A/N: Thank you to my Beta, lozipozivanillabean. Enjoy!
xxxiii.
i'm not going anywhere, love
(Song for a Soldier by Sara Bareilles)
December 20, 1978
Hermione smiled when Regulus backpedalled upon entering the Room of Requirement.
"We're not going to practice today?" he asked, tentatively striding towards the armchair opposite to where Hermione was sitting. When Hermione shook her head, his lips curled in disdain. "I take it this is an exact replica of the Gryffindor Common Room?"
Her smile widened when he grimaced at how squashy his armchair was. "Hermione Granger's Gryffindor Common Room, yes," she said, abandoning any proper decorum to sling both of her legs across the armrest of her chosen chair. "It's cosier than the 1970's common room, if you must know."
Regulus grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, looking marvellously uncomfortable surrounded by Gryffindor red and gold, with littered overstuffed chairs and a roaring fire inside a small hearth. It wasn't an exact replica per se, because as what Hermione had confessed to Regulus weeks ago, she was starting to forget some minute memories of Hermione Granger. The Ravenclaw wasn't sure if the colours of the armchairs were the exact shades of red-orange, or if the huge, proud lion was placed on the east or west side of the common room. Nevertheless, the room provided by the Come-and-Go Room evoked feelings Hermione Granger had felt every time she had entered her common room, and that was enough for the brunette.
"Why aren't we duelling today?" he asked.
"Because it's the last day before the holidays," she exclaimed, before a lazy yawn escaped from her lips. Hermione rubbed her itchy eyes and got more comfortable on the couch, her eyelids already fluttering closed as the crackling fire lulled her into a peaceful rest.
"Didn't sleep well last night?"
She popped one eye open and sheepishly smiled at Regulus. "I slept like a baby," she corrected, "but I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning. My roommates and I lost track of time last night and managed to finish the fifth-year coverage of Potions all in one sitting."
"You and your friends are barmy," Regulus said with a snort. "I'm glad I'm not studying with you this year."
"Ah, so Crouch and Rosier are more decent study buddies than me?" she asked, fully opening her eyes as she shot a teasing smirk his way.
Regulus made a face. "I'd rather study with the Giant Squid, to be honest," he grumbled, prompting Hermione to laugh. A soft yawn then burst out of her lips once more.
"Maybe you should just rest today, Pettigrew," the Black heir pointed out. "I don't even know why you even asked me to meet you today."
Hermione shook off her tiredness and rummaged inside her pocket. She pulled out her crumpled list of horcruxes, with numbers one and two already crossed out. "We need to discuss this first before we leave Hogwarts," she insisted. She deliberately shifted on her armchair once more to sit up properly.
"I told you procuring the diary isn't going to be a problem," he reassured. "I'm already expected to attend the Malfoy Ball on Christmas Eve, and I will take the finest firewhiskey from Ogden's and goad the slimy Malfoy to drink as much as he can, until he's too piss drunk to even notice I've borrowed his signet ring to open his bloody secret room. It'll be fine."
"Your confidence makes me nervous, blimey," Hermione said as the corner of her lips lifted into a bemused smile. "This is Malfoy Manor we are talking about, Regulus."
"Ah, but you see, I also grew up in that ostentatious manor. I know some of the passages like the back of my hand, most especially because I'm Narcissa's favourite cousin and Lucius Malfoy is quite fond of me. They won't even suspect me, I promise."
Hermione sighed, knowing it would be futile to reason with him. "Fine," she claimed in resignation. "Just owl me immediately if something comes up, all right?"
"And ruin your dinner with the Potters?" he asked with a snort. "How terribly rude of me, Pettigrew."
The brunette's cheeks flared up as she glowered at the smirking Pureblood. "The horcrux hunt is of utmost priority," she sniped. "You know that."
He quirked an eyebrow and casually leaned behind the overstuffed couch. He briefly glared in disgust at how squeaky it was, then glanced back at Hermione again. "I'm not sure if you are well versed with Pureblood traditions and etiquette, but when a Pureblood family formally invites the family of their heir's girlfriend to share a meal with them, it means marriage is already a prospect."
"Marriage?!" she shrieked.
If it were possible, his amused smirk grew. "I don't know why you think it's preposterous, Pettigrew," he softly drawled. "You're both of age and the Potter family is from a long line of Old Purebloods. They may not share the same ideologies with the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but they are still Pureblood. I'm sure Potter's parents knew what this dinner entailed. Besides, the Daily Prophet has already declared there's been a rise in marriage proposals over the past few years. No doubt it's because of the brewing war. The Potters most likely want to ensure that their long line will continue after James Potter."
"It's just a simple dinner!" she interjected.
"Your mother's a Selwyn," he pointed out. "I think she knows the implication of this dinner too."
Hermione didn't realise it was this serious. James didn't look like he was bothered at all, so she had dismissed this invitation as a simple dinner invite. No wonder her mother's reply letter was a bit suspicious when she announced that they were invited over for Christmas dinner.
"I didn't ask you to come here to discuss Pureblood codswallop, dear Merlin," she grumbled, snatching onto the wrinkly parchment once more to vehemently point at Horcrux Number 4.
Regulus looked like he was having fun ruffling her feathers, but then his amusement simmered when he frowned at where her finger was pointing. "Slytherin's locket?" he asked. "What about it?"
Hermione took a deep breath to compose herself. "Has Voldemort borrowed Kreacher already?" she coolly asked.
"Kreacher?" he gasped, eyes growing wide. "You know about my house-elf too?" Hermione merely gave him a pointed glance, prompting him to sigh. "Of course you do."
Regulus slumped on his chair and ran a nervous hand through his hair. "As far as I'm concerned, the Dark Lord hasn't requested to borrow Kreacher yet." He frowned, looking deeply concerned. "Why do you ask?"
