Hello my lovelies!
As of the last chapter I officially reached the point in FTT that I wished to get to before the end of the year. So I'm counting everything that I post from here on out as a major bonus and I'm just so glad the muse continues to be good to me.
Thank you to everyone who left a lovely review on the last chapter, ESPECIALLY the guest that left such amazing reviews earlier today (I can't PM you to thank you so I shall shout my love here). I'm so sorry for any heartache I may have caused (my heart is also still tender and recovering), you lot are brilliant.
I also have a little surprise at the end of this chapter for everyone who stayed here throughout the Remione (and I may have converted to liking the ship even just a smidge). Honestly I didn't have it planned for this chapter at all, it kind of just came to me randomly sometime yesterday.
Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
The moment Dorea Potter laid eyes on her daughter the next morning she knew something was dreadfully wrong: she primly dabbed at the corners of her mouth, neatly placed her cutlery on either side of her half-full plate, and politely excused herself—she whispered something to Mipsy, shot Charlus a loaded look and slipped past the boys who were too distracted with discussing Quidditch predictions for an upcoming game to notice Hermione—save for Draco, who raised a questioning eyebrow, but Hermione shook her head sadly and mouthed, 'later'.
Right before Dorea whisked her daughter away, Hermione's caught Remus's gaze and she saw the insurmountable pain swelling in his hazel orbs, and she smiled feebly.
Hermione knew she looked a mess: her hair was presently akin to a bird's nest, the dark circles under her eyes were pronounced, there was a red tinge attached to the tip of her nose, and she was still wearing Remus's jumper—it was the only reason she got any sleep last night.
To her credit, she had managed to pull on some pyjama bottoms before she trudged downstairs—stomach growling—so at least she didn't feel completely useless.
Dorea wrapped an arm around her daughter's shoulders and gently guided her towards her room, locking and silencing the room as soon as they crossed the threshold.
"What's wrong?" Dorea asked directly as she strolled across the room, kicking off her black bedroom slippers and crawling into her King sized bed—which was dressed with pale grey sheets that had a silverish quality to them as the sunlight hit them—it was pouring into the room through the massive windows on the far side of the room.
Hermione lowered her eyes, suddenly very enraptured by her wiggling toes.
"Hermione Jean Potter," Dorea said sharply but not unkindly.
Hermione cautiously looked up at her Mother—who patted the spot beside her on the bed in a way that suggested it was not up for discussion—and then with a heavy sigh through her nostrils she ambled her way over to the bed and joined Dorea.
Dorea smiled woefully at her daughter, absorbing some of her pain as she gathered Hermione up in her arms.
Hermione cuddled into her Mother, laying her cheek against Dorea's chest as she wrapped her arms around her—a cocoon of warmth encased Hermione, and within moments Dorea had created a bubble of safety, a sanctuary where Hermione could let go.
"What's wrong?" Dorea repeated benevolently, her thumb stroking up and down Hermione's arm as she pressed a firm kiss to the top of her head.
"We…we met Remus's mate in Diagon Alley yesterday—" Hermione started, but found she couldn't continue because thick emotion was clogging her throat. (Hermione knew that Dorea knew Remus was a werewolf, even if her Mother pretended that she didn't know.)
Dorea's chest stopped mid-rise for a long moment as she held her breath—releasing it slowly as she squeezed Hermione—she remained silent, clearly allowing her daughter to continue when she was able.
"Her name is Nymphadora—"
"Isn't that—" Dorea began, surprise punctuating every syllable before Hermione interjected. (Dorea liked to keep tabs on what was going on in wizarding society, especially when it came to family members she actually liked.)
"Andromeda's daughter," Hermione finished quietly.
"Oh sweetheart," Dorea murmured, resting her head against Hermione's.
Hermione closed her eyes and listened to the steady beat of Dorea's heart, letting it anchor her and soothe the disquiet in her soul.
"I would say that you don't have to break up right now, but—"
"Nothing good will come of prolonging the inevitable—it will only hurt far, far worse if we kept going down our current path…it's…it's for the best," Hermione breathed, somehow saying the words to someone else lifted some of the burden from her shoulders.
Dorea pressed another kiss to Hermione's head, one hand now stroking her hair as she made shushing noises—Hermione allowed the tears once more to fall freely, curling into her Mother as much as she could.
Hermione found asylum from the cruel ocean that had tried to drag her into its depths in Dorea's embrace: the tightness in her chest lessened, unravelling and partially relinquishing its hold on her—in that moment Hermione was eternally grateful that she was fortunate enough to have Dorea Potter as a Mother.
They stayed like that for hours: Dorea weaving tales of her youth and misadventures, whilst Mipsy brought them some food, the storytelling melted into Hermione recounting some of their adventures from this past year—which ended in the two of them dissolving into a fit of giggles.
Eventually Hermione fell asleep with her head in Dorea's lap—whose fingers were caressing her curls lovingly—and drifted off into a peaceful and dreamless slumber.
Darkness shrouded the grey eyed boy.
The boy's fingers were digging into the grass and earth beneath him—he was sitting with his legs outstretched in front of him with his ankles crossed in the thickest part of the Potter Manor Orchards.
His head was tipped to the sky, a pensive look scrawled across his face as the cool night air infused with the sweet smell of flowering fauna blew across him.
The wizard tilted his head at the fulling moon and exhaled deeply.
He was exhausted yet his mind was wide awake, his thoughts racing along into forbidden territory despite his protestations.
Not for the first time—and certainly not the last—his mind honed in on thoughts of a raven haired witch with a sharp tongue and currently, a broken heart.
It's going to be a long night, the wizard thought somberly, wrinkling his nose at the thought before he shook his head, magic coursing through him as he shifted from man to wolf.
The snow white wolf's stared up at the moon, and a lonely howl ripped from his snout.
It was going to be a long night indeed.
"You like that, don't you?" The witch asked, mirth dancing in her voice as she used her son's hand to point out the window—crisp, bluish white flooding her neon pink hair to match the fluffy powder gently cascading from the sky.
Happy gurgles bubbled out of the tiny boy, his hair shimmering before it transformed to match his Mother's.
"That's my boy," Tonks murmured, leaning in to rub her nose against Teddy's.
She turned her attention back to the snow covered landscape, peering through the slightly foggy window panes.
"She had such lovely hair," Tonks whispered, bouncing Teddy on her hip as she rocked him back and forth.
"Lovely hair and a warm laugh," she added with a smile before dropping a kiss to the top of Teddy's head.
Raven crept from her roots to the tips of her hair, growing and growing until it brushed the small of her back—except this time the weight of the curls didn't topple her over.
Tonks stared out at the snow in wonder as memories of a kind witch she'd known years ago played through her mind.