Then they had been a threat- now they were just a worry. Hermione dedicated large amounts of study to the topic, and finally had enough intelligence to request a raid on the Malfoy Manor.

She had been refused, out of hand. A glare had been directed at her from her ranking officer, but the fire was burning deep enough in her for her to defy orders. She had left on her own.

Now, she wondered how she had been so rash. There were a million regrets in her mind over her actions, but she shook these aside as she relived the terrifying memories.

The party had been in full swing when she had arrived. She had dressed for the occasion, and painted the Dark Mark on her inner arm. A quick transfiguration of her face and body had ensured that she wouldn't be recognised as who she was, even if she was recognised as a fake Death Eater.

She had known her mistake almost as soon as she entered. Everyone had a date, a partner, and she was alone. She immediately attracted the attention of their leader, a man whose head was covered with dress that was strikingly similar to a Ku Klux Klan uniform, except that it was midnight black. He had stood, and strode over to her, his stride purposeful.

"My dear," he had said, and she could still hear the cold voice, recognising it at once. "You must accompany me to the back. It is unsightly that you are so- unaccompanied. You must be new; don't worry, we'll teach you." She had felt the leer, and the firm grip on her arm, knowing she was lost, and knowing that she should have been prepared for this.

There had been many men, some she recognised, some she didn't. She had nearly lost control near the end, and only the knowledge that she would be killed if she weren't weak at that moment kept her docile. She wondered if all the women went through this process. Finally, the leering leader had pulled off his mask, and kissed her roughly, possessively, on the mouth.

"We'll see to the rest of your education when you're a little rested." He had turned on his heel and strode out, his long blond hair streaming out behind him. Hermione had removed her wand from its position strapped to her back, a fire of despair and humiliation burning deep in her that wouldn't be quenched. She hadn't had time to do much but close her robes and storm out.

She caused much destruction, and murdered close to a hundred people that night, men and women alike.

Harry and Ron had been the first to find her, huddled in close to herself, eyes glazed with fury, rocking gently and crooning to herself. There were dead bodies strewn all around, and the entire Malfoy Manor had been reduced almost all to rubble. They had scanned the position and informed others that it was safe. Then they came to comfort Hermione.

She was hardly there. They both sat there, near her, and she finally, haltingly, tore out the tale. She was sobbing by the end, and hardly had the presence of mind to ask, "Who told you where I was?"

The boys had glanced over her head, and Ron had nearly said that it didn't matter, only that she was safe, before he stopped himself. He knew, in a moment of insight, that that particular tack wouldn't go down well. "It was Snape. He was here tonight, collecting names and intelligence. He was quite distressed when he turned up at Headquarters." Hermione had been startled; realising that what she had done was unnecessary, and broken down completely.

She had lost the next few months. They were there, but were merely a haze of rage, pain and fear. She expected reprimand at every turn, but when she returned, all she received was comfort. Word spread quickly in the Wizarding world. She had received commendation for her efforts, and it was recorded in history books- and even the Daily Prophet- that she had single-handedly brought the demise of the Death Eater cult.

Then the news had come. She was pregnant. She had cursed for days for not taking the time to cast that particular charm over herself. But she couldn't bring herself to take herself to a clinic, Wizarding or Muggle; so she bloated.

Harry and Ron had tried to keep contact with her, but she had severed them from her life. It had just been too painful for her to see them with their happy little lives. She withdrew into herself completely, and almost forgot to call for a Midwife when her contractions started.

She had never re-established contact. Neither had they. Harry had been married in his first year out of school to a lovely girl called Meredith. She had heard through the grapevine that Ron had married as well, and had a child only a few months after she had had hers.

Now she looked at her daughters, and wondered who their fathers were. She could ask for a Paternity Charm, but they were frighteningly expensive, and sounded to her similar to background checking her children: it produced a detailed family tree, right back to Muggle parentage. Hermione's side would have been short, but she guessed- from the company she had been keeping- that the fathers' side would be quite long.

~*~

Watching her daughters, she made a decision. She would save the money for the girls, and if- when they were eighteen- they desired to find out who their fathers were, they could have the money to do so. Having made up her mind on that particular issue, she began to eat her breakfast in earnest.

~*~

The girls were surprised at just how quickly they made friends. Their knowledge of the corridors also earned them a lot of money- Filch had a hard time finding canoodling couples from that time on. They smiled, and laughed, and made good marks. Their extra practice in the Potions Lab showed, but both had an appetite for knowledge that did them- and their mother- proud.

It was odd to be taught by their mother, but the situation worked out well, and they often ended up with detentions in that subject- so they could talk to their mother. They didn't need the excuse, but it was a fun game.

They never did learn exactly what had happened on the night their mother brought down the ranks of the Death Eaters, although there were rather accurate guesses from both girls. Both still needed time to grow from their sheltered home into the world that sought to claim them.

~*~

It is years later that we pick up their story, and though their adventures between were quite frequent, nothing was quite as noteworthy as the escapade that began on their eighteenth birthday.

~*~

And there we go- finally, a few of your myriad of questions have been answered! Don't worry… the next chapter will be out soon…

*kitten