"Because," she grimly started, "in 1979, Voldemort ordered Regulus Black to lend his personal house-elf to him to hide away one of his horcruxes, Slytherin's locket." When his eyes grew larger, she grimaced. "I'm— you have to understand that it's something I don't want to do, but—" She swallowed down a growing lump inside her throat and tightly closed her eyes.
"You want this to happen," he firmly claimed. "You want Voldemort to borrow Kreacher so that he can hide the locket."
Tears welled in her eyes, her heart growing heavy at the sacrifice they had to make. "I'm so sorry," she said, noting with dismay how the room had started to grow colder, to grow smaller, and Hermione belatedly wished she could have asked the Room of Requirement to replicate the airy common room of the Ravenclaw House instead. "If this doesn't happen, then I don't know how we're going to retrieve the locket."
"Tell me," he said, voice sounding strangely strained, "will Kreacher survive this?"
"Yes," she quickly said, vigorously nodding her head. "Yes, he will. I can assure you that he'll be fine after this excursion, because Kreacher lived during Hermione Granger's time."
Regulus stiffly nodded his head. "That is good enough," he gruffly said. "So, Voldemort might hide the locket sometime next year?"
"Yes," she replied. "Knowing Voldemort, I know he'd want to do grand things on special events. I have this inkling he'll hide the locket on New Year's Day."
"All right," he said. "I'll owl you immediately if he does borrow my house-elf. After he hides it, what then?"
Hermione pierced him with her blue eyes.
"Once he hides it in the cave," she started, "then we steal it on the very next day, of course."
Regulus expelled a deep sigh, suddenly growing wearier and resigned. "Of course."
December 25, 1978
"Hermione!"
Said witch blinked in surprise at her mother, who had barged uninvited into her bedroom. "Mum?" she deliberately asked, warily glancing at the bundles of dresses, the few tubs of Sleekeazy's, different accessories, and several shoes clutched in her hands.
"We have to get you ready," Anya said, groaning a bit as she deposited everything she'd brought on Hermione's bed. She brightly smiled at her daughter. "Come on, sweetheart. Up!"
Hermione's eyes widened as she looked at her wall clock. "But it's just two in the afternoon!" she cried, glancing at her Arithmancy textbook with disappointment in her eyes as Anya pulled her away from her wooden desk.
"We have to get you ready now," her mother ground out. "Tonight is perhaps one of the most important dinners in your whole life!"
Dread bloomed in her heart, remembering Regulus's words to her when they had met in the Room of Requirement a few days ago. "Please don't tell me this is about stuffy Pureblood traditions," she begged, heart speeding up at the thought that this was a formal invitation for the Potters to meet the Pettigrews - with thoughts of marriage in mind. This had plagued her for days, equally taking up residence in her mind as much as the worrisome horcrux hunt. 1979 was fast approaching and if her computation was correct, Harry was supposed to be conceived by the end of the year. But still, James and Lily weren't together. Lily still hadn't broken off her engagement with Severs and now… now, James's family wanted to invite her family over due to some stupid Pureblood tradition.
Anya paused in her scurrying and glanced at Hermione. The younger witch watched as Anya carefully crafted an indifferent mask over whatever emotions she might have been feeling at that moment. This surprised Hermione, since Anya usually had no qualms showing her true emotions. Perhaps, Purebloods had the innate ability to school their emotions when the need arose.
"Listen, my love—"
Hermione groaned, not needing to hear any well-crafted lie from her mother. "So, this is about marriage, isn't it?" she hotly asked.
Colour bloomed on both of Anya's cheeks. "Well," she started, brushing away a golden curl from her face, "I'm not going to deny that according to Pureblood traditions, when an heir's family formally invites the heir's girlfriend's family over dinner, marriage is already a prospect."
"Mum," she whined, plopping down on her seat once more, "I'm just seventeen."
Anya gave her an indulgent smile. "I was betrothed at fourteen," she revealed.
Hermione scrunched up her nose. "This is different," she insisted. "You brought us up without your stupid, stuffy Pureblood traditions."
She knew she was getting flustered over a simple dinner, but Hermione was famously known as a stickler for rules. Granted, they never followed any annoying Pureblood etiquette, but if such rules existed regarding marriage, then it made her mighty uncomfortable.
Anya finally sighed and sat on the edge of Hermione's bed. "Sweetheart, listen to me," she soothed, reaching forward to grasp both of Hermione's hands. "I know we don't follow such Pureblood rules. I may have been a bit excited when you gave me the Potters' invitation. You have to understand that this was my life before I met your father and brought two, wonderful children into this world. But forgive me if this makes you uncomfortable." She smiled lovingly at her daughter and brushed away a wayward curl sticking to her cheek. "We can always owl the Potters if you don't want to attend this dinner. James adores you very much. I'm sure he'll understand."
Her cheeks flushed red, embarrassed at her attitude towards her mother. "We can just pretend this is a simple dinner," she murmured under her breath. "I don't want to make James sad. He seemed a bit excited about it the last time he wrote to me."
Anya's smile was bright and warm. "All right," she said. "But, since it's still a formal dinner event, I think we have to attend in our best attire."
Hermione expelled a huge, resigned sigh. "Just don't go overboard, Mum. Honestly," she grumbled.
Her mother's Selwyn blue eyes twinkled with mischief. "When have I ever gone overboard?" she asked, followed by a lovely laugh.
The brunette growled.
Anya would definitely not hold back. She was sure of it.
-ooo-
"What's taking you both so long?" she heard Peter complain outside her bedroom door.
"A few more minutes, sweetheart!" Anya exclaimed in return.
Her mother turned to Hermione once more with glittering eyes. "You look beautiful, Hermione," she sighed, clutching both of her hands. "My mother would have looked at you approvingly. This is how a proper Selwyn should look like."
"I'm a Pettigrew," Hermione insisted, but this claim only made Anya laugh. "You look beautiful yourself, Mum."
