AN: Hello all! I would like to take a second to apologize for the incredibly long break. There was an unfortunate occurrence of events! First, I cut my hand and it hindered my ability to type quite a bit. To add on to that problem, my entire story was deleted from my computer, and I was unable to recover it.
That being said, I have rewritten this chapter to the best of ability now that my hand is better. I'm not entirely sure I'm happy with this chapter compared to the original, but it will have to suffice.
Hopefully we can get back to amore frequent chapters!
I hope you all enjoy, thank you for reading.
"So…your father wasn't a Death Eater?" asked Blaise.
He nodded.
"My father always said he never believed it," Daphne said. "He said Black hated Death Eaters more than anyone he knew, and didn't have the talent in Occlumency to fool anyone otherwise."
Perseus nodded, hoping they were done. He'd been answering their questions for the better part of an hour. His throat was growing tired, and so was he. And he wanted to check his trunk and make sure the rat remained. He trusted in Dumbledore's box, and his own ward, but not even magic was a substitute for his own two eyes.
"Will you visit me this summer?" Daphne asked, looking up at him with big blue eyes the color of ice. His summer was shaping up to be very busy, but Daphne had been asking him to visit her for two years now. After what happened to her, he owed her at least that.
"Is sometime in August fine?"
By the way her eyes widened he could tell she expected him to say no. She nodded quickly, the corners of her lips twitching. "I'll tell my father."
She left immediately, all but running out of the room.
Blaise moved closer, his patented smirk in place. "We're both in Italy, I'm sure we can work something out."
"Actually, Blaise, there's something I need your help with, or perhaps your mother's."
His eyes widened. "A favor?"
Perseus hesitated, but nodded. He didn't wish to owe the woman a favor — or Blaise for that matter — but it was worth it for what she could possibly provide him. He'd repay her in whatever manner she wanted, as long as it wasn't an open ended favor — terms would have to be set in stone. The woman had a reputation, after all.
"Alright," Blaise said, eying him curiously. "What is it?"
"I need an appointment with the Italian Director of Magical Law Enforcement." He really wanted to see the Minister, but the Director was already pushing it. He could probably secure an audience with the man on his own, but how long it would take and the effort necessary to see it through weren't worth it. In his grandfather's time, the Head of House Black could've had an audience with nearly any political figure in Europe. In fact, it was often the other way around.
Blaise opened his mouth, then closed it. His usual slick manner was absent, clearly pushed aside by the seriousness of the matter. He was fidgeting. He wasn't sure if Blaise had ever acted on behalf of his mother before, or if this would be a first, but it mattered not to him. Blaise was the most convenient avenue to get what he wanted. "I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you," Perseus said, extending his hand. Blaise's eyes widened even further, likely surprised at the gesture. Without his mother's wealth, he was essentially a nobody in Britain — he had no noble family and no political power, but he was Perseus' friend, and that was enough for him to shake his hand. Blaise's grip was firm, and his hands slightly clammy. Once he released it, Blaise nodded once, before he too hurried from the room, leaving Perseus by himself. Taking out his wand, he swept it away from him, and the chairs and table slid back to the edges of the room, wood scraping against stone.
Satisfied that he'd returned the room to the state he had found it, he too headed for exit. As he neared the door, he looked at the chair he had just pushed across the room; the back right leg of the chair was off the ground, as if it were stuck on something he couldn't see. Frowning, he drew his wand again, eyes flickering about the room. He felt nothing, but he had come to learn that wasn't the same as there being nothing.
Taking his wand, he poked the chair hard enough to move it, staring at the elevated leg. As the chair moved, so did what it was sitting on — a disillusioned foot.
He scrambled backwards, his wand pointed at the invisible person. Their charm was good; none of the usual telltale ripples, and the magic emanating from the use of the spell so low he hadn't even noticed it.
The door was to the left of whoever was there, and he certainly wouldn't be able to get out of it faster than they could cast. He would have no choice but to confront them.
"I apologize for the intrusion, Mr. Black," Dumbledore said, fading into view. Perseus frowned at the man, tucking away his wand. The Headmaster's sudden interest in him was unwelcome, but he supposed it was to be expected. His father had been a member of his Order, it made sense the man would try to grow closer with him. He wasn't necessarily opposed to the idea — he was sure the man was a wealth of magical knowledge — but he didn't quite like the Headmaster. He wore one too many hats — had his hand in one too many pots.
"Headmaster." Perseus nodded at the man. Hopefully whatever the man wanted was quick. He was growing more exhausted by the moment.
"I merely wanted you to pass on this message to your father," Dumbledore said. There was a flash of magic — a single pinprick that he may not have even noticed if the Headmaster weren't right in front of him — and an envelope appeared in his hand.
