Hello lovelies!
Surprise! Since this chapter is so long, and I am really excited to share it with you all, I decided to post it early!
From the beginning of next month I am going to post every other day or every couple days until I run out of pre-written chapters.
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Daily Prophet
'Time Travel Mystery or Hoax?'
'Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy Have Reportedly Travelled To The Past'
Issue Date: Sunday, April 11th, 1999
Rita Skeeter
Since the beginning of December, Hogwarts students have written home about the mysterious disappearance of War Heroine, Hermione Granger, and former Death Eater, Draco Malfoy. Newly appointed Headmistress of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft, Minerva McGonagall, has refused to comment on the situation whenever questioned. One could call into question her qualifications seeing as two prominent students disappeared right under her nose.
The Ministry officials were a flutter as this means Draco Malfoy violated the sentence reached by the Wizengamot this past summer. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic, has avoided speaking on this matter. How they will proceed with Mister Malfoy's rumoured return remains to be seen.
Yesterday evening, in the dead of night, it was reported that Miss Granger and Mister Malfoy stormed St. Mungo's Hospital and caused quite a ruckus. Known accomplices include: Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Neville Longbottom, and Augusta Longbottom. A source says that Frank and Alice Longbottom—long believed to be tortured beyond insanity—made a miraculous recovery during their visit.
Did Miss Granger and Mister Malfoy have something to do with said recovery? There are not enough details to make such claims yet.
Tiberius Tottle was asked for comments as he was the Head Healer on rotation last night. "Those damned brats are bloody nuisances, they cause chaos wherever they are," Healer Tottle said. A most curious thing of note is that he referred to them both as Potters.
Reports from a credible source indicate that Miss Granger and Mister Malfoy are now somehow directly linked to the Potters, an Ancient and Noble House that is on the brink of extinction. The extent of this connection is something that needs to be uncovered.
It is a well-known fact amongst the occupants of Hogwarts Castle that Miss Granger and Mister Malfoy mysteriously travelled to the past. The particulars have yet to be released. However, several questions need to be answered. When did they arrive in the past? What did they do while they were there? How long was their stay?
Neither Miss Granger nor Mister Malfoy have been available for a comment.
What is the truth? Why is there no transparency pertaining to these events? Is something more nefarious at play?
Tiberius Tottle also mentioned that Miss Granger and Mister Malfoy were engaged in a passionate embrace. Does this mean Hermione Granger, the Golden Girl as many refer to her, is consorting with a Death Eater? Has she discarded her morals or is she simply chasing after the sizable Malfoy fortune?
Unfortunately, the Ministry was unable to seize the Malfoy vaults as it would have caused a feud with the Goblins. However, a compromise was reached; their access is contingent on them following the sentences doled out by the Wizengamot.
Perhaps Mister Malfoy is simply this month's flavour for Hermione Granger in pursuit of a more racy, dangerous love interest. Or maybe he is merely the latest in her lengthy list of high profile lovers.
Previous beaus include Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Quidditch Player, and the saviour of the Wizarding World, Harry Potter.
What is the truth? I don't know about you dear reader, but I intend to find out.
Sunday, May 2nd, 1999
One Year Anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts
Ministry Gala
Draco's mouth went dry as he watched Hermione descend the grand staircase into the Foyer.
"Sod it. We don't have to attend anymore," Draco said. He smoothed his hands down the front of his tailored, green, velvet waistcoat. A long-sleeved white shirt was layered beneath it, over top was black outer robes with a silver trim. His black trousers showed how muscular his legs were without clinging to him; they were tapered at the ankles.
"No socks?" Hermione asked with a wry twist of her lips as she strolled into his arms. His hands linked around the small of her back. She peeked meaningfully down at his feet. He was wearing black dragonhide shoes with an iridescent emerald hue to the scales. A sliver of his bare ankles was showing.
"No socks." Draco confirmed.
"You, my love, look absolutely divine," Draco murmured as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"Tell me more," Hermione urged with a toothy grin.
"You could bend a god to your will with how lovely you look."
"Or a goddess?" Hermione teased. She tenderly stroked the short hair on his nape with her manicured fingers.
Draco's hair had grown out a little since Mipsy cut it a few weeks ago, but it was only a couple inches long, the hair didn't cover his ears.
"All of the above," Draco said as one of his hands slid down to squeeze her arse.
Hermione swatted him lightly. "None of that, or else we'll never leave. We are already incredibly late."
Sirius, Riley, Remus and Tonks had already left. Hermione and Draco insisted they go ahead. Hermione normally didn't take too long to get ready, but she'd taken her sweet time this evening. She wasn't in a rush to be scrutinised by a large section of Wizarding Society, but if she was going to be, she might as well look her best.
A sleek, halter-strap, floor-length black gown; the trim along the bottom of the dress was made up of silver and viridian vines, and it gleamed when it caught the light. The v-shaped neckline plunges to just above her belly button. The fabric clung to her curves but loosened just above her knees. The back of the dress was open, and ended at the dip above the curve of her arse.
Hermione's raven curls cascade down her back, pinned back on both sides by matching silver snake clips that are adorned with small emeralds and diamonds along the centre of the snake's body. White gold earrings dangle from her ears, delicate emeralds run along their length.
The assortment of jewellery she usually wore was proudly on display. Her engagement ring is a welcome addition.
Most of Hermione's tattoos were exposed and she was practically bursting with glee at the thought of the scandalised gasps her attire was sure to elicit.
Draco peered down at the strappy black heels on her feet. "Mum would approve."
Hermione smiled softly. Draco knew a lot of decisions Hermione made with thoughts of Dorea in the back of her mind. "I think so. She would also say that you look dashing and dignified."
Grave curtains drew down Draco's features. "I know the intention is to make a statement, but we're been locked away in our own bubble since you got back. A lot of people we know haven't seen you yet, if you get even the least bit overwhelmed, tell me and we leave immediately," Draco said seriously, lightly cupping her face.
"Same goes for you. I know you are accustomed to masking at these kinds of events, but I don't want you to force yourself," Hermione said. She nudged him with her nose, not wishing to kiss him and stain his lips with her dark red lipstick. A gentle, sage green shimmered around the outline of her eyes.
"You ready?" Draco asked.
"As ready as I'll ever be," Hermione replied. Draco pressed another kiss to her brow and apparated them to the outskirts of Shacklebolt Estate.
The gardens boast the same level of grandeur as the rest of the Shacklebolt's home. Rows of starch white and pale pink rose bushes line the drive.
Dark gravel crunched and shifted below Draco's feet and he raised a brow at Hermione. She was frowning at the gravel, but she squared her shoulders and fixed him with a determined stare. She picked up her skirts above her ankles with one hand.
That's my witch, Draco thought fondly. He held out his elbow, she slipped her hand through his and daintily rested it in the crook of his elbow. Draco placed his other hand on top of hers and they made the long trek up to the vast structure that was awash with light. Bright, warm light that beckoned them forth into its welcoming embrace.
Glowing balls of white light are bobbing up and down above the rose bushes, lighting the path.