Anya was wearing a long, black dress, its hems brushing along the wooden floor. It was simple enough, void of any silly, little designs. The dress hugged her mother's tiny waist perfectly, accentuating the curves of her hips and boasting her flat abdomen. The dress modestly covered her chest with a bateau neckline, but more than half of her back was exposed. Hermione's eyes had widened at the creamy expanse of her back, but Anya merely laughed and told her this wasn't the most exciting dress she had ever worn.
"I may have worn this during my youth," she explained, looking every bit like the perfect Pureblood socialite. "When I ran away from home, I managed to pack a lot of my dresses. I may have hated how I was raised, but I cannot deny how much I loved getting dressed up."
Her mother tied her hair into an elegant, loose bun, before smiling warmly at her daughter. "Stop fidgeting, love," she lightly admonished. "You look wonderful."
Hermione knew it was pointless to delay the inevitable. She painstakingly walked towards her floor-length mirror and glanced at her reflection. Her blue eyes widened as her hand skimmed along her flowy, tulle skirt. Flower shaped appliqués were sequined on the bodice of her sapphire dress with the neckline forming a deep V-shape that was modest enough for a Pureblood affair. The sleeves of her dressed were formed by sheer, blue tulle, still with embroidered flowers, which ended up just down the middle of her arm.
It was perhaps the most elegant dress she had ever worn – past and present. Her mother had patiently applied Sleekeazy's on Hermione's hair, just to tame her bushy curls into cascading waves. She had then tied her curls into an elegant bun, sticking pink, ornamental flowers in her hair to keep it in place.
"You really look beautiful, sweetheart," Anya repeated, stepping behind Hermione to place a warm hand over her shoulder.
"Aren't we a bit overdressed?" she asked, slightly flustered and disoriented after seeing her reflection. She tinkered with the sapphire bracelet James had given her a few years ago.
Anya expelled a soft laugh and grasped Hermione's hand. "We're going to a Pureblood formal event, Hermione," she said. "There's no such thing as being too overdressed."
Her mother then proceeded to pull her out of her bedroom. Peter shot up from the couch and was about to complain once more at how they'd kept him waiting, but those words didn't leave his lips as he beheld his mother and sister. "Holy Mother of— wow." He beamed brightly and closed the remaining distance between them. "Aren't you a bit overdressed?" he asked, laughter bubbling up from his lips.
"Apparently, there's no such thing as being too overdressed for a Pureblood formal event," the younger witch answered with a sigh. "Well, you look like a proper Pureblood too."
Peter wasn't wearing anything grand, unlike Hermione, but it was elegant enough for a formal dinner. He was wearing a deep blue dress robe that could almost be mistaken for black. His sandy hair was parted stylishly with some goop he usually used during formal events.
"I can't wait to see James's face when he sees you," he said with a humoured laugh.
"I just had a thought," Anya said, as she looped both of her arms around her children's. "When are you going to ask Mary for her hand in marriage, Peter?"
Her brother turned a deep shade of maroon. "W– what?" he stuttered.
"All these formal Pureblood dinners made me think of marriages," Anya said, sheepishly smiling at her youngest. She turned to Peter and gave him a pointed glance. "So, marriage, Peter?"
"Merlin, Mum, that's not our top priority right now," he floundered as he awkwardly rubbed his nape. "Mary's busy with Healer training and we don't really see each other often nowadays. I can assure you we don't really talk about marriage when we see each other. In fact, we don't do too much talking at all."
"Eww, Peter, we don't need to know that," Hermione said, scrunching her nose as the suggestive smile stretched wider on Peter's face.
Anya, on the other hand, quirked an eyebrow at her son. "So, you've never really talked about marriage before?" she asked, now leading them towards their fireplace. "Not even once?"
To Hermione's surprise, Peter was unable to meet either of their gazes. "Well…" He scratched his chin and smiled silly at his shoes. "We did talk about it before, especially after we found out about Lily's engagement to Snape and…" He seemed to catch himself and turned a brilliant shade of red. "We'll cross that bridge once we get there, Mum. There's no need to rush."
Their mother sighed, obviously disappointed with his answer. "I'd like to see grandchildren running around our home soon, you know," she asked hopefully.
Hermione wryly laughed. "With this climate, I don't think it's wise to bring children into the world right now," she said. "Lily told me once that she and Sev have decided not to have children yet. Not unless they're sure that Voldemort's dead."
"But we don't know when that will be," Peter gravely said, grasping onto a handful of Floo powder.
She sadly shrugged. "Better to make the world a safer place first before you bring in new lives," she said, paling a bit at how the emerald green that flared in their fireplace reminded her so much of the Killing Curse.
Peter was first to travel by Floo, followed next by Anya and then Hermione.
All thoughts of war and horcruxes were pushed to the very back of her mind as she stepped inside the fireplace and exclaimed the Potter's address.
She was still a tad flummoxed at how grand the foyer was, but she didn't have enough time to marvel at the beauty of said room as Pokey was already instructing her family. She smiled in amusement at the house-elf's choice of clothing today. She was swathed in a pristine-white cloak, with a polka-dot bowtie placed on top of her wiry head. Hermione lifted an eyebrow when she saw Pokey was wearing the same strappy shoes she had worn the last time she had visited the Potter Manor.
"Hello," Hermione said, daintily slipping beside her mother.
The house-elf's eyes widened in delight as she clasped her hands together. "Oh, Mistress Hermione!" she gushed out. Ridiculously, huge tears welled up in her tennis ball-sized eyes and tumbled down her wrinkly face. "Pokey knew you would be the future Mistress of the House!"
Peter turned white as Hermione's eyes widened in horror. Only Anya seemed unfazed by the house-elf's words. "Where are the Potters, Pokey?" their mother kindly asked.
Pokey loudly sniffed and brushed away her tears. "You must follow Pokey," she said. "Come, come!"
Anya grabbed onto her children's hands and pulled them with her - the house-elf leading the small family along.
