Hello lovelies!
Hermione is back and she is causing quite a ruckus already, but really, what did we expect? It's still a little crazy to me that I've ACTUALLY reached this point in the story, and I just want to say thank you, thank you, thank you for continuing to read my story!
Sidenote, for anyone that reads Time Travel? Piece of Cake. I finally figured out what direction I want the next arc of the story to take so hopefully I manage to write a couple chapters soon!
Please leave a review and let me know what you think x
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me
Orkney Islands, Archipelago of Scotland, UK
Longbottom Manor's Grounds
Awarnach House
All was still. Not even the trees rustled in the cold night.
Until a fearsome, cracking sound ripped through the air. The noise crudely shook the house's occupants awake.
Neville Longbottom was greeted with muted darkness as his eyes wrenched open. He blinked the sleep away, fully alert—a nifty aftereffect left over from the war, even the most mundane noises woke him up now.
Neville rolled over, and took hold of his wand; it was waiting for him on his bedside table. He was about to leap out of bed, the chilled air snapping at his bare chest, when he noticed the four shadowy figures across the room. His heart pounded in his ears.
"Blimey, that was a rough ride," the tallest one grumbled. Neville's jaw dropped, he knew that voice. It was unmistakably Ronald Bilius Weasley. "I think my stomach is still in my throat."
Neville lowered his wand in shock, it was impossible to apparate onto their island, but somehow they'd managed the momentous feat.
If there's anyone who can do it, it would be Harry and the others, Neville thought fondly. They had an impeccable track record of accomplishing all kinds of inconceivable tasks.
"It worked!" A feminine voice roared in triumph. Neville's eyes adjusted in the darkness, and the witch stepped forward into the meagre, waning moon's light provided by Neville's bedroom windows.
"Hermione?" Neville sputtered, bewildered. It was Hermione, except she had changed; not just appearance-wise. Raven curls, glittering hazel eyes, with a wilder aura nestled around her. There wasn't as much rigidity to her spine anymore, amongst a plethora of other minute changes, and that was just from a quick perusal of her person.
A cheeky grin spread across the girl's face as she strolled over to him. She tilted her head to maintain eye contact, linked her hands behind her back, and languidly rocked back and forth. "Hello, Neville. I've got a present for you," Hermione sang gaily.
Neville blinked rapidly, his confuddlement mounting. His mouth moved to form words, except his speech had been robbed from him. He must still be dreaming. Neville hastily reached up to rub the heels of his palms against his closed eyes—deftly avoiding stabbing himself with his wand.
When Neville opened his eyes, Hermione was staring up at him as if she had a salacious secret that she wished to share with him, and she was downright giddy waiting for him to press her for details.
"A present?" Neville repeated. He tore his gaze away from Hermione to peer over at Ron, Harry and Mister Black. Ron and Harry shrugged, amusement dancing on their faces, whilst Sirius was bent low and whispering animatedly to a silvery-blue corporeal dog.
Neville hadn't noticed Sirius conjure his Patronus as his focus had been aptly ensnared by Hermione. He caught bits and pieces of Sirius's message, "potions for Alice and Frank…St. Mungo's…"
Neville stiffened, his head snapping down to Hermione. "What's going on, Hermione?"
Neville was one of the select few that had been thoroughly informed about Hermione and Draco's situation. He hadn't come across Draco in the time that he'd been back, but he figured it was only a matter of time.
Ron assured Neville that Draco was nothing like the wizard he'd been when he left.
Hermione's lips parted, but Neville's bedroom door swung inwards with such explosive force that it popped off its hinges and flew into the room. Sirius jumped up and narrowly escaped getting clipped by it. Augusta Longbottom stood in the doorway, illuminated by her wandlight. She had her wand trained on them, eyes wide, her stance defensive.
The modest, loose white nightgown looked to be floating around her, there were ruffles by the cuffs, and the top two buttons were undone and showed her collarbone. A thick, knitted, navy blue shawl was round her shoulders and tucked in the crooks of her elbows. The woman's dark grey hair threaded with silver was tied back into a short, low ponytail with an emerald ribbon.
Augusta Longbottom may have become thinner in her old age, her limbs more bony than before—especially her hands and knees—but she'd maintained the formidable presence that had enveloped her since her youth. She was not a witch to be trifled with. Neville's splintered door was proof of that.
