Happy Monday!
I don't know if I am going to post for the remainder of the summer. I am trying to stockpile chapters, so I guess we'll see how that goes. I am super happy about this chapter because it explores some aspects of Pureblood society that I haven't really played with in this story as much. It also ends in a way that makes my heart sing.
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
Sunday, December 25th, 1977
Christmas Day
Full Moon
Potter Manor
"Are you sure you're alright?" Hermione inquired, brushing the hair back off of Remus's forehead.
"The moon truly does have lousy timing. It's Christmas."
Remus snorted. "She rarely concerns herself with the importance of holidays and special occasions, she just shows up when she wants." He cleared his throat and added, "I swear, I'm feeling much better."
"You took your potion today right?"
Remus grunted in the affirmative. "Draco made sure of that, first thing this morning—before we opened presents. He began his hovering at the crack of dawn…it was still bloody dark out, and I woke up to find him stood at the foot of my bed."
Draco was on edge, they all were; for good reason. It was their first Christmas without Dorea. Remus, burdened and suffering under the loss of two beloved women in his life, hadn't the same sparkle in his soul as he usually did.
Currently, Remus was sprawled across his bed, one leg tangled in his sheets. He was bare aside from his powder blue pants. His eyes were closed, his head resting on Hermione's thigh.
"Is Sirius back yet?" Remus asked, wincing as a bout of nausea hit him.
"No, he flooed late and said that Riley's parents invited him to stay overnight. Should be back by this afternoon," Hermione informed him. She pressed the backs of her fingers against his forehead, it was warm yet clammy.
"He must have made a good impression."
"Must have."
A comfortable silence settled over the pair. Hermione leaned back against the stack of cushions behind her. The leg Remus was resting on had fallen asleep, but she didn't dare move it. She stroked his hair and stared out the window at the snowy grounds.
Remus groaned, hand twitching against the sheets. "Could really do with some of Pete's hot chocolate right now," Remus sighed.
"Well he's downstairs, I'm sure arrangements can be made," Hermione smiled gently. A soft knock from the door drew her attention.
Draco strolled into the room; he adjusted the waistband of his high-waisted jeans as he moved.
"That's a nice colour on you," Remus complimented, an eye cracked as he gestured at Draco's merlot coloured turtleneck; it brought the rich, robust taste to the forefront of Hermione's mind.
Draco scrunched up his nose, fiddling with his left sleeve as he approached them. "Thanks. I'm still not sold on it, but I thought I'd try something new."
"I like it," Hermione said. She waved her hand and Remus's door inched closed. The moment she heard the soft click indicating that it'd shut, she cast locking and silencing spells.
"Peter?" Remus asked.
"Peter," Hermione confirmed soberly. The other Marauders had privately asked why Peter was not privy to their secret, but the resolute answer remained the same, 'he isn't pack'. The truth was much crueller, and unfortunately, would kill them if they told it.
Hermione and Draco had to be extra careful with Peter around, but thankfully he spent his time split between Potter Manor and Sirius's flat so they were able to steal moments here and there.
Peter found out about Riley and Sirius's secret relationship a few days ago. Initially he had been hurt at being kept in the dark, but after some calm discussion, he agreed that the less people who knew the better. Draco and Hermione had shared a look; whatever their plan for the future, they needed to include Riley in it.
Draco's hands pressed into Remus's soft mattress as he leant over and dropped a quick kiss to Hermione's cheek.
"Join us," Remus said feebly, squirming on his sheets as he tried to get comfortable. He laid his hands on his chest.
"My pleasure," Draco said, he crawled onto the bed, and settled into place besides Remus's torso. Draco gripped the hand closest to him.
"The moon really does have shite timing, doesn't it?" Draco muttered, brow drawn together in concern. "Do you need anything?"
Remus tiredly shook his head. "M'fine."
"Is James still parading around in the jacket I gave him?" Hermione asked quietly. Draco nodded in confirmation.
The Potters, Remus and Peter had all gathered around the tree first thing that morning and shared around their gifts. Remus was pasty and haggard but he'd rested against James for most of the gift giving.
Remus had shifted to Draco as James ripped open his gift for Hermione. James's teeth cut into his bottom lip as he stopped himself from bellowing his thanks and excitement.
Instead, James had jovially somersaulted around the living room, slipping on the carpet; he caught himself right before he careened into the hardwood.
Hermione had bestowed him with a shearling, tan, corduroy jacket. He'd tugged it on immediately.
Sirius's gifts were still lined up neatly under tree, awaiting his return.
Charlus had heartily laughed at Draco's gift request, but readily obliged. The middle Potter child wished for his Father to write out the Potter house words on a bit of parchment in anticipation for his next tattoo.
"It makes it more personal that way," Draco said with a shrug. Charlus had tucked his son into his side, and smattered his head with kisses. Draco feigned disgust, but had wrapped his arms firmly around Charlus's middle all the same.
