Light Up the Sky
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or the X-Men. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Chapter Two:
Predictably, not everyone supports Laurel's choice. Kingsley Shacklebolt repeatedly asks her to consider a career with the Ministry of Magic instead, and Mrs Weasley starts huffing and puffing whenever Laurel's travel preparations are brought up in conversation. The 'Daily Prophet' - and subsequently, the general public - has a field day, and even as a baffled Laurel wonders about how the information has been leaked to the press, the (still utterly useless) rag is none too gently silenced by the unholy duo that is her lawyer, Andromeda Tonks, and her public relations representative, Adriana Zabini.
As it happens, both women are competently terrifying and terrifyingly competent in turn, and hiring them on as retainers of House Potter is one of the best decisions Laurel has ever made.
And speaking of terrifyingly competent women…
"Do you have an itinerary yet?" Hermione asks. SHe's curled up comfortably in a pair of leggings and a quidditch jersey liberated from her soulmate, and her bedhead is a fright. It's early on a Saturday, but neither of them were particularly prone to lie-ins before the war, and these days, they're lucky if they're still asleep at daybreak. As such, Laurel's grown rather accustomed to these early morning hang-outs, and it goes without saying that Hermione has, too.
"Not a particularly detailed one," Laurel replies, "Just a vague outline, really."
"Care to share?"
"Travel across Europe, down through Asia to Australia, west to Africa, west again to the Americas, visit the South Pacific Islands, then back to Asia, the Middle-East, in particular. Cross over to Greece, then back across Europe, and then home again."
"Vague outline, indeed," Hermione glibly acknowledges. Laurel shrugs. "Do you have a timeline?"
"Not really. I figure it'll take as long as it takes, you know? It's not like I'm in a rush, right? I have all the time in the world."
It's a little odd, freedom. She has no responsibilities, no commitments, and more gold than she would ever spend. She does, of course, have the choice to take up the role of Head of House Potter, but as a female, Laurel is neither expected or required to actually do so. Instead, the world is her oyster, and the 'Witch Who Won' can finally do whatever she bloody well pleases.
"I suppose so," Hermione concedes. She yawns, and she looks tired.
Laurel can relate. The preparations for her world tour keep her busy during the day, her thoughts far from the war, but at night, during those wherein she can actually get to sleep, she is plagued by nightmares she can't escape, of memories she would rather forget, of friends and family loved and lost, of pain and suffering and all else she'd endured after Voldemort's resurrection.
Hermione says it's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, the nightmares, the overwhelming tide of panic when she is pressed to talk about it, the Alastor Moody inspired paranoia that hasn't abated since Voldemort's death. She's been fighting for her life since the age of eleven, and despite Laurel's best efforts to deny it, that leaves it's marks.
Alas, although Laurel bears her fair share of superficial scars, they are not the only reminders that remain with her, unpleasant souvenirs of a war she'd prefer to leave far behind her..
"Are you all right?" Laurel asks.
"Long night," Hermione answers, "I didn't get much sleep."
"Did you want to talk about it?"
"Not really." Hermione tugs a decorative cushion onto her lap, fiddles with the tassels, and avoids Laurel's gaze.
Laurel sighs, throws herself onto the bed beside her friend, and tucks another of the available cushions under her chin. "We're a mess, aren't we?"
Hermione laughs, though it's not a happy sound. "Absolutely."
Laurel huffs her own laugh, and offers Hermione a brief, humoured grin. It's not a funny situation - not really - but the alternative to laughter is tears, and Laurel's already cried a river because of Voldemort. SHe's exhausted, she's grieving, she's adrift without the prophecy to guide her, but Tom Riddle is not going to be the cause of any more of her tears. Not if Laurel can help it, anyway.
"We'll be okay," Laurel exhales, and she's not sure which of them she's trying to convince, "One day."
"I don't know how you can be so optimistic." Hermione slumps sideways, half against the headboard, half against the mattress, and curls herself around the cushion she cradles against her chest. "Nothing much has changed, has it?"