"It's okay, Nan. It's just—"
"Hermione Potter," Augusta said sharply, she lowered her wand and squinted at Hermione.
"Nice to see you again, Gussie," Hermione grinned broadly. Neville choked on his own spit at the brazen nickname. His Grandmother's eyes narrowed to thin slits, her lips a severe line of disapproval.
"Your Mother and that absurd nickname," Augusta tutted, her feathers clearly ruffled. She wagged her finger at Hermione, "you're certainly your Mother's girl. Not many people would have the gumption to dare bastardise my given name."
"It's how she used to address you in all her letters and notes. Besides, Gussie has a lovely ring to it," Hermione said airily as she swung around to face the Longbottom Matriarch. Augusta fiddled with her shawl, and shot Hermione an unimpressed look that would have stopped most people's hearts dead in their chest. Hermione appeared to be unfazed.
Neville thought that there were a fair few things Ron and Harry had left out of their briefing sessions on what to expect when Hermione got back. She may look almost exactly like their friend, but this witch was a thinly-veiled tornado waiting to unleash her devastating winds upon anyone who crossed her.
Although, a quick glance at Harry told Neville he was equally as surprised by Hermione's boldness. Ron's cheeks were tickled a rosy pink as he observed Hermione, beaming. As if he was a proud parent watching his daughter in a school performance.
Hermione had always been strong-willed and opinionated—sometimes to her detriment—but this witch was settled within herself. She intimately understood herself and was comfortable in her own skin. She'd danced with her demons, duelled her insecurities and won.
She lived an entire decade in the past, and it showed. There was a feral quality to her eyes, but in their depths something wiser and older lurked. Hermione had survived two wars and that left a mark on a person.
The elder wix didn't like to talk about the first Wizarding war much, but Neville could see it was still fresh for Hermione. She was with them, but a part of her was still adrift; still trapped in the past.
"Do I want to know why you've graced us with a visit at this ungodly hour?" Augusta sighed, kneading her fingers into her brow. "Or how you managed to apparate here?"
"Oh that's easy," Hermione said. "I tucked a charm into Sir Nicholas's stuffing in my…fourth year?" Hermione gestured to the old, well-loved teddy bear across the room.
Sir Nicholas's fur had lost its lustre, but he'd kept all his stuffing, he wasn't missing any appendages, on top of that he still had all his fancy garments; he'd been well take care of. He was primly seated in an armchair to the left of where they'd arrived. "It basically works as a portkey. A personal portkey for me since I added a couple drops of my blood."
At the scandalised gasp Augusta let out, Hermione tacked on, "it's just some harmless blood magic, plus it was only for emergencies. It only works once anyways."
Augusta's eyes widened, whirling to face the bear. "You put a portkey in Alice's teddy bear?"
"Ah, speaking of Alice. We should pay her visit. I have a gift for her," Hermione hummed cheerily.
A look of great pity overtook Augusta and she shook her head sadly. "My dear, you do know what happened to—"
"Goodness gracious," Hermione huffed. "I wanted it to be a surprise, but you aren't making this easy."
"Potter, what are you babbling about?" Augusta demanded, taking three quick steps in Hermione's direction.
"While we were in the past, Draco and I crafted a potion that will heal the effects of the Cruciatus Curse," Hermione said offhandedly. She pivoted in a languid circle as she examined Neville's room.
"What? You can't possibly know that it will work." Augusta said. The colour fled from her face, fright and hope warring across her features. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "You can't."
Hermione halted, hazel eyes glowing in the dim light ablaze with coppery shards. Neville's eyes widened at the sight. It wasn't everyday someone's eyes began to glow.
Augusta was a woman ruled by logic, but despite that, she'd never given up on her son and daughter-in-law. Almost everyone else had, even their Healers. Augusta's hopes had been dashed far too many times to count over the years; eventually she didn't dare allow herself to get too invested whenever the healers tried something new.
"I can," Hermione smiled ruefully. "I can because it's worked before." Briefly Hermione wondered how Liam was doing now, what his life had been like in the two decades that had passed. She hoped he was happy and healthy. He deserved it.
Augusta stumbled backwards, shaking her head in disbelief. Her hands flailed around, looking for something solid. Harry caught the elder witch, steadying her. Augusta's chest fluttered as her breathing quickened. She threw Harry a grateful glance.
