Well, I finally gathered the courage to post the first chapter of my very first multi-chapter fic! I've been playing around with the idea for this story for a long time now and finally decided to put it on paper. I can only hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it!
Just like every writer, I'd love to hear your feedback! Be gentle with me; I'm a rookie still!
Oh, remember, J.K. Rowling created the Harry Potter Universe we all love so much. I'm just a Potterhead playing around!
CHAPTER 1
Inspiration: Oasis - Champagne Supernova
Located in the countryside of Devon, there is a small village called Ottery St. Catchpole. Ever since the hamlet was founded in the early 19th century, nothing changed in this corner of Southwest England. It was as if no time passed here. White brick houses still frame the main road paved in cobblestones. Wildflowers sprout up on the slopes of Stoatshead Hill, transforming the landscape into a brightly coloured painting in early summer. As for the people, much of the town's current residents are in some way related to the original inhabitants, be it through blood, or marriage. They carry the family relation with great pride and esteem. Almost with as much respect as the many traditions, meticulously passed from generation to generation.
Although there is a certain charm to be found in maintaining these customs, it also implies that nothing exciting ever happens. Everything follows a fixed schedule in this community. Young mothers go shopping for groceries in the early morning, pushing a stroller or having a small child in their arms. While having little time to spare, they often get irritated with the old ladies who insist on counting out coins at the cash register. In return, the ageing women turn up their noses at these beautiful, presumptuous girls who- in their opinion, have no respect for the elder.
At the age of five, toddlers learn their first children's song from Mrs Renard in kindergarten. When they are finally old enough to attend primary school, fathers beam with pride at seeing their children in their green uniforms. To many locals eternal shame, you also find the type of men who stagger out of the pub every evening, desperately seeking for their life's purpose in a glass of beer. On a positive note, the yearly farmers market seems to offer some reprieve from this structured life. Considered as the event of the year, corpulent farmers show off their best cows at the cattle fair, girls compete for the title of "Miss Strawberry", and the whole town overindulges in alcohol and pumpkin bread at the "Farmer's Feast".
In this village, a well-kept cottage stands proud in the middle of the main street. The front facade sports a weathered wooden door with an antique doorbell and a window. There is a brass nameplate attached to the wall, but the words are no longer decipherable due to old age. In front of the house, the owners placed two large baskets with pink petunia's, effectively giving the dwelling the appearance of a doll's house.
On first sight, nothing out of the ordinary. However, the small details tell a different story. For starters, numerous family pictures hang from the living room wall, just like in any other family home, but when you have a closer look, the people in the photographs are not motionless. They move on occasion! Secondly, the ramshackle bookcase holds titles like Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6 and Advanced Potion-Making. Nothing ordinary about those, if we're honest! And finally, but not in the least, the woman cooking breakfast in the kitchenette on this sunny Friday morning is a witch, and not just any witch, but Hermione Jean Weasley.
When inquiring about Hermione Weasley, née Granger, you will get very conflicting answers. In public, the pure-blooded dignitaries begrudgingly admit that one could call her "a person of note", all the while cursing the "bloody Mudblood" in the privacy of their stately houses. Her former teachers at Hogwarts would convince you that the title "Brightest-Witch-Of-Her-Age" is not an exaggeration in the slightest. Best marks they've seen in years, not to mention her pure magical talent! But most significantly, there is no witch or wizard alive that dares to call Hermione Granger anything less than a true heroine; a saviour of the modern wizarding world.
Almost a decade ago, Hermione played a crucial role in ending what went into Magical history as the Second Wizarding War. Together with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, she managed to outsmart the Dark Lord and his loyal Death Eaters, effectively ending his brutal reign over the magical society. By no means a small feat at the age of seventeen. Hermione received lots of praise for her courage, quick mind and extraordinary intelligence. A perfect candidate to run for Minister of Magic in a few years, according to some. After such an accomplishment, the possibilities for her future were endless. It seemed as if she only had to pick.
Hence why the start of this story is a bit surprising.
