House: Gryffindor
Position: Astronomy (stand-in)
Category: Standard
Theme: [Travel]
Prompt: [Trope] Soulmate Marks
Word Count: 2651
A/N: AU.
I'll be making reference to a movie change from The Half-Blood Prince where Luna rather than Tonks fixes Harry's broken nose after being discovered on the train. I will also be diverting from canon relationships as outlined by JKR in the Epilogue.
Soulmate Marks are not something I've encountered a lot and I had fun with taking something mundane and using it instead of big magical catastrophes that turn everyone's world upside down. I hope it works.
Many thanks to CoppersMomma for hanging in there with me on beta!
A Bolt Out of the Blue
"Ow!" Harry hissed, his finger immediately flying into his mouth.
"Wotcha, Harry?" Ron mumbled around a mouthful of oatmeal, but not taking his eyes off a group of pretty, giggling Gryffindor girls sitting down the bench.
"Nothing," Harry huffed, none to please with his best friend's lack of interest. "That's the third one this week. I'm only trying to read the Daily Prophet."
Ron turned his head to wolf down another heaping helping of his breakfast before his eyes wandered back toward the girls. "Yeah, I was wondering about those plasters."
"Were you?" Harry said, annoyed. He pushed his plates away and grabbed up his belongings, stifling a grunt as he felt the sting of yet another papercut grace his already maligned thumb. "I guess I'll go and see Hermione about these, then. At least she's likely to offer me some help."
"I wouldn't," Ron laughed, looking up at his friend. "Have you seen her hands of late? Absolute bollocks."
"What?" Harry paused. "But Hermione's Charms work is so much better than you or I."
"Evidently not with Healing Charms," Ron put in, his attention already drifting back towards one Lavender Brown. "Why not help a mate out and ask one of those birds down the bench? I'd be right grateful."
"Ronald." Harry pressed his lips together, astonishment on his face. Ron, too, had whipped around to stare, wide-eyed, at him. "I'm starting to sound like Hermione. I'd better go out to the pitch and get some fresh air."
"Yeah, before I find you in the library. " Ron added to his already retreating back.
Hermione was in the library, despite the sunshine that poured in through the leaded glass windows. The only finger she had left that was unscathed was the pinky finger on her left hand, and she was holding it out, away from the parchment, like Eliza Doolittle at high tea. As she scoured the text in front of her at lightning speed, she found herself startled by the silent approach of one Luna Lovegood.
"Gracious," Hermione snapped, her finger pressed to her lips in pain. "I didn't hear you coming."
"I'm sorry, Hermione," Luna said in that guileless way she had. "Only I had thought I should stop by and offer you some help."
"Help?" Hermione asked, confusedly. "With my Transfiguration assignment? But you aren't even in Transfiguration."
"Oh, no. Not that." Luna sat down beside her and lifted one of her hands. "These," she stated emphatically.
"Oh, that," Hermione said, drawing her hand back. "It's nothing. I read a lot, and paper cuts are a part of the process."
"No, there not," Luna replied, her tone firm yet light. She picked up Hermione's other hand this time. "Not like this."
She took out her wand, and Hermione snatched her hand away. "Please, Luna," she said, as kindly as she could manage. "Don't you think I've tried?"
"Oh, certainly," she said, sweetly. "But I am especially good at healing charms. Just ask Harry. I fixed his nose, you know." A flutter of confusion swept across her face like a cloud scuttling across the sun. "Unless…" Luna trailed off seeming to see something Hermione could not.
"Unless what?" she asked.
"Oh, nothing," Luna chirped, and she gingerly grabbed up Hermione's right hand, removing all the plasters at once with an elegant swipe of her wand. She turned the hand over once, and then again, palm up, before brushing over her hand deftly. "There," she whispered. "That should do it."
But even as Hermione raised her hand to the light, she could see that new, pink skin was breaking again. Luna saw it, too.
"That's odd," she said.
"I've had no luck with them either," Hermione added. "I just assumed I borrowed something from the Restricted Section and it had a residual spell on it that would eventually wear off." She didn't bother to add that she hadn't remembered cutting that many fingers on a single book, or that some of the injuries had been sustained as recently as this morning. It suspended disbelief and, therefore, couldn't bear consideration.
"Or it's a Soulmate Mark," Luna said, flatly.
"A what?" Hermione yelped. A fierce 'quiet' was heard from Madam Pince, and Hermione ducked down, reducing her volume. "What did you say?"
"A Soulmate Mark," Luna repeated. "It's a fairly common thing once a person passes puberty, but as someone born to Muggle parents, I guess you wouldn't know much about that." She smiled, shyly. "My father has written about it a number of times. I could get you a copy of an article or two from The Quibbler, if you like."