A vast, circular fountain was out front. It also functioned as a roundabout for carriages to come and go as they pleased. Most were apparating in using the temporary apparition point that had been put in place for the night, but a rare few whose own grand homes were not far away had chosen the old-fashioned method of travel. Not wishing to risk wrinkling their pressed, fine robes and gowns.
Draco hadn't paid much attention to the fountain during his first visit. The marble white stone maiden was reaching up to the sky, her other hand clutching at her skirts of her life-like dress; like loose linens draped over her that clung to her yet blew in a perpetual breeze backwards. There are several intricate braids criss-crossing over her scalp that were tied back by a delicate ribbon. There was deep longing affixed to her features, as if she was trying to fly away.
The maiden was standing on an elevated tier from the main foundation's basin and water gently flowed over the sides from around her feet.
"Was that there last time?" Hermione inquired.
"It was, but I didn't pay it any mind," Draco confessed.
"She's beautiful," Hermione said as they strolled around her to the grand stone staircase. The railings on either side had miniaturised versions of the fountain lady dancing up the staircase; she connected the top and bottom chords of the railing and held them up with unrivalled grace.
At the top of the stairs was the same wizard who'd introduced them the last time during their last visit. At the Shacklebolt's memorable New Year's Ball.
The entrance was empty. It appeared most of the guests had already arrived if the muffled, joyous sounds from the open door were any indication.
White hairs sprouted from his temples, his thin pink lips were turned downwards at the corners, his dark brown eyes were half-lidded as he scrutinised them. They widened almost imperceptibly as he realised who they were. He was older now, his dark skin littered with fine wrinkles, especially around his eyes.
"Miss Potter, Mister Potter," the man greeted cordially. Not an ounce of familiarity in his tone. Draco slid Hermione's invitation—embossed white paper with silver and gold letters inviting Miss Hermione Granger to the Memorial Ball—from inside his robes and held it out to the man.
The Head Butler held it gingerly between his fingers, eyes narrowing as they flitted over the letters. "Miss Granger?"
"In a former life," Hermione responded carefully.
He tore his eyes from the paper to scan her features. "Thank you for your service, Miss Potter."
"I only made sure my best friend stayed alive. Unfortunately, he had a penchant for attracting trouble and the attention of dark witches and wizards. I'm sure you would have done the same." Hermione said graciously.
"No. I don't think I would have," The man said after several moments. "You may go in, but first, will you humour an old man with a simple request?"
"Possibly," Draco said, nodding at the man.
"Please try not to cause as much of a commotion as you did last time. Lady Shacklebolt was quite beside herself."
"Oh, we intend to be on our best behaviour," Hermione promised with a dismissive wave.
A small crack touched his lips. "You truly are your Mother's daughter."
"I'll take that as a compliment of the highest order."
"You should," he said as they swept past him through the open doors. "Enjoy your evening," he called after them. Hermione and Draco chorused thanks over their shoulders.
It was testament to the Shacklebolt's position in society that the main entrance in their home led into a lavish ballroom. There were other entrances to the east and south of the property, but those were more informal and usually reserved for close friends and family.
For a small moment Draco felt like he had been transported back in time, and if he wished hard enough, James and Charlus would be with them as they had been last time. The ballroom hadn't changed at all. The only differences were the decorations.
The theme was more summery and bright. Garlands of roses matching those in the gardens were strung across the ceilings, braided together with pale pink and pearlescent white ribbons. The walls had been enchanted to match the quaint gardens round the back of the house, the trees in the background swayed with artificial wind.
Glowing balls of white floated ten feet above their heads.
A string quartet was in the far right corner of the room playing jovial tunes that accompanied the warmth of the evening. The first inklings of summer were upon them. A pungent, floral aroma tickled Draco's nostrils.
"Lora certainly has outdone herself once again, hasn't she?" Hermione murmured, gazing down at the swarm of partygoers. Like an undulating wave their merriment hushed, and their heads turned sharply in their direction.
"We can still tuck tail and run if you want," Draco leaned down and whispered in Hermione's ear.
"Where's your Gryffindor bravery, Draco Potter?" Hermione teased as she strode forward with her chin held high.
No one moved or breathed as Hermione and Draco descended the grand staircase into the ballroom that had been polished meticulously and gleamed brilliantly; you could see your reflection on the floor's surface.
Time stood still when they stepped off the staircase onto the ballroom floor. It resumed a heartbeat later, and Hermione ignored the disapproving whispers, scandalised gasps and reproachful glares being sent their way.
Some were glaring at Draco, some were gaping at Hermione's tattoos boldly on display, some had caught sight of her silvery pink bite scar on her shoulder—her pack mark—and made ignorant assumptions. Others were confused as to why the Potter 'twins' were so intimately close.
Hermione sighed heavily through her nostrils. Draco strode forward, he could see over most of the crowd and he guided her past the judgemental wix—without sparing them a moment's attention—until they reached where the Marauders and their other close friends were gathered.
The Pack and their companions had claimed an entire area close to the music but within close proximity of the refreshments table. A respectable distance away from both so as to not disturb anyone.
"Hello there, er-Hermione," Pansy greeted awkwardly. She pushed past Theo and Blaise to be the first to greet the new arrivals.
Inwardly, Pansy was an anxious mess. She was tense and waiting for someone to hex her at any moment. Her words during the Battle of Hogwarts were not so easily forgiven by most of tonight's attendees. It was only the prestige of the occasion and her companions that had thwarted any such attempts thus far.
Outwardly she appeared the epitome of calm and elegant. The only thing that gave away her discomfort was the stiffness in her movements.
Neville appeared and placed a steady hand on Pansy's lower back. The tension melted out of her. Pansy shot Neville a prim, rueful smile.
Pansy's dress was sleek, and black with an emerald sheen. The neckline plunged down to the middle of her ribcage, and the straps were thin, but somehow they were supporting her modest cleavage. The skirts ended at her ankles but a dangerously high slit on the left-side ended just below her pelvic bone.
Artful sticking charms had been utilised to ensure her modesty was protected no matter how she moved, and she wasn't constantly fiddling with her outfit.
Neville's formal black robes were less showy, but the green accents complemented Pansy's dress. His blond curls were neatly arranged on top of his head.
Frank and Alice were several feet away, sitting in two fold-out white chairs. Their outfits were simple, black with intricate gold details. Augusta was also in attendance, but she'd wandered off to boast about her family. Her grandson was a war hero after all.
Hermione had seen Frank and Alice a few days ago at the wedding, but she was glad to see them out and about.
"Hi Pansy," Hermione said carefully. Pansy was one of Draco's friends, so she would play nice.
"You look really pretty," Pansy said softly, a grimace on her face, as if handing out compliments was a foreign concept. Hermione appreciated the effort.
Hermione snorted, extracted herself from her fiancé, and grasped Pansy's shoulders. Her skin was cool and smooth. "You look lovely as well."
"I'm sorry I was a twat when we were growing up," Pansy mumbled, averting her gaze. Neville smirked and buried his face in her hair, he pressed a soft kiss behind her ear.
"She's trying her best, Mione," Neville said, a boyish grin in place.
"And I appreciate it greatly," Hermione said.
