Hello hello lovelies!
It is quite crazy to me that we are nearing the end of the Marauders sixth year. This school year has gone by so much faster than I thought. So much faster.
Please leave a review, and I hope you enjoy the chapter ;)
My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
This chapter is for weestarmeggie, who writes amazing stories, is a dear friend, and graciously helped edit this chapter xxx
The castle was abuzz with chatter, laughter and exuberance as its occupants prepared for Easter Break.
The students and staff that were staying in the castle over the short break were either bustling about decorating, or enjoying the fact that their holidays officially began tomorrow; thus giving them a reprieve from classes.
However, there were two witches whose things were already packed and organised, but had arranged to meet in the Astronomy Tower before tonight's feast. Bright and early tomorrow morning, many of the students would be hopping onto the Hogwarts Express.
"This is fucking weird," the first girl admitted, running her fingers along her hairline and smoothing down her baby hairs.
"Why? Cause you slept with my brother?" The other girl asked calmly, eyes closed, hands grasping the metal railing in front of her as she drank in the cool evening breeze.
"Hermione," Kira slowly sounded out her friend's name, slightly behind the raven haired girl on her left.
"Yes?" Hermione hummed, refusing to open her eyes. This was a strange enough conversation, and she wanted to avoid eye contact for as long as possible.
The two girls had kept to light hearted topics since James's birthday, and the only thing further Hermione heard on the 'situation'—as she referred to it with Draco—was from James.
"I talked to Kira, and it's all sorted."
"What does that even mean?" Hermione asked, and James smiled before planting a kiss on his sister's cheek.
"It means that we're all good," James answered, tucking a curl behind her ear before he slipped past her with a broad grin.
"Care to elaborate, little brother?" Hermione called after the wizard.
"Nope!"
"You don't hate me, do you?" Kira asked, her voice wobbling a touch.
Hermione's eyes snapped open, she let go of the railing and turned around to face her fellow lioness, "no. Of course I don't hate you."
Kira sniffled softly, and she smiled bleakly at her friend, "are you sure?"
"Sweetheart, I could never hate you," Hermione promised lowly, stepping forward and drawing the slightly taller witch in for a tight embrace.
Kira's body quietly shook as she grabbed onto fistfuls of Hermione's blouse around her lower back.
The two witches stood there in silence as the sun's descent began, and finally pulled apart when its golden and vibrant orange beams danced across both females.
"What about Peter?" Hermione asked. Kira folded her arms across her chest, and averted her gaze, but that didn't stop Hermione from seeing the guilt that spread across her features like fiendfyre.
"I wasn't really thinking about him that night...or much of anything. James is sweet...and, well—Peter is the one who broke things off in the first place."
"Kira," Hermione tilted her head to the side, a deep frown marring her features. "Is that why you—"
"No. Circe, no," Kira denied adamantly, shaking her head. She heaved in a gulp of air, and then let it shudder back out. "I shouldn't have shagged one of Pete's best mates. I know that, it's just...James is kind, fit, and it was...it was nice," Kira said tenderly, and Hermione's brow furrowed further at the look on Kira's face.
Kira's eyes widened, and she tenaciously continued, "James and I talked, and we both agreed it was a onetime thing. It won't happen again. I swear."
Hermione snorted loudly—it was a rude gesture, and her expression fell as she caught herself, but just as she was about to open her mouth and apologise, Kira spoke once more; her curls bounced about as she shook her head again.
"I'm serious, Hermione. It may not have been the...right thing to do, but it felt right at the time. Which is why I don't regret it, plus, everyone knows that James is in love with Lily."
Kira paused, and uncrossed her arms. Cavalierly, and with a slight inclination of her head she said, "everyone except for Lily that is." One of the girl's hands dove into her wild mane of curls and shook them out; the remnants of sunlight caught the coppery highlights amongst the chestnut curls and set her hair aflame.
"Never have truer words been spoken," Hermione teased with a jovial sense to her words, but underneath it all was a hint of frustration. Despite wishing her brother and best friend would cease this bizarre dance, she knew they were both too stubborn, and thusly their eventual union was not for a while yet.