"I don't know," Laurel shrugs, "Most of the time, I can't be bothered, you know? Everything sucks, and it always will one way or another, so what's the point in trying to make it better? Other times though…"
"Other times…" Hermione prods.
"Other times, I figure if I'd like to have children some day, then I'd like to bring them into a world that will accept them for whomever - or whatever - they may be."
Hermione hums, but she has nothing to say to that. It's a nice dream, if naive, but Laurel knows as well as Hermione herself; it's exactly why she'd opposed Voldemort to begin with.
Laurel had been motivated by revenge and self-preservation, primarily, but for Hermione, opposing Voldemort had always been because as far as the muggle-born was - and is - concerned, discrimination in any form was - and remains - utterly reprehensible. It is the same reason she had instigated her ill-fated Elvish Welfare campaign years ago, and it is also why Hermione intends to go into politics.
She wants to change the world.
Laurel does, too.
Just… not yet.
"Anyway, I don't really want to think about it until I come back," Laurel admits, "Right now, I just… I need a break, I guess?"
"Understandable," Hermione replies, "You've definitely earned one."
Laurel smiles wryly. "Tell that to Kingsley Shacklebolt, and all of the numpties at the 'Daily Prophet', won't you?"
Hermione shrugs. "You said it yourself, Lori. They're all numpties, so I doubt they'd listen."
"Touche," Laurel concedes.
"I wouldn't worry about it, anyway," Hermione continues, "Andromeda and Adriana seem to have the situation well in hand."
"Quite," Laurel agrees, "They're a rather frightening pair, aren't they?"
"Oh, definitely. I'd feel sorry for the 'Prophet', but…"
"But it sucks?" Laurel suggests.
"Wholly and unequivocally," Hermione emphatically concurs, laughing. Sincerely, she adds, "I'm glad you have Adriana and Andromeda in your corner."
Laurel smiles, satisfied. The women in question are worth every galleon of their paycheques, and then some. "Me too. Did you know they've gone after Skeeter now?"
Hermione cackles. There isn't another word for it. "That shrew will regret the day she ever thought to write about you. I hope she enjoys her just desserts, the loathsome hag."
"Not just me. You, too. and Viktor. Defamation of Character, Slander, Liable, Trespassing, Stalking, and of course, the issue of her illegal animagus form. She'll never write another article again."
"Good," Hermione nods, vindictively pleased, "It couldn't happen to a more deserving shrew."
Laurel thinks, briefly, of Dolores Umbridge, of Bellatrix Lestrange and Alecto Carrow, but she doesn't mention them. Those women are on trial for war crimes, for torture and treason and everything else Kingsley can legally, justifiably throw at them. In comparison, the charges against Rita Skeeter are utterly inconsequential, but Laurel isn't nearly as nice as most people believe, and she's not about to let anyone walk all over her (or her friends). Not if she can help it.
Laurel smirks. It might have taken a few years to enact her revenge, but as far as she is concerned, Rita Skeeter is about to reap what she's sewn. Besides, as the saying goes, revenge is a dish best served cold. "I couldn't agree more."
-!- -#-
After Sirius Black's death in the summer of 1996, Remus Lupin had visited Laurel at Privet Drive every day. Together, they'd grieved for her godfather, his friend turned brother, and in doing so, they'd become friends themselves. It was surely not what Remus had intended at the time - Laurel had only been grateful that someone understood her loss, after all - but she can't say she's ever regretted it.,
As it happens, she and Remus' friendship is unlike any other, interspersed with moral and magical lessons from Remus, with stories of the teenagers and young adults James Potter, Lily Evans, and Sirius Black had once been, with a shared grief and loneliness between them.
Those daily visits have since abated, of course, but ever since Voldemort's death at the beginning of May, Laurel and Remus have made a joint effort to catch up at least once a week.