"This is creeping me out," Draco said before he left to go greet Harry, Daphne, Luna and Ginny.
Daphne's gown was silvery blue. A scoop neckline with thin straps, and the satin material hugged her like a second skin, it ended mid-thigh. A dreamy ice-blue tulle skirt that sparkled with silver was laid over it and it floated around her. Harry's dress robes were matte black, but an impossibly blue rose was pinned to his lapel.
Hermione raised a brow at Daphne's heels. They appeared to be made of glass and her well-manicured toenails were on display. Those would be ridiculously uncomfortable unless she has several charms on those torture devices.
(Daphne's Mother had fussed endlessly, she wanted her daughter's appearance to match the status she now held being the 'Chosen One's' partner. She'd also gone above and beyond for Astoria as she was trying to secure a match for her youngest.)
Luna's outfit was similar to Daphne's, but not as elaborate. Her hair was freely flowing down her back, her earrings were sapphire flowers and matching real ones were braided throughout her hair. Her dress had a sweetheart neckline and its full skirts cut off at the knee. Luna wasn't wearing shoes, a silver anklet with sapphires was around her right ankle. Silver vines were painted around her legs, they ended beneath her skirt.
"You look delightful, Luna," Draco greeted warmly. Luna handed Draco a flute of bubbles with a dreamy smile.
Where is Ron? Hermione wondered absently as she made for Frank and Alice—the rest of her pack had formed a circle around the pair, but Theo and Blaise had other plans.
Blaise slid in front of her with a radiant grin, stopping her from reaching her friends. The man was anything but simply dressed. The trio of silver rings on his thumb, index finger, and ring finger on his right hand caught her attention; his house insignia ring was on his index finger.
The man was wearing a tailored, fitted, black three-piece suit. The asymmetric, four-pocket waistcoat is dusty rose coloured and made of crushed velvet.
Blaise's hair had started to grow back and the short curls made a wave across his scalp. Silver studs are in his lower lobes.
Theo's outfit is similar to his best mate's, but his waistcoat is a rich, deep blue. It reminds her of Marlene's eyes. The impossibly pretty colour captured in the fabric. Theo's curls have been somewhat tamed. Blaise braided part of his hair back on the left side and adorned it with silver beads.
"Not quite little lioness, we have yet to be properly reacquainted since your return," Blaise said with a wolfish grin. He bent respectfully at the waist, delicately took her hand in his, and raised it to his lips. He placed a prim kiss on her skin.
"What have you been up to, Potter?" Theo greeted, nursing a Firewhisky. He'd had no intention of coming tonight. He was a ready target like Pansy but for different reasons. Long-held grudges against his cruel Father had transferred onto him since Theodus's death.
Theo readily discarded his mail unless it was from a recognised sender. It was most likely laced with something dastardly. He'd made the mistake once shortly after the war, alnd spent a week on bed rest recovering from a rare poison. His friends feared he wouldn't make it. They hadn't been able to trace the letter back to the sender.
Ginny brought Theo as her plus one. She was staking her claim on him in a protective lioness fashion. He wasn't just a Death Eater's son now, he was a war heroine and 'blood traitor's' beau.
Draco had seen his friends multiple times over the past few weeks. He'd even facilitated assistance with their studies. Blaise hated asking for help, but Draco had convinced him to ask Sirius about Transfiguration; it's Blaise's weakest subject.
Hermione had been invited to their small gatherings, but she'd politely declined thus far. She was unwittingly putting off a proper introduction. (She knew who they were, but she didn't know them.)
"I've been hidden away in my tower, sitting on my hordes of gold, incinerating anyone who dares approach," Hermione said dryly. Blaise beamed at her, she returned the smile.
"The golden girl has finally made a public appearance, and she's dressed in our colours," Blaise smirked. The attractive man was oozing charm and delight.
In spite of Blaise's choice of companions—former Death Eaters and the like—he was a highly sought after, eligible bachelor. Not only for his money, status and name, but also for his good looks.
Hermione could feel several envious wix glaring furious holes in the back of her head. Wishing that they were the ones Blaise was showering with attention.
Poor things don't know that he's taken, Hermione snorted mentally.
"Oi, Zabini. Remove your hands from my witch," Sirius said, materialising out-of-thin air. Hermione hadn't noticed his approach. She was about to ask after Terry's well-being.
"Aren't you married, Black? And does Draco know you go around claiming his witch as your own?" Blaise said, expression aloof, his tone bored.
"Yes to both of those questions. She is pack, which makes her mine as much as it makes me hers. I repeat, get your grubby little paws off her," Sirius snapped. Blaise relinquished his grip on her hand, raised his hands in surrender and rejoined Theo. Blaise pulled a flask out of his inner jacket pocket.
"You look dashing tonight, Padfoot," Hermione said. She'd seen him a few hours ago, but that didn't dull the joy that coursed through her because of his presence.
Hermione had braided Sirius's hair earlier that evening. Two braids snaked across his scalp on either side of his head before they met in the middle and ended in a high ponytail. She'd tied his hair back with a black ribbon, and his raven hair was loose silk that reached his shoulders. Somehow Sirius's hairstyle had stayed intact.
Sirius was wearing most of the same clothes he'd worn to his wedding with a couple exceptions. His outer robes were blood red; bold gold was embroidered along the hem.
"Hermione! You both made it!" Riley exclaimed, joining her husband. She delicately rested her hand on the shoulder nearest to her, and Sirius slid an arm around her waist.
Riley's dress matched Sirius's robes. It was sleek and satin, with a halter neckline, and ended just above her shoulder blades were exposed and her arms left bare until just above her elbows. She was wearing matching gloves. Her wedding ring glittered on her finger, rubies gleamed in her ears and her smile radiantly lit up the room.
"It's wonderful, isn't it?" Riley asked. She'd pinned her hair back and left it loose. Riley's face, scar and milky eye were proudly on display.
Riley missed attending parties. She didn't need it to be as grand as this one, but she missed the ritual of getting all-dressed up, having a grand time, and finding your way home in the small hours of the next morning.
"It's weird seeing you dress fancy in public, cousin," Tonks teased as she butted into their conversation. Her dress matched Riley's in every way aside from it being the same colour as her Auror robes. She'd contemplated showing up in her work attire, but Remus had convinced her not to. Remus trailed over to them with a crooked smile.
Sirius scoffed, peering down at Tonks. "I was raised with all the rules and conventions of high society—"
"That you choose to ignore," Tonks said, sipping elf wine.
"That's rich coming from you," Sirius laughed. "You're right, I normally choose not to abide by them, but I knew Draco was going to dress up. I couldn't possibly let him hog the spotlight."
"Potter?" A voice said behind her. It was familiar, but the accent was muddled and different. Lysander Smith. From the growl that ripped from Sirius's lips, she quickly ascertained that her assumptions about the man's identity were correct.
Hermione twirled around. Blond hair, blue eyes. The years had been kind to Lysander. His eyes didn't hide haunted tragedies within them, nor had he acquired many wrinkles. His skin was golden and tanned.