Kira cleared her throat, "so, things aren't going to be weird between us are they?"
"No," Hermione smiled reassuringly, linking her arm through Kira's. "Now, I'm absolutely famished, and it's about time for tonight's feast. What do you say we head downstairs, then?"
A noise of amusement escaped Kira's lips, "you truly are the best friend a witch could ask for, Hermione Potter."
"Love you too," Hermione replied merrily, dragging her friend towards the spiralling staircase that led down the main floor of the Astronomy Tower. Just before they descended the stairs however, Hermione tacked on, "just don't sleep with my brother again."
Kira readily agreed, and with that the issue was put to bed. Well, for some at least. There was still a crimson haired witch, and a short animagus whose hearts still ached; heavily burdened with unwanted emotions.
Monday April 4th, 1977
Potter Manor
Full Moon
"Oi, witch! Your toes are cold," Draco complained, his nose scrunching up with mild disdain, but it melted into a wonderstruck expression when Hermione pressed her lips to his and silenced his whinging.
The wizard and his witch were currently cuddling on top of the covers on Hermione's bed: not even ten minutes ago they had been downstairs indulging in a glass of Elf wine, and enjoying Dorea and Charlus's company. Since arriving home yesterday, the Potter siblings had not left their parents side save to catch some shut eye.
A few minutes ago however, Charlus's eyes kept drooping, and he was moments away from dozing off on the sofa. Which is when Dorea chuckled softly, roused her wizard and told him it was time for them to retire for the night. Charlus's stubborn streak reared its head, and he insisted he was awake; Dorea merely laughed heartily, slung an arm around her husband's waist and they tiredly ambled their way to their wing on the other side of the Manor.
Hermione and Draco parted, and Hermione traced Draco's bottom lip with her right index finger. Draco's brow puckered as he took in the glum expression on her face.
"You're worrying about Remus," Draco guessed astutely, and Hermione pursed her lips in response.
"He was deathly pale on the train ride home yesterday," Hermione murmured, gnawing lightly on her bottom lip. With a huff, she dropped her head to Draco's chest, and the wizard instantly ran his hand along her curls—his fingers kept getting caught, but he deftly untangled them every time.
"He took his potion every day last week, he'll be just fine," Draco said in what he hoped was a comforting tone. He shifted so that he was flat on his back, his bare feet gliding across the plum silk sheets and enjoying the smooth sensation against his skin.
Mipsy had clearly taken a fancy to the colour, as Hermione's sheer curtains matched, and Draco found his eye drawn to the way they billowed in the crisp spring breeze. In the distance, the wind howled with the threat of thunder, and the promise of rain; a faint drizzle had already kicked up.
"I still wish we were there with him," Hermione confessed in the dimly lit room, staring directly into the flame at the top of the slender pillar of creamy wax nestled in her bronze candle holder on her bedside table. The light flickered across her features, and was caught in an undulating furl in her hazel eyes.
"So do I…" Draco replied. He was about to remind her that Remus went to Lupin Den for Easter break since he would be spending most of his summer at Potter Manor, when a sharp bang came from downstairs and rebounded throughout the house.
Silence.
"What the fuck was that?" Hermione asked, abruptly ripping herself from his arms, and in a fluid motion she plucked her wand off of her other bedside table.
"Sirius and James I would suspect," Draco answered, sitting up as Hermione vaulted off of the bed. The witch was at the door and rearing to go when he was swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
Draco took a moment to stretch before scooping up his own wand. He smacked his lips together, and itched at the side of his face as he calmly strolled out of the room—Hermione had left the door gaping open.
"We're fine, Mipsy. I swear!" A voice roared from the Foyer; Sirius's voice. It was swiftly followed by jerky protests, and Draco picked up Mispy's scolding voice that easily soared upstairs.
Draco peered over the railing down into the Foyer, and saw Hermione launch herself into James's arms. The witch quickly recoiled however, as James was drenched from head to toe: water was relentlessly dripping off of the two wizards, pools of it were gathering around their feet, and they were both panting heavily. (Mipsy was missing, so she must have gone off somewhere.)
Sirius dropped onto the ground, his head tipped to the ceiling, and air hissed in and out of his mouth.
