On Teenagers & Love

a story by anamatics

part three - the fog

Chapter Two - On Tradition


There are times when Hermione is grateful that she is muggle born and that she can transition easily between the two worlds that she straddles. This is not one of those times, however, because it is the third time in as many days that she's had to explain to her mother that no, Fleur did not give her a bloody engagement symbol.

They're sitting out in her parent's garden, and her mother has made lemonade. It's warmed considerably since she's returned home, and Hermione's caught herself wondering more than once about where in London dementors can easily breed. She knows she should probably let it go, but it's just so fascinating to be outside of the city and have a lot of the effects of the supposed dementors activity seem to completely vanish.

"So tell me about what it means for Fleur to give you this thing," Her mother asks and Hermione tries not to groan too loudly.

She closes her Care of Magical Creatures text and sets it across her lap. She's been around this twice already now and it still is miserable. Hermione chews her lip and stares across the garden into the neighbor's, where there is a swing that Hermione remembers from her childhood. She wonders if the girl next door even knows that she's still alive. They had been the best of friends before Hermione had accidentally made her cabbage patch doll disappear in a childish fit of underage magic.

"As I've said before, it is merely an old symbol that is very well-respected within the wizarding community. Veela are creatures known for their deceptive beauty - and they love very strongly. To the wizarding community, a veela is the sort of creature that it is deemed acceptable to intermarry with as they possess a powerful magic," Merlin, it sounds like she is reciting a textbook, Hermione shakes her head and rubs at her temple. "It basically means that she's promised herself to me."

"And is there a return gesture?" Her mother's eyebrows are raised so high into the short curls of her fringe that they nearly disappear and Hermione's brow furrows, trying to think if there is one. She cannot recall, and her cheeks flush bright red, embarrassed that she's somehow missed something. "Hermione Jean, you did make sure you were not incredibly rude to Fleur, didn't you?"

Hermione's cheeks burned bright red and she looked down at the text in her hands. "I... honestly I was so taken aback at how forward she'd been."

Her mother levels her with a gaze that reminds Hermione just a little too much of Professor McGonagall and says, "Well, as Fleur is a very nice girl, I should hope that you do look into if there is a gesture in return. I don't know much about your wizarding world, but they do seem to put a great deal of stock in tradition. You'd best get along then and see if you've done something rude."

Feeling appropriately chastised, Hermione flees.

She doesn't get a chance to delve any deeper into the subject as her parent's business partner (for when they do take private patients) has come over for dinner and is full of questions about Hermione's A-Levels and what college she's thinking about attending. Hermione, for her part, covers as best she can, talking at length about the mathematics exam (because Arithmancy is incredibly similar to muggle mathematics – only it is used to explain how spells work, rather than to explain the natural order of things). Her parents seem grateful that Hermione has actually thought ahead enough to cover for this, but she's still sitting wearing a t-shirt with the Gryffindor lion emblazoned across the front.

"Your school mascot?" their guest asks with raised eyebrows and Hermione remembers him when she was eleven over the Christmas hols, taking in her bright red Gryffindor scarf and announcing that red suited her. That comment has become something of a trend in her life.

"One of four," Hermione explains, picking at the placemat. She closes her eyes and hopes that her mum or dad will step in and save her from explaining anything else. They're both listening and have what Hermione recognizes to be worried looks on their faces, but probably just look like normal expressions to their guess. She shrugs and adds, "I just like the lion the best."

"Good lass," is the response she gets with a wide smile and perfectly straight, bright white teeth. Hermione wants to groan in the most overly-dramatic way she can possibly arrange, sometimes being surrounded by dentists can be rather frustrating. Especially with her tea habit.

Her parents start into a conversation about politics and how the moves that the government is making might impact their business and patients. Hermione half-listens, because someday soon she'll actually have to vote in muggle elections and wants to be able to make informed decisions; but mostly her mind is elsewhere.

She's stuck on the subject of Voldemort. The muggle papers are reporting the deaths and the attacks like natural disasters and suspicious circumstances. They know nothing and her parents haven't asked her if all the oddness of the weather this summer can be explained by magical means. She's too afraid to say anything, because this peace has been so nice, but the conversation has to happen, and soon.

