Hello hello lovelies!
I don't think I'm going to keep the update schedule I had planned previously for the rest of the month. I need to finish writing the next chapter, but after that I am going to post it and the following two chapters on consecutive days. (Not sure if I'll update for the remainder of July after that.)
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 storyline and any OC's belong to me.
The ground was dappled with the light that filtered through the tree canopies in the Orchards, and two raven haired witches strolled arm in arm. The light caught on their hair and it looked as if stars were glittering in the night sky.
The witches were dressed in flowy dresses: the younger one was wearing an off-the-shoulder, white garment with a baby blue floral pattern scrawled across it, and the elder was wearing a plum coloured frock that came just below the knee, with a Queen Anne neckline.
"So aside from all that, how did the rest of your school year go?" Dorea asked her daughter.
"Smith managed to stay out of Draco's way, Lily and James are now acting cordial around each other, and something is off with Peter," Hermione said airily, though the last bit was heavily laced with concern and worry. "Other than that it was just schoolwork and the such like."
Images of the events that transpired after exams finished flew through her mind. She dutifully ignored them.
"Peter…I can imagine things must be very tough for him now that both of his parents have passed away," Dorea supplied softly. "Which is a lot for anyone to deal with, much less someone your age." Dorea shook her head in pity.
Hermione jerkily came to a stop, "what?"
Hermione was instantaneously transported back to the conversation she and Peter had as they all parted ways on Platform Nine and Three Quarters.
"My parents insisted we go visit my Aunt for the summer because it's been almost two years since we last saw her," Peter smiled sheepishly. Hermione gripped his shoulder and squeezed.
"We're going to miss you, Pete, I hope you have an amazing summer."
"You too, Hermione."
"His Mother succumbed to vanishing sickness some time ago—poor thing. Some strains of it are treatable, but it appears hers was not." Dorea pursed her lips.
Dorea grimaced, "no one knows how his Father passed; everything I've heard has either been a rumour or speculation. The one concrete fact I know is that the Ministry got involved after."
That was peculiar, Hermione's eyebrows rose, "the Ministry got involved? Why in Morgana's name would they do that?" The words came out in a dry tone, her mouth moving whilst her mind was frozen as it tried to process the shocking revelations.
Dorea shot her daughter a droll look, "I'm not certain if this has anything to do with it, but there was a rumour that he was dabbling in the dark arts…though, with how everything is right now, I think people will believe just anything, or they'll twist the truth to fit their narrative."
Dorea scoffed at the idea, and in a sombre tone continued, "the man was grieving…he probably couldn't handle losing the woman he loved."
"I'm sorry, Mum…but you're telling me that Pete's parents are dead?" Hermione asked, gobsmacked. She couldn't wrap her mind around the concept, and suddenly she was trapped in a spiders web as it spun her around and around into well crafted prison.
"Yes, didn't you know?" Dorea's brow puckered, tucking some of Hermione's curls behind her ears.
"No," Hermione replied, still reeling from this new information. Now everything made sense. All of it. Peter's odd behaviour, him breaking things off with Kira. I'll have to talk to Draco and James about this, Hermione thought, working her jaw.
"That is awful," Hermione said, swallowing thickly.
"It truly is," Dorea murmured, and the pair re-commenced their stroll, both lost in their own thoughts as the grass crunched beneath their shoes and the light licked at their heels.
"This may not be the time—as I've just informed you of a terrible tragedy—but I know it must be hard keeping your relationship a secret from Remus and Sirius," Dorea said after a time, and her left hand came to a rest on their linked ones.
"It is…but it's a necessary evil," Hermione sighed, kicking a small, round pebble and watching it skip several feet in front of them.
"Why?"
Hermione snorted, and shot her mother a disbelieving look, "I can list about a thousand reasons why."
Dorea smiled primly, as if she'd won the blue ribbon at a county fair for best show pig. At least that's the first thing that came mind as Hermione peered at her Mother.
"I have one question and then I'll drop it," Dorea said with a small shrug and an absent hand gesture. Hermione saw the amused quirk of Dorea's lips, and the woman's dark, full eyelashes fluttering as she spoke.
"Yes, Mum?"
"Do you trust Remus and Sirius?"
It was a instinctual reaction, and the words fled her mouth like a dam bursting, "with my life."