"And this couldn't have waited, sir?"
Dumbledore blinked, then smiled in bemusement. "Yes, I suppose it could have."
That was another reason he didn't quite like the Headmaster. The man could scheme as well as any other. His great-grandfather and grandfather alike respected the man's ability, both with a wand and with his mind. His great-grandfather Arcturus had said of Dumbledore, It is his mind that makes him a formidable foe, far more than his magic.
"I hope you have put Phineas Nigellus' box to good use?"
Perseus nodded. "Yes, I've been experimenting with it. Thank you again."
Dumbledore's look never changed — his lips still curled playfully and his eyes still twinkled — but Perseus felt something about him change.
"How long have you been able to cast silently?"
Perseus' fingers drummed against his leg. That was something he had been hoping to keep secret. He had cast silently without a second thought, believing himself to be alone. He supposed Dumbledore wasn't the worst person to know. He was hoping to hide it from the older slytherins, in case he needed a surprise to save himself from one of them. Against the likes of Dumbledore, he doubted any surprises he had would be of much use. "Since the end of the summer."
Dumbledore's eyes sparkled even greater. "How astonishing. I couldn't manage a single spell until my fourth year, though I could transfigure silently from the middle of my third year on." He drew his wand from inside his robes, and with the barest twitch, the chair that had hit his foot turned into a silver fox. Even knowing the prowess of the Headmaster, seeing such a casual display of such difficult magic was jarring. Inanimate to animate transfiguration — turning a chair into a Fox, with a beating heart and a functioning brain — with hardly an effort was incredible. Just how powerful was the Headmaster?
"I'll take my leave now, young Mister Black," Dumbledore said, stowing his wand. "I hope your meeting with Signore Accardi goes to plan."
Dumbledore exited casually, his robe of iridescent colors flickering brightly as it swished and swayed. Perseus looked down, a high pitched yip catching his attention. Dumbledore's transfigured fox was staring at him, its clear blue eyes bright and happy, it's tongue lolling out of its mouth.
" Finite," he muttered. The fox — that he had hoped to back into a chair — continued to stare at him. " Finite Incantatem." Still, the fox remained.
Returning his wand to his holster, he left, pondering the strange interaction he just had. Dumbledore had clearly taken some sort of interest in him, and he wasn't entirely sure how to feel about it. That he couldn't overpower the man's transfiguration wasn't surprising, but Perseus found himself disappointed nonetheless.
He was half way back to the common room before he noticed his four legged silver shadow. Stopping, he turned around. The fox stared up at him, the same goofy, cheerful look on its face. He frowned at it. Was this some sort of spell by Dumbledore? The fox barked, then nippled at the toe of his shoe.
"Stop it," he muttered, pulling his foot away from the fox. With his foot out of the way, the fox sank its teeth into the hem of his robe. He shook his robe, trying to dislodge the thing before it tore his silken robes to ribbons. When he couldn't get it off, he bent down and picked it up, holding it at arm's length.
"What am I to do with you?" He could leave the fox somewhere, where it would eventually turn back into a chair. But there was no way to know just how long the Headmaster's spell would last, and it made him uncomfortable to leave the fox alone somewhere, where it would possibly starve to death and suffer before reverting back to its original form. Sighing, he tucked the fox into his side, under his arm. For reasons that evaded Perseus, the Headmaster had left his transfiguration behind. And even stranger, it had chosen to latch on to him.
His walk back to the common room was quick, and the fox was surprisingly calm, seemingly enjoying the free ride. Its small head looked back and forth, silvery blue eyes flying from torch to torch, painting to painting. That Dumbledore had instilled such personality into what once was a chair was truly astounding.
Reaching the common room entrance, he drew his wand, tapping the fox on the head. The fox faded from view, yipping quietly, no doubt the feeling of the spell washing over it was unusual. He would keep the fox hidden for the time being. It would do him no good for his house to find out he was on speaking terms with the Headmaster, and he was sure there were many who would savage the fox, just for its connection to the man.
Entering, he headed right for the stairs, ignoring the glances that followed him constantly as he descended the depths to his dorm room. He opened the door, and stepped inside.
"Well, well, well," drawled Draco from his bed, all the way to the right of the room, next to the lone window that looked out into the lake. "I hear your daddy just barely managed to escape getting a delightful kiss."
Perseus ignored the boy, going to his trunk. Draco Malfoy was a nuisance, but he remembered Daphne's words. Lucius Malfoy was not exactly a man to be trifled with, no matter how much Perseus might detest him.
"Aw, what's the matter Black? Dementor got your tongue?"
Perseus shook his head, and put the fox into the deepest compartment of his trunk — one that had to be accessed by ladder. Draco was not nearly as clever as he thought he was.