Augusta made swooping, frantic gestures as she sought out the right words. Eventually, she regained the ability to express herself. "What are you all waiting for?" Augusta asked in a fierce whisper. No one moved, they turned to Hermione expectantly.
"I don't think any of us should apparate again for a while," Hermione stated. "We exhausted a lot of magic to get here."
"I'll open the floo!" Augusta announced robustly, wrenching herself free from Harry's grip. She left the room with exquisite grace.
There was a fragile hope burning a hole the size of a pin through Neville's heart; its searing intensity was uncomfortable. He'd often dreamed of this day, when someone came and said they could heal his parents. Every birthday as far back as he could remember, it'd been his solitary wish as he blew out his candles. He'd wished with all his might that their insanity would be cured.
"What if…what if it doesn't work, Hermione?" Neville whispered fearfully, gripping his wand so tightly that the wood bit into the palm of his hand. "I don't know if Nan can handle—"
Neville didn't know if he could survive it either, to be given an abundance of hope only for it to be snuffed out if this didn't work. Based on past experience, the odds weren't in their favour.
"It will work," Hermione promised. The look in her eye begged him to refute her claims. Neville swallowed thickly. "It has to."
Hermione hadn't missed the nauseating smell of antiseptic and chemicals that were woven into the fabric of St. Mungo's walls. The starch white walls, the squeaky white floors. The tile was cold beneath her bare feet.
Hermione stared listlessly at a notice board in the hospital's waiting room as Augusta spoke with the receptionist. The dark-skinned wizard looked barely eighteen. He was French, and his English was impeccable albeit heavily accented. In spite of that, he was playing dumb and pretending not to understand Augusta's demands. The witch's patience was wearing thin.
Hermione ascertained that he was a new addition to St. Mungo's staff because he didn't recognise Augusta. The witch paid her son and daughter-in-law a visit at least once a week, however she normally did so at a reasonable hour.
I don't know why we're bothering with all this, Hermione groaned internally. Although, she wasn't known to follow procedure when it came to St. Mungo's.
Hermione was fully aware of her bond with Draco cementing its presence in her chest as her magical stores replenished. The bond grew hotter by the second and it made her extremely anxious to do something. Her skin itched and crawled with an excess energy that had nowhere to go.
Draco must be close by, Hermione thought in frustration. Knowing him, he'd already found a way upstairs that didn't involve dealing with all this nonsense.
"I understand your frustration, Missus Longbottom, but only family members are permitted to see patients outside of visiting hours," the wizard said. "You can't take them with you." His back was ramrod straight, hands laced together and neatly resting on a short stack of parchment in front of him on his desk.
Fancy quill, Hermione noted as she edged closer and peered at his jet black quill in the obsidian inkpot to his right, patiently awaiting to be used.
This exchange went on for several more minutes, and Hermione's patience had evaporated. One quick look at the Longbottom Matriarch said that hers had as well. Neville attempted to smooth things over; he was playing the role of mediator.
"Fuck this," Hermione muttered. She made a beckoning gesture in Harry, Ron and Sirius's direction.
The wizards were sprawled across a few of the uncomfortable seats in the corner of the room. The metal chairs' padded upholstery was worn thin and so its frame jabbed into your rear as you sat on it. They were restlessly flipping through a Quidditch Weekly magazine from three years ago and making light conversation.
The trio earnestly jumped up from their seats. With their long strides they made it to Hermione in seconds.
"They letting us go up?" Ron asked in a conspiratorial manner, his voice low so only their group could hear him.
"No. Which is why we are going to make a run for it," Hermione murmured. Her eyes flitted about the room, scrutinising their surroundings. The room was mostly vacant.
The only activity at this time of the night was right after they arrived. An emergency patient had been rushed upstairs due to a nasty magical mishap; their leg was bent at an unnatural angle in several places and the sight sent a shiver up Hermione's spine.
There was one guard and he was dozing off in the far corner: his ankles were lapped over each other, a magazine was held loosely in his hands, and every few moments his head would droop before snapping up sharply.
"A run for it?" Harry hissed, looking flummoxed. He leaned in closer and pushed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. "That's your plan?"
"When do any of our plans ever work out anyway?" Hermione retorted. "He's never going to let us up at this rate."