"Then why can't you trust them with this?" Dorea asked in a whimsical tone. The witch stopped in her tracks, and her hair and dress floated as the wind played with them, and for a moment the witch was floating underwater, peaceful as the light shimmered down on her.
Dorea was a majestic creature who belonged to the elements: she wriggled her bare toes against the grass and tipped her head to the sky without a care in the world.
Air slowly whistled out of Hermione's nostrils in a resigned sigh. Dorea was right—as per usual.
Perhaps someday soon we should consider telling them, Hermione mused, and the thought's prickly exterior poked at her brain as it rolled across it.
The wind gaily twirled around the females as they both stood in companionable silence.
"Mipsy said she was baking a lemon meringue pie tonight…probably because Draco was whinging about how we've had quite a few chocolate desserts as of late," Dorea commented errantly, in the way that she had; something as frivolous as what was for pudding later, somehow seemed to hold as much weight as a serious conversational topic.
"I vote we let him suffer as we delight in Mipsy's decadent chocolate concoctions," Hermione relished with unmatched glee.
"You love lemon meringue," Dorea pointed out.
"I know, but I also love the way Draco's lip juts out when he sulks," Hermione smirked.
"You're terrible," a lighthearted laugh sprang from Dorea's lips, and the witch pulled her daughter closer into her side before planting a warm kiss to her temple.
Hermione hummed happily, and the two witches broke out into a small clearing. They basked in the summer sun: their hands held out on either side of them, faces tipped skyward, eyes closed as they drank in all that the day had to offer. The wind tousled through their locks, and for a brief moment Hermione's mind was entirely blank.
"I have a good feeling about today," Dorea said, her voice entwined with the wind as it bounced around the clearing.
Hermione's eyes flew open, and she hastily had to duck her head and avert her eyes from the sun's blinding rays.
In that moment an idea broached her mind, like someone testing a few keys on a piano after not having played for years. It was so simple, and it may just work.
"Mum, I need to go see Draco about something!" Hermione exclaimed, and Dorea glanced over at her daughter only to see her sprinting back in the direction of the house.
Dorea smirked, folded her arms over her chest and nodded, "yes. I have a very good feeling indeed."
Draco kissed Hermione firmly on the mouth and spun her around in a circle when she informed him of her idea in their Potions room. Now all they had to do was test it.
Draco Potter was irritated: Hermione's suggestion yesterday to add Hemlock to the brew of ingredients that they'd been testing was odd—yet kind of brilliant—and unfortunately it had failed miserably. They were so close to getting it right that he could taste it.
What are we missing? Draco asked himself. They'd snuck out to see Liam once more after their initial visit with the young lad, but unlike the first time, their observations did not garner any new information. There was something crucial that needed to be added, and neither of them could quite put their finger on it.
Draco plucked a ripe, juicy blackberry out of the cream, ceramic bowl in his right hand—there was a tiny chip on the rim of the bowl, and Draco's eye was drawn there as he approached Hermione's bedroom door.
The pair were alone in the manor for the day: James was round Sirius's, and Dorea and Charlus had gone over to the Shacklebolt's for a spot of tea.
I have no idea where Mipsy is, Draco mused as he popped the berry into his mouth.
Hermione's door was ajar, in the same place as he'd left it when he'd ventured down to the kitchens in search of a light snack.
Draco toed the door open, and when he was on the other side of its swing he kicked it closed behind him. Non-verbally and wandlessly he threw up silencing and locking charms.
Draco's thoughts were briefly plagued by the information Hermione had shared with him and James last night. Pete's parents were dead. It was no wonder he'd been acting so strangely as of late.
Draco hated to admit it, but it kind of stung that Peter didn't trust them enough to tell them the truth. With every passing day it got harder and harder to condemn the wizard for his future actions; even if a large part of Draco still hated the rat.
There were no words to describe his feelings when it pertained to Peter. The image of the pathetic Peter Pettigrew in the nineties was a blurry reel of film replaced by a joy filled expression when he'd successfully transformed for the first time, or his grin when he'd shoved his mouth full of sugar quills, or the wonder as he'd slowly 'skated' across their pool years ago.
The upcoming betrayal was an acidic bite that Draco tried not to linger on; it tainted everything it touched. One day he would have to come to grips with Peter's eventual membership in Voldemort's dark gang, but today was not that day.
"The potion room still reeks...I stopped by on my way to the kitchens to open the windows—" Draco popped another berry in his mouth, and his lips were stained by their dark juices, "—to let the room air out."