It was not their best Christmas. The normal shine on the morning was rubbed away with Dorea's absence. Remus's miserable state at least gave the Manor's occupants something useful to do, so they had been doting on him all day, and he allowed them to. Mipsy made chocolate chip pancakes, and that helped some.
"How was my Dad?" Remus asked after a while. Draco flexed his bare foot, peering at his well-manicured toes before he answered.
"Good…as well as can be expected. I left him and Dad on the back porch drinking coffee and munching on cookies," Draco paused, meeting Hermione's eye. "James and Peter are downstairs playing wizard's chess."
"Good…for…them," Remus said, sleep fogging up his speech. Exhaustion had finally caught up to him. The wizard's chest rose and fell evenly. Soft snores whistled from his nostrils.
"This month's full moon took more out of him than usual," Hermione commented.
"Stress. NEWTs, the impending war, it tends to wear one out," Draco responded.
"You think this—" Hermiome gestured at Remus's slumbering form, "—is because of stress?"
"It makes sense. The more stressed Remus is, the more restless Moony will get…I assume," Draco hazarded a guess. He placed his other hand on top of his friend's and patted it.
"We should let him sleep," Hermione said, brushing Remus's hair back. The pair took care not to jostle the werewolf as they untangled themselves. Hermione carefully pulled Remus's sheet up and over him, and crept over to the door where Draco was already waiting.
Downstairs, they entered the kitchen and found Sirius sitting on the counter, swinging his legs back and forth and munching on some of Mipsy's freshly baked sugar cookies. A jar of strawberry jam was open beside him, a butter knife handle sticking out of it. Sirius slathered some of the jam onto the buttery cookie in hand, and with a broad smile greeted them. He had returned, and not empty-handed. Sirius had news to share.
"Riley and I are moving in together." Sirius informed them, sticking the butter knife back into the jam, and finishing off his cookie.
"Does she know that?" Peter teased.
"Prat," Sirius shot back. He leapt off the counter, and flung himself at Peter. He caught the boy in a headlock. Peter protested rowdily— although his laughter dampened the impact of his objections—as Sirius rubbed his knuckles across Peter's scalp.
"Whenever the two of you are finishing mucking about, Remus would like some of Peter's hot chocolate," Hermione tried. Her words fell on deaf ears. A smile cracked onto her face like an egg being broken into a sizzling pan; mirth tickled her features.
Peter wrestled free, and had leveraged Sirius's height against him; Peter pinned Sirius to the ground, holding his arm behind him. Peter sat on top of Sirius, straddling his lower back. The victor was preening at his accomplishment. With an innocent smile, Peter cocked his head at Hermione and asked, "you said something about hot chocolate?"
Saturday, December 31st, 1977
New Year's Eve
Shacklebolt Estate
The ballroom glittered and gleamed. Draco had attended plenty of lavish soirees in his time growing up: indulgent parties where the food was plenty, the expensive drink was flowing and where a great deal of the lords and ladies despised one another, but put on a good show in their finery and feigned the opposite.
The ballroom was vast, and its grandeur easily rivalled that of Malfoy Manor. It was bright, airy. The walls were at least twelve feet tall, and the ceiling was curved into a dome, and at the apex hung an elaborate, crystal-tiered chandelier that sparkled proudly. Golden streamers criss-crossed from one side of the room to the next.
Draco descended the grand staircase in step with his brother. Hermione was two steps ahead of them, her hand daintily slipped into the crook of her Father's arm. He caught sight of the far wall. Silver vines crept up along its length, and golden roses were in full bloom, entangled in the vine's embrace.
Wix gracefully twirled around the polished white marble floors, the floors were so shiny one could see their own reflection if you looked hard enough. Draco estimated that must have been five hundred people there.
Charlus and Dorea had spoken about the Shacklebolt's parties before, often filling in each other's sentences and adding in minor details that aided Draco in envisioning what it would be like to be in attendance. Their elaborate descriptions paled in comparison to the real thing.
To think we almost didn't make it, Draco mused, trying to look around and see if he could spot any familiar faces.
Charlus was going to opt out of attending the evening's festivities for the first time since he was fifteen. (In his fifteenth year, his Mother, Genevieve informed him that he was finally old enough to join them for the wondrous evening.)
"It'll be the first time I've gone without—" Charlus had been unable to finish his sentence, the words clogged up in his throat, and he'd tiredly rubbed a hand down his face.
"She would want us to go, and it'll be the first time that we'll be going with you," Hermione had said, and after a bit more convincing, Charlus had given in.
The Potter men were all in similar attire: formal black dress robes, with their own specific accent colour on their tailcoats to differentiate them. Charlus had gone for a startlingly pink, James a prussian blue and Draco an emerald green.
Draco adjusted the high collar that was buttoned around his neck. It'd been years since he'd been fitted for such formalwear, and it was a bit strange, but at the same time he was extremely comfortable; it had been like slipping on a second skin.