"I know you want to help them as quickly as possible, but maybe we should wait, kitten," Sirius tossed in his opinion with a sigh. He raked a hand through his hair before slipping the pink scrunchie from his tresses. He gathered his hair together and began tying it back into a high bun.
"We've come this far, we've got to see it through now," Ron said.
Hermione pressed the tip of her tongue into her top lip. Her eyebrows rose.
"I'm not disagreeing, but I figured she had a plan," Harry said.
"The plan is to run," Hermione replied simply.
"Or, Harry and I can create a diversion—stall the receptionist and the guard whilst you make a break for it," Ron suggested.
"What about Draco and Remus when they get here?" Harry pointed out.
At the mention of Draco's name, Hermione closed her eyes and focused on their bond. The golden strings were taut and it felt as if someone was yanking on the other end, beckoning her to them. "He's already here," Hermione murmured.
Hermione's eyes flew open. Without another word, she sprinted as fast and hard as she could out of the waiting room and down the corridor that would lead her to the elevators. Loud footsteps slapped on the ground behind her, and she hoped that meant the others had followed her lead. She didn't look back to find out.
Muted shouts echoed after them. Hermione sped up, her lungs burning, her limbs vociferously protesting. She ran until she reached the end of the corridor where the elevators awaited them.
Hermione stopped abruptly in front of the nearest elevator. So abruptly that her knees screamed and ached from the force she'd exerted. The elevators were approximately thirty feet from the waiting room. There were several rooms in between, but Hermione hadn't given them a second thought.
Hermione smashed her hand into the buttons on the wall beside the closed, metal elevator doors. Her heart was thundering in her chest. She heard the distinctive sound of an elevator moving, and she thanked every deity she could think of when the light above them dinged and the doors parted almost instantly.
The boys reached her. She hazarded a glance back towards the waiting room. Augusta was standing in the middle of the corridor, halfway between them and the approaching guard and receptionist, her wand drawn.
"Go!" Augusta called. They didn't waste another moment.
The wix tumbled through the elevator doors, crashing onto the floor in a tangled heap. Hermione grunted as someone's elbow winded her. Sirius was at the rear and he'd managed to stay on his feet.
Sirius whirled around and forcefully pressed the fourth floor button. Sirius inadvertently winced. The doors creaked as they closed.
The group managed to right themselves as the elevator steadily carried them upwards to their destination.
"Never a dull moment with you lot," Neville heaved out with a grin. He panted softly—hands on his knees—as he caught his breath.
Hermione held her sides and greedily gulped in air, preparing herself to bolt the moment the doors opened.
"Did you expect anything less?" Sirius asked sardonically. A few hairs had escaped his bun and they were sticking to his face. He tucked them behind his ears in mild irritation.
The golden strings tying her to Draco were glowing in front of her eyes, thrumming with magic and giddy glee. The pack bond softly sang harmoniously in the background, also making itself known.
A clear ding flicked her eardrums. The elevator stopped. The doors slid open.
The others rushed out, not wanting to waste a moment. Hermione took slow, measured steps. Time was holding its breath, the world's colour exploded with startling intensity.
Hermione blinked and the boys were unlocking the door to the Janus Thickey Ward. They were calling out to her, waving her forth. They yanked open the iron door, its hinges groaning.
Hermione blinked and she saw him. Pacing back and forth, running his hands raggedly through his hair in impatience. Moony was beside him, speaking in soothing tones. Draco stopped cold when he heard the door open.
Hermione's heart leapt when their eyes met. Magic charged the air. She bolted.
Every movement was like running through sludge, the air was viscous and it clung to her as she ran, but she pushed forward. She bypassed the boys and ran through the open door. Draco was sprinting towards her as well. They both jerked to a stop right before they collided into one another.
The others gathered around them, but gave them a wide berth. Hermione's heart was beating against her eardrums in a steady rhythm.
The waves of emotion that crashed within Draco's grey eyes floored her. She was drowning in him, and she allowed the surge of mint to engulf her. It had been a few hours for her, but also an eon. For him it had been almost a year, and she could see that in his eyes.
Hermione's skin was crackling with electricity, her fingers twitched. It took a momentous amount of effort to remain stationary.
Hermione held up her hand in the small space between them. Draco copied her, like a mirror. "Hi," Hermione said softly. Their hands hovered inches apart, and the space between them felt solid, spongey, as if there was something physically there.
