Ron looked up at the house where Hermione was staying while she studied potions. The useless little balconies were all overgrown with flowering plants. Runic charms carved into the doors kept the uninvited out. He fought off the urge to rub his bum at the memory of his first encounter with them. He had to admit the place didn't scream evil bastard snake, but he knew Severus Snape had studied with this wizard. Claude Martel was as dark a wizard as they came, but Hermione had finished healer training and moved right on to studying with this bastard.
"I assure you, my parents were very much married." The older wizard glared down at him from the balcony over the door. "You should learn to control your thoughts, Boy. It's unwise to let others pick them from the air as it were."
Ron glared up at the older wizard and clenched his fists against his thighs. Dealing with the old goat was enough to make anyone barmy, but she loved it here. It was like the house elves thing all over again. Hermione was obviously, bloody insane.
"She is quite rational." The old wizard shook his head. "She is also in Italy, so I am not required to tolerate your presence in my home."
"Why is she in Italy?" Ron bounced on his toes and fought the image of Hermione swooning about with some lothario rising in his mind.
"Her business is not yours." The old potions master turned back toward the doors leading into his house.
"How are we supposed to protect her if we don't know where she is?" Ron muttered. "All this nonsense with her eduction has made everything difficult."
He looked up at the old house again and sighed. Hermione would come to her senses soon enough. He knew her after all. Proving she was smarter than any Ravenclaw was a life goal. She was always blathering on and on about the bloody things. He was an auror. It was a respectable career. He didn't need to be the best auror that ever lived. There was enough in his vault to cover expenses. Hermione would be able to pay for luxuries when she finally came to her senses and married him. At least, her big brain would be good for something.
He looked up at the blue sky and considered his other task for the day. If he was lucky, he'd be finished with it and home at the Burrow for dinner. He set off, whistling as he walked toward the muggle sector.
The children were all handling the treatment well. Hermione walked through the ward and smiled at the Italian healers that were seeing to the patients with her. Last night had been the full moon. None of them had transformed in any way. They hadn't even been irritable. She smiled as one of the children giggled out loud. It was a wonderful sound.
She left the ward with a wide smile and a bounce in her step. She didn't miss the daily grind of healing, but using the skills she had acquired before pursuing her potions mastery was actually enjoyable. She looked over the ward one last time and slipped out through the heavily enchanted doorway into the hallway.
The sudden bustling sound of everyday life was always jarring. The wards were protected with runic carvings and charmed to be tranquil. The wards around each section were altered to suit the patients' needs. She looked down the hall and blinked in the unfiltered sunlight.
"How long does it take this scar removing salve to work fully?" An older wizard invaded her personal space fairly agressively. She took a step back and examined the stress evident in his expression. "Is her face ruined?"
Hermione took a deep breath as the hospital security focused on them. She knew the families had been put through hell in the last month. Many of them were on edge, a few had taken the counseling the hospital offered them. Most hadn't. She waved off security and refocused on the man standing before her.
"I don't know which child is yours." Hermione smiled gently to put the man at ease. "I know the other healers have been keeping you updated, but I've been solely focused on the children. Your English is exceptional, but if you prefer one of the other healers could translate as I am still learning Italian."
"No. I studied at Hogwarts. I don't need their help." The man shook his head. "I want to know what my daughter will be facing now. I want to help her. You came here with all these new medicines and treatments. I was a Hufflepuff not a Ravenclaw. Even the healers here don't know how it all works. How am I to understand?"
"I designed that salve to help remove scars made by dark magic." Hermione met the man's eyes steadily. "It works slowly, but it does work. Some scars disappear completely, others will accept glamours, and then some will remain. Dark magic isn't easy to combat, but your daughter is a survivor. All of those children are. The scars won't make them less attractive. Those children have been quarantined and frightened for the last month. They've supported each other tirelessly. Their loyalty and strength in the face of this horror makes them all beautiful in my eyes."
The man blinked and nodded before grabbing Hermione in a tight hug. She patted his back awkwardly and waited for him to relax. He trembled against her and let her go.
"You have helped us, and I am worried about marks on her skin. I see that she is beautiful, but I worry about others." He rubbed his hands together. "The world is not always a kind place."
"If you see her beauty and support her, she will have confidence when she must face any fools that can't." Hermione patted the man's shoulder. She yanked up her sleeve and showed him the remaining scars on her own skin. "Believe me, I know."
She listened as he continued to thank her, but it was difficult to focus. It had been a long night watching the children for any signs of the change. She nodded as the man started in about the achievements of his daughter. When he shook her hand again she managed an appropriate response in Italian and left the man beaming.
She moved automatically through the hospital toward her hotel. The idea of a few hours sleep was too appealing to pass up. She hated sleeping alone, but she had managed to snag one of Ambert's shirts before leaving France. It helped. In a few days she would be back in his arms, and the shirt would join its brethren in his hamper.
Harry Potter stared at Draco Malfoy and sighed. He felt some sympathy for the ferret, but the news wasn't good. They were out of time. Using some distant cousin to bring the woman to heel wasn't going to help. He didn't understand why Kings was being so strict and so secretive about this program.