The intricate embroidery around the edges of their clothes shone when the light caught them.
Draco was admiring the glowing balls of white light bouncing about the streamers when they reached the ballroom floor, and were swiftly greeted by a witch held in high regard by most of wizarding society. Lora Shacklebolt.
Lora's dark skin contrasted sharply with her pastel pink dress robes. A Queen Anne neckline exposed her collarbones, around her neck was a diamond choker, and a string of delicate, translucent rose quartz travelled from it and ended on the swell of her bosom. The robes cinched in at the waist, the long sleeves clung to her arms until the curve of her elbow where they flowed down to her wrists, split down the middle. Her skirts fell sleekly down her figure and pooled around her feet.
There was a severity to her eyes, but warmth radiated off of the woman as she held out her hand to Charlus and excitedly greeted him. Draco admired the rows of neat braids across her scalp that were then twisted into a large bun. Diamonds earrings glittered in her ears, and swung about as she spoke.
"James! How you've grown my boy, and—ah, these must be Galieus's children," Lora's voice was silky and smooth. The woman's age was indiscernible (she was seventy-four) with a few wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, and deeply set smile lines around her mouth.
Lord Shacklebolt was a broader, taller version of his son. He was a calm presence a step behind his wife, his hands linked behind his back, his bald head gleaming. A small smile graced his features.
Lora glided towards Hermione, who curtsied deeply, head bowed. Lora reached out, her index finger below Hermione's chin, and she guided the girl upwards so she was straightened out.
"It's a shame it's taken us so long to meet," Lora purred, lips twitching into a smile.
Charlus parted from his daughter, moving forth to greet Elias Shacklebolt. The two men shared a brief, but heartfelt embrace. Draco stepped forward into his Father's recently vacated spot, and he rolled his shoulders backwards, chin tilted down to look at the imposing witch.
Lora inclined her head slightly, and he followed suit. Her eyes were dark, yet crisp with a medley of Autumnal hues. "You must be Draco."
"Pleasure to meet you, milady. Thank you for inviting us into your exquisite home," Draco said, delicately taking her free hand and pressing a soft kiss on her knuckles.
"You are trouble," Lora chuckled, her hand sliding onto his cheek. "Just like your Mother."
Draco's cordial expression faltered for a moment.
Lora's brow drew together. "I am terribly sorry for your loss, all of you." Lora's gaze flitted between the three children as she'd seen Charlus many a time in the past few months.
Lora cleared her throat, hands falling from Hermione and Draco and she clasped them together in front of her. "I have been curious about you two from the moment I heard of your existence—Galieus was a brilliant man, a touch odd, but still brilliant. We were heartbroken when he emigrated to Northern Ireland without a word."
"You knew Gale, a man of few words and many adventures," Charlus smiled softly, lines of sadness scratching across his face.
"That he was," Lora agreed, nodding curtly. She was drinking in the 'Potter twins' with a keen eye, as if by looking at them she could unravel them, lay them out before her on the floor, and read all their secrets like a detailed manuscript.
Charlus sensed the shift in the atmosphere, and scratched the back of his head as he asked Lady Shacklebolt to dance with him.
"Normally I would love to, but I think I'd like to dance with your son, make up for lost time as it were. I'm sure you beautiful daughter can spare you a whirl around the ballroom," Lora smiled primly, her gaze fixed on Draco, staring straight into his grey eyes.
James had been the epitome of polite and serene until then, his hand on the small of Hermione's back. "What about me then?" James asked in a teasing lilt.
"I'll be happy to keep you company, lad," Elias said, his smile broad and showcasing his rows of neat, pearly whites. "Or I'm sure we can find you a young witch somewhere around here." Draco overheard James proudly informing the wizard all about his girlfriend, Lily Evans. And thus, the pair headed over to the refreshments table and engaged in a cordial, yet engaging exchange.
Draco took Lora's offered hand, dropped another kiss to it and guided the witch into the swirl of gay coloured wix.
Draco slipped his left arm onto her upper back, and she rested her right on his shoulder; he raised their clasped hands. The orchestra in the corner of the room was providing them with lofty, wistful music, and the longing cries of the violin guided his feet. Draco fell back into old habits, and soon the pair was gliding across the polished floor.
Lora Shacklebolt was not one to mince unnecessary words or waste time. "I know the truth about you two." Draco stuttered for a second, but caught himself and fell into the rhythm again; letting the orchestra's harmonies wash over him and lead him.
"I beg your pardon?"
"It was like defanging a viper prying the information out of Dorea, when your existence was made public for the entire wizarding world," Lora grumbled, lips pursed as thick ponderation consumed her.
"Something you've done a lot in your spare time I take it?"
"Cheeky bugger aren't you?"
"So I've been told."
"It took forever, but only after making a witch's oath and reminding her endlessly of our years of friendship, did she finally tell me that you were both found in an orphanage when you were ten."
"...Yes."