"Twenty years, and that's all you have to say to me?" Draco exhaled with a breathy laugh. He bowed his head so that they were level with one another. His eyes roamed over her, drinking in every detail. Heat coloured her cheeks. Draco was clearly pleased at her reaction because his signature smirk appeared.
"Hello gorgeous," Hermione said bashfully. She wanted to avert her gaze but she couldn't. She was ensnared by him.
Draco straightened out and fixed her with a reproving gaze. "Twenty years, witch," Draco admonished.
"Oh please. You are so dramatic! It was not twenty years for you. It wasn't even a full year." Hermione rolled her eyes, and her chin jerked upwards in defiance.
"Regardless. It was far too long," Draco whispered. His hovering hands finally moved. Tentatively he grasped her face and he cradled it in his large hands. The gruff pads of his thumbs stroked circles on her cheeks and sparks erupted across her skin. The tension between them snapped and a gasp shuddered out of her. "I never want to be away from you for that long ever again."
Hermione froze, captivated, intently mulling over every syllable. She'd been so preoccupied by the need to be useful, to do something that she hadn't stopped to consider what it must have been like for Draco in her absence. (If she stopped, her mind would wander, and that was the last thing she wanted.) Hermione mentally berated herself for her asinine, inconsiderate behaviour.
"I'm not going anywhere," Hermione promised. She had no insight into what their future held, she didn't know what awaited them, and the concept was both frightening and remarkably freeing.
Hermione fisted her hands in Draco's jumper. The wizard grinned wickedly, and before she knew it she was being lifted off the ground. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around him, and he secured his hands beneath her thighs. She framed his face with her hands and let out a soft chuckle.
"Hi," Hermione said.
"Hi," Draco echoed.
"What the fuck is happening?" Neville whispered, but the others hushed him. Neither Hermione nor Draco heard him.
Hermione's hands dove into Draco's hair, her nails scraping along his scalp, and leant down to kiss him. The world blurred, and she was hyper aware of his fresh, crisp scent and her body was on fire. She was home.
Their embrace was cut short by a haughty, harsh wheeze. "What in Merlin's name is going on here?" The disgust in his voice was so apparent that it broke the trance Hermione and Draco had been happily swimming in.
Hermione pulled away from Draco and peered over his shoulder. She swore. It was Tottle. His girth had not lessened over the years, instead it seemed as if he had grown larger and thus, he resembled a pink walrus. He was sporting a full beard, and his deep-set eyes were glinting with malice as he realised who was causing such havoc in the hospital at such a late hour.
"Potters. I thought you both died," Tottle sneered. He was at the far end of the corridor, but his voice boomed towards them.
"Careful, you sound awfully happy about that," Draco snarled. He faced Hermione and hurriedly said, "sorry to cut this short, love."
"We'll have plenty of time later," Hermione agreed. Draco lowered her to the ground and took hold of her hand.
"Alright, everyone in the room now!" Draco addressed their companions, pointing at the ajar door a few feet away. They all rushed towards it as Tottle angrily waddled down the corridor, his wand raised.
The moment they'd all crossed the threshold, Hermione ripped her hand from Draco's and raised her hands at the open door. She began to chant, and her hands glowed a deep purple. She was erecting impregnable wards similar to the ones she'd crafted after Sirius's attack.
Seconds after she finished, Tottle smacked right into them. He flew back with a great yelp of pain; she'd added in an electric shock this time.
Hermione nodded triumphantly, grateful for the silencing charms she'd laced into them as she turned away from the man. The others had delved further into the room, and Neville pulled back the curtains surrounding the nearest bed.
Remus had hung back, waiting on her. A sheepish smile was on his face, as if he was unsure what to do or say. Hermione shook her head affectionately, her bare feet slapping against the floor as she ran to him and flew into his arms. Her hands fiercely gripped his lilac jumper in between his shoulder blades. As usual, the man's body was like a furnace, and she snuggled into his warmth.
"Hello, my sweet Moon," Hermione said.
"I was cross with you for so long," Remus sniffed, his voice wobbly. Remus curved around her, burying his nose in her curls, his hot breath washing over her exposed shoulder where Draco's jersey had slipped down.
"What did I do?" Hermione inquired, rubbing her face into his chest, stuffing his scent down her nostrils. Parchment, chocolate, and freshly mown grass. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew what he was going to say.
"The way you left," Remus said simply.