"Smith," Hermione greeted with a stiff smile. He was frowning deeply down at her, trying to piece together why she hadn't aged a day.
In her peripherals she saw Draco determinedly heading their way, he stopped beside Remus. Both of them were staring Lysander with murderous intent, Remus's eyes were ablaze with gold.
"Smith," Draco gritted out. "Didn't we get rid of you twenty years ago?"
"Potter," Lysander said uneasily, he could sense the dark aura radiating from Draco. "I've been living in America, I moved back a few months ago."
"Lucky us," Remus said sharply.
"I thought you two were dead," Lysander said with wide eyes, glancing between Hermione and Draco. "Not to mention you both look amazing."
Lysander reached out to touch Hermione's cheek, but Draco's hand shot out and grabbed hold of his wrist. Lysander winced.
"Draco doesn't like to share," Hermione said as Lysander met her gaze. His perturbed frown was back.
"What?"
"She's mine," Draco growled. Eyes burning, canines bared. Hermione reached out to touch his upper arm. He relaxed somewhat and freed Lysander's wrist. He slotted himself behind her, loosely wrapping his arms around her midsection. Hermione placed her hands over his.
Tonks peered around her husband. "This pretty boy is Lysander? You made him sound unattractive!"
"Gargoyles and gorgons, what in Rowena's name is going on?" Lysander muttered as he looked at the protective way Draco had draped himself over Hermione.
"Long story short, Draco and I travelled backwards in time, took a de-ageing potion, got adopted by the Potters and lived in the past until our original selves were born." It sounded mental when she said it aloud.
"What?" Lysander croaked.
"I was born in nineteen seventy-nine. My birth name is Hermione Granger, a Muggleborn," Hermione sighed. "In December of last year, I travelled back in time—"
"No I get it, but what?!" Lysander repeated. The exclamation drew some eyes in their direction. The ones that weren't perpetually fixed on them, feigning that they are otherwise occupying themselves.
"In short, Draco and I are not siblings. We've been—"
"It was him," Lysander said. The realisation dawned on him and it looked like he'd been struck by lightning. "The one you were in love with…but you lied, didn't you?" Lysander's gaze flicked up to Draco and then down to the ring on her finger. "It worked out perfectly fine."
Hermione smiled tightly. The comforting scent of mint, and the soft warmth of Draco's skin steadied her. She had been prepared for several outcomes tonight, seeing Lysander was not one of them. Guilt worried at the edges of her comfort, she hadn't thought of the boy much after he left the country.
"What about you? How have you been?" Hermione prompted softly. Lysander cocked his head at her, lips pressed in a thoughtful line.
"I retired last year, it's the main reason I came home. Playing Professional Quidditch had its perks, but I felt it was time to move on," Lysander replied. It was a dry, rehearsed answer.
Lysander cleared his throat, smoothing down the front of his formal, periwinkle robes. The colour suited his complexion. "My son turned nineteen last month."
"Is he anything like you?" Draco drawled overhead. Hermione subtly elbowed him.
"Thankfully, he takes after his Mother. She possesses worlds of patience," Lysander smirked. His gaze kept flicking between the couple as if trying to unravel an elaborate mystery. "She managed to put up with me for eleven years."
"So you're…"
"Separated. We kept things civil and somehow managed to raise a well-functioning member of society."
Lysander paused and swivelled around, brow puckered as he searched for something or someone. "He's around here somewhere. I caught sight of your hair and chased what I thought was a ghost from the past over here."
"Lucky us," Draco repeated Remus's earlier sentiment. Remus politely hid a smile as he sipped at his flute of bubbly alcohol.
"Some of my old mates from school, a couple of them ended up playing for Puddlemere…" At that, all the Marauders perked up. Puddlemere United was their team. "...they arranged for me to coach little league Quidditch. It's mainly the player's kids and some of their friends for now, but…" Lysander drifted off diffidently.
"Are you any good?" Draco asked.
"What?"
"Coaching. Are you any good?" Draco clarified.
Lysander nodded jerkily. Hermione could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to decipher this new dynamic. "Yea, I was a pretty good Quidditch player. Never as naturally talented as you Potters, so I had to always work my arse off."
Lysander shrugged nonchalantly, but his eyes were shining with quiet pride as he said, "I'm brilliant at coaching. It suits me much better." He never was one for humility, but Hermione could tell he truly believed it.
"I never liked you growing up, Smith," Draco said. It wasn't a secret, and Lysander didn't seem surprised, just curious where this line of conversation was going. "However, punching your pretty face doesn't hold the same appeal it used to."
"Thank you?" Lysander said with a crumpled brow. He was shifting from foot-to-foot, and he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets.
"That being said, is it possible to book lessons in advance?" Draco asked. Hermione's mouth fell open. She twisted in his arms to stare at his calm face in bafflement.
"I beg your pardon?" Lysander croaked. The blond was evidently not expecting that proposition.
"Lessons. Is it possible to reserve a spot or two? I'm sure my family will have a few children running around shortly, and we can teach them the basics, but proper flight instruction is fundamental in their formative years."
"Is it now?" Hermione muttered, facing forwards once more. Sometimes she forgot his childhood and how he'd been raised. For him it was a given that their future children would have the best tutors and flying lessons.
"We want to make sure they have every opportunity available to them," Draco insisted.
"Let's not start spoiling our future children just yet." Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Uh, sure. We can discuss details some other time?" Lysander suggested.
"Excellent," Draco nodded.
A lively tune came on. It was quick, playful and caused her heart to race and jump with the beat. Lysander smirked, "may I have this dance, Potter?"
There was no lust, no heat and longing hidden in his blue eyes. He politely extended his hand toward her, the other tucked behind his back as he bent partially at the waist.
"You may," Hermione said. She accepted his hand and Draco squeezed her once before relinquishing his grip on her.
"Keep your hands in all the appropriate places, Smith. She is Lady Potter, you will do well to remember that." Draco warned. The protective, possessive hint to his words made her heart skip a beat. Draco wasn't preventing her from doing anything, but he was ensuring that everyone within earshot knew she was his. It made her toes curl with pride and excitement.
"Don't worry. Nothing untoward will happen. I don't harbour those kinds of intentions anymore," Lysander affirmed before he led Hermione into the throng of revellers. A few faltered in their steps to curiously watch the pair, but mostly they were enraptured by the music.
Hermione gripped Lysander's hand, the other rested on his shoulder. Lysander's free hand rested on her upper back. The music guided them in fluid movements, it was like they were somehow dancing on the surface of a lake on a hot summer's day.
"I meant it. I don't think of you like that anymore. I just…I thought you were dead," Lysander said. Hermione's brow puckered.
"I heard news of your disappearance, and then…nothing for years. So, I assumed like most that you had died." Lysander explained.
Lysander's words confirmed a suspicion she'd had. Their spell hadn't extended outside of Britain. The range of the blood runes was limited. However, if he had passed close to them whilst they were still active, the spell would have gone into effect.
"I have a question," Hermione said gently. It was an intrusive one, but she doubted it would offend Lysander. Hermione cast a Muffliato so their conversation couldn't be overheard by nosy busybodies.
"Ask away."