"I was wondering if you got lost," Hermione replied, a vision in her white bikini and unfastened, sheer, black outer robes. The witch was reclining in the middle of her bed, with her hair piled messily on top of her head.
Hermione's knees were bent, and she was intently focused on the thick book propped up against her thighs, "the real misfortune about yesterday's setback were those drops of the accursed concoction that burned slender holes through my beautiful desk." She sighed wistfully as she turned the page.
"Is there anything helpful in there?" Draco asked as he strolled over to Hermione's bed and sat sideways on the edge; facing her.
"This Norwegian witch doesn't have much to say that's relevant the cruciatus curse, even though she mentions it every now and then…but she's very informative as she breaks down the magical plants and ingredients in her region."
The entire reason they'd read the book in the first place was because Dorea had recommended it after they'd asked her if she had any books on the unforgivable curse.
"She dithers on about the plant life a lot, but as far as I know she discusses the aftereffects of the cruciatus curse."
At first Dorea shot them a dubious look, but then they confessed that they'd 'stumbled' across Liam (they also explained who the young boy was) and they were trying to create a cure for him. Dorea slowly ingested their confession and pride shone in her eyes; she knew there was more to the story, but she thankfully did not press for any further details.
Hermione looked at him for the first time since he'd entered the room and she glared at the bowl of blackberries, "please don't stain my sheets." The sheets in question were pastel pink, and she'd just put them on her bed this morning with Mipsy's help; the House Elf allowed them to assist her in the chores, but refused to let them do it all on their own.
In a blatant show of recklessness and deviance Draco smirked, and purposefully licked one of his stained fingers.
"I will not hesitate to hex you," Hermione scowled, turning her attention back to her book.
"I would expect nothing less," Draco said, leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to her knee.
Hermione regarded him carefully, "can I have one please?" It was a polite request, but flames flicked from the tip of her tongue, and her eyes were copper and honeyed brown.
Draco reached into the bowl—maintaining eye contact—and he removed one of the berries from the bowl between his thumb and forefinger, and held it up to Hermione's mouth. The girl grinned before her lips parted and he slowly fed the berry to her.
"Thank you, sweetness," Hermione said after she'd swallowed the blackberry. She glanced back at the book, and with a hefty sigh groaned, "I don't think we're going to find out much more from this."
Hermione closed the cover with a petulant huff, heaved it off of her and plopped it onto the bed beside her. She turned back to Draco, and had enough time to yell, "DRACO!" before the boy had poured the remainder of the berries and all their juices over her midsection.
The witch tried to jump back, but halted when the juices slid off of her onto her sheets; with fury wiring her jaw shut she glared at her boyfriend. Hermione held as still as she possibly could in an attempt not to jostle the berries.
"These are new sheets," Hermione growled, but Draco was less concerned with her ire, and utterly fascinated by the juice racing in thin lines down her body and pooling in her belly button. There were flecks of the dark liquid all over her bikini, and he knew it was going to be a bitch to get out even with magic.
"You love me," Draco smirked, falling sideways onto the bed, and propping himself up with his right forearm.
"I am going to murder you in a second," Hermione threatened through clenched teeth, her hair sparking and floating around her head in fierce tendrils.
"I don't think you will," Draco chuckled softly, and with a cheeky expression he dove forward onto his witch.
"DRACO!" Hermione shrieked as his arms wrapped around her midsection, and the wizard began to slurp the juices off of her body; he paused every now and then to pop a berry into his mouth. Hermione may have been livid, but it tickled, so she laughed until tears pricked the corners of her eyes and her cheeks were sore.
"You're cleaning all this up," Hermione panted out, grasping at air after the last round of laughter as her fingers threaded through Draco's tresses.
"I thought I already did," Draco blinked up at her innocently, and he dropped his cheek onto her sticky skin; his face twisted up in mild disgust at the feeling before it relaxed into a serene, clean slate.
"You are such an idiot."
Draco pretended to be offended, and Hermione pretended to mean it.
"I love you too, Hermione."
Hermione pushed out her bottom lip in protest, "you're cleaning up my sheets."
"I can do that…"
"Good...I love you too," Hermione smiled softly.
"After," Draco stated as he lifted off of her and moved upwards so that the tips of their noses were touching.
"After?"
"After," Draco said as he claimed her lips.