Instead of being well on the way to govern the wizarding world from behind a gilded desk, Hermione kept a half-eye on the bacon and sausages sizzling in the frying pan. She wore a plain white shirt and a pair of denim trousers which had seen better days. If someone told her ten years ago she'd live in a countryside village cooking breakfast every morning; she would've laughed in their face. The thought alone sounded ridiculous. A witch with a promising career doesn't have time to make home-made eggs and bacon.
A sharp pecking sound caught her attention, making her drop the bowl of beaten eggs. Hermione moved to the small window above the sink and pulled it open, innerly cursing her clumsiness. A minuscule barn owl flew in and dropped a copy of the Daily Prophet on the kitchen table before she elegantly landed on her mistress' shoulder.
"Thank you, Athena. There is some bacon waiting for you upstairs in the attic." Hermione gave the little owl a soft pat on the head before the bird took off to go feast on her treat. Leaving the ruined eggs for what they were, Hermione sat at the kitchen table and flipped open the paper.
Back in school, while her fellow students tried to wake up over a cup of coffee in the Great Hall, Hermione would occupy herself reading the Daily Prophet. A relatively mature habit she developed over time. Because that was what intelligent, ambitious witches did, they browsed headlines and absorbed information, keeping up to date on politics, foreign affairs and finance. But today, so many years later, it was just a way to pass the time, long lost dreams of bustling adulthood forgotten.
She scanned the front page absentmindedly, her gaze drifting over the numerous articles when the headline of today captured her attention.
MALFOY HEIR AWARDED PRESTIGIOUS PHILANTHROPY AWARD
By Rita Skeeter
Hermione snorted. Was that bug of a woman still on the payroll? She shook her head and went back to her reading, curious at what she would learn about her former nemesis.
As is usual around the Summer solstice, the Ministry of Magic hosted its yearly Philanthropist Soirée yesterday evening. Since the first edition in 1973, the event traditionally serves as an opportunity to flaunt one's fortune and beauty. It requires no explanation that no political discussions occurred during the festivities. Instead, female attendees marvelled at Ginny Potter's midnight blue velvet dress, while men took a second look at the daring red jumpsuit worn by socialite Portia Saint-Clair. Amidst all the glitter and glamour, we would almost forget that the organization collected almost 500.000,00 galleons for charity, donated by the generous attendees.
The highlight of the evening was the announcement of the winner of the Philanthropy Award, surprisingly bestowed on Draco Malfoy (29), son of convicted Death Eater Lucius Malfoy and his wife, Narcissa Malfoy, née Black. "This is a recognition of the charitable work we do for our magical community," comments Malfoy. "I am both grateful and humbled to receive this award. However, this achievement is not solely mine. I want to express my gratitude towards the numerous people contributing to our good causes, for without their generosity and benevolence; I would not be standing here. This award will serve as a motivation to continue our efforts and make the magical world an even better place."
To celebrate his victory, Malfoy promptly announced he would add another 50.000,00 Galleons on top of the 100.000,00 he donated earlier in the evening, proclaiming himself as the most significant benefactor present. An astronomical amount, but not for the sole heir to both the Malfoy and Black fortunes.
One would almost forget that life hasn't always been French champagne and caviar for the youngest Malfoy. The family suffered immense scrutiny and shame after the unfortunate choices of his late father. They were declared bankrupt after paying the outrageous fines imposed on the family by the Wizengamot. Only Malfoy Manor remained in their possession, as the estate is entailed to the duchy of Malfoy.
After several years of financial hardship and socially being ostracized, the tide changed for the noble family. At 21 years of age, young Malfoy received the non-confiscated part of his inheritance. To everyone's surprise, he promptly announced that he invested the full sum in his newly founded company, Malfoy Pharma Corporations. Only three months later, the company acquired the rights to commercialize the well-known medicine "Draught of the Seeing", a potion that implants a sense of their surroundings into blind peoples minds, effectively giving them "sight". Several years and numerous mergers and acquisitions later, Malfoy Pharma Corporations has established itself as the largest magical pharmaceutical company in the world.
