Still don't own Harry Potter. Any OCs in this story are mine, though.

I sincerely apologise for any delays that came upon my update schedule. Hopefully, updates shall come more frequently, but my life outside of writing shall, unfortunately, take priority. Thank you to those who have stuck with me all the way!

I hope you all enjoy this update of Respective Counterparts. It took a few iterations to get right, but here is the finished result. Mm-kay, enough of my ramblings — on with the story!

Chapter Five

To Discuss A Game

Grounds of Potter Manor, Lancashire, 23/06/1996…

"I'll never truly understand why they enjoy that dratted game so much," a voice complained.

Hermione cracked a small grin, tipping her face upwards. "Me neither."

She watched as Rosalyn, once again, threw the Quaffle through the middle hoop in a hovering set of three with a gleeful cry—hoops that Sirius had supposedly been guarding.

The black-haired man — who had chosen the position of Keeper to allow his teammate to be the Chaser — tried and failed to change the red ball's trajectory with an amusing flail of his limbs.

"If old age doesn't kill my Quidditch-obsessed family, this dangerous excuse for a game surely will," the voice continued, this time with a little huff.

Lily appeared on Hermione's left, arms crossed and her green gaze similarly pointed skywards. Her brow was wrinkled with both exasperation and worry. "Merlin save my poor heart…so, what's the score, Hermione?"

The girl shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. "Around one hundred and ten to fifty."

As she spoke, Sirius retrieved the errant Quaffle and threw it to his black-haired teammate, who quickly streaked towards the opposite side of the pitch.

Lily rubbed her forehead. "James is going to be so insufferable after this…"

"It's in Harry and Rose's favour, believe it or not," Hermione replied, warming up to the conversation. As she spoke, James drew his arm back to shoot at the aforementioned individuals' undefended goal. "They're doing rather well, all things considered."

Harry, anticipating the move, sneakily aligned his broom just above the wizard and somehow managed to snatch the Quaffle directly out of his father's possession.

She and Lily shared a brief chuckle when the Potter patriarch looked blankly at his empty hand, thoroughly confused as to why the ball was no longer in his grasp.

"I never knew that Harry was such a good Chaser," Hermione muttered quietly, unconsciously giving word to her thoughts as her best friend threw yet another Quaffle past Sirius.

"He is quite good," Lily agreed, noting the far-away aspect on the younger witch's face. She decided not to draw attention to Hermione's ramblings, curious as to where they were heading.

"Personally, I prefer this to his usual Seeker position…I swear the reckless git purposely tries to give me a premature death every time he goes into a 'Wronski Feint', or whatever he calls it…"

Lily hid her amusement well.

"Is he really that bad? Because if you ask me, Hermione, my husband is even worse."

The brunette giggled despite herself. But before she could reply, a series of excited whoops and disappointed groans emerged from the four individuals flying above her.

Looking up at Harry, she quickly surmised that the Quidditch match had finished, for the Golden Snitch was held captive in his outstretched, clenched fist.

"Ah. The game's over now. Finally," Lily said, just as Hermione finished off her glass of orange juice. The Quidditch-enthused wizards and witches descended from the sky, their faces flushed and sporting broad grins.

"Rose, that Sloth Grip Roll you pulled off early in the game was simply fantastic," Harry gushed, an excited sheen in his eyes. He gracefully dismounted from his broom once it was near to the ground and pushed strands of moist hair out his eyes. "Speaking from experience, that move is much harder to pull off than one would expect. But you made it look so easy. I'm so jealous."

"What can I say?" the girl replied, buffing her fingernails on her shoulder. "It's all part of my natural athleticism. And no, I can't give it to you, Sirius — that just isn't possible."

Said individual pouted childishly. Lily and James simultaneously rolled their eyes. "Well, that's just fine. And you know what? I wasn't even going to ask."

Disbelieving snorts answered Sirius' statement.

"I hate you all," the black-haired man mock-grumbled, crossing his arms. "Never get any respect around here…"

Harry, Rose, and Hermione simply laughed in response.