"You should be happy someone wants to kiss the man, after all your mother—"
Perseus whirled around and Draco stopped speaking, his mouth still hanging open, his cheeks reddening rapidly. Perseus couldn't believe the idiot was his cousin, it nearly sickened him to see what the last of relatives truly were. He didn't bother saying anything. From the way Draco retreated back to his bunk, shooting glances over his shoulder, everything was understood.
Perseus repressed a sigh. How long would it be before Draco tried again? He was persistent, in the most annoying way. If Perseus had it his way, he'd rip his tongue from his mouth so he could never pester anyone again.
He packed his trunk silently, aware of the gazes of his dormmates on his back. Thank Merlin this was their last year in a dorm. He'd been looking forward to having his own room since he had learned they got them from their fourth year up — a Slytherin secret that as far as anyone knew had never been shared.
Finished packing his trunk, Perseus climbed into bed, pulling the curtains closed behind him. As quietly as he could, he cast several spells to keep himself safe. No one had ever tried anything — as far as he knew — but he slept in the pit of serpents. It would only be so long before one tries to bite.
Stashing his wand under his pillow, he tried to get comfortable. He had a very busy summer ahead of him, he would need all the rest he could get.
July
"So, you just go in this telephone booth, and it transports you to your Ministry of Magic?"
"Yes," Hermione said to her father. "Come on," she said, stepping inside. "It's larger than it looks."
Her mother and father stepped in, pulling their suitcases in behind them. She ran her eyes over them. They were both dressed casually, in jeans and T-shirts, and so was she. She hoped they steered clear of any one who might take offense, she would very much like for their trip to get started on a positive note. She'd been looking forward to this trip more than any other she'd ever taken.
She had been to the Burrow, the impossibly balanced building that was a feat of magic all on its own; but she had never been to any other sort of wizarding home — let alone one that belonged to The Founding House of Black.
Picking up the phone, she dialed the number Perseus had told her. It didn't ring a single time before a woman's voice came over the receiver, smooth and cool, " Ministry for Magic, state the purpose of your visit."
"Hermione Granger and family for portkey." She neglected to say where, at Perseus' discretion. Apparently the name and purpose of every visitor to the ministry was logged, and he wasn't sure just how well. There was a ding, and the phonef booth began descending. There was a blurring effect, as though she were looking through distorted glass, and the booth came to a stop.
Looking back to make sure her parents were fine, she opened the door and stepped out, dragging her suitcase along. She couldn't believe the sheer opulence that was on display before her. Marble floors and walls, golden accents. She was spinning about, trying to see as much as she could. And this was only the entrance.
"Miss Granger?" A cool, deep voice said behind her.
"Yes, that's me," she said, spinning around. There was a thin man, dressed in plain robes. He had plain features: dull brown eyes, dull brown hair. He was incredibly unremarkable.
"I'm here to escort you to where your portkey will be leaving from," he said. "If you would follow me please."
Glancing back at her parents once more, they both shrugged, looking uncomfortable. It must've been weird for them, standing there in the middle of the magical government.
They hurried to catch up with the man, who had gained a few steps on them already in the time it took for her to turn around. He led them away from the main atrium. They passed witches and wizards of all kinds, many of them glanced at them curiously. She blushed under all the attention, hiding her face behind her bushy hair.
Their escort turned down a narrow hallway. It was empty, besides being lined with doors on either side. He opened the fourth door on the right, motioning them inside.
The room was completely bare, with white tile floors, walls, and small windows.
"Everyone take hold of this chain," the man said. She turned to face him. He held out a length of golden chain — their portkey, she realized. He handed it to her. "When you're ready to leave, say The Winter's Tale." He immediately began heading for the door, looking rather hurried. Hermione hardly noticed, her mind caught on the activation phrase.
"Wait!" her mother said as he opened the door. "What if something goes wrong?"
"It won't." The door closed quietly behind him.
Their eyes met, her mother swallowing nervously. "Are you sure this is safe for us?"
Hermione paused, before nodding firmly. "Perseus wouldn't have offered it to us if it wasn't safe."
Her mother nodded unsurely, but the knowledge that it was Perseus who had provided the portkey was all she needed to ease her mind. At her prompting, the three of them took hold of the chain. When they each gave her a nod, she took a deep breath, and whispered the phrase. " The Winter's Tale."
She felt as though she was yanked off her feet, a hook wrapping tightly around her belly button. It felt as though she were tumbling through space, yet not moving at all. A kaleidoscope of colors flashed before her eyes — colors she couldn't even begin to describe. She couldn't move, couldn't even take a breath.
As quickly as it began, it ended, her feet slamming into hard ground. She doubled over, sucking in lungfuls of air. The experience had been nauseating, to say the least.