"Were you really in love with Emmeline?" Hermione asked. The jovial music seemed too bright under the weight of the sorrow-filled inquiry.
"I fancied you, don't get me wrong, but I think she was the only witch I truly loved," Lysander replied ruefully. His smile didn't reach his eyes. "She didn't take me seriously though. We had a few…encounters after we graduated, but well, you can guess how that turned out."
Emmeline didn't think Lysander was serious. Heartbroken, he'd fled to North America, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. Then, news of Emmeline's death came and it had permanently fractured something within him.
"It was unfair to my ex-wife. Living in the shadow of a memory. Of a dead woman I couldn't let go of. I don't think I'll ever fully recover from her loss, but my son, he helps," Lysander admitted.
"Tell me about him—" Hermione started. But then a familiar magical signature brushed against hers and a warm hand touched her shoulder. Hermione and Lysander's dance stuttered to a stop.
Lysander smoothly spun her into the awaiting arms of a handsome, tall, dark-skinned man. Kingsley Shacklebolt gazed down at her with delight and kind warmth.
"We'll have to continue this conversation some other time, Potter," Lysander said against the shell of her ear. "I need to go find my son, and I think you have some catching up to do."
It wasn't a secret that Kingsley Shacklebolt had been quite taken with Hermione Potter in their youth. At one point the Prophet had written an article insinuating that the pair were carrying on a clandestine love affair.
"Hello, Hermione," Kingsley grinned.
"Hi, Kings," Hermione said with a smirk. Copious amounts of charm and confidence oozed off the man. However, like Lysander, the longing that had plagued him in the past was absent.
His formal, fitted robes were bright blue like the ocean's shallows in the tropics on a humid summer's day. Pure white accents forming geometric patterns covered his sleeves. Kingsley's hair was longer than last summer—the last time Hermione Granger had seen him.
Kingsley's shoulder-length braids were pulled back into a high ponytail, a couple shorter ones framed his face. His youthful bravado had settled into a humble confidence and maturity.
The Minister for Magic was devastatingly attractive, his years as an Auror had aged him somewhat, but the only real indication that time had affected him were the subtle frown lines on his forehead. The smile lines around his mouth were more pronounced.
Hermione inhaled deeply and focused on the sunny, calm strength of Kingsley's magical signature that was bumping her own.
"I would ask if you go by Granger or Potter now, but your appearance is pretty self-explanatory," Kingsley said. His large hands were gripping her upper arms just above her elbows. Her hands grasped at the fabric by the crook of his elbows.
Kingsley smoothly adjusted his hands to delicately hold hers and rest on her lower back, so they were primed to engage in a flirty waltz. The music had shifted as they'd been reunited. Kingsley led her around the other couples and they glided across the polished floor.
"I take it Draco is who stole your heart all those years ago?" Kingsley asked, leaning in close so he spoke against her temple. His velvety voice was low so only she would hear him.
"Yes," Hermione said simply.
"I've never seen the tattoo on your back before. Subtle," Kingsley teased.
"You should see his," Hermione grinned.
"Hermione."
"Yes, Kings?"
"Do you wish to explain why I can't find any records in the Ministry pertaining to Hermione or Draco Potter?"
Hermione stiffened.
The music slowed to an idyllic melody, the violin had taken centre stage whilst the piano steadily accompanied it. Their movements slowed, and it felt like they were taking a leisurely stroll through a set of beauteous gardens.
"Didn't know you had time to look into those kinds of things, with you being the Minister for Magic and all," Hermione replied casually. She mentally berated herself. She'd intended on bringing it up first, apologising, and handing them over as soon as possible. She hoped they wouldn't pay too high a price for it, since it technically was a crime.
"I woke up in the middle of the night with memories assaulting me. I had to try and figure out what was going on," Kingsley said. He pulled back and gazed down at her with a pensive expression. "Being the Minister for Magic comes with certain perks. I didn't exactly have to wait around long for someone to conduct an investigation and search for your records."
"Interesting use of Ministry resources," Hermione muttered.
"So you have them?"
"We couldn't exactly risk leaving them lying around in case someone stumbled across them by accident."
Kingsley huffed out a sigh, but a tiny smile tugged at his lips. "Give them to me by the end of the week and that will be that."
"Oh yea, I also grabbed the animagi registration paperwork I filed back then as well," Hermione shrugged cavalierly. It was a tiny, harmless lie. She'd filled out all the necessary forms and gotten everyone's signatures, but she'd never filed them. It'd been too risky.
"Animagi, as in plural?" Kingsley asked, his interest piqued.
"You'll see. I can trust it won't be a problem as it helped minimise risk for certain individuals during the war. Individuals who were essential to our side's success." Hermione said, batting her eyelashes playfully. "Especially considering the long-standing friendship our families have."
Kingsley let out a low, deep laugh that rumbled through her. His honeyed caramel eyes melted with affection. As if she was a young child who'd said something utterly charming.
"You certainly are a witch to be reckoned with, Miss Potter." Kingsley paused thoughtfully, and as if he was asking against his better judgement he added, "anything else?"
"Now that you mention it, you have a speech shortly, don't you?" Hermione asked innocently.
"A brief one, I'd rather not make one at all, but my Mother insisted I should. It's only proper considering my positions as both host and Minister." Kingsley grumbled.
"Oh yes, where is Lora?" Hermione asked, eyes wide. Unthinkingly, she glanced around her, but she couldn't spot the older witch through the sea of wix in their vibrant colours.
"Most likely sitting on the sidelines, enjoying the music. She's not been the same since Dad passed a few years ago," Kingsley confessed. His expression crumpled for a second. "The war didn't help. She was constantly worried she'd lose me too."
That didn't sound like the intimidating yet kind woman she'd met in the past. The woman who'd seen a golden opportunity and taken it without an ounce of remorse or hesitation.
"She's been asking about you both since her memories came back…and about Harry," Kingsley added.
"Harry?"
"She thinks she should have done something after James and Lily—after. She thinks we should have petitioned to raise him," Kingsley confessed.
"She couldn't—they wouldn't have allowed…" Hermione trailed off. Unsure what she had planned on saying. If a prominent, trusted family such as the Shacklebolts—with such close relations to the Potters—had kicked up enough of a public fuss, they may have been granted custody of Harry.
"It doesn't help dwelling on past events that have been set in stone," Hermione murmured. Kingsley squeezed her hand. They stopped dancing entirely, and they were standing still in the middle of the ballroom.
"No, I suppose it doesn't," Kingsley agreed.
"Kings?"
"Yes, love?"
"I do have one more request."
Whilst Hermione was twirled around the ballroom, another witch had seen a shining opportunity that she couldn't pass up, and approached Draco. She didn't know if she would get another chance.
Astoria stealthily slotted in beside Draco. It took him a few moments to notice her presence. It wasn't easy to sneak up on the animagus, but somehow she'd managed the feat.
"Draco."
"Stori," Draco said, inclining his head politely as he faced the petite witch.