James shook his head, smiling slightly. He placed the Quaffle and the Golden Snitch, which Harry had handed to him,into a small, wooden chest and closed the lid. Leaving the trunk to one side (along with their broomsticks) for Blinky to collect and store away, he turned back to the others. "Time for some dinner, I think. Don't know about you lot, but I am famished."

Sirius perked up at that, his put-out demeanour falling away. Harry and Rose straightened out of their exhausted slumps, energised by the prospect of food. The group of Quidditch players turned as one and marched determinedly towards the house sitting nearby, their stomachs almost growling at the thought of delicious sustenance — helpfully prepared by Rubare, the House Elf in charge of Potter Manor's kitchens.

"Don't get any mud in my dining room!" Lily hollered after them, following at a much more sedate pace. Hermione, secretly amused, matched her stride. "Shoes off at the door! And make sure you wash up before coming downstairs!"

James flashed a grin back at her, waving a hand over his shoulder, as the group of hungry wizards and witches disappeared around a bend in the path. "Will do, dear!"

The older witch pushed a loose strand of red hair out of her face, sighing in fond exasperation. "I can guarantee that at least one person will forget to take off their shoes."

Hermione smiled marginally, but the expression soon slipped off her face. She looked down at the ground.

"Hermione?" Lily asked, almost immediately noticing the girl's change in demeanour. The Healer stopped moving and focused her attention on the shorter figure at her side. "What's wrong?"

There was no reply, for the brunette was engrossed in her own troubled world, her gaze still directed to the gravel path beneath their feet.

"Hermione? Are you alright?"

Again, no answer.

Lily placed a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder. "Hermione?" she tried again.

The brunette suddenly started, as if only just realising that the older woman had been trying to get her attention. "W-what?"

"I said, what's the matter? Is everything alright?"

"Oh! Uh, yes—yes, Lily, everything's fine," Hermione replied quickly. Lily watched as the girl visibly straightened, banishing whatever dark thoughts that had previously sat heavily upon her psyche to the back of her mind. "I'm fine. Everything's fine. Nothing to worry about."

Lily's brows furrowed. "Are you sure?" she asked, eyes shining with concern.

Hermione found that she couldn't quite meet the older woman's green gaze. She felt sure that the viridian stare, however well-intentioned it may be, would read her like an open book.

And she wasn't entirely sure that that would be such a good thing.

"I'm positive, Lily. Thanks for asking."

The Healer's lips pursed, but she let the topic slide. The redhead knew that the younger witch would talk — hopefully to Lily herself — when she was ready.

"So, tell me, Hermione — you like to read, right? Who is your favourite author? Favourite book?" Lily began, picking a subject that would hopefully pull the brunette out of her melancholy.

The older witch knew that her attempt had worked when Hermione brightened like a firefly, her expression becoming alive with ardent passion.

"Oh, well, that's quite hard to say! I mean, I like Jane Austen and a few of her works, such as Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility. But I'm also a diehard fan for classic Sherlock Holmes, as I have a soft spot for mystery and suspense. Oh! I do also love good old Shakespeare…would it be too narcissistic of me to say that I like The Winter's Tale most of all?"

Lily laughed, glad to see Hermione back in high spirits. "No, I don't think it would be — I've found myself reading The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton a couple of times on occasion; do you think you can guess why?"

The brunette unsuccessfully contained a giggle as the two witches resumed their slow stroll towards Potter Manor. If Lily noticed Hermione walking a little closer to her than before, she did not comment about it.

"Yes, I think I can…"

~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~

The Living Room, Potter Manor, Lancashire, 23/06/1996…

"A squirrel!"

"No, he's a dog!"

"Are you alright, Harry? He's obviously a griffin."

"Are you okay, Rose? How can he possibly be a griffin? Did you see those arms?"

"Well, if you ask me, then Sirius is clearly being an amphemite."

Sirius paused, breaking his silence and staring incredulously at the person who had spoken. "I don't even know what that is, James."

Harry's sides started to ache as he laughed in chorus with the rest of the room. James looked around, feigning confusion. "Well, that's what I saw."

Sirius placed his middle finger and thumb on his temples and slowly shook his head, sighing, in the very picture of disappointment.