Lora scrutinised him, her eyes glinting with thick suspicion. "It must have been very odd learning that not only were you magical, but you had a family."
"It was strange…" Draco said. Dorea had told her closest friend a lucrative but believable story that explained their sudden appearance into her life; it was a shame that she'd never shared it with them, because now he was at a distinct disadvantage with the witch in his arms, as he was meant to have lived through these events.
Fortunately, the woman subsequently recounted a vivid tale that had once been woven to her: when Galieus and his wife perished in that terrible fire, Muggles had found his young twin children some distance away, covered in soot. For ten years, they grew up in a Muggle Orphanage, until one day, Hermione displayed a large bout of accidental magic—something not logically dismissed—which caused a nasty shock to their Muggle caretakers, and a ruckus ensued.
Obliviators were called in. The children's physical appearance startlingly, and their origins quite plain. One parentage charm later, and their true identities were revealed. Albus Dumbledore was made aware of the peculiar circumstances, and he brought them home to their family. The rest, as they say, is history.
A parentage charm? Mum really laid it on thick, Draco sighed internally. If someone was to use one of those on either of them now, they would be thoroughly screwed; it was lucky for them that no one had ever thought to.
"Excuse me, Draco. Do you mind if I cut in?" Charlus's voice was warm, calm. Draco had been so preoccupied that he hadn't noticed his Father's presence.
Draco complied; he extracted himself from the witch, and with one hand over his heart he respectfully bowed, maintaining eye contact with the shrew witch.
"It was a delight dancing with you, my dear," Lora said. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and with a wry twist of her lips, she accepted Charlus's proffered hand. Draco snuck a glance at his Father. Charlus's slicked back hair was starting to unravel; a springy curl had already escaped and was resting against his forehead.
Armed with new knowledge, Draco excused himself and nimbly wove between the dancing couples in search of a stiff drink. Only to be surrounded by eligible witches. Draco was the poster child for civility and proper manners as he entertained their attentions. He nodded when needed, smiled when appropriate, and even made an endearing comment here and there.
After five minutes of this, it occurred to Draco, that if Charlus was dancing with Lora, Hermione must be free. He scanned the crowd over the preening witches' heads. He spotted her, in all her glory, in the arms of none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt.
The ball was a luxurious affair. Hermione had gaily danced about with her Father, her layered emerald skirt floating about her like a dyed cloud. Her raven curls swirled around them, a silver, diamond and emerald encrusted hair clip secured on the right side of her head, keeping them out of her eyes.
She had parted with her Father with a toothy grin, and he whispered in her ear, "I should go save Draco. Whilst Lora is a delight, she can also be a handful."
Left on her own, Hermione cast a cooling charm on herself, sweat was dampening her hairline, and she wished to avoid sweating buckets. It was most unbecoming, and she planned on dancing until her feet were too sore to continue.
Hermione's hazel eyes sought out Draco, and followed him as he moved through the gaiety. She pressed a hand to her stomach, and played with the stiff, but velvety fabric of her laced bodice; it was an odd mix of textures considering her black lace gloves that stopped just above her elbows.
Hermione made up her mind to join Draco at the drinks table. She stepped to her right, and straight into a tall, firm body.
Arms steadied her, gripping her elbow. Hermione's mouth parted as she readied her apologies. Her gaze lifted and she found herself staring directly into Kingsley Shacklebolt's eyes.
The wizard was attractive in an effortless way, with his strong jaw, bold features and easy smile. She'd admired Kingsley in her youth, but mostly as a mentor with a brief, platonic admittance of his beauty. She'd never entertained any form of romantic infatuation with him.
There was a confidence that radiated off of him, and his eyes were honeyed caramel that melted her insides. This Kingsley was puffed full of youthful bravado. He was trouble.
"We meet again," Hermione smiled, patting Kingsley's bicep. It was far too toned to be fair.
"You aren't going to threaten me this time are you?" Kingsley asked, his voice liquid velvet.
"You and I are clearly remembering different events," Hermione said, dropping her hands to her sides and playing with her skirts.
"Perhaps we can clarify any misunderstandings, and discuss it over a dance." Kingsley held out a hand, and after a moment's hesitation, with a coy smile she accepted it. His hand dwarfed hers. He led her into the middle of the crowd, not far from where her Father and Lora waltzed.
"Do witches normally swoon when you ask them to dance?" Hermione asked as Kingsley slid a hand onto her lower back. She grasped the hand he was holding tighter.
"Maybe. Is it working?"
Hermione threw her head back in a silent laugh. Kingsley pulled her flush against him. She lowered her face, and peered at him curiously. Hermione allowed him to take the lead: she's a decent dancer, and she can keep time, but she wasn't nearly as proficient as most of the soiree's attendees.
Kingsley's midnight blue robes had a lustrous quality to them, and sheen-y waves rolled across them as the light caught on them.
"It'll take more than a few pretty words to bewitch me, Kings," Hermione grinned, the old nickname passing through her lips before she had time to consider it.