The sound of rushing water drew her attention, soothing the remainder of the small panic attack she'd been having. Managing to escape her notice thus far was a grand water fountain. Water spewed from dragon shaped fixtures. The dragons had glossy stones for eyes that resembled marbles. Over the sound of the water she could hear birds chirping, and she welcomed the warm breaths of fresh air.
"My god," her father said. "Where are we?"
Hermione turned around, and found herself facing a building of massive proportions. The front was all towering pillars and graceful arches that flowed together in an entrancing blend of lighter and darker stones. There were windows everywhere, and the middle was dominated by two humongous black doors. "He really wasn't lying," she said, dumbfounded.
"This… this is Perseus' house?"
As if summoned by the mention of his name, one of the massive doors began opening, and her best friend stepped out. The walk from the doors to them was a considerable distance, and it took him several minutes to reach them.
Her eyes roved his figure as he glided down the stairs. He was dressed nicely, wearing regular clothes. His white button up looked crisp even from where she stood, and went nicely with his cream colored pants. She never understood why he wore muggle clothes — she'd never even remembered to ask. As much as Perseus valued tradition, it was clear he was not opposed to changing things up. Finally, once he stood right in front of her, the biggest change caught her eye.
"You cut your hair," she said in disbelief. His long curling locks were no more, replaced by a much more modern hairstyle. It was cut short on the sides, with the top remaining full. He had the dark hair combed back out of his face. She couldn't help but stare. She hadn't seen his face without the obstruction of his hair since the end of their second year, and the changes were drastic. If he'd been handsome and regal before, she — Hermione Granger — couldn't think of a word to describe him now.
His lips twitched downwards at the corners, and she knew he was fighting a frown. "Yes, I took your advice. Do you not like it?"
"No!" She yelped. "I mean yes! It's very nice." He nodded, his unsettling violet gaze warming her cheeks.
"Dr. and Dr. Granger," he said with a nod. "Welcome to my home."
"You…live here?" her mother asked, eyes still wandering around the property.
Perseus nodded, his lips twitching once more — in amusement this time, she knew. "Yes. Welcome to Black Palace." He snapped his fingers, and Hermione nearly jumped as the handle of her suitcase disappeared from her hand. Looking over at her parents, she saw their suitcases had disappeared as well.
"Don't worry, they've been taken inside. I didn't want you to have to carry them up the stairs."
He turned around and began making his way back up the stairs, and Hermione was hot on his heels.
"You never told me — did you pass your Mediwizard Trials?"
He glanced her out of the corner of his eye. "Of course. Did you think I wouldn't?"
"Of course I knew you would pass!" And it was true. Since he had told her about his upcoming test, she had been worried about him, hoping he was studying, but she'd always known that he would pass.
"Now what's this?" Her mother said. "A Mediwizard — is that something to do with medicine?"
"Yes," Hermione said, thinking of all the things she'd read about it once she'd learned that Perseus was going to become one. "It's a bit like a Physician's Assistant, I suppose."
"Whoa," her father said. "And you've become one at what, fourteen? And that's allowed?"
Hermione couldn't see Perseus' face, but she didn't need to to know he wouldn't appreciate the tone of condescension in her father's voice. She didn't understand why her father disliked Perseus so much. He had been nothing but kind to her, despite anything his family may have done.
"If you can perform the magic, you can do the job," Perseus said, just barely loud enough for them to hear him. "I'm sure there will be some people who are interested in Hermione despite her age very soon. In the magical world, ability is nearly everything."
Nearly. Blood status being the one other thing they felt truly mattered. According to Perseus, given the choice between a great muggleborn and a mediocre Pureblood, most people would choose the Pureblood. He'd also told her any job worth having didn't put too much stock into those kinds of things. Nothing else was said up the last few steps. The sheer size of the building became more and more noticeable the closer she got.
The door opened on its own as they approached, and from what Hermione could see from where she stood, it was every bit as impressive inside as it was out. He really lived in an honest to God palace.
Stepping over the threshold, she couldn't keep her eyes in one place. Two curved, arching staircases dominated the entryway, all blood red carpet and golden railings. There was art and vases and Hermione felt as though she'd stepped into a museum.
"You have a lovely home, Perseus." Hermione glanced at her mother, a swell of affection filling her up. She didn't know if Perseus felt uncomfortable about displaying this level of wealth — she highly doubted it — but her mother still tried to ease his mind.
"Thank you. Lanksy."
Hermione flinched as something appeared with a pop. Beside her, her mother let out a startled yelp.
"How can I help you, Your Grace?" the small creature said. He was clearly old, with tufts of white hair sticking out of his large wrinkled head and long pointed ears.
"Could you prepare lunch please Lanksy — the small dining room will do."