Hermione's nerves were going haywire as they passed through the familiar corridors. She saw portraits of the past Potter ancestors and even spied Linfred of Stinchcombe busily tending to his potted plants.
Anya squeezed her hand, sensing her nervousness. The younger witch gave her a grateful smile and took a deep shuddering breath just to calm herself.
Pokey stopped in front of an imposing door made of dark cherry wood. Hermione had never been here before. The last time she was here, the Potters had usually eaten their meals in a small dining hall around a circular table.
The house-elf then stood at her tallest height and pushed the doors open. "Pokey brings the guests, Masters and Mistress," she declared with a booming voice. The trio followed her inside and Hermione's eyes widened at how grand the whole room was. Besides the foyer, perhaps this Dining Hall was the fanciest of all the rooms in the Potter Manor. A long table was placed at the very centre of the huge room, with two glittering chandeliers hanging from either end. The table could accommodate at least twenty people at a time. The glass ceiling was high and domed, and Hermione was able to clearly see the night sky from where she was stood. A roaring fire was crackling behind where Fleamont sat, dowsing the whole room in a toasty warmth that was cosy and inviting.
"Welcome," Fleamont boomed.
Hermione tore her gaze away from the night sky to smile kindly at the Potter patriarch. His dress robes were as simple as Peter's, but it was obvious the material was far more expensive than what the Pettigrew family could afford.
"Lovely to see you again, Anastasia," Euphemia warmly greeted. Hermione's eyes widened at the Potter Mistress's dress robes. She wore a dramatic black, velvety, floor-length dress with red, drape-like sleeves that cascaded down from her shoulders and up to her wrists.
"Please, Anya is fine," her mother said with a lovely laugh.
Euphemia's eyes glittered when they landed on Hermione. "You look beautiful, Hermione," she said with a bright smile. "Doesn't she, James?"
Silence met her question and curiously, Hermione glanced at James. She flushed at his stunned staring. James's jaw was agape and he looked like he had stopped breathing all together. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw how Euphemia and Anya exchanged amused glances.
He looked like a proper Pureblood heir too, with impeccable dress robes she knew would be scratchy if worn. She wondered if he'd used Sleekeazy's to brush his hair away from his face. Although she'd always thought he was handsome with his windswept hair and hazel eyes glinting with trouble, Hermione hadn't been prepared to discover that James could look even better.
"James, son, are you quite all right?" Fleamont asked as he leant forward to touch James's shoulder. Beside her, Hermione heard Peter snicker softly under his breath.
James snapped out of his stupor and turned a deep shade of maroon that matched his mother's dress. "Y– yes, of course," he stammered, shaking his head to get rid of whatever haziness had settled in his brain. He sneaked another peek at Hermione and grinned broadly, like he'd won a Quidditch game after a rigorous match against the loathed Slytherins.
"Please, have a seat," Fleamont said, gesturing at the empty chairs beside them. Then, to the house-elf, he requested, "Pokey, we're ready for dinner."
"Pokey will bring out the food now, Master Fleamont," she said, bowing so low her nose almost touched the tiled floors. Then, with a snap, she was gone.
Anya led both of her children towards the table. Hermione went to trail behind Peter, but he suddenly pushed her away and wordlessly jutted his chin towards James. She glanced at the bespectacled boy, only to see that he was already expectantly looking at her and pulling out the chair beside him.
'Of course,' she thought, lightly glowering at how her boyfriend smirked in amusement.
Hermione tentatively approached James, breath hitching as the distance between them shortened. His hazel eyes never left her form, as if she was the only person in the room. Up close, he looked more dashing with his perfectly styled hair and glinting eyes.
"Thanks," she murmured when he stepped aside and allowed her to sit down on the pulled-out chair. His fingers ghosted over the exposed skin of her forearm, igniting all of the nerves in Hermione's body, but James was soon sitting down on his own chair, looking very much composed once more.
"This will be a twelve-meal course, if you don't mind," Euphemia kindly explained, her hazel eyes sweeping from Hermione to Anya, who was sitting beside the Potter matriarch and Peter.
Peter matched Hermione's confusion, as they weren't really familiar with how Pureblood formal meals happened. Hermione couldn't understand, though, why Anya's eyes had widened in disbelief, or why James looked deeply embarrassed.
"Not… not at all," her mother finally said after composing herself. She threw James a meaningful glance before her blue eyes landed on her daughter. Hermione wordlessly lifted an eyebrow in curiosity, but Anya merely smiled reassuringly at her.
Pokey soon reappeared and snapped her fingers. "Pokey brings the hors d'oeuvres," she announced.
Food appeared on their table and Hermione noted a small piece of bread on her plate with white cheese spread on it.
This went on for hours, with Pokey reappearing and bringing a new course after they had finished the last one. Hermione's tongue felt funny after eating so many different kinds of food, but she admitted the courses were quite good. Peter looked terribly uncomfortable throughout, but he would make this delighted sound after tasting the newly brought out soup or the grilled salmon. Anya didn't look out of place at all; in fact, she easily slid back into being the proper Pureblood she was always brought up as, and Hermione wondered once more how her life would have differed had her mother not run away from home and met her father.
"How is school, Hermione dear?" Euphemia asked after Anya had finished recounting the new Muggle fashion of the 1970's.
She hadn't been addressed at all since the start of the meal and it surprised her when Euphemia called for her attention. "Quite well, Mrs. Potter," she politely replied.
"Still polite as always," Fleamont said with an indulgent grin.
"Please, I told you to call me Euphemia instead," James's mother replied. "James said you're Head Girl?"
Hermione smiled and nodded thrice.
"She still rules with an iron fist," James added with a teasing glint in his eyes. "I've talked with some of the blokes over in the Gryffindor House and they told me the Head Girl's been terrifying to interact with for the past few days. She managed to put the whole of the Gryffindor team in detention for two weeks after she caught them using the Quidditch Pitch without a permit at midnight."