But Malfoy's ambitions seem to reach even further. Only last month, the company announced the construction of a highly modern science facility in central London. The company hopes to explore innovative and qualitative treatments for multiple rare diseases. Malfoy also stressed the fact that these medicines, once tested and manufactured, will be made available to every individual who requires them. "Because that is the vision of our company. Everyone deserves the right to live," he added.
A true story of repentance and success, and it seems as if yours truly is not the only woman who has forgiven Lord Malfoy his past sins. Dubbed as Witch Weekly's most eligible bachelor, the devilishly handsome blonde is sought after by every single witch in our country. However, they might get disappointed soon, as our favourite Slytherin escorted Miss Astoria Greengrass, youngest daughter to Lord William Greengrass, to yesterday's event.
To be continued, dear readers!
Hermione flipped to the next page, feeling a little envious if she was honest. She scanned the foreign affairs section, but couldn't concentrate on the words. Her mind wandered back to a time when her picture frequented the front page. After the Battle of Hogwarts, everyone wanted a piece of the Golden Girl. Hermione could understand to some extent that people craved a detailed recollection of their Horcrux-hunt, but her opinion of the latest Quidditch-match? Really? What did she care if the Chudley Cannons or the Hollyhead Harpies won the title? Those people got paid to get knocked off their brooms, for Merlin's sake. Even her drinking a cup of tea in Diagon Alley was interesting enough to write a full page. Luckily, things returned to normal quite rapidly, and after a few years, Hermione disappeared entirely out of the spotlights. It bothered her more than she would like to admit. She didn't miss the attention or the air of importance, but she once cherished hopes to achieve something worth mentioning in the papers.
As if she wasn't agitated enough already, her traitorous mind started to compare her own life with that of the blond wizard on the front page. During their formative years at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy was always right behind her when it came to marks, only besting her in Potions.
It was by no means a national secret that they hated each other's guts, but Hermione was mature enough to admit the man was brilliant. Combined with his family's wealth and influence, all odds were in his favour to become a successful wizard. The only thing working against him was the fact that he was a humongous ass. But as Philanthropist of the Year, it seemed he overcame that little inconvenience. Excellent, a reformed Death Eater.
Hermione's mood quickly soared when she heard small feet coming off the stairs. She turned her head just in time to see a fragile, ginger-headed child walk into the kitchen, a stuffed lilac unicorn in one hand, Fuschia pigmy puff in the other. Hermione folded her copy of the Daily Prophet and stood up from the kitchen table to greet her daughter, Rose Weasley.
"Goodmorning Rosie, you're up early today. Did you sleep well?" She wiped the curls out of her daughter's face and placed a soft kiss on top of her head.
"Hi Mum, not too bad, although the shivers in my hands woke me up again around two." Rose shuffled towards the kitchen table and pulled herself in one of the chairs. "What's for breakfast?"
It was a casual response, and her daughter seemed perfectly fine, but knowing the shivers returned was enough to set Hermione on edge. She squatted before her child and put her hand against Rose's cheek, checking if her temperature wasn't too high.
"Are you sure you're okay, sweety? I can call Healer Amett to schedule an appointment this afternoon if you like?" The concern was audible in her voice. Hermione didn't want to upset Rose first thing in the morning, but she couldn't help herself.
Rose smiled reassuringly and shook her head. "It's fine, mother. I'm just hungry, no need to worry, and besides, I look forward to visiting Granny this afternoon.". The small girl took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Hermione smiled back and felt a wave of pride wash over her at the bravery of her daughter. Gryffindor to the core. She stood up and moved towards the fridge, making a second attempt at scrambled eggs.
"Two eggs, Rosie?" she asked, clutching purposefully.
Rose nodded and suppressed a yawn all at the same time. The girl wasn't a morning person, much like her father, and always required some time and a hearty breakfast to clear her sleep-foggy brain. Well, that, a mug of fresh milk and two pills.