The thing smiled, bowing his head. "Certainly, Your Grace." He disappeared with another pop.
"What the hell was that?"
Hermione whipped around to look at her father. Very rarely did she hear her father curse.
"That's Lanksy, the personal elf of the Head of House Black."
Hermione frowned, looking at Perseus now. "The personal elf? What does he do?"
Perseus shrugged. "Whatever is asked of him."
"And what if he doesn't want to?"
He shrugged again. "It's never come up."
"What do you mean it's never come up?" she demanded. "Do you mean to tell me he's never been asked to do something he doesn't want to do?"
"If he has, he's never expressed it. Not to me, anyway."
"Where did he come from? Do you pay him?"
Perseus frowned now, looking as though he had never even considered the idea. "No, house elves are not paid — at least not any that I know of."
"Oh my god," Hermione said. Perseus had a slave? "He's a slave! You own a slave!"
Perseus frown vanished, his face going blank. She tried to respect Perseus' traditions, but slave labor was something intolerable.
"Hermione dear—"
"No, mum!" she exclaimed. "That poor old thing — who knows how old he is, still doing work?"
Perseus' voice was a quiet rasp that cut straight through her. "Lanksy is no slave. He is family."
"Then why do you not pay him?" her father said, the accusation ringing clearly in his voice.
Perseus' eyes, cold and hard like shards of amethyst, flicked back and forth between her and her father. She could see it, the cold rigidness that filled him when he was angry, but she didn't care. Her own anger was hot and burning, the flames of it licking at her insides.
"Lanksy," he called, and once more the elf appeared with a pop. The elf's big grey eyes took in everything with a level of intelligence she hadn't expected, and when he spoke, his voice was as cold as Perseus', "How can I help you, Your Grace?"
"You will be getting paid 20 galleons a week, starting today." Perseus' eyes never left her own, and her anger vanished.
"But Your Grace—"
"If I ever ask you to do something you do not wish to do, simply say no. If you no longer wish to be the Black Family Elf, I will give you clothes whenever you desire."
The little elf trembled, his eyes welling up with tears and his wrinkly old lips quivering. She knew it. This is what Lanksy had always wanted, and his tears of joy were a testament to that—
"Why are you doing this?" The elf's voice was wet.
"Don't you see, Lanksy?" Hermione said, squatting down to be eye level with him. "You're free now. Free to make your own choices, and spend your money how you'd like—"
"No," the elf hissed at her. She recoiled from him. His eyes stared into her own, glossy and hard. "Lanksy did not want to be free! Lanksy wants to serve Master Perseus until his death, just as his father before him and his father before him!" His voice was growing louder and more shrill, and he looked like he had much more to say when Perseus laid a gentle on his shoulder.
"That's enough, Lanksy," he said gently. "You still serve the house of Black as honorably as you ever have, as honorably as any ever has."
The elf deflated, looking up at Perseus with moist eyes once more, before he nodded once. His spine straightened and his long, pointy nose was once more held high.
"Enjoy your lunch," Perseus said, heading for the left staircase. "Lanksy will take you to the dining room, and afterwards, show you to your rooms." Lanksy looked as though he might put his newfound ability to not do everything he was told to use, but settled for nodding, glaring at her the entire time.
"Perseus, wait!" she called, but he didn't stop, didn't even offer a second glance. He reached the landing at the top of the marble staircase, and turned to the left, disappearing around a corner. Hermione dropped her head, feeling tears welling up in her own eyes. The sting of his silent rebuke was strong, and felt like a slap to the face.
"Oh, Queen," her mother muttered, pulling her into her side. Hermione buried her face in her mother's shirt, feeling like a small child all over again.
"You did a good thing," her father said, resting his hand on her back.
"Did I?" She asked, glancing at Lanksy, who stood in silence, glaring at the three of them.
"Of course," he said. "Often times those in bad situations can't recognize it for themselves, and they need a little outside assistance to help them along. In time, he will come to see that you have done nothing but help him.
"It is a strange person who helps those that do not ask for it," Lanksy said quietly, still watching them. "Your help is not needed, and it is not appreciated. You think you know best, even when you know nothing at all." He shook his head and walked away, leading them to the dining room.
They followed him reluctantly, his words echoing in her head the whole way.