Astoria was almost half a foot shorter than her sister. Her dark brown, silky hair was dead-straight and it had been pulled up into a high ponytail by a silver ribbon. Her ice-blue eyes were round, large and glassy. Her small mouth was a flirty pink, her face round. Her appearance was as dainty and delicate as a doll.
Astoria's royal purple gown had a modest, square neckline and short sleeves that cut off on the curve of shoulders. The bodice was fitted and came in at the waist. The skirts were full and like a dark cloud. Amethysts glittered in her ears and around her neck.
Astoria wordlessly turned to him, her arched eyebrows furrowing as she reached up to smooth her pale hands over the front of his robes. It was an intimate gesture, something Astoria was not known for.
"Granger?" Astoria asked without a hint of emotion as she peered up at him. Her hands fell and she clasped them in front of her.
"Potter," Draco gently corrected. Hopefully, after tomorrow, they won't have to endure this irritating repetition at such high frequencies as they were currently.
"Does she know you're technically betrothed to me?" Astoria asked softly. Every syllable was polished and purposeful. She had a fluid manner of speaking, every word melodic in its own way.
Draco frowned. "Astoria. We aren't betrothed anymore. We broke off our engagement…well for you it would've been in August. For me it's been years." It was another lifetime.
"Not officially," Astoria said stiffly.
"Stori," Draco sighed. Considering they were betrothed, the pair opted to partake in a brief fling—in his sixth year and her fifth—but it ended rather swiftly. They both decided they weren't meant for each other, and ended it before it had ever really begun.
They'd made that decision final after the war ended. For a myriad of reasons.
"The original betrothal contract was dissolved. We are not engaged anymore," Draco pointed out. His tone wasn't pleasant, but he was trying.
"I didn't accept," Astoria said. She turned to the side, facing the gaiety and mirth of partially inebriated wix as they gracefully danced to a bewitching tune. Astoria gazed at them with a tiny frown. Draco followed her line-of-sight and saw that Hermione had traded partners. The Minister for Magic himself was now her dance partner.
"Astoria," Draco said, his attention refocused on the small, infuriatingly complex witch.
"I didn't accept," Astoria reiterated. "You always made all the decisions."
"We mutually agreed—"
"You were the one who suggested ending our arrangement a few years ago. You were the one who dissolved our betrothal contract." Astoria scowled. It was rare that she was so incensed, or that she openly displayed her emotions in public.
"You agreed both times," Draco said softly.
"Purely because it's what you wished. I thought you would eventually see the error of your ways, and realise that we would have been good together." Astoria's features smoothed over, her expression unreadable. Not even a tremour of her former emotions was present.
I'm surprised she let any show in the first place, Draco thought. Astoria had allowed some of her feelings to slip through the cracks in her emotionless façade.
From a young age, Astoria had been perfectly schooled to hide her feelings and true intentions behind a blank mask. A skill he also possessed, but it was harder to maintain these days. It was too draining.
Astoria was different. Sometimes, when you looked at her, she was nothing. She was a mirror in which you could gaze into and see whatever you wished reflected back at you.
Draco had seen her smile, he'd seen her irritated, but he had never witnessed her cry nor had he seen her laugh.
Astoria preferred for you to be honest and upfront with her. Draco decided to be as blunt and indelicate as possible. "I love her."
"Oh, both of my eyes work, Draco. Anyone with a working pair can clearly see that," Astoria sighed gently. "It was evident from the moment you both entered the room."
Astoria tapped her index finger against the top of her opposite hand. She dragged her eyes up to his face, thoughts squared away behind a melancholic mask.
"Astoria—"
"I wish you every happiness, Draco. At the beginning of the evening, I thought I might be able to convince you that you should pick me." Astoria snorted, a tight, rueful smile on her lips. "However, I've realised that is impossible. So, I merely wanted to tell you that you have always been my first choice. It's a shame I wasn't yours."
"I'm sorry, Stori." He meant it.
Astoria placed a hand on his upper arm. "I know."
Chamomile and vanilla gently rolled toward Draco, caressing him moments before their owner reached his side.
"Astoria," Hermione greeted as she rejoined her fiancé and his former betrothed.
"Hermione," Astoria said with a polite nod. She dropped her hand from Draco and took a step backward.
Astoria's eyes raked over Hermione, and they lingered on her engagement ring before they settled on the taller witch's face. "You're marrying her then." A bland statement. It didn't reveal her true thoughts on the matter.
Hermione's nose scrunched up, and her eyebrows knitted together. "I can tell this conversation is going to be tiresome for me…so if you will excuse me, I am going to find Ron." Hermione squeezed Draco's hand and without another word, she departed. She had a ginger haired boy to find.
Ron was on the opposite side of the ballroom. There was a respectable distance between him and Padma. The brown skinned girl was wearing a turquoise sari with gold thread details that was wrapped around her waist and draped over her right shoulder. Her midriff was exposed. Several layers of gold necklaces were around her neck.
Padma's parents were dressed in similar colours to their daughter and her Father was engaged in a warm exchange with Ron.
Ron was wearing a formal, midnight blue kurta with an off-centre placket and golden embroidery. The rest of it was plain until it reached the sleeves' hems where the golden embroidery continued. Fitted black trousers were underneath. Padma had arranged his outfit for the evening and he'd gladly worn the traditional garb.
Hermione was almost bashful as she approached the group. Her attire was vastly different. Padma's Father's eyebrows rose, but he didn't look offended or upset by her dress choices.
"Ron," Hermione said as she reached her friend's side. She shot Padma a warm smile. Hermione had been roommates with her identical twin for years, and even if they hadn't got on, she had still felt her loss.
"Mione!" Ron beamed as he pulled her into a tight hug. Hermione caught sight of Padma smiling at the sight before she was engulfed in Ron's embrace.
I need to make an effort to get to know Padma better, Hermione silently promised. Ron was smitten, which meant the girl was most likely in Hermione's life to stay. He made a good choice, Hermione thought.
Padma's Mother was incredibly witty, and Mister Patil stared at his wife with utter devotion and affection. Eventually, Padma hooked her arm through Ron's. Hermione easily passed the time talking to the group.
The music halted.
"Good evening," A voice boomed from the top of the staircase. Kingsley's speech.
I'd almost forgotten, Hermione thought. She, like the rest of the room's occupants, faced the Minister for Magic.
Hermione spotted Molly, Arthur, Percy and Oliver a short distance away. Arthur caught her eye and waved exuberantly, Hermione returned the gesture. Molly seemed to stare straight through her.
Oliver and Percy's heads were bent together and they were whispering softly. Their fingers were intertwined.
Percy had almost died during the war. He'd saved Fred's life by shoving him out of the way when a section of the castle blasted apart and rubble rained down on them. He'd lost his right arm. The blood loss and shock nearly killed him. Thankfully, he'd survived and he said it was lucky he was left-handed.
Percy was now Kingsley's personal advisor and assistant.
Oliver was playing Quidditch professionally. He'd started out with the Appleby Arrows after he graduated, but Puddlemere United snatched him up after last season. Their Keeper had to retire early because of an unfortunate, unavoidable incident.