Within a few minutes, the aroma of scrambled eggs filled the small kitchen. A whiff must've found its way to the upper floor because soon a second pair of feet descended. Hermione threw a glance over her shoulder and saw her husband walking into the kitchen in full work attire. The resemblance with her daughter was striking — a bush of fiery ginger hair, freckles all over his face and piercing blue eyes. Ronald Weasley was no longer the gangly teenager from 10 years ago, but a man comfortable with his own body and looks.
"Mornin' girls!" he called out, taking his seat at the head of the table. "Is breakfast ready? I have to leave in ten minutes, Robards expects me eight sharp."
Hermione put a plate of eggs and sausages in front of him. Without even sparing her a glance, Ron dug in, chewing with mouth wide open. Hermione couldn't help but draw back a bit and scrunch her nose in distaste. Large chunks of egg flew out of his mouth. Despite her best efforts to avoid the projectiles of food, a large piece got stuck in her curls. In the seven years after they married, Ron had not obtained any table manners. Certainly not for her lack of trying to teach him some.
"I'll probably be home late this evening too," he continued, finishing the last sausage in one bite. "There's this new case that came in yesterday. The French Auror Department is tracking an international smuggling network, and they asked for our assistance. If they put me in charge, and I can prove myself in an international case, a promotion might be in order!"
Hermione could visibly see the enthusiasm and hope written over his face, but she didn't share the sentiment. Over the past few years, multiple opportunities occurred for Ron to obtain a promotion, but every time someone else was offered the position. Afraid of putting his hopes up too much with words of encouragement, Hermione did not answer. The Auror Department was immensely competitive and filled with many ambitious wizards and witches. It's not that Ron wasn't a fine Auror, but the others just seemed to outshine him when it came to nerve, talent and work ethics.
Ron stood up from the table, not even bothering with his dirty plate. He walked towards the cramped entrance of their cottage to grab his jacket and battered brown leather satchel. Just when Hermione took the first bite of her breakfast, he strode back into the kitchen and ate the last piece of bacon in front of her nose.
"Now that I think of it, can you make some lunch? I probably won't have time to grab some. You know, with the case," he spoke, all the while chewing the crispy meat, "and any chance you'll prepare beef stew tonight? Oh, and don't forget to pick up groceries, we're out of beer!"
Hermione dropped the cutlery with more force than strictly necessary and stalked towards the fridge. Only when she was done preparing sandwiches and pouring soup into a container, she noticed that Ron finished the remaining eggs.
"For Merlin's sake, Ronald! Could you please keep in mind that Rose and I also have to eat?" she lashed out, "and kindly refrain from speaking with your mouth full!" she quickly added.
"Sorry," he grumbled, keeping a hand before his mouth to avoid any more spitting, "I just-"
"I'm not done talking! Hermione cut in. "You're treating me like your personal maid! You honestly believe I've got nothing better to do?"
Ron shot her an apologetic look. "Well, yes... That is... No, of course not!" He quickly replied after seeing the indignant look on Hermione's features. "I just assumed you could spare an hour somewhere today?"
"No, Ronald. I'm sorry to inform you that I won't be able to spare an hour. Not to do grocery shopping or to prepare beef stew. Rose and I are visiting your mother and sister at The Burrow, and after that, I have errands to run at Diagon Alley. And besides, we have two perfectly fresh lasagnas in the freezer."
Hermione handed him the soup and sandwiches, effectively closing the topic. Ron must've known by the look on her face that there was no use pressing the matter any further. He decided on a more agreeable conversation partner and turned his attention towards his daughter.
"Are you looking forward to seeing James, munchkin?"
Rose stopped eating for a second and drew up an eyebrow, seeing right through her father's intentions. "Dad, can't you just apologize to Mum?" she asked, before she added, "And yes, I'm looking forward to seeing James. Uncle Harry got him a toy broom, and I can't wait to try it!"
Hermione suppressed a giggle, while Ron took a moment to process what his daughter just said. After a few seconds, he burst out in laughter.
"You are, of course, completely right, little one! Your old dad owes your mother an apology."
With a naughty smile, he turned towards Hermione and enveloped her in his arms.