"Duly noted."
Time slipped by easily as they bantered back and forth, their witty conversation rolling smoothly. Tears pricked at the corners of Hermione's eyes as Kingsley told a humorous story about a mismatched couple across the room.
"I wish we'd met earlier, you are a remarkable witch, Hermione Potter."
"So I've been told," Hermione snorted ungraciously. To this day she found it hard to accept compliments, and her cheeks tinged pink. She caught hold of the serious expression that crinkled Kingsley's brow.
"Would you like to go for dinner sometime?"
His romantic intention was crystal clear. What had started as a harmless flirtation, was now trodding into dangerous territory. Hermione would have to let him down gently.
"I am extremely sorry if I've misled you, Kingsley. You are a wonderful man, and you will make some witch very happy, but, alas, my heart belongs to another. It has for quite some time now." Hermione apologised earnestly. Kingsley's disappointment was apparent, but it smoothed out into a small smile.
"Is it Sirius Black? You were quite protective of him during our first encounter."
"He wishes he was lucky enough to be the object of my affection," Hermione said. Inwardly, more like Sirius is in love with Riley Paddington, and no one can know. Not to mention I am in love with Draco, and no one can know.
Hermione nodded curtly at Kingsley and they parted. "If you'll excuse me, I am terribly parched, so I'll be taking my leave."
"Of course," Kingsley replied, one hand on his chest, the other tucked behind his back as he bowed.
Hermione stepped back, gathered her skirts and curtsied deeply. Kingsley stared wistfully after her as she swept away from him. She headed in search of Draco, but it wasn't hard to find him; she followed the peals of girlish giggles.
Hermione found Draco with his back to the refreshments table, encompassed by a group of fawning witches. He evenly met her gaze, raised his glass in salute. His expression was unreadable as he'd plastered on a charming persona that had the witches hanging off his every word.
Hermione raised a brow. He shrugged. She could sense the tension stitching his body into a stiff rod. Draco purposefully ignored her, instead ducking his head so a blonde girl could whisper in his ear. She had big, blue eyes, thin lips and ringlets piled so high on her head Hermione had to wonder how she stayed upright.
James and Charlus were a little ways down the table, talking in low voices as they watched the whole exchange with wide eyes and disbelieving smiles. "I bet Mione hexes her," James said, her ears picking it up through her heightened hearing.
Hermione loudly cleared her throat, interlacing her fingers and holding them behind her back. The witches all swivelled to look at her, lips curled in annoyance at the interruption.
The blonde witch that was pressed up against Draco, her hand on the lapel of his robes, led the charge. "Who are you?"
"Your worst nightmare if you lot don't fuck off," Hermione said matter-of-factly. She stared at Draco as she spoke, and his trademark smirk settled into place.
"I beg your pardon?" The girl sputtered.
This girl was used to sickly sweet cordiality that thinly coated unpleasant feelings towards others if one didn't like another. She was not used to Hermione Potter's bluntness, and was rendered down to a meek lamb at the mercy of a vicious wolf.
"My brother is too nice to tell you that you are annoying, and to get lost. I have no such reservations. Piss off," Hermione smiled sweetly.
Draco cocked his head, he certainly wasn't too nice for that, but he'd found the attention amusing. It distracted him, and kept him from storming across the room and prying Hermione out of Kingsley's arms.
"You are an uncouth little bitch aren't you?" The blonde sniffed, her nose in the air as she peered at Hermione in contempt through her lower lashes. She made the mistake of linking her arm with Draco's; he stared down at her hand with mild disdain.
"Better than a desperate whore," Hermione hummed. The ends of her hair sparked in warning. The other witches got the hint and made themselves sparse; the blonde's head must not be busy upstairs as she foolishly stood her ground.
"I suggest you remove yourself from my brother and find another play thing…closer to your…level." Hermione let her hands fall to her sides, ready to retrieve her wand from her thigh holster if needed.
"Do you know who I am—"
"No. Can't be arsed to find out either. What I do know, is that you have overstayed your welcome."
"Draco, tell your sister to shove off so we can resume our chat," the blonde said, shaking Draco's arm and unattractively shoving out her bottom lip.
"I don't think I will. It was becoming quite tiresome. It was momentarily entertaining, I will admit, but I don't actually care about your rare, pink opal necklace." Draco extracted himself from the affronted witch—her mouth was gaping in shock and outrage—ridding his person of her unwanted touch.
Hermione smirked arrogantly at the witch, and that seemed to be the icing on the cake: her face was a lovely shade of puce as she huffily clutched at her purple skirts and scuttled away. Hermione waved her fingers mockingly after her.
She joined her friends, and Hermione caught, "savages. The lot of them. No wonder they aren't a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight."
"Neither are we, Ceila."
"Hush, Peony."
Hermione rolled her eyes, amused.
"Was any of that necessary?" Draco asked.