Draco quickly made his way down the grand staircase. Mipsy popped back into the Foyer with white, fluffy towels piled high in her arms—she teetered back and forth for a moment before James dove forward and relieved her of some of them.
"Thank you, Master James," Mipsy said warmly, before she jumped onto Sirius with two towels and began to furiously scrub away at his dripping locks. Sirius attempted to protest that he could do it himself for a few moments, but eventually relented and let the house elf towel him dry.
Dorea and Charlus appeared a second later. The Potter Matriarch headed straight for James, grasping his face in her hands, her eyes searching him up and down, "what in Morgana's name happened?"
"We took the motorcycle out, and everything was fine until this Muggle police car started to chase us…" James drifted off. (Sirius and James were supposed to be out scouting for a flat for Sirius—Dorea and Charlus had generously offered to have Sirius live with them full-time, but he insisted that he find his own place, even if 'I'm going to end up spending most of my time here during the holidays'.)
Dorea scoffed loudly, and she sternly instructed her son to continue.
"We must have been going faster than we should, but we thought it would be much more hassle to stop, so we sped up—"
"You should have just stopped, son," Charlus cut his son off, his tone calm, yet there was a cold anger that was lurking beneath the surface. As soon as Charlus realised they were both fine, the worry hardened to disappointment.
"We did. Eventually—though not willingly, we ended up in a dead-end alley," James explained, and before he could finish recounting the wild night they'd had, Sirius vociferously jumped in.
"The policemen—Fisher and Anderson they called themselves—got out the car, and they were about to arrest us, I think so at least, when three blokes on broomsticks with black hoods, and silver masks showed up," Sirius exclaimed.
"It was close, but somehow we managed to get out of there...those muggles probably need to be obliviated though," Sirius added thoughtfully, nonplussed, and not sensing how the air in the room had shifted.
Draco's chest tightened. Charlus stormed forward, dropping onto one knee in front of Sirius— Mipsy halted in her task and took several steps back—before taking Sirius's face in his hands, "did the masks have snake-like eye slits in them?"
Sirius flinched at the harsh tone Charlus was using, and upon noticing this, Charlus stroked Sirius's cheeks with his thumbs and repeated his question, much gentler this time.
"Yea," Sirius said lowly, and Charlus exhaled deeply, slipped a hand onto the back of Sirius's head and pulled the boy into his chest.
"They were death eaters...his followers. Right?" James asked with clenched fists. He ducked his head, and his glasses slid down onto the tip of his nose—the water turning his nose into a slippery slope.
Dorea pulled her son into her arms, grey orbs seeking out the hazel ones of her husband; communicating non-verbally.
"Right," Draco replied tightly, staring dully ahead of him—his vision blurring, and his eyes burning. Chamomile and vanilla. Hermione's arms were wrapped around him, and he could hear her racing heart gallop away on soaring winds.
"You boys need to have hot showers so you don't catch a cold, and then...we'll talk more about this in the morning," Charlus stated, extracting himself from Sirius. The wizard hesitated, and then pressed his forehead to Sirius's, and said something that Draco didn't quite catch.
The wix somberly agreed, and Mipsy wasted no time in ushering James and Sirius upstairs. Draco and Hermione bade their parents good night and crept back up to Hermione's room. Not even fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on the door, and James and Sirius were striding in.
The wizards were freshly showered, and Hermione spent a few minutes making sure Sirius's hair was dry before she braided the hair on the side of his head and worked it into a high bun. Sirius preened under the attention.
Meanwhile, James crawled into the bed and immediately nestled his way into Draco's side. He was lightly snoring in mere moments. Draco pried James's glasses off of his face and carefully placed them on the bedside table next to the candle holder.
Draco snuggled further into Hermione's bed, and threw an arm around his brother.
There was warmth on his back, and limbs soon entangled with his. Cinnamon and leather. Sirius.
Vaguely Draco was reminded of the night Sirius and James first learned of Hermione and Draco's nightmares, but the thought lazily floated out of his mind in a river of consciousness. No singular thought stuck around, and soon he permitted himself to drift along with them into a deep, restful sleep.