The man stood next to the fireplace, in which a roaring fire was merrily crackling away, and a half-empty glass of some orange liquid that Harry did not recognise was held in his right hand. The interdimensional travellers and their hosts were situated in the living room of Potter Manor, having migrated to the cosy space after eating a particularly filling and delicious meal. The food had done well in regard to replenishing their energy, most of which had been used up in the pick-up Quidditch game earlier. The form of entertainment chosen for that evening had been the classic Muggle party game, Charades, and Sirius had volunteered to go first.

Whatever he was acting out remained a mystery, though, for his audience were fielding hilariously incorrect guesses.

"Oh, James," Lily piped up. She was seated on a maroon loveseat next to her husband, tucked into his side. She grinned teasingly up at him. "I truly worry about your guessing abilities. At this rate, a visit to St. Mungo's might be in order!"

As the group erupted into laughter again, Harry felt a most curious sensation rise up in him.

It was both warm and welcoming, a comforting feeling that he quite honestly did not want to stop. It made his heart hum pleasantly, akin to the buzz one would feel after drinking a freshly-opened bottle of Butterbeer that had hit just the right spot on the way down.

Perhaps, the boy silently mused, feeling indescribably content, this was what being with family felt like?

"I'm sorry, Mum," Rose put in, perched on the armrest of Harry's chair. A mischievous grin lit up her features. "But I'm afraid that Dad is a rather lost cause — remember the incident at Fortescue's?"

"Oh, yes, I do, Rose," Lily snorted, trying to hide an amused smile behind a hand. James studied the woollen rug on the floor, suddenly finding it highly interesting. "I remember it quite clearly, in fact!"

"What happened at Fortescue's?" Harry asked, leaning forward slightly. He took a swig from a nearly-empty glass of water and absently wiped a hand against his mouth.

"Yes, what did happen at our favourite ice cream parlour?" Sirius prompted as well; his gleeful expression showing that he was quite happy indeed to be receiving teasing material on the Potter patriarch. "Please tell us! I'm sure the story will be very hilarious."

Hermione, sitting on the couch next to Harry and having remained silent for the past hour — the boy honestly would have forgotten that she was even present had the girl not periodically shifted into a different position, thereby causing the cushions to move — nodded in agreement.

"Alright, alright," Rose acquiesced. Placing her orange juice on the coffee table, the young witch began to tell her tale. "Where to begin, I wonder?"

"How about at the start?" Harry cheekily suggested. "The beginning is generally where people start their stories, is it not?"

The redhead did not dignify his comment with a verbal response, instead opting for the mature course of action.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

"So!" Rosalyn continued, once everyone had gotten comfortable. "This amusing story involves me, Dad, Mum, and my aunt Sarah, whose hair was an awfully similar shade to Mum's…"

About five minutes later, the room was filled with merriment as those present observed and laughed at James' disgruntled expression.

"It wasn't my fault that you witches have such similar shades of hair, so much so that one can barely tell the difference," he grumbled good-naturedly. Crossing his arms and affecting a grumpy disposition, James determinedly ignored the fact that it was rather embarrassing that he had failed to differentiate the hair colour of his wife from his sister. "I could swear you two did that on purpose, just to trip me up! It was a conspiracy, I tell you."

"The only thing that was a conspiracy, James," Sirius got out, in between hoots of laughter, "was the fact that you thought that your sister was your wife! Is there something you aren't telling us?"

James pretended not to hear the other man, busying himself with Summoning a drink from the kitchen, as the rest of the room cracked up once again.

When Sirius and her Dad started bickering like the children they were (in their minds, at least), Rose turned to Harry, quickly starting up a conversation about various Quidditch manoeuvres that were apparently the hardest in existence to perform. The boy contently leaned back in his seat, easily-formulated replies issuing from his mouth, and felt the oddest urge to put his arm around Hermione.

Much like James had with Lily, who was rolling her eyes at her husband's predictable yet no less amusing antics, so casually that it seemed that neither had noticed it happening…

Harry wasn't entirely sure how such an action would be taken by Hermione. So, glancing out at the darkening sky through a nearby window, he settled for placing his arm on the sofa back behind his best friend.