"No," Hermione shrugged, folding her arms loosely over her chest. "It was great fun though, don't you agree?"
Draco snorted, his body twisting in order to retrieve his slender flute of sparkling Elf wine off of the table—Hermione admired the golden tablecloth for a moment, and with a tilt of her head, she thoughtfully stared up at Draco. Draco took a small sip to wet his palate.
"Speaking of fun—did you enjoy reacquainting yourself with dear ol' Kingsley?" His eye twitched in mild irritation, but his amusement was abundantly plain to see. "You two seemed to be hitting it off."
"Muffliato," Hermione said, waving her hand.
"You were saying?"
"I was just being friendly, what about you, hm? Those witches seemed quite smitten."
"No idea what you're talking about."
"Please, you can't help yourself. You ooze charm and flirtatiousness as soon as you open your mouth, which has witches falling at your feet."
"The only witch I want falling at my feet is you," Draco bowed his head, a hand on her shoulder as he murmured against the shell of her ear.
"I don't fall at anyone's feet."
"One of the things I love about you."
A voice boomed around the room, cutting their conversation short. Hermione and Draco sought out the source, and found Lora Shacklebolt at the top of the grand staircase, the tip of her wand pressed into the side of her neck. "I want to thank all of you for joining us this evening!" Kingsley and his Father were flanking her on either side, stoic as their Matriarch spoke.
James and Charlus joined their pack. Charlus passed Hermione a glass of bubbly alcohol, and pulled her into his side. She sipped it daintily as she raptly listened to Lora's speech.
"It is almost midnight, and the New Year will be upon us, and with it, new challenges. Tough times are ahead, I will not pretend otherwise, or skirt around the topic." Lora shook her head firmly with severe passion.
"I lost a dear friend a few months ago—" Lora paused, chin raised and her gaze fell on the Potter Brood, "—I find it hard most days, imagining a future without her."
Lora's voice trembled a touch as she continued, "Dorea Potter was not only my most trusted confidant, but she was fierce, kind and a whirlwind of a witch. The world is dimmer without her sharp tongue and wit."
There were some polite noises of affirmation, and hushed, fond words in Dorea's memory that rustled throughout the room. Hermione frowned.
"She would not sit back as injustice prevailed, she would fight for what is right! As we must all do in the times to come! We must fight against tyranny and those who would seek to destroy us and our way of life!"
She's making Mum into a martyr, Hermione thought in disgust. Lora may have loved Dorea, but she was taking advantage of a tragedy and turning it in her favour.
"Join me in raising a toast to my friend as we usher in the New Year together!" A bright smile broke out onto the woman's face, and she held her flute skyward. "To Dorea!"
Hermione kept her drink close to her chest, as did the rest of her family as wix around them held theirs proudly in the air. Charlus's grip tightened around her.
"To Dorea!" Chorused from the partygoers around them; the plethora of voices all blending into one, and it roared around them.
Lora Shacklebolt had declared her family's political stance and allegiances in the upcoming war without reservation.
Politics and war went hand-in-hand, and the Shacklebolts did not shy away from bold, public statements, and they were bred for political careers with their charisma and unwavering morals. They were respected by wix on both sides of the line. Thusly, they'd held favourable positions in the Ministry for decades.
No wonder Kingsley is such a good Minister for Magic in the future, Hermione mused. She swirled her drink around in her shoot, hazel eyes tracking the bubbles. She tossed the rest of it back. It fizzled and popped as it slid across her tongue and down her throat. The aftertaste sweet like honey.
An otherwise enchanting evening was now tainted, and a bad taste was left in her mouth. Hermione didn't blame Lora for seizing her opportunity, but that didn't mean she liked it.
"Did you know she was going to do that?" James asked quietly—on Charlus's other side—arms crossed over his chest, the tips of his fingers white with pressure as they dug into his arm.
"She said she was going to mention your Mother, but no, I did not know she was going to say that," Charlus sighed.
"I think we should leave," James stated.
"I concur," Draco drawled. He was anxiously tapping his foot, and he scratched the tip of his nose. He was on edge, ready to bolt.
"War is upon us. People are choosing sides," Hermione said dully. Draco kissed his teeth together, bent at the middle as he moved in front of her.
"That may be so, but now is not the time. She shouldn't have used Mum's memory like that."
"When then? It was a brilliant move if you look at it objectively." Hermione tossed her glass into the air, waved her fingers and it vanished into nothingness.
Hermione reached up to pat her jewelled hair clip, ensuring it was still in place. "I don't like it any more than you do, but she had an audience of at least five hundred people, and she chose to make her position known."
"Hermione," James said, his glasses pushed up onto the crown of his head as he rubbed tiredly at his closed eyes.
"She was sending a message, and she seized her opportunity to be heard. She would be foolish if she hadn't." Hermione gripped Draco's chin, his lip curling in a sneer. She was right, he understood that, and he understood this part of their world all too well; he also detested it.