Her cheeks turned ruddy. "Perhaps, your Gryffindor friends should know that Quidditch rules are formulated for a reason," she haughtily said as she snootily lifted her nose.
James's smile grew. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you didn't want the Gryffindor team to beat Ravenclaw in the next Quidditch match between them," he said.
Hermione snorted. "Please, even though the Gryffindors continue to train rigorously, my House's team this year are at their strongest."
"You don't even like Quidditch, blimey!" he expelled with a disbelieving laugh.
"It doesn't mean I don't like to win," she plainly said.
His smile fell, his hazel eyes considerably darkening after her simple claim. He had this intense gaze on his face and Hermione was brought back to that little snogging session they'd had, hidden behind the Shrieking Shack. He leant closer, his smile now morphing into a smirk. James suddenly looked very dangerous to be around, like he was ready to pounce on her, to hell with bloody decorum and propriety. "Competitive as always, I see," he lowly whispered. "Very bossy too."
"Of course," she breathily replied, wonderfully distracted at how pink his lips were or how the browns of his eyes almost engulfed the green.
Merlin, what were they talking about again?
Peter loudly coughed behind his hand, dispelling the haze that had settled in Hermione's brain.
Hermione's eyes widened in horror as she finally remembered where they were. Her cheeks turned a deep shade of red as she immediately grasped onto the glass of icy water beside her plate.
She heard James's low rumble as he pulled back on his chair, his cheeks also dusted with pink.
The brunette surreptitiously looked at her mother as she downed the glass. Anya's eyebrows had reached her hairline, deeply amused. Hermione's cheeks turned even redder at her mother's suggestive smile.
Hermione refused to look at Euphemia or Fleamont as she was too embarrassed to see how they would react with their blatant flirting, in front of their bloody parents, whilst they were eating a goddamn formal meal.
Merlin and Morgana, somebody shoot her now.
"Desserts?" Fleamont gleefully asked, clapping his hands so loud Hermione flinched.
"Desserts sound lovely," Euphemia said, followed by a laugh which Hermione knew had no connection whatsoever to the incoming desserts.
-ooo-
They moved to the Drawing Room after they'd finished dinner. Pokey had brought tea upon Fleamont's request and Hermione had been quietly sipping her own cup, smiling warmly at how Anya conversed with the Potter matriarch. Anya and Euphemia looked like they'd been friends for a really long time, and Hermione was happy at how easily her mother could talk with the older witch.
Fleamont expelled a booming laugh that reverberated through the walls. Hermione glanced to where he sat, with both James and Peter raptly listening to whatever adventure he was recounting. One thing she had deduced was James's adventurous streak had definitely come from Fleamont. The older wizard always got this certain gleam in his eyes, that she'd seen James have most of the time.
"May I be excused?" Hermione then softly asked.
"Of course, my dear," Euphemia said with a kind smile.
Anya squeezed her arm before letting her stand. As she neared the door, she briefly caught James's eyes and smiled.
Hermione once again found herself gazing at the different portraits of the past Potter patriarchs. She greeted some who'd politely addressed her with curiosity in their eyes, probably wondering who this well-dressed brunette was. She waved her hand at Linfred before going into one of the lavish powder rooms in the west wing.
When she walked out of the room, Hermione decided to aimlessly wander through the corridors instead of returning to the Drawing Room. As she meandered around, Hermione couldn't help but imagine Harry Potter once more - bright-eyed as he ran through corridors and wreaked havoc. She didn't doubt that he'd have grown up with James's mischief, if he'd been raised properly by his parents.
She chanced upon a room she had never been in before. Hermione usually went to the library, so she had never carefully perused the huge Potter Manor the last time she'd been here.
The room she stumbled upon looked like a Family Room of sorts, with the walls decorated by a huge tapestry of the whole Potter family lineage. This room was strangely reminiscent of the Black Family Tapestry Room of Grimmauld Place. The only difference was, the family tree was devoid of any scorch marks which indicated disinheritance.
Despite their staunch support for blood equality, the Potter family had managed to marry into famous Pureblood families for years. Hermione knew there had been a few Muggleborns and Half-bloods introduced centuries before, but recently, the family had welcomed Pureblood witches and wizards into their growing family.
She wandered down the wall until she found James, his branch stemming from Euphemia and Fleamont. Hermione brushed her fingers against his name and traced an imaginary branch that would bridge him with Lily Evans, and would finally lead to Harry's name.
Her heart stuttered at the thought - of Harry with James's face and ridiculous hair and Lily's bright, emerald eyes. Dread bloomed in the pit of her stomach and tightly wrapped around her heart, until Hermione was forced to look away to dispel whatever gloomy feelings she was having.
She tore her eyes away from the tapestry wall and instead, gazed at the imposing, large portrait hanging proudly in the centre of the whole room. It was of the three Potters, with Euphemia sitting primly on an ornate, wooden chair, whilst Fleamont and James stood behind her. The portrait looked recent, as James was wearing the thick-rimmed glasses she had given to him for his graduation gift. There were small frames decorated below the huge portrait on top of a shelf, showing different milestones of James throughout the years. While the huge portrait was frozen in time, the different picture frames were moving with life. There was a small picture of James, perhaps when he was three or four years old, zooming over a small patch of land on a toy broomstick and having the time of his life. There was also a picture of him celebrating his sixth birthday, where he toothily grinned at the camera before blowing out his candles.
The shelf was decorated with more pictures of James alone, than of his family together. Euphemia and Fleamont clearly doted upon their only son, as every picture frame spoke of adoration and warmth - like how his parents always interacted with him.
Hermione smiled warmly and walked farther away from the shelf, only to stand in front of the painting of the whole Potter Manor. Like the imposing portrait of the Potters, this painting was also frozen. Hermione's eyes instantly recognised the small cabin where Remus hid during his transformations, and the whole expanse of land that was owned by the rich, Potter family.