Luckily, she did not seem to notice — Hermione was too busy staring deeply into the still-steaming cup of tea held in her hands. Her expression was unreadable, a conglomeration of errant emotions that Harry had never seen before on her face.

Rose eventually petered off into silence and stood up, wandering away in search of another snack.

"Hey, Hermione?" Harry began, turning his full attention to her, once the redhead had disappeared.

The witch was so engrossed in her thoughts that she did not appear to hear him.

"Hermione?" he tried again, placing a hand on her knee and startling the girl out of her trance.

"What? Oh—" Hermione shook her head as if to clear her mind. "Yes? What's up, Harry?"

"Oh, It's just that you've been rather quiet these past few hours," Harry replied, shrugging. "Is everything alright?"

Hermione looked away. "Y-yes, everything is fine, Harry. Thanks for asking."

When his best friend failed to meet his gaze again, the wizard knew that something was wrong.

"Are you sure?" Harry probed, staring concernedly at her face, searching for a clue leading to the cause of Hermione's downtrodden demeanour. He squeezed her knee gently. "You can talk to me, you know."

The brunette nodded, surreptitiously wiping a hand against her eyes. Her gaze was now fixed on the couch; her hands rubbing against its soft material.

Harry waited.

"I think I need some air," Hermione said at last. She stood up — and while Harry felt a little disappointed at both the loss of warmth and the fact that she had not confided in him, he did not dare let such thoughts show on his face — and gave him a grateful smile.

"Harry, I—" She stopped, shaking her head again.

Dainty hands pushed themselves through a wavy mass of brown hair. "Thank you. For everything."

And with that, Hermione marched around the couch and walked out of the door, disappearing into the hallway outside.

Harry frowned, though before he could get to his feet in order to follow his best friend, he saw Lily already making her way to the exit. When she spotted the teenager looking in her direction, his mother tipped her head towards the doorway, indicating that she would take care of Hermione for him.

The young wizard flashed her a grateful grin, twisting back around in his seat to face the middle of the room.

In the light of the dying fire, Sirius' face held a mock-affronted expression and his arms were crossed. James and Rose were laughing uproariously, probably at a joke that had been taken at his godfather's expense.

Harry sighed quietly, finishing off his drink in a single gulp. He hoped that Hermione would soon return to better spirits — the boy so hated seeing his best friend down in the dumps.

He snorted upon musing that this was how Hermione must have felt for practically the entirety of their fifth year, which he had largely spent moping and brooding about.

Dearest Hermione, Harry thought fondly, chuckling to himself as Sirius stuck his nose up in the air imperiously, what would I do without you?

~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~

First Floor Balcony, Potter Manor, Lancashire, 23/06/1996…

Hermione rested her forearms on the stone bannister, feeling the cool evening air dance across her face and tease her brown tresses.

She heard footsteps approaching from behind but did not turn around to greet whoever it was.

The person's identity was revealed when Lily stepped next to Hermione, leaning against the marble railing. The older woman remained quiet for a few minutes, observing their relatively still surroundings, and the brunette felt no urge to disturb the silence.

Eventually, though, Lily opted to speak.

"It's a beautiful evening, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly.

Night was fast approaching, rendering the sky into a beautiful mural of rich purples, ruby reds, and smooth oranges. The grounds of Potter Manor were peaceful, the wildlife and nature itself seeming to settle down to rest for the next few hours. Gentle gusts of wind disturbed the foliage and greenery, creating a quiet cacophony of rustling leaves and whistling grass.

"I've spent many evenings on this very balcony, enjoying the view," Lily continued, her voice slightly louder than the background noise of natural sounds. "It allows me to collect my thoughts, which is particularly helpful after a long and stressful day."

Hermione hummed noncommittally, scanning her gaze over the Quidditch Pitch, where the dark silhouettes of hoops silently stood against an almost-black backdrop.

"I view it as a place to relax, a place where I can let my musings run rampant and free…something which has helped me survive all that is James Potter with a relatively sane state of mind."

A half-smile appeared on the younger witch's face. Hermione thought that perhaps she needed a similar place like this to continue associating with a certain black-haired wizard without going crazy since trouble always seemed to find him and not (as she had often assumed) the other way around.