"My darling wife, I apologize for behaving like an oaf. Would you please do me the honour of granting me 5 minutes of your precious time? Let's take a seat at our humble kitchen table, together with our beautiful daughter and have a family conversation."
Hermione knew he meant well; she did. But formal language and Ron Weasley didn't combine. Instead of apologetic and sweet, the words sounded sarcastic and degrading to Hermione's ears. Nevertheless, she dropped the towel and took a seat at the kitchen table. Ron took her hand and gazed at her expectantly, indicating she could select whatever topic she liked. Hermione rolled her eyes at him and sighed. No, this didn't feel forced at all. A completely natural, happy family conversation. Textbook example.
"Well, as I already told you, Rose and I are going to your parent's house for tea. Ginny and James will be there too, and I was hoping your mom could look after Rose for an hour or two. My potions supply is running low, and I'm in dire need of some new parchment and quills."
She must've said something that didn't quite agree with her husband. He immediately dropped her hand, and his eyebrows almost disappeared in the ginger hair on top of his head.
"You're still brewing potions? Hermione, I thought we discussed this little hobby of yours." He snapped, visibly agitated by this piece of information.
She tried to control herself at hearing the word 'hobby'. Hermione Granger did not do 'hobby's'. Her potions work could only be described as scientific research or advanced potions making. One didn't brew an almost perfect "Draught of Living Death" or successfully modified the recipe for "Amortentia" just as a 'hobby'.
Some time ago, while cleaning out the attic, Hermione found her old Potions textbooks from Hogwarts. The subject always fascinated her, but her knowledge was lacking. Professor Snape hadn't been the type of teacher who was very approachable to ask questions. Hence why she decided to order an "Advanced at-home Potions Course" that same afternoon. The first module was supposed to occupy her for at least six months. Hermione finished it in two and a half. After that, she started to experiment herself. It felt marvellous to put that brain of hers to work again. Ron, however, hadn't shared her enthusiasm. On the contrary, he was furious; she spent almost 200 Galleons without asking for his approval.
Money was a sensitive topic in the Weasley household, or better said, the lack thereof. Feeding three people from only one moderate-income is challenging as it is, but unfortunate circumstances drained their last savings a long time ago. They struggled to make ends meet ever since. Hermione had gone to bed with an empty stomach more than once, but she gladly suffered through the nausea of hunger once in a while if it meant that Rose could eat three decent meals a day. Ron, of course, didn't make the same sacrifice, claiming he required proper nourishment to perform adequately at work.
"How can you be this irresponsible? You wouldn't want Rose to be hungry just because you want a hobby, wouldn't you?" Ron continued. He gave her a patronizing look as if she was a small child that stepped out of line.
Hermione raised her chin to watch him straight into the eye. How dare he imply that she would jeopardize her daughter's health for potions ingredients, after everything she sacrificed.
"You're a hypocrite, Ronald Weasley," she spat out. "All those drinks you buy your colleagues on Friday evenings, a fancy pair of shoes because you 'need' them to fit in at the Ministry, a new broom because you think you deserve a treat for going to work every day. But of course, go ahead and scold me for thinking of myself for the first time in the ten years since we got married!"
There was a brief silence before she heard a mumbled: "Go fuck yourself." The next moment, her husband disappeared from the kitchen, and the front door slammed shut.
Hermione stood up from her seat and moved back towards the sink. She picked up her towel and started drying glasses aggressively. One of them cracked under the pressure, leaving a deep cut in the palm of her hand.
"Auwtch," she muttered, opening the tap to clean the cut with fresh water. The blood was bright red against the white of the sink and all of a sudden, Hermione couldn't take it anymore. Tears started to leak from her eyes, and a sense of hopelessness made her chest ache.
She didn't know how long she stood there when two soft hands took her injured one and put a bandage around her palm. Once finished, her daughter put a gentle kiss on top of the linen.
"Now it will heal faster, Mum." She whispered, before wrapping her arms around Hermione's neck.
Hermione hugged her daughter back with all the love she had. There was no question she would gladly sacrifice everything for the little girl. But sometimes she wished she hadn't lost herself in the process.