"I was phasing in and out of existence, otherwise I would have stayed. I never would have left if I didn't have to. I would have been there until the bitter end," Hermione sniffled. She tried to keep her mind off James and Lily, she couldn't think about them yet, she couldn't. It would break her. She could still recall the feeling of their embrace, she could still see the confused look on James's face as they left. Less than a fortnight had passed.
They're gone, Hermione thought, but her traitorous heart wouldn't let her truly believe it.
Hermione shifted her face to the side so she could breathe properly. She knew they were gone, but she let her imagination run wild. They were waiting for them at Potter Manor, tucked away in their room under a thick quilt, sharing a bottle of elf wine and playing Wizard's chess.
It was a wonderful dream and she wanted to live in it a little longer. She wanted to steal away as many moments as she could before she faced the cruel truth.
"I missed you," Remus confessed. Hermione pressed a kiss to the hollow of his neck, and nudged him with her nose.
"I missed you too, my sweet Moon," Hermione replied. "I know it couldn't have been easy dealing with us disappearing without an explanation."
"I thought I deserved it. I thought it must be punishment for leaving for the werewolf packs," Remus said into her curls.
Hermione's fingers clutched at him tighter. "Remus Lupin, you deserve the world and more. We never could have punished you for doing what you thought was right."
"I didn't agree with you risking your life spying on the packs, but I knew you thought you had to do it."
"I broke my promise and went back after you left. It was one of the reasons why Sirius didn't trust me to be James and Lily's secret Keeper. If I hadn't then—"
Hermione's head snapped up abruptly and she stared deeply into Remus's morose, golden eyes. "You are not to blame for James and Lily's death, Remus. It is not your fault."
"Hermione—"
"There was no way you could have known that Peter was going to betray them, neither could Sirius. The only people to blame are Peter and Voldemort. Voldemort is the one who actually murdered them."
Remus nodded, but he didn't look wholly convinced. Hermione sighed through her nostrils and tiptoed to kiss his cheek. They would need to have a lengthier conversation at another time, now they had an important task to complete.
Hermione and Remus pried apart several elongated moments later and rejoined the others. They had gently woken Alice and Frank during Hermione and Remus's reunion.
Sirius was seated sideways on Alice's bed, one of her hands in between his. Soft words fell from his lips, a kind smile in place. Alice wasn't looking at him, a dopey, dazed smile pulled at her lips and she hummed an errant, uneven tune. Harry and Ron were clustered around her bed, whilst Draco and Neville were by Frank.
Frank's eyes were darting about wildly, like a trapped animal. He brought his hand up every few moments and slammed it down into his thigh. Anguish gripped Neville, and he was attempting to calm down his Father. He recognised the telltale signs before Frank went into one of his uncontrollable fits; it always came when something stressful occurred. A plaintive sound escaped Neville's lips as he grabbed hold of his Father's hand.
Draco was seated, facing Frank, one leg tucked under the other. He was holding an unstoppered phial, the translucent, bright blue liquid sloshing around inside as he brought it up to his nose to take a quick whiff.
"Smells the same," Draco said pensively. They'd placed robust stasis charms on the potions since they didn't know when they would expire, but they could have worn off over the course of the past two decades. "The hue is correct as well," Draco murmured, holding the phial up to the light. He scrutinised it, looking for any impurities or differentiations.
I suppose we should have checked to make sure they were still potent before we stormed St. Mungo's in the middle of the night, Hermione admitted.
"Brilliant," Hermione responded. She and Remus were in between the two beds.
The room's occupants held their breath as Draco leaned forward and tipped the potion to Frank's lips. The man thrashed around when the phial was half empty. He knocked it from Draco's hands, however enough of it had gotten into the man's mouth. Frank swallowed instinctively, and no one moved.
The phial landed on the ground with a clink, and a large shard of glass broke off. Draco waved his hand in its direction with a muttered incantation and it vanished. Draco withdrew another potion from his trouser pocket and wordlessly got up. Not checking to see if the potion had worked or not.
"Oi Malf—Draco," Neville called after him. "Where are you going? It didn't work!"
Hermione blindly reached out until her hand found a solid surface, her fingers tangled in the front of Remus's jumper, but she didn't dare turn her head away from Frank.