'Love life advice from The Quibbler? That's the last thing I need,' Hermione thought. Still, Luna meant well. "Certainly, Luna. That would be very kind." Hermione replaced her plasters and returned to her work. Surely, there were more important things at hand.
Indeed there were; a whole other war, in fact. A tumult of fear and torture and loss that seemed to be a never-ending melancholy from which there was no time for soul mates, or even the hint of love. Only survival. Only the next hiding place; the next horcrux; the next battle.
Until it wasn't anymore. And in the interim without Ron Weasley, Hermione had conjured up an illusion of who he was in her mind, and in her heart. He was everything she'd hoped he'd be when he returned; contrite, serious, brave. How could she help but fall for him? And her joy was redoubled when she realised that Harry, too, was in love with a Weasley. It felt like fate. They had all lived; now they would love.
But the years of quiet following were revealing. Sure, it took time. Two brand-new Aurors with training demands and cases to juggle, there was hardly time to notice the small chinks. The inconsistencies and the little lies; the time apart made it less noticeable.
It was only after Ron left the Ministry to help George run the shop that Hermione had the space to start to explore her feelings. Intense and youthfully inexperienced as she was, had they led her astray? She was picking away at one of several plasters on her beleaguered fingers, a pile of books teetering on her desk, when Kingsley Shacklebolt walked into her office.
"Miss Granger?" he asked, uncertain as to if she were even there. Her desk was such a clutter of papers and scrolls, she could hardly be seen.
"Minister," she replied, quickly moving a set of books over to another corner of her desk. "What brings you here?" she asked, drawing him up a chair.
"Nothing sinister," he smiled, "just juggling some personnel. How do you feel about a partner?" he asked, a wry smile coming across his face. He sat down. "We here at the Ministry are duly aware of your talent for research and your outstanding ability to write reports. However, and please take this constructively, your field experience is, shall we say, lacking."
Hermione blushed. It was true. As much time as she'd spent out in the forest, running from Death Eaters, she wanted nothing so much as a cozy office, a hot pot of tea and a stack of books from now until the end of time. Yet, she was dedicated to learning her trade and being a value to the Ministry, so she knew, in her heart, that it was well past time that she ventured out on assignment. "Yes, of course," she replied.
"Good thing," Harry said, popping through the door, a box in his arms. "I was all out of options."
"Harry!" Hermione squealed, jumping up to greet him with a monstrous hug.
"I"ll leave you to it," Kinsley said aloud, but it might as well have been to himself for all they heard.
The excitement of travel was wearing thin for Harry. He'd spent his workdays flying with Ron from one bolthole of Death Eaters to another, and his weekends chasing after Ginny and the Holyhead Harpies on what seemed like a never-ending season of matches, scrimmages, and public appearances. Harry didn't so much live out of a suitcase as he did not live anywhere at all. Ron leaving the Ministry was a shock to the system he didn't know he needed.
"It makes the most sense of all my options," Ron said, matter-of-factly. "I've talked it over with Mum and Dad, and 'Mione, of course. They all agree that I should follow my heart." His eyes waivered, and he blinked hard and quick. "All I ever see is out there is Fred," he breathed. "Just laying on the stone, cold—gone." He swallowed hard. "I thought this job would help me feel at peace. Like I was doing some good; doing something for Fred. But all I feel is sad."
"Ron," Harry started, but he didn't know what to say.
Ron shook his head. "The people who killed him are out there, still alive, still living a life they denied my brother! And all I can do is—what?"
"What we're doing now. Right here. You and me," Harry protested weakly. "Finding them and bringing them to trial. Sending them to Azkaban."
"So why don't I feel better?" Ron asked with a lopsided grin on his face. Harry realized it was the first time he'd seen Ron smile in months.
Harry didn't have an answer for his friend.
"Working with George like I do sometimes on the weekends, feels good, ya know? Feels like I can sense Fred there with me. Like he's happy I'm there." He looked down into this mostly empty container and scuffed his feet. "I don't know. That probably all sounds like a load of bollocks, but I want to give it a try."
"And you should," Harry reaffirmed, placing a hand on Ron's shoulder.
Ron's smile returned as he closed the lid on his box. "And I know I can always come back."
Harry smiled and shook Ron's hand. He already knew he wasn't coming back.
Kingsley's proposed partnership with Hermione was a stroke of genius. Harry knew he had sidelined his study habits in favour of adventure and excitement (and, truth be told, a bit of vengeance). Ron's departure had afforded him a new opportunity to examine his contributions to the Ministry and what role he wanted to play. 'I can't be "The Chosen One" forever, can I?'