Perseus stared into the mirror in his bathroom. The events that took place yesterday replayed over and over in his mind. He had spent the majority of the evening in his Animagus form. Powerful emotions were easier to deal with that way, their intensity muted, and he was thankful for it. Lanksy wasn't a slave. He knew Lanksy wasn't a slave. But the way she had looked at him, as if she was disgusted to even be in his presence — he couldn't take it. And now that she had pointed it out, it bothered him. Lanksy deserved more — better — whether he wanted it or not. It was nothing for him to give Lanksy 80 galleons a month, and if it meant Hermione thought better of him, it was worth it. He swallowed harshly, the searing pain quelling the emotions he felt rising. Merlin, when did her opinion of him begin to matter so much? Never before had anyone's opinion affected him, but a single look from her had filled him with a sense of self-loathing that was entirely irrational. Taking a deep breath, he straightened his hair, tugged at the collar of his shirt, and took a deep breath. "Lanksy."
He appeared beside him. "Yes, Your Grace?"
"Is breakfast ready and have you woken the Grangers?"
Lanksy's lip curled. "Yes, Your Grace. They're waiting for you."
"Thank you." Perseus started for the kitchen immediately. It was bad form to leave your guests waiting. He reached the ground floor quickly. He turned hall after hall, the maze that was his home second nature to him now.
He stopped outside the door, hearing the low murmur of Hermione and her parents talking. Tempted as he was to linger, he wasn't going to spy on Hermione and her parents. Pushing the door open, their conversation came to an immediate halt. Hermione stared at him with wide brown eyes that seemed to pull him in.
"Goodmorning," he said quietly. He had strained his voice the day before, even with the small amount of speaking he did.
"Perseus," Hermione whispered. She had her bottom lip between her teeth, her brows furrowed and her eyes were moist. He couldn't bring himself to look away, despite how the look she was giving him twisted his stomach. "I didn't mean to upset you yesterday, I swear! I just—"
"It's fine." He decided not to sit at the head of the table, opting instead to sit directly next to Hermione, in the middle. It was improper, but he didn't care at the moment. He hated seeing Hermione like this, unsure and questioning herself. He had sapped her confidence. Her brown eyes that usually brimmed with a fiery determination that never left were dim, and he couldn't stand it. "You were right. Lanksy deserves better from me, and thanks to you pointing it out, he's got it."
"It wasn't my place—"
"Don't," he said, grabbing her hand gently. "You don't ever need to hold your tongue around me, not for my sake anyway. I value your opinion." Sensing the building emotions, Perseus quickly changed the subject. "Did you all like your rooms?"
"Yes," Katherine said enthusiastically, her bright brown eyes reminding him so much of Hermione. "While it was a bit big, they were very comfortable."
"Mine had a bookshelf full of books!"
Perseus nodded, smiling. "Yes, I requested that room for you specifically."
She beamed at him, and he swallowed uneasily, his stomach coiling and uncoiling. It was a sensation he felt with greater and greater frequency when he was with Hermione, and he didn't know why. "Thank you. There's so many books, I hardly even slept last night!" She blushed and glanced at her parents before looking down. Her parents just looked amused.
Katherine looked at him, her eyes brimming with curiosity. "So, Perseus, tell me more about this Mediwizard business?" Perseus smiled, and gave them a short description of what it was to be a mediwizard. They both looked intrigued, even Arthur was listening with rapt attention.
"So where do you plan to go from there?"
"One day I want to be the Chief Healer at St. Mungos." He had never spoken that goal aloud before, but saying it somehow made it feel more real. They shared a surprised glance, but they didn't look skeptical, much to his satisfaction.
Arthur cleared his throat, sharing a glance with his wife before looking at Hermione. "And what about you, Hermione? What do you plan to do?"
Perseus turned to her as well. He'd never asked her what goals she had. She looked uncharacteristically nervous about the question, and Perseus thought he understood why. She'd grown up her entire life as a muggle, and all those dreams and aspirations were washed away as soon as she learned she was a witch. She would have new dreams now, new goals — ones her parents wouldn't necessarily be part of. He frowned thoughtfully. The love between Hermione and her parents was very clear to him, and he would do what he could to preserve that relationship, regardless of the boundaries between their worlds. It was one of the reasons he had invited them.
"Well…" she said, taking a deep breath. "I don't really know all that many types of jobs one can have in the magical world, but I know I want to do something meaningful. I want to help people and creatures and fight for equality, and improve the horrid justice system and—"
He squeezed her hand, her words washing over him. She was the most passionate person he knew, and the most compassionate. She cared about everyone, and she would do all the things she said she would. She would accomplish every goal. She'd go as far as she possibly could. He would do everything in his power to see it happen. "You're going to be Minister of Magic someday." He didn't know why he said it, or where the words came from, but he believed them. She would be Minister one day, and the world would never be the same.
Her face burned red, but she didn't look away. She held his gaze, the look on her face one he'd never seen before, and he had to keep talking to distract himself from the warmth that spread from his chest down to his very toes. "The prosecutorial route would suit you well. It would give you hands-on experience with the Wizengamot, and Wizarding Law."