Arthur and Molly faced forward. A sinking sensation settled in the pit of Hermione's stomach. She'd seen Arthur once since she'd been back. Arthur had invited her over to the Burrow for a spot of tea. He'd been alone. They'd had a cup of tea and chatted the afternoon away. Molly was mysteriously absent.
That was how Hermione was updated on the affairs of the Weasley brood.
Bill and Fleur were in Madrid. It was their last stop before they came home in a couple days. They'd spent months chasing the sun on an extended honeymoon.
Charlie was teaching at Hogwarts (Hermione knew that as she'd bumped into him several times as Hermione Granger in the past). It seemed as if his stay was going to be permanent, if McGonagall's ideas for new hires and re-arrangements of the current staff worked out.
The twins had re-opened their shop in Diagon Alley, and moved back into their old flat above it that they had to abandon during the war. Business was booming. Their society needed as much joy as it could get.
Hermione spotted a pair of tall gingers a few feet away from the other Weasleys, and surmised that Fred and George must also be in attendance. She'd missed the twin troublemakers and she was looking forward to being reunited with them. Honestly, she'd missed all the Weasleys.
In spite of Arthur's assurances otherwise, it seems Molly's absence during my visit was voluntary. She is cross with me for some reason, Hermione mused.
A sense of deja vu washed over her. It was like when Molly treated her poorly because of Rita Skeeter's articles in her fourth year. What's causing her to act like this again? Hermione wondered sadly.
Hermione tuned into what Kingsley was saying. "The past year has been full of healing for our society. Today is not only a celebration for the victory we achieved, where we triumphed over evil, but also a time to reflect on those we lost."
As with the other wix, she dutifully listened to Kingsley's speech. It wasn't tedious and boring, in fact all the words were deeply impactful. He was a born leader.
Hermione pushed her shoulders back and raised her chin. She knew where the rest of his speech was going. She began to weave her way through the crowd to the front.
"I won't bore you with my voice for much longer," Kingsley said with a crooked smile. "An old friend made a request, and due to our family's long-standing friendship, I couldn't turn her down."
Kingsley tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, the picture of ease as he continued. "There have been several rumours floating around in the past weeks about Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. Hopefully, by the end of the evening, everyone here will be better informed with the facts."
Hermione was almost towards the front now, wix were parting before her like a gentle wave. Fierce whispers kicked up. Hermione's enhanced hearing picked up the constant clicking of camera lens shutters from different sections of the room.
"Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy travelled to the past at the beginning of December last year. They took a de-ageing potion, were adopted into the Potter household and became Hermione and Draco Potter. They lived there for the better part of a decade before they returned to their rightful time."
Kingsley cleared his throat. A grave expression drew harsh lines down his face. No warmth tinged his words now. "They are both personal friends of mine. I implore you to treat them both with the utmost respect."
If there was one thing Lora Shacklebolt had inadvertently imparted upon Hermione, it was to never waste an opportunity served to you on a silver platter.
"They've been through quite the ordeal, fighting through two wars and ultimately playing a large part in ensuring our victory. All that being said, I would like to invite my dear friend Hermione Potter to say a few words."
Hermione had reached the front. She picked up her skirts, and hurriedly—yet gracefully—ascended the grand staircase. When she reached Kingsley's side, he held out a hand. She took it, and he brought hers to his lips before pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles.
"Finite," Kingsley said. Hermione nodded at him. He released her hand. Kingsley took a step back. Hermione faced the ballroom as she had all those years ago. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach.
"Sonorus," Hermione whispered. She placed her hands flat against her abdomen. Her smile radiant as she spoke.
"Some of you may know me as Hermione Granger, Harry Potter's Muggleborn friend. Others, as Hermione Potter, James Potter's elder sister."
Hermione raised her arms. "Due to a magical accident, Draco and myself were sent back in time as Kingsley so eloquently explained."
Hundreds of eyes were on her, cameras were going off. It was media gold. She had to make it count. Short and sweet.
"The late Albus Dumbledore acquired the de-ageing potion on our behalf, and arranged our adoption by the Potters. The rest of the details however, you can read about in tomorrow's issue of the Quibbler. Thank you for listening. Now drink, be merry, and enjoy the remainder of your evening."
A drawn-out silence.
The onlookers had expected more, but now she'd left them bereft and they would crave more.
"Finite," Hermione said. She whirled around and strode over to Kingsley.
The room erupted into conversation, many wix demanding the young witch provide them with details now. Others were abuzz attempting to figure out either what the Quibbler was, or how to obtain a copy. It turned into a cacophonous roar.
The Daily Prophet reporters present were seething on the spot.
Rita Skeeter was at the front of the crowd. Her pale blond, buoyant curls and signature pointed glasses set her apart from the rest; her dress was tight, silver, sparkly and over-the-top. She angrily snapped her quick notes quill in two; she was irate. She was going to miss out on one of the biggest stories since the curtain closed on the war.
"I think that's enough excitement for me for one evening," Hermione smiled sweetly at her friend. She leaned up to press a kiss to Kingsley's cheek and swept past him, heading towards the exit. He watched her leave, bemused, his eyes dancing with laughter.
There were several people she hadn't had a chance to see or converse with properly, but she figured that there would be time for that later. Anything short of a swift and spectacular exit would be anti-climactic on her part.
A crack bubbled against her eardrums and Draco appeared outside the front doors. Amusement danced on his lips. "Stunning finish, hm?"
(The apparition wards had been adjusted for the evening to accommodate the sheer volume of guests, allowing Draco to apparate freely. In addition Aurors were hidden around the grounds and mixed in with the attendees to maintain a high-level of security.)
"But of course," Hermione grinned as she crossed over the threshold.
The Head Butler cleared his throat. Hermione paused long enough to meet his gaze. His expression was severe, yet his eyes danced with giddy glee. "That was your best behaviour?"
Hermione placed a hand on her chest, playfully aghast at the insinuation. "The very best. Any grievances can be levied at Kingsley, he gave me express permission. I was invited to speak."
The man cracked a smile. "You truly are your Mother's daughter. Enjoy the rest of your night, Miss Potter."
"Oh, I intend to!" Hermione sang as she headed to her fiancé.
With a mischievous grin, Draco swept her into his arms, one hand secured behind the backs of her knees, the other around her waist. She loosely looped her arms around his neck.
"Shall we, Miss Potter?" Draco asked.
"We shall," Hermione replied. She snuggled into him. Draco rested his cheek against the top of her head, and without another word, apparated them both away.
Harry Potter was going to give Hermione a piece of his mind the next time he saw her. The wide berth the other attendees had reluctantly given Harry and his companions for the evening thus far, disappeared with Hermione.
Neville swiftly bid them goodnight and removed his parents and girlfriend from the situation. Pansy was having an anxiety attack but didn't wish anyone to know, and Frank and Alice were exhausted. Neville didn't wish to unnecessarily subject them to the general public's audacity.
Augusta appeared shortly thereafter with McGonagall in tow, learned of her family's departure, and followed their lead. She bid them goodnight and reiterated Frank and Alice's promises to host something in Orkney soon. The perks of an unplottable island was the privacy and freedom it afforded.