That night, Hermione sits in her bedroom with Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and Fleur's book on veela propped open on her bed. She's reading about marriage and courtship and ancient lore and rituals and her heart is sinking with every passing moment.

The necklace that rubs uncomfortably against the scar on her neck is depicted on the page of Fleur's book, and it's referenced in Fantastic Beasts. There are words that are supposed to be said and her mother had been correct in that there was a return promise that had to be made. Hermione swallows and stares down at the ring illustrated on the following page of the book on veela. How she missed this on her first, second, or third read-through of the book is completely beyond her. (She has a distinct suspicion that the book is charmed to provide only pertinent information to the reader.)

A ring.

A ring means a lot more than a necklace, no matter cultural or religious background. It had to be forged by a master smith using old techniques that had been around since before the Greeks and Romans. It had to be folded silver. It had to be given with a promise that would not be willingly broken.

Hermione bites her lip and bends off the side of her bed, fishing underneath it for a roll of parchment and a quill. She isn't sure if Ron can help her get this to the right shop, and she desperately hopes that he'll do it without protest. She can't ask Ginny (who likes Fleur well enough but would probably tell her mother) or Harry. Ron is just sneaky enough that he might be able to get an answer to her question without raising too many other ones. Hermione signs the letter and then writes a quick note to Ron.

Dear Ron,

Has Harry returned your owls? It's always the first question she asks in letters to Ron over the summer. She knows that it's because of the summer between first and second year, when she was buggered off to France and Harry spent the entirety of the summer locked and starving in his room with Hedwig. She adds the next bit because Harry has been writing her back, at least - after she sent him muggle stamps and envelopes. He's been writing me through the muggle post, daily letters now that I'm at my parents' house. He sounds like he's really depressed, Ron, and I don't know how to help him. Seeing you myself and Gin might be what's best for him. We need to get him out of his aunt's house as soon as possible. How are the party plans going? Has Dumbledore told you anything about when he's collecting Harry?

I've enclosed a letter, no, don't open it, it isn't for you. I was wondering if you could do me a favor and ask your mum (or dad) the name of the smith that made their wedding bands.

Oh, don't look like that Ron. It isn't even like that, please. My mum mentioned that if I was going to take jewelry from a veela that I should best make sure there isn't some sort of a return gesture or promise. I feel enough like an idiot for not knowing about it in the first place, so please, all teasing is to be kept to a minimum. Hermione's quill pauses and she realizes that Ron (and Ginny) probably knows all about the return gesture because they have been brought up within the magical community and she resists the urge to call Ron out for being a nasty little wanker and not telling her. She'll get him back at school, maybe practice a few hexes on him in the name of homework.

Anyway, she continues to write, I want to return the gesture in the same way that Fleur meant it, and I need a master smith to make the ring. I think I have enough to pay for a proper one, so if you could pass on the letter with Pig, I'd be much obliged.

I hope you're all well, I miss you terribly,

Hermione

Pigwidgeon has been visiting since Ginny's last letter, and Hermione finds an owl treat buried deep within her trunk and tries not to marvel as Pig manages to consume it all despite it being half his body size before flying off into the night, the two letters (as well as her response to Ginny's letter that she'd written earlier in the day) dangling rather precariously from his leg.

Hermione sits at her open window stares up into the growing night. The air is growing colder now and she shivers slightly, thinking of Fleur's warm apartment. This house is full of family, and yet it feels cold and distant. There is a void that Hermione feels acutely. She knows that it is from the distance.

She misses Fleur desperately.

A deep pang of something that Hermione cannot quite articulate wells up within her and she swallows hotly, pushing the window shut and drawing the curtains closed. She crumples onto her bed and pulls the veela book towards her and flipping to the index. A dry sob racks through her body and she feels like she's shaking, Bellatrix's knife pressed to her throat once more.

She finds the reference she's looking for, and turns to the page listed. She has a hunch that she knows what is happening.


AN: Going to try and put this out slowly so as to finish it off before I'm done posting. Yeah right, but hey, I can dream!