When Hermione's eyes went back to the Potter Manor once more, they slowly squinted in confusion. There was a small tower on the east side of Potter Manor that she swore she'd never seen before. She'd been exploring the fields outside when she was here previously, but she had never seen that small tower at all.
"What are you doing here?"
She jumped in surprise and swivelled around. James was standing at the threshold, an amused smile on his face.
"I was… exploring," she softly said, glancing curiously at the Potter Manor again. "This is the whole Manor, isn't it?" She gestured at the still painting of the beautiful establishment.
She heard his footsteps until he was standing beside her. "Yes," he said, hazel eyes also taking in the lovely picture. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw how his eyes had softened with tenderness. Hermione smiled in return, knowing that, although James found Hogwarts wonderful, Potter Manor would always be his home.
Hermione lifted a finger and pointed at the small tower adjoining the east wing. "What happened to that?" she asked. "I've never seen it before."
It may have been her imagination, but a panicked look flitted across James's face. "Well – some terrible accident, I think," he hastily said. "Mum doesn't really like to talk about it."
Hermione quirked an eyebrow at his uneasiness, but James was already pulling her away from the picture of their Manor.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, deciding to drop the subject in the end.
James deflated in relief and sat Hermione down on one of the cream couches in the room. "I was beginning to wonder where you'd run off too," he reasoned, settling beside her. He glanced at the lively pictures on the shelf and smiled. "Why'd you choose to explore this room of all places?"
"I haven't been here before," she confessed. "You didn't show this room to us when we visited last time."
"Because it'd be mighty embarrassing for you to chuckle over my stupid baby pictures," he grumbled, his cheekbones turning red. "Only Sirius has seen this room before."
"Speaking of Sirius, where the hell is he?" she asked. "I was expecting he'd be joining us for dinner today."
"He opted to crash in with Moony tonight," James explained. "It's Christmas after all and he didn't want to leave Remus alone."
"They could have joined us tonight, you know," she pointed out.
There were suspicious red spots that appeared on James's cheeks. "Err… this isn't some simple dinner, Whiskers," he deliberately said, unable to meet her eyes. "Sirius and Remus didn't want to ruin it."
A blush crept from her chest up to her face, once again remembering Anya's words. "Um, right," she nervously said. Desperate to change the subject, she noisily cleared her throat and said, "So, about those baby pictures. Aren't you going to show them to me?"
James slowly frowned. "Why?" he petulantly asked. "There's a reason why I didn't show this room to you when you came over last time. Like I said, only Sirius knew this place and he mercilessly teased me for ages when he saw my naked baby pictures."
Her eyes lit up. "Naked baby pictures?" she asked, a teasing grin easily slipping on her face.
His cheeks darkened at the interest in her eyes. "You won't stop pestering me until you've seen them, will you?" he groaned.
"You know me very well, James Potter," she said as a chuckle bubbled out of her painted lips.
He groaned once more before pulling out his wand. With a deft swish, a small hatch on the coffee table appeared. "I spelled the pictures invisible for years just in case a curious, pretty witch stumbled upon this ridiculous room," James explained with a sigh as he opened the latch and revealed piles of photo albums. He grabbed a red, leather-bound album and passed it over Hermione. "Not a word about anything you see here, Pettigrew."
"I won't," she teased. "Marauder's honour."
James snorted at her vow and silently watched as she started to peruse through the photo album.
A delighted laugh escaped from her lips as she saw various pictures of infant James taking a bath, happily splashing water around. "Aww, look at that cute little bum," she cooed, grinning widely at one picture where baby James was falling off the edge of the bath tub, giving her a full view of his plump butt cheeks.
"Hermione," he whined. "This is very mortifying for me. Keep your comments to yourself."
She merely laughed and continued to browse. She paused at a picture showing a brightly smiling Euphemia as she cajoled toddler James to smile and wave at the camera. The tot seemed much more interested in suckling on a few strands of Euphemia's light brown hair, however.
"You really have your mother's eyes," she said, fondly brushing over the lovely photograph.
"I always get that a lot," he said with a laugh. "People always say I look exactly like my father, except for my eyes."
"Huh," she said, her smile turning slightly dejected. "Where have I heard that before?"
Her fingers stilled over a picture where James, probably six or seven years old, was happily tittering over a bubbling cauldron until there was a soundless explosion that bathed his face in soot. The surprised child burst into tears and the whole picture looped once again.
"One of Dad's botched up potions," he explained, fondness heard clearly in his voice. "Mum was so incensed that day, I think. Why my father thought of taking me to his Potions lab, we don't really know. I've been banned ever since from sneaking inside. Dad has since warded that room with a lot of complicated magic and one of my favourite pastimes during summer was trying to remove the wards."
"Have you ever been successful?"
James sheepishly grinned. "Dad's really brilliant with Charms," he explained. "I've gone through some of the wards already, but I haven't removed them all completely."
He then grabbed another photo album as Hermione had reached the end of the one she was holding.
She browsed through a series of photos, this time of James during his younger days at Hogwarts. He was mostly accompanied by his best friends, and Hermione chuckled at some of the pictures of Peter. There were also pictures of them goofing around in Hogsmeade and eating ice cream at Fortescue's.
It was surreal, seeing their friendship through a series of pictures - because she'd seen these moments. Her lips tugged into a small smile; she really had been deeply entangled with these bunch of rowdy boys for years now, hadn't she?
Hermione paused once she saw a picture of her together with the boys on her last visit to the Potter Manor. She remembered this photo being taken, hours before she and Peter had gone home. Fleamont had his camera on hand and had been forcing them to stay still while he took a picture. But Sirius had surreptitiously placed a lizard in Remus's breast pocket for a prank. Remus screamed bloody murder when the lizard flew onto his neck, managing to hit Peter on his nose. Hermione's photographed self was laughing madly at the sudden turn of events. She grinned as the loop continued, and as her finger's brushed towards James on the photograph, her smile froze. Whilst the ruckus continued to happen beside him, James would also laugh at the expense of his best friend. But then, when Hermione burst into laughter, his hazel eyes would land on her and his cheeks would turn red. The picture would loop once more and no matter how many times she stared at it, the image would stay the same.