McGonagall navigated her way over to Riley and Sirius. She greeted the younger witch warmly, and congratulated the pair on their marriage. Sirius apologised for not inviting her, but McGonagall dismissed his concerns with a lazy wave of her hand. She happily conversed with the couple, mostly catching up with Riley on what had transpired in her life over the past twenty years.
"Whilst I am overjoyed at your marriage, I must confess that I am not looking forward to the day when you procreate," Minerva said with a hefty sigh.
"My children will be brilliant," Sirius said proudly.
Minerva's keen gaze scrutinised him as she replied, "that's what I am afraid of Sirius Black. The next generation of Marauders will most likely end up at Hogwarts all at once. I am mourning my future sanity."
Their group had been separated and harassed since. They were in pairs or trios. Remus had unwittingly snarled at more than one person. Ginny threatened to set a lady's eyebrows on fire.
For almost twenty minutes, wizarding society forgot that Harry was the Boy Who Lived. Their only concern was unearthing information about Hermione and Draco Potter.
"That makes you their nephew doesn't it, my boy?"
"If they were both adopted by the Potters, does that not mean they are siblings now? They seemed rather cosy. What is the nature of their relationship exactly?"
"You must be happy. There is less pressure on your shoulders to carry on the legacy of your noble House."
"The Granger girl I can understand, but that boy is the Malfoy heir. Does that mean Narcissa Malfoy is having a boy? Is he relinquishing his inheritance as Lord Malfoy?"
It went on. Every invasive question they could think of. A constant rotation of nosy people who thought they were entitled to know their business. No one answered a single one, but that didn't stop them from asking.
"Enough," Daphne sneered at a portly man as he and his wife battered Harry with endless questions.
"That is enough. We have entertained this circus of inappropriate questions for far longer than we should have. None of us are going to answer any of your incessant inquiries. Both Lady Potter and Lord Shacklebolt were very clear. If you wish to know more, you can read tomorrow's issue of the Quibbler. Aside from that, you are all excused." Daphne's voice was loud and clear, it carried several feet and it silenced those nearby.
Daphne crossed her arms over her chest and stared down her nose until the pestering wix dispersed. Muttering amongst themselves about the rude, pushy witch.
"Thank you," Harry sighed. He took Daphne's hands in his and brought them to his lips. A camera shutter went off, but he didn't care. Daphne blushed prettily, her lips curling into a smile.
"Anything for you, Potter."
Harry noticed that most of his companions had also been freed from the questioning wix's clutches. They'd gone back to socialising amongst themselves and drinking the free, endless liquor. Ron and Padma had joined them at some point and they were laughing with Blaise, Ginny and Theo.
"She's just like your grandmother," a voice said from behind him. Harry started. The couple faced the new arrival.
The dark-skinned woman wore lavender dress robes, the cut was modest, yet girly and flirty. Her collarbones were exposed, and slits in the sleeves revealed her forearms as she moved her hands. Silvery threads were woven into the individual braids that she had piled on top of her head in a large bun. Delicate strings of diamonds hung from her ears. A matching lavender colour was painted on her rounded nails. "Hermione is most certainly Dorea's daughter."
"And you are?"
"It saddens me that you have to ask, my dear," Lora Shackebolt said glumly.
The witch folded her hands behind her back. "I'm Kingsley's Mother. Dorea Potter—your Grandmother—was also my dearest friend."
Draco had mentioned Lora in passing to Harry. He wanted Harry to understand his family better. So, he had imparted knowledge about one of the oldest and longest friendships in their society unto him.
Centuries ago, a Potter had saved the life of a Shacklebolt, and from then on, the two families had forged an unbreakable bond. Some generations were closer than others. New life had been breathed into the connection with Henry 'Harry' Potter (Charlus's Father) and Silas Shacklebolt (Elias's Father). The pair were schoolmates and thick as thieves.
"Why did Kingsley never mention any of this to me?" Harry had asked.
"I don't know, Harry. Maybe he thought it would be in poor taste considering he couldn't be there for you when you needed him most."
Draco's theory made sense. In the past, there had been a sadness in Kingsley's eyes when he looked at Harry. Not all the time, but often enough for Harry to notice.
"You remind me of your Father. Not just because you look similar. You have the same heart as James," Kingsley once told Harry. The boy hadn't known what to say, shuffling awkwardly under the heartfelt words.
"What was she like?" Harry asked. It seemed like the right thing to ask. Lora's eyes sparkled with sorrow but she smiled. It was a genuine smile that transformed her entire face, lighting it up.
"Child. Do I have stories for you," Lora said. She took a sip of her vintage Elf wine. "What do you want to hear about first? When she knocked out a boy three years older than her because of his uncouth commentary, or when she duelled her Mother for your grandfather's hand in marriage?"
"Duelled her Mother?" Harry repeated, shocked.
Daphne gasped beside him. "My Mum told me about that! She said it was one of the only times a Black had ever defied their family, and not been scorched off the family tree. Everyone talked about it for months."
Lora turned to walk over to a small table with enough seats for the three of them. She beckoned them forth with a crook of her finger over her shoulder. "Come, we have much to discuss."
At some point before the night ended, Lora planned on apologising for her lack of involvement in Harry's life until this point. She had been negligent and not fought for her friend's grandson when she should have. It was one of the few regrets she had in this life.
Lora settled into a seat across from Harry Potter and his intriguing partner. She cast a list of privacy charms. The rest of the celebrations carried on without them.
As they talked, Lora summoned a bottle of her favourite wine, and poured them each a glass. She refilled their glasses whenever they emptied, until they drained the bottle dry.
You would love him, Doe, Lora thought. Silently raising her glass as a toast to her late friend. The future is being left in their generation's capable hands.
The more she shared, the more inclined Harry was to open up about himself. From the subtle changes in Daphne Greengrass's expressions, Lora inferred that she was learning new things as well.
Lora liked watching Harry talk. Something about the gestures he made as he spoke reminded her of Charlus.
Not a day goes by that I don't miss them, Lora thought. They were taken too soon. Selfishly, Lora wished another had taken the wayward spell instead of Dorea. Selfishly, she wished that all the Potters had survived the Malfoy Manor incident.
Selfishly, she wished it had been anyone else but her dear friends.
Life hadn't been the same, but she'd found joy after their deaths. She had lived, because that's what they would have wanted. She could face everything—even a world without them—with Elias by her side.
Elias's death had shattered her. He passed on the cusp of war, as it was all beginning again. Most of the colour had fled from the world. The bleakness of the war hadn't helped.
Kingsley, her beloved son, was the only one who had been able to make her properly smile since.
When her memories returned, Lora had burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Kingsley wondered whether she'd finally lost her marbles. She'd awaited the day when she would be reunited with the Potters, when she would see her friend's wonderful children again.
Lora had felt it in her bones. She would see them soon. She would simply have to wait for them to come to her. She had been right.
Pride had coated her insides as she watched Hermione throughout the night, and her heart soared during the witch's speech.
I will have to apologise to her for using Dorea's death in such a shameful way when I next see her, Lora thought.
Lora would apologise, but for now, as she sat with Harry, she was simply content to make up for lost time.