Friday, April 8th, 1977
Diagon Alley, London, England
A loud clap echoed out from behind Hermione, set her nerves on edge, and caused her to nearly jump out of her skin.
Sirius was animatedly scurrying about the dusty, bare flat, and clapping at random intervals to test how soundproof the rooms were. The conclusion so far was that the walls were paper thin, and a whisper in one room could be heard in any of the others.
With Sirius's exuberance however, one would think they had wandered into a gleaming, lavish palace that shone with opulence and grandeur.
"This place is barely a step up from a hovel," Draco sneered, toeing what appeared to be scorch marks on the grimy floorboards. Hermione glanced at Draco in her peripherals, and he irritably shoved his bangs out of his eyes as he inspected the mark further.
"Mate, are you sure this is the place?" James called from the bathroom. Hermione had already examined the pipes—they were rusty, and there was a fishy smell that wafted from the drains.
Sirius cartwheeled out of the bedroom into the main living space: eyes alight with excitement, the wizard stood with his feet apart, and hands on his hips like an explorer who had just stumbled across a new land brimming with promise and coveted resources.
"It's brill, isn't it?" Sirius exclaimed, throwing his hands out to the sides—the large scar on his left forearm highly visible. The light from the sole window (to its credit it was fairly sizable, and it let copious amounts of light) filtered in, and skimmed across Sirius's dark hair and cast a smudged glow around his person.
"Not the exact words I would use," Hermione responded, eyes cast downwards to ensure she didn't step in anything as she strode towards Sirius.
"Okay, fine. It needs a bit of work, but I like it," Sirius said, hands dropping to his sides. The floorboards squeaked a smidge under his weight as he shifted from one boot to another.
As it got warmer—though most days were still quite chilly—Sirius was intent on wearing sleeveless band t-shirts, black leather trousers, and his trusty black leather boots (his leather jacket was hanging up on the single coat hook by the front door).
Hermione was of two minds about the place: the number four on the flat door was crooked, from outside the building was leaning to one side, but otherwise it wasn't that shabby. Hermione also hadn't minded the fact that the stairs up to the third floor creaked and groaned as if they were screaming out against the torment they'd endured over the years.
Hermione prodded Draco's shoe with her own, shooting him a secret smile before she took three steps over to Sirius and closed the distance between them. Hermione lowered her gaze to her lace up boots, and grimaced when she noted how muddy they were. I'll have to clean them later, Hermione thought.
"Are you sure a place in the heart of Diagon Alley is the best idea?" Hermione threw out there, and listened to the way the three wizard's breath caught in their throat.
A low chuckle drew Hermione's attention, and Sirius looped his arms around Hermione's neck. She tilted her head up, and Sirius's back curved as he bent down to her level. "I'll be okay, doll."
"Sirius," Hermione sighed, but he bumped his nose against hers and his eyes earnestly bored into hers.
"Hermione. I'm going to be just fine, plus—" Sirius slipped one hand from around her neck, to finger the silver chain around his neck, "—I always have a way to come home if I need it."
"Why can't you find a cottage somewhere or something?" Hermione grumbled.
Sirius grinned broadly, "now where's the fun in that?"
In that moment however, as James jumped on Sirius's back, and Draco ruffled Sirius's hair, Hermione had an idea. A cottage, she mused. The seeds of inspiration had been sewn, and one day they would flourish into an exquisite flower.
Tuesday, April 12th, 1977
Hermione and Draco Potter's Five Month Anniversary
Potter Manor
Dorea Potter was wearing quite the fashionable, one piece swimming costume: it was black with vertical white pinstripes. She had on a floppy, black, wide brimmed hat, and was thoroughly enjoying the warm day.
"One might almost think it was a hot summer's day," Dorea commented aloud, and Charlus hummed his agreement beside her.
The couple were lounging in the shallow end of the pool out in the backyard. They had both cast warming charms on themselves, and it made all the difference considering how cool the water was.
"We should take the children to the beach sometime this summer," Dorea suggested, raising a foot up out of the water, and she kicked once or twice. Just because she could, just because she wanted to.