It's different, so unlike those sun-drenched, grief-drenched summer days of 1996. The fact Remus is now a husband and a father aside, they've both spent the last two years properly entrenched in war, and it's enough to change anyone. They've also spent 12 months of those two years on the run or in hiding (albeit separately), and they both understand, now, what it means to be hunted, to go hungry, to be afraid, and alone, and to be so very, very angry.
Most days, Laurel likes to think it's better. They're at peace, the threat to them and their loved ones voided, and they both have the promise of a better, brighter future ahead of them. Other days though, she wonders if it's worse, if it's different because they have more suffering to share, and those are the days she struggles to leave the house at all.
"Did you want to stay home today?" Remus asks. He understands her hesitation, of course. He always does. He's perceptive, far more so than his enhanced senses justify, and Laurel gets the impression he always has been.
Sometimes, it's insufferable.
Other times, it's a godsend.
"Do you mind?"
"Hardly," Remus replies. He settles himself at the weathered dining table, and Laurel drops into the seat across from him. In the kitchen proper, Kreacher starts preparing tea. "How have you been, Lori? Keeping busy?"
"Busy enough," Laurel answers, "I didn't realise there was so much to do before I can go."
It turns out that the process to get a UK passport is a long and tedious one. It has, however, borne fruit, and Laurel has since been preoccupied with organising her travel arrangements. She's mostly done now, mercifully, and the 1st of August can't arrive soon enough.,
"But you're not having any issues?" Remus presses. He's one of the few adults in her life who are vocal in their encouragement of Lori's plans, and she's grateful for his support.
"No, not so far, though the vaccinations weren't too pleasant."
Remus grimaces. "I can't imagine they would be. Teddy howled something fierce when he had to receive his."
Because Teddy's parents, Remus and Tonks, straddle the divide between Britain's mundane, magical, and mutant communities, Teddy is more likely to encounter viruses he wouldn't otherwise, and hence, the mundane vaccinations. Their magical counterparts aren't too bad - potions, mostly - but they're liable to leave an unpleasant taste in one's mouth, and Lori's just grateful they're the 'lifetime guarantee' sort of inoculation. She's not eager to repeat the experience.
"I don't blame him," Lori replies, "I kind of wanted to, too."
Remus huffs a laugh. "You and me both, Lori. You and me both."
They chat over tea and biscuits served by Kreacher, about Remus' preparations for his impending return to Hogwarts as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Instructor and Head of Gryffindor House, about the Daily Prophet's unavoidable legal trouble, about Kingsley's methodical, tireless approach to rebuilding the Ministry of Magic.
"I kind of feel bad," Laurel admits, "Not helping, I mean."
"You've done enough, Lori," Remus insists, "Let us handle the rest. Besides, your interview in the Quibbler has essentially silenced all of Kingsley's naysayers, which has cut our new minister's problems by halves, I'm sure."
Laurel's most recent interview with the Quibbler had been a brainchild of Adriana's and Hermione's. It had had the threefold objective of minimising the public's scrutiny of their 'Witch Who Won', loudly vouching for Kingsley during what is, undeniably, a tumultuous period of change within their community, and providing Luna something positive to focus on while her father's health rapidly deteriorates. It had been a success on all fronts, but all the same…
"I just… I'm tired."
"And justifiably so." Remus smiles, and offers Laurel's hand a comforting squeeze, "Don't fret, Lori. We'll handle it. Just enjoy your tour, and don't forget to take photos."
"I've already stocked up on film," Laurel answers.
"Good. You'll need a lot of it."
"So I've been told," Laurel acknowledges. She sips at her tea, a content smile on her face. "I'm excited."
"I'm glad," Remus replies. His own smile is sincere, "It's definitely something to be excited about. Do you have somewhere you're looking forward to visiting most?"
"No, not really. I guess I haven't thought about it like that. I'm just looking forward to getting away."
Their conversation continues, about Laurel's travel plans, about Tonks and Teddy, about the reconstruction efforts across their community. It's pleasant, but before long, Remus departs for his own home in Colwyn Bay, and Laurel is left to her own devices once more.
August 1st seems a lifetime away.