It was a rhetorical question. Even if someone else could have, Harry Potter could not rest on his laurels his entire life. He wanted more than that from life.
So, together with Hermione, he ventured out into new territory.
An assignment at Durmstrang that required them to observe certain "subjects of interest" while also cataloguing the newly minted Ministry protocols regarding Muggle-born admissions was the perfect solution for them both. Hermione could get some much needed experience in field work with the much more seasoned Harry at her side. Meanwhile, she assisted Harry in reacquainting himself with the best practices for creating a directory and notation of Durmstrangs adaptation to the new requirements.
It was during one of these long evenings of quiet writing prior to dinner that Harry first noticed it. "Well," he exclaimed, out of the blue. "Isn't that odd?"
"What," Hermione snapped her eyes forward, searching his parchment. He held out his fingers before her face instead.
"No papercuts," he smiled. "Not a single one."
"Really, Harry," Hermione harrumphed, turning back to her long column of entries.
"Well, this is news to me," he said. "I can't remember a day I haven't had a papercut in…well, years."
Hermione had stopped writing, and gingerly put down her quill as if it were poisoned. She rose from the table they shared.
"Hermione?"
"I'll be right back," she called over her shoulder. "Just need to wash my hands."
Thinking that was a good idea, Harry closed his inkwell and rolled up his parchment, but before he could leave, Hermione was back. Her hands were warm and pink; she held them out for this inspection.
"No cuts," she said, her voice low. "I can't remember the last time I haven't one either."
"You?" Harry gawked.
"Precisely." Her face broke in a wide grin. "How about a little side trip to New York?" she said, slyly. "Things are well enough here. They won't miss us for a few hours, and there's someone there I think we should see."
"For the Ministry?" he asked, confused.
"No. Not exactly."
Luna's Greenwich Village apartment could not have seemed more her style. "The older neighborhoods have more Floos, too," she prattled on making tea in a closet-sized kitchenette while Harry and Hermione took turns cleaning up in her even smaller bathroom. "Sorry about the noise, but lunchtime is probably the worst time to try and pick up visitors from Charlie's on 10th, even for me." She laughed. "I've never had my guests covered in Minestrone before though."
Hermione looked at her wet face in the mirror and couldn't help but smile. Only Luna would have a Floo in the back of a busy Italian restaurant.
"I think we've managed most of it," she heard Harry answer chipperly. 'Of course, he doesn't have carrot chunks in his hair.' Hermione daubed her face dry and joined them.
She sat, and Harry handed her a mug of tea already prepared. She cocked an eyebrow at him, but took it, and drank it down. "Perfect," she said, surprised.
"I've been paying attention," he smiled, shyly.
Luna sat across from them like a sphinx. She had curled her legs up beneath her on the small, velvet sofa and just watched.
"Sorry," Hermione added, "here we are talking to each other, and we came to visit you."
"No, no," Luna smiled. "This is fine. This is great, actually. Rolf won't be back for hours and I didn't have anything else going on today. Let me get my notebook." She jumped up and went through the closed door just behind the sitting area. She was back in a moment with a quill and journal. "You don't mind if I add your case to my study, do you? No names. Everything is anonymous."
She started scribbling furiously, then looked up. "Okay, then. When did you first notice the marks?"
"Well, we didn't," Hermione stumbled. "I mean, we aren't sure—it's just that—"
Luna looked up at them and then started to laugh. "Oh, I see," she giggled. "You. And you. And no?" She was breathless with laughter.
Harry fidgeted. "What's so funny? Hermione?"
"It's a long story," she sighed.
"Not that long," Luna replied, trying to compose herself. "At school, Hermione and I talked about Soulmate Marks; how awfully commonplace they are. To the point they could be overlooked."
"I don't know that we talked about all that," Hermione said, defensively. "We were also, maybe, sixteen at the time. I certainly wasn't interested in a 'soulmate' back then."
"Are you now?" Luna asked, piercingly. She had a way of getting to the heart of things.
Hermione sat in stunned silence. She had tried so hard not to think about it; not to try to force things into being, but everything was so easy with him.
Harry took up her hand, and squeezed. She closed her eyes with relief.
"It's how I found Rolf, you know," Luna prattled on, taking up her mug. "Bruised shins, of all things. I mean, certainly, broken noses are a pain if you are getting them all the time, but it makes identifying each other easier."
"Don't you think we should be getting back," Harry said softly, his fingers pressing into hers.
"Yes," Hermione said. "Definitely."
"Thank you, Luna," Harry said, standing, his hand still firmly gripping hers.
"Well, I haven't really done anything," she replied with a smile.
"Oh, I think you have," Hermione said, her face beaming. "I'm absolutely certain of it."