"Thank you for being honest with me, Malfoy." Harry stood and offered his hand to the blond. "I will handle this."
"See that you do." Draco took his hand and then released it quickly. "Mother isn't one for dramatics, but I doubt I've gotten the whole truth from her. Growing up in the household of Cygnus Black was not conducive to open honesty."
"I don't imagine any of the Black homes were." Harry shrugged. "Sirius had nightmares even after Azkaban."
"My father needs to come home. Her rational moments are decreasing. None of us want my mother running about in some manic, wand wielding quest for answers." Malfoy frowned. "Get this done, Potter, and I'll make her release your debt."
Harry nodded and watched as Malfoy stalked down the hall. The blond wizard was clearly concerned for his mother, but Harry was far more worried about Lucius Malfoy. Something was happening to the wizard, and they knew nothing about it. He turned and stalked off toward the protected records. He needed to review the information before hopping over to France.
Lucius Malfoy was still giving him issues after all these bloody years. He pushed his hand through his hair and glared at the sealed door before him. Placing his hand on the nob, he waited for the tingle of magic that would open the door.
The Malfoy file was easy to find. The first few reports were handled by an unspeakable and reminded him of Hermione's papers. He smirked as he read through them. Despite the use of five syllable words, the reports were thorough and descriptive. The first few auror reports were more to the point, but they covered all the bases. The problem arose with Ron's reports.
"It's just one report submitted again and again." Harry put the identical rolls of parchment down on the table. Nausea rose up as he considered the various issues before him. Ron hadn't just been lazy. There would have been some variation if he were just charming the mutton.
No, Ron was being precise. He'd put thought into creating a competent report. The flaw in his plan was assuming that all of them were as bored with the parchment pushing as he was. Harry closed the file. He needed to have Robards look through the whole lot while he checked in on Lucius Malfoy. His boss was not going to be happy.
Ambert smiled as the wind chimes fluttered in the breeze. He closed his eyes and listened. He could see her in his mind's eye, perched on his desk chair as she hung it from one of the old beams by the windows. She'd gone on and on about enjoying the moment when she'd hung them. He remembered watching her dance as they tintinnabulated. Watching her swing her hips and twirl her skirt up her legs had drawn him in completely.
"Tintinnabulate." He chuckled and opened his eyes. "That's one of her words no question."
He shook his head and focused his attention back on the archaeological journal in his lap. His work wasn't nearly as fascinating with her off in Italy, but he would make due. He glanced toward his desk and smiled at the letters piled on it.
He hadn't been lonely when he ran into her. He hadn't even been looking, but she blazed into his world, brighter than the sun, the moon, and all their starry little friends. He knew what they looked like to outsiders. She was young, and he wasn't. She tended to dress with bohemian flare, while he wore denim or kahki and plain shirts. She was vibrant and beautiful. He faded into the background. None of that mattered to him. Holding her hand as they chatted about their days or some article in the paper brought him peace. Being with her was simple and luxurious. They might be trapped in a land of opposites, but they complimented each other. Together, they were whole.
He couldn't remember feeling that before she wandered into his life. Hermione filled his world with plants and wind chimes. She left earrings on top of his desk and unmentionables hanging in his bathroom. There were brightly colored pillows thrown about. She'd taken his rather spartan flat and turned it into a place of comfort and love.
Spending time with her made him more comfortable in his own skin. They had fallen into an easy relationship once she'd pushed aside her initial reticence. At first, it was easy to live with no promises and no plans. Ambition wasn't his guiding principle, so being in the moment with her seemed natural. Pinpointing the moment he had started wanting forever with her was impossible. He had known she was struggling with their future until recently. He'd even accepted that she would leave, but Hermione had surprised him again. He smirked and set his magazine aside. Her letters would be a better distraction tonight. They were full of inconsequential observations and matters of deeper significance. Her musings about the tradition of marrying on the church steps versus the more modern notion of marrying in the church amused him. Even caught up in her work, part of her was focused on their coming ceremony, their marriage.
An odd screeching and repetitive sound dragged his attention away from their future. He turned toward the clattering sound as one of her strange, metal objects that lay scattered amongst the spider plants, ivy, and ferns whirred to life. He took two steps toward it when the pain hit. Dropping to his knees, he clutched at his gut. He panted and pressed his head against the bare floor.
Dragging hand along the boards, he clutched at his chest. The blood was pounding through his veins, raising an absolute tempest in his head. He ground his teeth and tried to focus on something, on anything to get his mind away from the pain. Images of her smiling up at him from their pillow strewn bed flashed through his mind. The pain ripped at him and tried to drag him away. Sweat trickled along his skin as he Forced his mind into the memory of her silken, scar riddled skin. He imagined wrapping the sheet around them to protect him from the pain, and he felt something in him ease.
"Hermione." Images of her danced across his mind, but the pain was breaking his concentration. He tried to hold onto her, but darkness pulled him into the blissful unconscious.