She slowly looked up from the photo album to glance at James, and was surprised to see that he was already looking at her. He was wearing that intense gaze once more, but his face looked softer and more open. Her heart quivered when a small, handsome smile grew on his face and he reached forward to cradle her jaw against his calloused palm.
Her eyes fluttered closed even before his lips had completely pressed against hers.
James was kissing her differently this time. Usually, he kissed her with such ferociousness that he always managed to take her breath away. This time, he was kissing her deliberately, surely, as if it was as simple as breathing or waking up in the morning.
Despite the tenderness of the kiss, he still managed to take her breath away.
A contented sigh escaped from her mouth when he slowly pulled away. His lips had barely left hers when he breathed out, "I love you, Hermione."
Her eyes popped open in shock. James's hazel eyes looked serious and earnest as they bore into hers. His warm hand was still cradling her jaw and Hermione wondered if she'd merely imagined it.
"What?" she breathily asked.
He beamed so brightly as his other hand cupped her cheek. "I love you, Hermione," he firmly repeated.
Her heart stopped beating all together as her mind tried to wrap around his startling confession. 'Love,' her mind chanted, again and again, until it was all she could hear inside. 'He loves you.' Her ears buzzed at his words as she pulled away almost instantly.
"Why?" was all her frazzled mind could conjure up.
James looked unsure for a moment. "That's not exactly the proper response for such a confession, Hermione," he lightly commented, a nervous chuckle escaping from his lips.
Tears started welling up in her eyes and she ignored his words. "Why me?" she added in a whisper.
That tender look settled on his face once more, spreading over his chiselled nose and square jaw and colouring his hazel eyes to look bright and warm. "Why not you?" he asked in return, a small laugh tumbling out of his lips. "You're… you're brilliant and beautiful. Merlin, have I told you yet how stunning you look today? How you almost made me abandon whatever proper decorum Pureblood society dictates when you walked inside the Dining Hall? Because if not, then Merlin Almighty, Hermione Pettigrew, you're… you're beautiful. I can't believe I spent most of my life not looking at you."
Her heart thudded loudly inside her ribcage and she wouldn't be surprised if James could hear it.
She knew this was coming, of James inevitably confessing, but she had hoped it wouldn't be this soon. Harry's eyes swam into her mind and grief bloomed in her heart, knowing that if James already loved her – if Lily was going to marry Sev soon – then Harry Potter with his dishevelled black hair and bright, emerald eyes really wouldn't be born into this world.
"James—"
What was she going to reply? More importantly, what did she feel about him right now? Hermione hated how her feelings for him hadn't wavered at all, but instead, had grown like the mighty oak tree she and her best friends had loved to sit under near the Black Lake. The roots had grown wide and deep, and she was afraid it would be difficult to uproot it.
"You're really not going anywhere, are you?" she managed to whisper as a small tear slid down from her cheeks.
Brief surprise flittered through his hazel eyes. "I'm not, blimey, why do you always think I'm going to leave?" he asked, smiling warmly down at her crumpling face, as he brushed her tears away.
'Because you do,' she thought to herself. 'You will. Soon enough.'
"There you are!"
Both James and Hermione looked at a suspicious Peter standing near the threshold of the room. Peter's eyes narrowed when he spied Hermione's glassy eyes.
"Did something happen?" he asked in a low voice.
The brunette looked away to hastily wipe the other forming tears, while James stood up and expelled a booming laugh. "Peter, honestly, we're not doing anything shady," he said, blessedly distracting Peter until Hermione was able to fully compose herself.
"That's what a shady person would say," Peter hotly pointed back.
Hermione slowly stood up and trailed behind James, who by then, had thrown an arm over her brother's shoulders and had steered him out of the room.
"Are you all right, Hermione?" Peter worriedly asked, peeking over his shoulder to glance at his sister.
"I'm fine, Petey. Don't worry," she said, clearing her throat when her voice cracked a little.
Her brother didn't look convinced at all, but James distracted him once more by starting another conversation about the Auror department.
Hermione was contented to walk behind the two men, heart still racing from what had transpired back in the Family Tapestry Room.
Her blue eyes landed on the back of James's head, his hair perfectly gelled to stay in place. She thought of Harry, whose hair had never stayed in place, always stubbornly discovering more angles to make his mop of raven hair as dishevelled as possible.
More tears welled in her eyes at the thought she'd managed to make this man fall in love with her. Completely, if she were to guess after seeing how his hazel eyes had turned earnest after confessing his feelings for her.
Hermione was sure she should have replied saying something back there, something she wasn't sure if she was ready to say… something she knew she might regret in the end.
'I'm sorry, Harry,' she thought. She'd been apologising to Harry countless of times for the past few weeks, but the guilt never seeped away.
James released a loud laugh in reply to one of Peter's quips. Her eyes then slid down to his hand and she swallowed the building guilt once more.
'I'm sorry, Harry,' she repeated, as she reached forward and held James's hand, shifting their fingers together just so she could interlace her fingers through his.
Hermione glanced back at James's face, heart stuttering at the sight of a blinding smile on his face. Her heart quickened its pace, threatening to burst out from her chest and leap into James's awaiting hands, because it seemed like that was where her heart would always belong - from now until the end of time.
With James and no one else.
'I'm sorry, Harry,' she thought for the last time.
-ooo-
"Thank you for inviting us over," Anya politely said with a sweet smile on her face.
"Please, we should be the one thanking you and your family for coming over and spending your Christmas with us," Euphemia said, grasping onto the younger witch's hand to give it a slight squeeze. Her eyes then swept over Anya's two children, her smile stretching wider. "It has been a lovely night. Thank you for coming."
Peter gave her a lopsided grin, while Hermione managed to flash a small smile.