Draco was already at Alice's bedside. Harry and Ron made enough room for him as he repeated the process. It was much easier with Alice; Draco tipped back her head and she drank the entire thing. Neville was still asking questions, but Draco ignored him.
Draco straightened up, stoppered the phial and discarded it on Alice's bedside table. His fingers twitched at his sides, his eyes roving over Alice's face—desperately seeking out even the slightest change. "This happened with Liam as well, it's going to take a few moments…"
"Dad?" Neville cried out. Everyone's heads shot up to look over at the man and his frightened son. Frank went slack, falling back against his bed with a loud thump. Hermione relinquished her hold on Remus and rushed to Frank's bedside. She pulled her wand out, prepared to run diagnostics on the man.
The necessary incantations were ready to fly off her tongue, but they never took flight. Frank's eyes were fluttering open and his head groggily dropped to the side so he could peer at Neville. "Neville…" The syllables were rough, unevenly spaced, but he'd undoubtedly said his son's name. Fat tears leaked out of Neville's eyes as he fell to his knees—stunned—still gripping his Father's hand.
"Dad," Neville wept, his tears rolling down his face and getting caught in his mouth. His forehead dropped onto their joined hands and his body shook. Tears were burning hotly in Hermione's eyes, but she kept them at bay.
"Love, we should probably let them in now," Draco said softly. Hermione reluctantly tore her gaze away from the Father and Son to look over at the open doorway. There was a crowd outside now, Tottle was at the front, several healers flanked him on either side, and they'd parted to allow another wizard through.
Jameson. The man's ginger hair was sprinkled with grey and white strands, as was his wiry, unkempt beard. Aside from that, he looked almost the same as he did when he delivered the tragic news of Dorea's passing to the Potters. The man placed his hands on his hips and sent a disgruntled, unimpressed glare Tottle's way before he shouldered the man out of the way.
Tottle's fit of rage grew hotter until Jameson turned a look of death his way. The colour bled from the healer's face and he stumbled backwards, quieting almost instantly.
Hermione lifted the silencing charms with a handful of incantations and fancy wandwork. Sound gushed into the room like a raging river and she winced at its sudden intrusion.
Jameson's expression melted into something softer, kinder as he realised who was in the room. "Hermione and Draco Potter. How is this possible? Everyone thought you died...and then..." Jameson's brow furrowed as if he was trying to desperately recall something just out of reach. "Then, then there was nothing."
Tottle had regained his composure. With as much hostility as he could muster, he pointed a meaty finger towards them, his face growing puce-coloured—spittle flying from his mouth—and yelled, "they aren't anything but trouble. Those little cunts—"
The rapid, fluid movement might have been lost on Hermione if not for her heightened senses. Jameson pointed his wand at Tottle and said, "Petrificus Totalus." The man froze, and Jameson sighed heavily.
"Sorry about that," Jameson grunted, tucking his wand back into the folds of his plum coloured robes.
Before they could resume their conversation, the healers parted in an undulating wave and allowed Augusta to reach the front. She stared down her nose at Tottle and harrumphed before joining Jameson in the doorway.
"It worked," Hermione said simply. Augusta's mouth parted in shock. Hermione lifted the remaining wards, and the woman surged through the doorway.
Augusta stopped beside Alice's bed, but the woman had slipped into a restful sleep. She paused to squeeze the woman's shin before she flew over to the other bed and collapsed to her knees with a joyous cry as Frank turned to look at her.
"My boy!" Augusta sobbed, bony hands flitting around, touching as much of him as she could. A feeble look of recognition and contentment took over Frank's features. Augusta brushed his blond curls out of the way and pressed several kisses to his forehead.
Overcome by the sight of Augusta's love for her son bursting out of her, Hermione succumbed to her emotions, her own tears speeding down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, but it was in vain since they kept flowing relentlessly.
Hermione was enraptured by the delightful scene and she didn't notice Jameson come to a halt beside her. The man was flabbergasted, staring at Frank and Alice with awe and wonder. He'd worked beside them when they were young Aurors, had overseen their training, and even though he had not cast the curse, the guilt of what happened to them had lived in a corner of his heart every day since their attack.
Jameson had carried James Potter's death with him as well. He had been burdened by each and every Auror or innocent who had passed during his long tenure as an Auror. Some of the leaden weight lifted from him, and silent tears marched down his stoic cheeks.
"I don't know how, but thank you," Jameson said, placing his large hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Thank you."