She also understood what Lily was doing, and secretly felt grateful for the effort.

"I might need to borrow this space occasionally, then," Hermione said, surprising both herself and Lily. Neither had really expected the brunette to talk so soon, but the Healer most certainly did not look a gift horse in the mouth. "Dealing with Harry produces enough headaches for three people! That boy will give me enough of them to last a lifetime, I tell you."

"Not that Harry causes trouble, mind, nor is he unpleasant to be around," the girl was quick to clarify, upon playing her previous sentence through her mind. Luckily, judging by Lily's amused expression, it had not been taken the wrong way. "Far from it, in fact! It's just that, well, trouble always seems to find him, and also affects those close to him by association. It's like he's a…a…"

"A magnet for trouble?" Lily succinctly summarised with a grin. "An attractive force for all things dangerous? Sounds like something I have to deal with on a daily basis!"

They shared a brief chuckle, which soon tapered off into comfortable silence. The redhead raised her gaze to the heavens, observing the colourful nebulae and twinkling stars displayed far above.

Hermione bit her lip and traced a fingernail along the barrier beneath her forearms, studying the grooves and depressions in the cool stone.

Waiting, she could feel it coming…

"Pound for your thoughts?"

There it was.

"I don't think they're worth that much, to be honest," Hermione replied almost instantly, attempting to wrestle said constructs into some semblance of coherency.

"I think that they are," Lily rejoined, bumping the girl's shoulder playfully. "What was it that Harry called you? The brightest witch of her age, or something similar? Surely the thoughts of such an intelligent individual would be worth a significant amount."

Hermione coughed lightly, hoping that the lack of light concealed the flush on her cheeks. "Yes, well, Harry's always said— I mean, it could be argued— uh, that is to say—"

She gave it up as a lost cause when Lily let out a peal of laughter at the smaller girl's sudden loss in sentence-forming ability.

"Okay, okay. Fine. You win. They are worth something," Hermione accepted, rubbing her hands on her arms to ward off the encroaching chill. She smiled gratefully when Lily wordlessly cast a Warming Charm over the two of them. "Though, I'm not entirely sure how much."

"Oh, my dear Hermione," the older woman replied. It sounded like she was imparting significant information, so Hermione turned to her, giving her full attention to Lily. "Your thoughts are highly valuable. In fact, they're one of the most precious things that a person can have! Along with other things, of course, such as—"

Lily cut herself off, smiling wryly. She gestured to herself with a little laugh. "Look at me, rambling your ears off. Never mind. Just know, Hermione, that one's thoughts should be treasured, and it is by no means considered cowardly or weak when one expresses their mind to another."

Then, having delivered her words of wisdom, the taller witch wrapped Hermione up in a warm, tight hug; almost immediately placing her chin on top of the girl's head.

The brunette — though caught off guard by the strength of the embrace — felt the tension drain out of her frame and buried her face into Lily's collarbone, hiding suddenly bright eyes from the outside world.

Only when the slight hitching of Hermione's shoulders had levelled into a rhythmic rise-and-fall did the Healer loosen her grip. She pulled back, ensuring that the girl met her emerald green gaze fully.

"Come to me whenever — and, I repeat, whenever — you feel the need to talk to someone, okay?" Lily stipulated gently, but in her immoveable Healer's voice that suggested any resistance would be utterly futile. She smiled when Hermione, having caught the unspoken message, nodded. "No bottling up of your feelings — it isn't healthy, and the only person who would be affected negatively is yourself. Understood?"

"O-okay, Lily. I will," Hermione promised, rubbing the tear tracks from her face with her right hand. "I understand."

Lily nodded, loosening her grip further. "Good."

"Now," continued the taller woman. She pressed a brief kiss against Hermione's brow before stepping away fully, though she kept an arm around the younger witch's shoulders. "Let's get back inside, shall we? I don't think the others would appreciate it if they found us out here in the morning frozen to death!"