"That sounds like a marvellous idea, darling. Whilst we're at it, maybe we should flee the country, go to America and enroll the children at one of the magical schools there," Charlus responded in a carefree, buoyant way, running a wet hand through his damp, slicked back locks.
"Pardon?" Dorea quirked a brow, pivoting her head towards her husband. "Are you being serious?"
"Yes," Charlus said, peering at her with grave eyes. "The war is coming, and you know our children...they'll want to fight."
Dorea placed a hand on Charlus's cheek, "what's this? My brave husband wants to tuck tail and run from a fight?"
Charlus caught her wrist, and with a wry twist of his lips said, "I'm serious Doe."
"So, hypothetically, we run away, then what? Where will we live? Where will the children finish their education? Where—"
"We'll figure it out," Charlus murmured, and Dorea shook her head, but there was no joy in the smile that tweaked at the corners of her lips.
"This isn't like you, love. What's really bothering you?" Dorea inquired, her other hand sliding up onto his upper chest, and one of her slender fingers toyed with his collarbone.
Charlus stared out into the distance for a pregnant moment before turning back to his wife, his free hand taking hold of the one on his chest. "The children, I...I can't lose any of them, doe." There was a tightness to his jaw, and Dorea's heart squeezed.
She stroked that jaw, and leant forward to kiss away the deep groove lines on his glabella. "I know."
Then as a way to lighten the mood, since she knew this was a conversation that would never end well, she said, "what school in America would they even go to? Surely not Ilvermorny."
"Why not? It's a decent school."
"I knew a witch once, a real hag, she tried to nick some jewellery off of me, and she said I was a cold, frigid bitch—which as you know, is repetition. Her Mother taught at Ilvermorny."
"So you wouldn't want the children to go there...because a witch insulted you, tried to steal from you, and her Mother taught at the school?" Charlus asked slowly, seeking clarification.
"Indeed, and I will not have my children attending such a depraved institution," Dorea said primly, a toothy grin splayed across her features.
"You truly are a divine and striking witch," Charlus said before drawing Dorea in for a kiss.
All of a sudden, the witch and wizard were interrupted as a body launched itself into the pool and splashed a wave of water onto them.
Emerging from the water like a majestic creature, and with a flick of his head—sending water flying from the tips of his hair—was Draco.
Dorea and Charlus barely had time to register what had happened before three more bodies entered the water. Namely, Hermione, James and Sirius; in that order.
"I take it back, if you want, we can send them there," Dorea whispered to her husband in jest, and he chuckled lightly in return.
Charlus swiped some of the water off of Dorea's face, and replied, "admit it. You want to run away too."
"Perhaps, but you know we wouldn't be able to live with ourselves if we didn't stay and at least try to fight," Dorea replied.
Charlus exhaled heftily—as if the weight of the world had plopped itself onto his shoulders—and tugged his witch into him. Charlus' body heat seeped into her skin, and she smiled; she was home when she was in his arms.
"I know, love. Neither of us has ever had any tolerance for injustice and misuse of power," Charlus murmured into her ear.
He probably thinks the children can't hear, but by the stiff stance Draco and Hermione have taken, I'm positive they are privy to every single word, Dorea mused. She knew the children were animagus, the children knew she knew they were animagus; yet, such things needn't be said aloud—they were simply understood.
Sirius and James were horsing around, splashing each other and attempting to bend the water to their will with wandless magic. Dorea peeked at them over Charlus's shoulder, and pride swelled inside her, filling every inch of her chest cavity.
"So we stay and fight then?" Dorea asked, as if asking what he supposed was for supper.
Dorea's eyes fell on her dark haired Prince, with his grey eyes—that held wisdom that far surpassed his years—and porcelain skin. Draco was grinning down at Hermione, with a tender expression that melted Dorea's heart.
"We stay and fight," Charlus affirmed, drawing her closer.
Draco's eyes shot over to them, and Dorea met them evenly, her hands sliding up her husband's back to play with the hairs on his nape.
The conflict swimming in Draco's eyes shot daggers of fear directly into her bloodstream. In spite of that, she clenched her jaw, and with grim determination repeated, "we stay and fight."