"We must go soon, I'm afraid," Anya continued. "Oh, but we really must go to Diagon Alley soon, Euphemia! I've heard Madame Malkin has already introduced new clothes inspired by Muggle fashion."
Euphemia laughed. "Owl me as soon as you're free, Anya dear," she said. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
"Merry Christmas," Fleamont warmly greeted, placing a comforting hand on Hermione's shoulder. "We should do this again."
After a chorus of 'Merry Christmases' and 'goodbyes' from everyone in the foyer, Peter turned around to grasp a handful of Floo powder. In a flash of emerald green, he was already gone.
Anya smiled her last goodbye and soon followed her son.
Hermione was about to follow her mother, but James's warm hand wrapped gently around her wrist. The sapphire bracelet around her wrist merrily twinkled when James tugged her closer until he could comfortably wound his arms around her.
His parents were gone, perhaps to give them a few minutes of privacy together.
"Thank you for coming," he said, his breath brushing against her forehead.
Hermione tilted her head to meet his gaze. James by then, had cradled her jaw against his hand and had leant down to give her a tender kiss. "I love you, Hermione," he said. "I love you."
Her eyes swam with tears once more. "James, I—"
She bit her bottom lip, terrified of the words now sitting on the tip of her tongue.
"It's all right," he suddenly said, eyes turning forlorn at whatever he'd seen on her face. "I don't really expect you to say it back, Hermione. I still don't know what plagues you so much… why you're so convinced that this relationship won't work, even though this is perhaps the best thing that has ever happened to me. But I just – I've really wanted to tell you that for a long time now. I want to tell you that every day."
He wiped a small tear with the pad of his thumb and gave her another kiss. James led her towards their huge fireplace, grabbed a pinch of Floo powder, and threw it inside the fireplace.
"Merry Christmas, love," was his goodbye when Hermione stepped inside the fireplace and disappeared with a flash of roaring, emerald green.
-ooo-
When Hermione stumbled out of the fireplace, Peter and Anya were lounging on one of the couches, seemingly deep in conversation.
"Why in Merlin's name were you so surprised at the twelve-course meal, Mum?" she heard Peter ask.
Anya sheepishly smiled and glanced at her daughter, who by then had walked closer and was curious also. Her mother's expression a while ago had definitely piqued her interest.
"Purebloods rarely invite guests for a twelve-course meal," the older witch slowly started. "Twelve is a special number for Purebloods, you see. Symbolises completion, perfection, and harmony. Everything a true Pureblood covets for his family and future heirs. And so, twelve course dinners are usually reserved for very special occasions. Like the birth of an heir, the death of a patriarch, or—"
"Betrothal of an heir," Hermione answered with a deep sigh.
Anya gave her an apologetic smile while Peter blanched in shock.
"Betrothal?!" her brother sputtered out. Hermione snorted at the ridiculous look on his face as she bent down and removed her high-heeled shoes. "But… But Hermione has just turned seventeen! And she hasn't even graduated from Hogwarts yet." His eyes comically widened when he looked back at Hermione. "James already asked you to marry him?"
Her cheeks reddened. "No," she said, walking towards the couch and plopping beside her mother. Hermione instantly curled up against Anya, who wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders.
"Then why—" Peter became deeply confused. "So, that wasn't a simple dinner after all?"
"I'm afraid not," Anya said, clutching onto Peter's arm to give it a comforting squeeze. "But we can all pretend it is if we don't want to acknowledge what the Potters have done." Her mother placed a kiss against Hermione's temple. "I'm sure it wasn't their intention to pressure you, sweetheart. I think… I think maybe James had mentioned in passing what he planned to do with you and for you in the future, and his parents may have gotten excited."
Hermione miserably snuggled against her mother's shoulder, having this inkling that James might have confessed to his parents that he loved her.
"Are you all right, Hermione?" her mother softly asked, touching one of her cheeks. "You've been quiet since you returned."
"Did something happen?" Peter added, worry also thick in his voice. "I didn't buy James's excuse. I saw your tears, Hermione. What happened?"
The brunette wryly smiled and merely wrapped her arms around her mother's waist. "Don't worry about me," she whispered. "It was nothing."
"Hermione—"
She extricated herself from her mother and stood up, lest they continued pestering her to tell them what was truly bothering her. "I'm going to call it a day," she announced. "Merlin, I'm really knackered."
Peter was on his feet too, but Hermione had already bent down to get her shoes and had silently padded back to her bedroom.
Now that she was fully facing away from her mother and brother, she allowed her tears to fall again.
December 26, 1978
Hermione slowly opened her eyes as an incessant tapping on her window pane disturbed her light sleep.
She glared at her alarm clock which showed it was three in the morning, then glared at the silhouette of a huge, black owl tapping his beak against her window.
Hermione groaned and pulled herself up, trudging blearily towards her window to let the greater sooty owl in. Mercury hooted his displeasure for making him wait, before he landed on her wooden desk and stuck out his leg.
"Bloody Regulus," she murmured under her breath as she untied the letter from his leg. Mercury hooted haughtily once more before opening his wings and taking flight, not bothering to stay and wait for Hermione's reply.
I finally got the diary. I'm going to figure out how to send it to you. Don't worry, it's safely hidden inside my trunk with good enough warding spells.
Also, you were right. You-Know-Who asked to borrow Kreacher on the 1st of January for a field trip - he didn't disclose details with me. I agreed, of course, as you told me to. I'm going to owl you as soon as he returns Kreacher to me.
Be safe. Merry Christmas.
R.A.B.
A/N: Um, I hope you liked the formal Christmas dinner with the Potters hehe. I had so much fun writing this chapter, as you can see from the length of this chapter haha! I'm a huge sucker for the cliche of rendering your boyfriend speechless after dressing up so prettily lmao i'm sorry ahaha.
See you tomorrow!
With love,
WickedlyAwesomeMe
P.S. Follow me on tumblr (kimmy-writes)!