"Normally, I would protest and say we at least stay until Midnight…but it would probably be best if we greeted the New Year at home," Charlus said, haggard, the sparkle from earlier retired for the evening. His hand shook as he drained the rest of his drink.
Hermione evenly stared over the crowd: the wix were mingling, drinking, and jovially chatting. She only had eyes for the witch descending the grand staircase. Lora's hand was on the black handrail as she glided towards her guests, a diplomatic smile in place, ready to lure them to her side or point-of-view if doubts needled their minds.
"Let's go," Hermione said, flicking her hair backwards over her shoulder. The Potters strode through the ballroom, heads head high; they carried themselves with poise. The vast room fell silent, and the wix parted, allowing them to travel uninterrupted. They collectively held their breath, waiting to see how the next few moments would unfold.
Hermione led Charlus on a path so they would brush right by where the Shacklebolts proudly stood. Hermione inclined her head towards the Shacklebolt Matriarch as they passed, but made no verbal acknowledgement, which spoke volumes to all those around them.
The Potters left in a formation identical to how they arrived, Hermione and Charlus leading the charge, her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, her other holding up the front of her skirts so she avoided tripping on the white marble steps.
Their ascent took eons. Hermione hesitated as they reached the top. Charlus curiously peered at her, ducking his head close to hers. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Hermione said, patting her Father's forearm. "I just have one thing I want to say, you three go on ahead and meet me at the apparition point."
Charlus's mouth pulled taut into a grim line. "Hermione, I don't think that is the best idea."
"Trust me," Hermione insisted. Draco and James huddled close, both riddled with confusion as to why they hadn't left yet.
"What is going on?" Draco asked, he rubbed a hand through his gelled hair; it was stiff with hair product and it stuck up sharply at the back.
"I know what I'm doing, you three go ahead."
"Whatever it is that you're planning, we're not going anywhere. We'll stay with you no matter what," James swore fiercely, he fiddled with the front of his robes, and she knew that he'd stashed his wand in his inner pocket.
"And I love you endlessly for it—" Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, "—it's not a big deal, I just have something to say."
"Then we'll stand by your side as you say it," Draco said with a cavalier shrug, he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and faced the assembly staring intently up at them.
Hermione stared into Charlus's eyes, searching for approval or permission perhaps, vaguely wondering if she should not leave well enough alone. Charlus's eyes crinkled at the corners, and with a small exhale he said, "you truly are your Mother's daughter."
"I'll take that as the highest compliment," Hermione beamed. She tiptoed and placed a firm kiss to her Father's cheek. She broke free from her wizards, and whirled around to gaze down at the wix; there were some powerful people in the room, frightfully powerful, and yet, she was as calm as the eye of the storm.
Hermione pressed the tip of her finger to her throat—she could use her wand, but a show of power was needed here. "Sonorus," Hermione murmured.
"Good evening," Hermione said, her voice was eerily serene as she spoke, and she smiled gently. "I want to extend the warmest thanks to our hosts—The Shacklebolts—for their invitation tonight, and I am grateful for the centuries that our two families have been close friends."
Lora Shacklebolt's back was trenchantly rigid: Hermione's choice to address those gathered clearly caused her rankles to rise.
"My Mother would have been deeply touched by the dedication made by her dear friend, Lora Shacklebolt." Hermione held a gloved hand in the woman's direction. Gazes flicked to her, and then back to Hermione. Lora plastered on a dazzling smile.
"Mum agreed. Voldemort—" Hermione paused for emphasis, and the resulting gasps were sweet music to her ears. She heard Draco stifle a snigger behind her. A little dash of orchestrated chaos was delicious, and the taste of it was hefty in the air around her.
Hermione cleared her throat, and she gestured airily with her free hand. "Voldemort is a tyrant, his ideologies flawed. There is no sugar-coating it, the upcoming war will be ugly, the losses terrible—as we've seen by all of these 'mysterious' disappearances."
The crowd shifted uncomfortably at her words in their finery, some witches clutching at their pearls. Merlin help them. Hermione's Unbreakable Vow was clawing at her throat in warning; she was treading down a treacherous road.
"As a society we will suffer immensely, but we will persevere and we will survive. And we must remember that in the darkness, one need only turn on the light."
Hermione threw her arms outwards, glowing as she finished. "On a brighter note, I do hope you all enjoy the remainder of your evening, and Happy New Year!"
Hermione risked a peek at Lora. The witch was a hard read, but if Hermione wasn't mistaken, she saw respect and amusement on Lora's face.
Hermione didn't linger a moment longer, not wishing to deal with the fallout of her words. She dropped her hands, muttered, "finite," and swept out of the room. James, Charlus and Draco trailed after her.
"Nice speech," Draco said. Hermione flung open the oak, double doors, and they braced the frigid winter air. Hermione cast a warming charm on herself as she descended the short staircase before her.