Hermione giggled merrily, a true sound of happiness, as the two witches stepped back into the warmth of Potter Manor. She noted in a distant corner of her mind that Lily had not needed her to put into words what had sat so heavily on her young psyche, instead reading her like…well, like a book and correctly addressing the crux of the matter.

Briefly thanking whatever deity existed for the intuition of Lily Potter, Hermione laughed again as the aforementioned person described a time that her husband had 'accidentally' locked himself outside of the house, smack dab in the middle of winter.

~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~

Somewhere in the British Isles, 23/06/1996…

The curtains were drawn, the lights dimmed. Wards and spells ensuring absolute privacy had been laid down to the best of the casters' abilities. The atmosphere was charged and packed with tension; so thick that one could cut it with a butter knife.

Around a large, ornate table sat dark, hooded figures. Their identities were a closely kept secret, for the possibility of spies was too great to be ignored.

After all, they all knew the fate that had befallen the last individual stupid enough to lower their guard.

The one at the head of the table, acting as the chair for this meeting, spoke into the heavy silence.

"Your report?"

A figure three seats to their right stood up, head bowed. Their hands, hidden under thick robes of dark cotton, were held in supplication at their front. "I can say that Phase One was a success — they fell for the ruse. No one suspected a thing."

The adjudicator nodded. "Excellent. And you? What do you have to report?"

Though multiple layers of high-grade Obfuscation Charms had been cast on their hoods, meaning it was practically impossible to tell if someone was staring directly at them, no one mistook who was being addressed.

The figure at the opposite end of the table rose to their feet. Their voice was as smooth as velvet; a controlled, aristocratic drawl. "Everything is progressing as can be expected. I estimate that Phase Two shall be ready in roughly one weeks' time."

There was a pleased tone in the replying silhouette's voice. They placed their elbows on the mahogany table, an introspective aspect to the tilt of their head. "Very good. Yes, very good, indeed…"

A tense silence then fell upon the dark room's occupants. No one dared break it, fearful of the reaction and the punishment that would be enacted upon them by the one sitting at the table's head.

When that very same figure sat back in their chair and lowered their arms to their sides, everyone else breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"The time has now come."

The level of tension in the room rocketed back up to stifling levels.

"The game is now afoot. The pieces are now at play. As the Muggles would put it—" The word was spat with such acidic vitriol it was a wonder that the mouth which had spoken it had not melted into a puddle of flesh. "—the die has now been cast."

The figure stood gracefully, pacing slowly around the head of the table, hands casually clasped behind their back.

The air was so still that one could have heard the quietest of pin drops.

"This means that you all have a decision to make. A decision that shall only be offered to you once, so ensure you make it carefully. For, after this point in time, whatever option you choose to take shall be final."

The dark silhouette slowly moved the space where their face should have been across the other occupants of the room, conveying the significance of their words. The various figures shivered involuntarily, hating the feeling of insects crawling under their skin as that eyeless gaze moved over their hooded forms.

"Those who don't feel the utmost devotion to the Great Cause should make themselves known now. They shall be allowed to leave this room and go back to their mundane lives, but shall forever live in regret, knowing that they had the chance to be part of something truly extraordinary and turned it down. Is there anyone who feels this way?"

No one moved. If there were any dissenters among them, they were too petrified by the prospect of having his attention affixed on them.

When the room was bathed in stillness for a full thirty seconds, its occupants got the distinct impression that the standing figure was smiling. It sent a shiver down their spines.

"Good," purred the silhouette, dark satisfaction colouring its voice. "This meeting is now dismissed. Return to your positions, to your homes and families. Let no one know about your true allegiances. The time is almost upon us, noble Knights of Prometheus, when Magic-kind shall take its rightful place as the dominant species. When this happens, all shall be right in the world again, and the work of the great Prometheus shall be complete! For the Cause; for the Might of Magic!"

The Knights of Prometheus rose as one, beating their chests and stamping their feet.

"For the Cause; for the Might of Magic!"

~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~

Author's Note:

30/10/2020

What had gotten Hermione so down in the dumps, I wonder?

Valkara: Thanks for the review! Yes, you would be correct with your deduction. :)

Thank you all for reading my story! I hope to see you all again in the next update of Respective Counterparts. See you then!

Avaxius