Hermione smiled into the kiss, and whispered, "after."
Afterwards, Draco sheepishly delivered the sheets to Mipsy downstairs, and she flicked him on the nose 'for getting blackberries all over Mistress Hermione's pretty new sheets'.
Laughter echoed in Draco's ears, and he followed it outside to where Hermione (she'd changed into her bright blue swimsuit), James and Sirius were splashing each other in the pool. The boys arrived at Potter Manor about ten minutes ago, and had immediately sought out the pool to get some solace from the sweltering sun.
Draco carefully ran across the grass that was soaked by pool water as to not slip, and vaulted himself into the cool liquid. When he emerged, James jumped on his back and yelled, "vive la résistance!"
The brothers plunged into the water, and parted ways whilst still submerged. Draco glanced about, small bubbles escaping his nose as he held his breath. James tapped on his shoulder, Draco faced him, and then James pointed at Hermione's legs.
Draco nodded, and the boys swam towards Hermione and each of them grabbed a hold of one of her legs before pulling her under.
Her raven hair billowed through the water and she glared at both of them for a moment before she squirmed out of their grasp and launched herself upwards off of the pool floor.
Draco and James broke the water's surface a few moments later, grinning like fools.
Their stress that came from their lack of progress on the potion for Frank and Alice was eased somewhat by James and Sirius's easy banter.
The quartet lounged in the pool until their hands and toes were pruney, and then some; the only reason they left was because Mipsy popped into the garden and yelled that food was ready.
The wix's teeth chattered as they wrapped up in their thick towels they'd left on the grass and headed for the house.
Something smells good, Draco thought as he stepped through the porch doors onto the mat Mipsy had put down (with Charlus's muddy shoes from gardening and all of their exploits, she deemed it necessary). Draco wiped his feet on the mat before he entered the house, caught Hermione's eye and smiled.
In that moment everything clicked, it all made sense, and the prevailing thought in his mind was, it's going to be a good summer.
The first month of summer unfurled before their eyes: a continuous stream of lazy days spent in the pool, and assisting Charlus in the garden only to relax on the back porch with a cold, tall glass of lemonade for all their hard work when they finished. The Potters went on several flying excursions: they raced through the air, they twirled, dove, sailed, laughed madly or simply letting the wind carry them on its back where it may.
(By now everyone had seen Hermione's tattoo on one of the numerous days spent by the pool, but the only one who thought it was nothing more than a wicked bit of ink was Sirius.)
Thus far, the only sour note of their summer was when Remus left for Lupin Den (the day after they went to Killian's to get their ink). Remus's mother Hope had taken deathly ill, and he wished to spend as much time with her in her final days as he could. The healers and muggle doctors all said the same thing, her illness was fatal, and she only had a couple months left to live.
The Potters flooed Remus every other day, checking in on how he and his family were doing. The werewolf put on a brave face for his mother, trying to be her light in all this darkness; the Lupins had never been closer as a family, and it was a shame that tragedy was what had brought them together.
(As cruel as it is, oftentimes tragedy is a binder that stitches broken souls together and helps them heal and survive in their times of need; or it merely serves to rip them even further apart.)
One afternoon in mid July, James caught Hermione and Draco snogging in a tree on the outskirts of the Orchard. He'd been sent to summon them for supper; he rolled his eyes and told them to get a room. Draco toothily grinned and replied, "we will."
The passage of time was marked by letters from their mates, by lavish Sunday roasts, and by Sirius swinging by (sometimes with Riley, sometimes without) and announcing what day it was, in addition to his 'official' title upon arrival. 'Sirius Black, once heir to a corrupt, decrepit throne. Charming, devilishly handsome lad…oh, and it's Thursday by the way'.
Frank came to stay a week as July whittled down—she was shaving off her days as quickly as butter melted on toast. The first thing he did was hand Dorea a jar of peaches, and a basket of fresh blueberry scones and said, "Mum told me there's some inside joke between you two, and that I'm to deliver these to you, Missus Potter."
Having Frank around was a breath of fresh air. There was a laidback quality about the lad that always made you feel at home when speaking to him, his deep voice a thick and furry blanket that warms your chilled bones in the winter.
Charlus asked Frank what he was going to do after he graduated—this was their final year after all—and that was when he informed them he was going to be an Auror. Two of the wix present were already privy to said information, and knew full well that his goal would be achieved in the not too distant future.