"But what about magic?" Katherine asked, looking at Hermione. "We know how much Hermione loves magic, these jobs are things she could do in our world."
"Even here politicians and bureaucrats control the world. What magic is safe to learn, what's okay to own. We are not so different," Perseus said with a shrug. During all their talk, everyone had finished their food. Standing from the table, he released his wand. With a wave and a muttered incantation, the plates vanished.
"Perseus!" Hermione exclaimed. "The Statute for Underage Sorcery—"
"We are not in Britain anymore, Hermione," he said. "The trace cannot track you outside of the set parameters of the spell." He neglected to mention his wand didn't have a trace to begin with, so it was hardly a problem.
She stared at him slack-jawed. "So you can do magic here?" He nodded. "Every summer?" He nodded. "This is entirely unfair! How am I supposed to ever beat you in class if you can practice the entire summer?"
Perseus shrugged, not seeing the big deal. "You can always visit and practice as often as you'd like." He didn't think it would help her bridge the gap, but it would make her better.
She glanced at her parents, her eyes pleading.
Arthur's eyes were lit up with excitement. "Do a spell for us!" He said, grinning at Hermione. "You're always on about we can't see the things you're learning, well have at it!"
She glanced at Perseus, but he just nodded to confirm that it was fine. If for some odd reason she got a notice anyway, he would take care of it. What were a few more galleons in Fudge's pockets?
She was excited now, he could see it in her eyes, and the way she withdrew her wand so quickly. Reading herself, her face firmed — a look he had come to associate with her performing magic. She'd have to grow out of that habit, or she'd be incredibly predictable in a duel.
" Wingardium Leviosa." Her plate rose in the air, and while her family looked on in fascination, Perseus snorted.
"I haven't been teaching you all this magic so you could show your parents a spell any eleven year old could do."
She flushed scarlet, but slowly a grin appeared on her face. She flicked her wand again, spoke the incantation, and Perseus' eyes widened. She had struggled for weeks to learn this spell.
As if they were puppets attached to string, the silverware and plates stood on the table, moving on their own. Perseus watched as they danced back and forth, recognizing the dance as a waltz. With a flick of his own wand, a song began to play, the rhythm matching the silverware.
Katherine and Arthur shared an amused look, before getting to their feet. Arthur bowed dramatically in front of his wife. "May I have this dance, malady?"
Her curtsy was equally dramatic. "It would be a pleasure, good sir."
Perseus watched as they twirled around the dining room. His eyes picked out the few missteps they made, but all he could focus on was the smiles on their faces. They looked at each other unlike Perseus had ever seen any two people look at each other, and it was mesmerizing.
He glanced over at Hermione. She watched her parents with a small smile on her face. Swallowing thickly, he rose from his chair, catching Hermione's attention. With his left arm behind his back, he extended the right towards her, the way he was taught as a child. Hermione's eyes widened and her cheeks flushed, but she rose from her seat and took his hand.
Resting a hand gently on her waist, he pulled her slightly closer. Catching the beat, he stepped forward, smiling as she stepped back. They twisted and twirled — Hermione moved with surprising grace, her steps smooth and sure. So close to her, he saw the smattering of freckles across her nose, picked out the patterns in her brown eyes, traced the graceful curves of her cheekbones and slight curve of her celestial nose. He smiled. He couldn't believe that this was the same girl from his first year. He was watching her grow up before his very eyes.
As they spun, his entire body tingled. Warmth ebbed from his head to his toes, and he just barely managed not to shiver — he could feel his skin tightening, the goosebumps rising. All he could see was her warm brown eyes, and bright smile. She laughed when he twirled her under his arm, so light and care free he couldn't help but laugh right with her, the pain hardly even an afterthought.
An applause broke him from his daze. The music was no longer playing, and he finally released Hermione, feeling heat fill his face.
"What a wonderful performance," Katherine gushed, still clapping. "And here I thought you just absolutely hated Ballroom Dancing, Hermione?"
If his face was warm, Hermione's was absolutely on fire. Katherine turned to him. "And you!" she said, laughing. "You move like you've been dancing since you could walk!"
Perseus nodded. "I have."
Katherine's smile slid away, the same way Hermione's did when he revealed some seemingly innocuous detail about his childhood. "Truly?"
"It was part of my training as an heir." He didn't mention that stepping on his aunt's toes would get him cursed quite nastily. "I used to dance for hours."
The kitchen grew silent after that, the Grangers glancing at each other. Perseus cleared his throat, swallowing the blood that filled his mouth. It happened so often now, he didn't even gag anymore. The putrid taste of copper in his mouth was quickly becoming a frequent acquaintance. "Did you all have any plans for the day?"
"We'd like to see the shopping district," Hermione said.