Snow covered the expansive gardens—they stretched as far as the eye could see—and it crunched crisply underfoot as they trekked through it, following the impressions left from the wix that had traversed this path earlier.
"As I said, she would have been foolish had she chosen to waste her golden opportunity," Hermione smirked. James hollered out his approval, his voice bounding out into the darkness.
"Your Mother would be proud," Charlus said behind her, and Hermione wrapped her arms around herself. Hermione repressed the urge to sob, her chest tight.
The quartet reached the apparition point, huddled together for warmth, their arms clumsily tangling in each other's, and without a backward glance, they apparated away with a sharp crack.
Hermione, Charlus, James and Draco were greeted by loud shouts, and exuberant cracking noises. A boom erupted from the back of the house. They all shared a concerned look, and broke out into a sprint to investigate what all the fuss was about. Hermione drew her wand as they messily made their way through the snow; it was almost knee deep towards the side of the house as no one bothered clearing it.
Panting, they reached the back garden. A stream of sparks shot up into the pitch black darkness—it was a cloudless night—and a fusillade of red and green explosions followed; the sparks arched into the sky before bursting into elaborate formations.
"The prodigal son has returned!" Sirius exclaimed.
"Who are you referring to, Padfoot?" Hermione cleared her throat, narrowing her eyes at him. He shrugged, tucking the hair that escaped from his high, messy bun behind his ears. Hermione tucked away her wand the moment it became apparent that no one was in any immediate danger.
"First thing that came to mind." Sirius crossed the area easily, and Hermione realised his intentions a moment too late as he scooped her off the ground and swung her over his shoulder. "Welcome home, Potters!"
"Sirius Black! Put me down!"
"Can't do, Princess."
Another boom ripped through the air as the next set of Fireworks went off. The culprit was Remus: he was crouched in the middle of the back garden—knee digging into the snow—next to a line of Fireworks. Concentration was tight on his brow as he readied the remaining pyrotechnics.
James and Draco both abandoned her to excitedly join Remus. "Traitors," Hermione muttered under her breath. She held her hair to the side and tried to peer around the yard, the blood rushing to her head and making her dizzy. Peter and Lyall were lounging in recliner chairs on the back porch with butterbeers in hand; Charlus had joined them, and Peter was pleasantly smiling as he handed Charlus a butterbeer.
"Okay, time to watch the grand finale, Foxy lady," Sirius grinned, plopping her back on solid ground, hands on her shoulders—he turned her around, and looped his arms loosely around her. James and Draco discovered a box of sparklers off to the side, and they were writing words in the air with child-like joy.
Draco used the sparks to write 'Aster' in his signature cursive, and meaningfully glanced at her over his shoulder. Hermione blew a kiss at him with a wink—she doubted Peter or Lyall could see her in the protective grip of Sirius; his larger form was blocking their view of her (regardless they were most likely focused on Remus's activities).
Draco made a show of writing in their air, his eyes went wide, and he desperately ran back and forth before leaping out to the side, hand outstretched as if to catch the air kiss. He landed in the snow with a thump, and he triumphantly held up his fist.
Hermione snort laughed, and tried to mask it with a cough, but failed. She loved Draco Potter so much it hurt, and it killed her that she couldn't race over to him and kiss him like she wanted. One day we'll be able to, no matter who is around, Hermione promised herself.
"Where did you get all of these?"
"Had them for a while now, been steadily acquiring a collection from Zonko's and muggle shops…this is only the tip of the iceberg," Sirius answered against her ear.
"Oh, and what are your plans with the rest of your collection?"
"You'll see my dear, you shall see," Sirius said. Hermione blindly reached up to pat his cheek, and was instead rewarded with his lips. He playfully nipped her finger. Hermione scowled and hastily withdrew her hand.
Hermione was deciding whether to cast a stinging hex or not when Remus's jolly proclamation distracted her.
"Who's ready for a show?" Remus exclaimed. Hermione cupped her hands around her mouth and cheered. A small flame flickered from the end of Remus's wand, and he gleefully bound down the line of Fireworks, lighting the wicks as he went. Draco was still in the snow, staring up at the night sky.
"Happy New Year!" James hollered as the Fireworks boomed, crackled, and bellowed deafeningly for all to hear; they sailed upwards with trails of vibrant sparks before they erupted into a showy display.
The Fireworks curled together, forming a green dragon that flapped its colossal wings, breathed red sparks and glided through the air.
"Mum," Hermione whispered as she tracked the dragon in awe. It was sleek, cut through the air as it flew and filled the skies.
Dorea Potter may not have physically been with them, but her spirit filled all of their chests and ushered them over the cusp into the New Year. Hermione would always keep her close, furled up inside of a corner of her heart.
"Happy New Year, Mum," Hermione said, barely audible. Sirius echoed her, and dropped a kiss to her curls right beside her hair clip. Hermione's eyes fluttered shut, fingers ghosted over her cheek, and she knew her Mother had heard her.
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