Hermione tried to lighten her mood by jokingly—and proudly—stating that she had absolutely no idea what she was going to do.
She didn't. She hadn't even thought that far. Which one might suppose was uncharacteristic for the witch, but given the life she'd led for the past six years she was completely at a loss as to what she was meant to do.
For once in her life, Hermione didn't have any grand plans for her future; she was just going to buckle up, sit tight and let life take her where it would.
(The only determination Hermione and Draco had made in relation to their after graduation plans was to draw the least amount of attention to themselves as they could.)
Frank departed Potter Manor on July thirtieth: his wicker basket filled with chocolate chip cookies, a faded pink ribbon that had the initials A.B. embroidered on it, and a petite white flower. Dorea's children asked what the ribbon was for, and the woman smiled serenely and responded with, "just a bit of fun amongst witches."
Then came Harry's birthday, or more accurately the day he would one day be brought into this world: Draco and Hermione were strolling towards the sun room when Draco whispered, "happy birthday, Harry," into Hermione's ear like a giddy secret passed from ear to ear by glee filled primary school children.
Happy birthday, Harry, Hermione thought, shooting Draco a coquettish smile as she entered the sun room through its wide, and open doors.
Dinner had finished about fifteen minutes ago, and while the others retired to the sun room, Hermione and Draco stayed behind in the kitchen and helped Mipsy clean up. Dorea kissed them both on the cheeks, promised to save a glass or two of the Elf wine she had gripped in her hand (she'd stolen it out of the wine cellar the moment dinner was over), and led the charge; James, Sirius and Charlus had closely trailed after her.
Hermione was brought back to the present by the music playing from the record player; it was bold, yet dainty. The piano was fast paced, yet matched with a longing violin that glided at its own pace. It was a delicate balance of contrasting forces that melded together into a harmonious union.
Hermione glanced to her right, and Charlus was standing in front of a seated Dorea gripping her hands and saying, "c'mon, Dori. Let's dance."
Dorea pursed her lips as if contemplating his proposal, and with flushed cheeks gave him a nod of approval. Charlus did a half jump in place, and merrily pulled her up off of the loveseat. The two practically glided to the open section of the sun room that was unobstructed by coffee tables or any other possible offensive furniture that had every intention of tripping them up.
Dorea's joyous laughter spilled from her lips, and she threw her head back as the pair waltzed across the light hardwood floors.
"Mum has had more than a couple glasses," Sirius joked as he saddled up beside them, with James following right behind him.
A small pop sounded, and Mipsy appeared in the corner of the room with another bottle of Elf wine. She wryly twisted her lips in amusement at her Master and Mistress as Dorea and Charlus whirled around and around; however, there was a tender love pouring from her as she folded her hands onto her apron.
"Well we can't let them have all the fun," Hermione declared, and her body buzzed with excitement as she held out a hand to Sirius. "My good sir, may I have this dance?"
Sirius hopped, clicked his heels together in midair, and dramatically accepted her hand, "why of course you may, milady."
In her peripherals Hermione saw James make a similar, showy proposal to Draco. The three couples spun around the room, laughing their heads off, and their merriment only paused as they took sips of wine.
Hermione didn't recall when it happened, but suddenly she was holding one of Mipsy's hands, and Sirius was holding the other—the witch and wizard were bent at the middle as to not be flinging Mipsy about like a rag doll—and the trio skipped in a circle most joyously.
The rest of the night was a fantastic blur of wine, dance and warmth.
Hermione ended up wrapped in Dorea's arms on the loveseat, her legs tucked under her and drinking in her Mother's scent.
Hermione closed her eyes, and Harry and Ron's smiling faces greeted her; sleep quickly claimed her. She dreamt that Harry, Ron and her were running through a meadow, and mirth bubbled out of them as they collapsed in and amongst vibrant yellow flowers.
Happy Birthday, dream Hermione with her honey brown eyes and bushy brown hair said. Harry rolled over to face her, and she scolded him for crushing some of the beautiful fauna.
Dream Hermione stared into Harry's bright green eyes and warmth filled her body from her head to her toes—coursing like adrenaline through her veins.
She was there. She was in the meadow with two of the people she missed most in the world.
Thank you, Hermione, dream Harry responded, and then she slipped away into darkness, held in the arms of her ginger haired knight and her reckless boy who lived.