Perseus nodded. He'd been meaning to go as well. His summer up until then had been rather busy. He needed some new suits. And the thought of Hermione's eyes lighting up as she took in all the new sights — it brought that warm feeling surging back.
He led them over to the floo. "Step in and say, 'Milan District'".
One by one, they stepped through, and he followed right behind, his and Hermione's dance replaying in his head.
Hermione stared into the mirror, taking in her underwear clad form, but she wasn't really seeing herself. She was thinking about Perseus, and their trip to Milan Square earlier that day. All she could think about was his violet eyes and his warm hand on her waist as they danced. She kept sneaking glances at him out of the corner of her eye, and that's how she saw that he was sneaking glances at the other ladies in the alley. It was subtle, unnoticeable even, but to her it was readily apparent. Perseus was hyper vigilant — anytime she'd been with him in public his eyes were scanning and searching, as if there were a boggart behind every corner.
And he was doing that still — but every so often, his gaze would trail down, and get caught on a pair of swinging hips or plump posterior.
She found herself glaring at him, and not for her usual reasons. Objectifying women was something she found abhorrent, but that wasn't what made her so angry. She could tell he didn't mean to — each time his eyes fell, he would seemingly catch himself, jerking his eyes away. She understood the raging hormones he no doubt had — she had much the same herself. Even she wasn't innocent of taking the occasional inappropriate peak, much to her own shame. No, what irritated her so greatly, was that he never looked at her like that.
And God, he had danced with her, like some sort of fairytale, and it had felt as magical as anything she'd seen thus far. His violet eyes had sparkled in a way she'd never seen, and she'd never seen him smile so brightly. She could still smell him, a scent she couldn't even begin to process.
Hermione had never been insecure about her body — had never had reason to be. No one made much comment about it when it was so much easier to make fun of her bushy hair, or her buck teeth, or call her know-it-all. But as she stared in the mirror, examining herself, she felt insecurity creep over her like a horde of spiders.
She was thin, skinny even. Her collarbones and ribs were easily visible, the bumps and ridges of her shoulders plain to see. She didn't have any breasts to speak of at all — not anything like Lavender Brown, or Susan Bones, or — much to her ire — Daphne Greengrass. She knew she was only 14 — knew it was illogical to compare herself to other girls, but she couldn't help herself.
It had been so easy to ignore that Perseus didn't seem to find her attractive, because he didn't seem to view anyone in that way — not even Daphne, who was admittedly one of the most beautiful girls Hermione had ever seen. She'd even entertained the idea that Perseus might even be gay, but she knew now that wasn't the case, if his fascination with round hips and plump bums was anything to go by.
She closed her eyes tightly, trying to push back the burn of emerging tears. So she wasn't gorgeous like Daphne Greengrass or curvy like Susan Bones — who cared? She was intelligent and compassionate, and that was worth more than looks ever would be. Swallowing thickly, she brushed the tears out of her eyes and took a deep breath. If Perseus never saw her that way, that was fine. It wasn't something she could control, and it wasn't something she was willing to agonize over. It was her who was his best friend, and that was more than enough.
In his own room, Perseus laid on his bed, flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. His dance with Hermione played over and over again in his head. He was using Occlumency to remember every detail — softness of her skin, the smooth curve of her waist, her bright eyes and even brighter smile. He was choked up at the thought of it. Hermione was — had always been — Hermione. But now when he thought of her, it was like he was looking at someone completely different — a stranger to him. Never before had he looked at her — seen her — the way he did now. He'd never looked at any woman that way until now, and it all stemmed from her. In the alley, he couldn't help notice every woman he passed, conscious of their presence in a way he'd never been before.
He'd never been so close to a girl before, never had their presence encapsulate him so completely. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon plagued his mind, along with so many questions. When did Hermione become so beautiful, her lips so full, her eyes so bright?
Every memory they had together seemed different now. He could see it now — see her and her luminescent eyes and they sent shocks and tingles all over his body. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he needed his father. Was this how he'd felt about Perseus' own mother? How had he dealt with it — not being able to get someone out of your mind? Hopefully he'd be free soon. It was out of his hands now.
He sat up with a grunt, the sharp pain in his throat helping to clear his head. This was Hermione. His best friend. The person who knew him better than anyone else. Still Hermione.
He swung his legs off the bed, and padded over to the desk on the other side of his room. Sitting down in the chair, he picked up a pair of notebooks he'd been working on. Drawing his wand, he opened a drawer and pulled out his rune scribing kit. He started working on the notebooks immediately, the tension quickly draining from his body at the familiar feel of his magic flowing through his body. He worked until his eyes drooped, before finally falling asleep right there at the desk, his wand falling from his fingers, and his dreams full of a waltz and burning orbs of brown.
