A/N: This one's a little longer than you've become used to, so enjoy. Updates will be sporadic until the end of April, since I'll be going on a one-month-vacation, starting this Friday. Perhaps I'll give you an update or to while I'm away, but I can't say when I'll have access to internet, so better not expect anything regular. The next two chapters are already written, though, so here's to hoping. :)
Till then, take care, (re)read and review ;)
Marcella xxx
Thursday, January 2nd, 1996
The new year of 1996 had begun as it should, at least in the opinion of one very insistent Marauder – with Sirius Black's name tumbling from Hermione Granger's lips as he spilled himself inside her.
Having bugged Remus for the details of the fairy tale of Cinderella, Sirius had come to Hermione later that night with the full intention of spending the countdown towards the new year inside her. As he had said, Cinderella had only transformed back to the common girl everybody knew her as at the twelfth stroke of midnight, meaning he had a few precious seconds of 1996 to spend with her. His reasoning outsmarting her own for once, Hermione had acquiesced, and had accommodated his wish.
Nobody, except maybe Remus, had suspected anything, when Hermione had begged off to the toilet and Sirius had claimed to go and fetch some more liquor a couple of minutes before midnight. Of course, the Weasleys and Harry had chided Hermione for 'missing the stroke of midnight', but Hermione could not bring herself to regret having chosen the strokes of one Sirius Black instead, to be enjoyed inside his late father's second study – because who could be content with only one? – where there was an ancient grandfather clock to chime the full hour.
After that, things had gone back to normal, or as normal as they could, regarding the circumstances. Sirius had taken only a day to warm up to Hermione again, outwardly at least, giving the impression that nothing had changed between the two of them – or rather, that nothing had been changed between the two of them in the first place that might have changed back to how things had been before, well, 'nothing' had changed.
All that was left for Hermione to do now was to ponder a couple of questions that she had put off for far too long. Dipping underneath the full bath tub she was enjoying, she breathed through the soapy liquid around her, the Occlumency exercise helping her concentrate. She needed a way to give the blood diamond to Professor Snape, for him to carry against his skin so that the protection might work on him, and she needed a way to secretly communicate with him if she wanted to be able to call on him when the need struck her.
When realization gripped her, Hermione had to come up for air. She cursed herself for allowing the surprise at her own stroke of genius to break her concentration, but busied herself with emptying her lungs of water and soap first. Eventually relaxing back against the edge of the tub, Hermione went through the details of her idea again and found that it fit all the necessary requirements.
Before, she had always seen the two questions as separate from one another. That was mainly for the reason that one issue had come to her far earlier than the other had. After all, she had begun to ponder how to secretly converse with the Potions Master just a few days after he had named his price, at the very beginning of November. The question of the blood diamond hadn't arisen until December, when she'd decided on the ritual.
Now, however, Hermione saw that the two issues could easily be merged into one problem. Breaking the questions down into their essentials, both could be answered the same way: an object was needed that was easy to hide, so either small or unsuspicious enough, when carried on one's body at all times. And the answer to both was a watch. More specifically, Hermione's grandfather's watch.
The watch had become a tradition in her family, albeit a rather short-lived one up until now. It had been part of her grandmother's dowry when she had married Hermione's grandfather. He had worn it until their first and only child had been born, Hermione's mother, who had then received the watch to give to her own husband upon their marriage. When Hermione had been born, her father had put the watch into a safe deposit box, to be given to Hermione when she was to be married herself.
Hermione was well aware that her relationship with the professor was nothing like the marriage her parents led, or like the one her grandparents had shared. Then again, she had promised him her sexual fidelity, to be broken only with partners he had approved of beforehand. And as many marriages might become over the years, their arrangement would be difficult from the start.
Of course, Hermione had no intention of getting impregnated by the dour Potions Master, or anybody for that matter, until the war was over. But then again, she could always ask for the watch back after the war was won, seeing as Professor Snape would not be needing the diamond's protection then anymore. She only hoped that he was not sentimental, or possessive, or simply spiteful enough to deny her the watch back. That required him accepting the watch in the first place, naturally, but Hermione hoped against her better knowledge that this would not pose a problem.
Checking the facts again, a watch was perfect. It was worn against the skin and was not so out of place that it would seem suspicious. In fact, Hermione knew that it was a wizarding tradition to gift a watch for a wizard's seventeenth birthday, so they were at least worn in the wizarding world just as they were in the muggle world. She trusted Professor Snape to be able to sufficiently lie about why in the world he had elected to begin wearing a watch, so Hermione decided not to worry about that herself.
The question was how to incorporate the blood diamond into the watch, and how to secretly communicate via the item. The latter was relatively easy; all that was needed was a variation of the Protean charm. Of course, how to charm the watch so that any messages would show up in an encryption that was safe enough not to be decrypted by just anybody, yet still easy to decipher for the professor was a wholly different question, one that might require some research.
The watch being a mechanical one, created before battery-driven watches had emerged on the market, Hermione also needed to find a way to move its innards in a manner that the watch would still function, but that the blood diamond could be incorporated, so that it rested against the bearer's skin.
One problem down, two new issues come up, Hermione thought to herself, and, sighing, left the tub. These questions were to be addressed in the Black library.
Monday, January 6th, 1996
A few days later, Hermione was spending another day ensconced in the library, when a knock on the door frame made her look up.
"Kingsley," she greeted the handsome Auror standing in the entrance, "a happy new year to you!"
"And to you, princess," he answered in his usual deep voice, sending shivers across Hermione's spine all the way down to her toes. Crossing the room until he stood behind the couch she was sitting on, he leaned down to her, cupping her face with one hand that slid back into the curls at the nape of her neck, increasing her pleasant shivers by a factor that escaped Hermione's grasp of numerology, and tilted her head so that he could place a warm kiss onto her forehead.
When he chuckled benevolently, Hermione opened her eyes, coming to the realization that she must have closed them at some point in time, and wondered when that might have been and how much time had passed since then. The gentle, gentleman-like kiss had surprised her, when perhaps it shouldn't have, yet she had completely lost all grasp on her surroundings when she'd become lost in the sensation of his lips against her skin, innocuous as the gesture had been.
"I'm only stopping by," Kingsley spoke when it became clear that Hermione was still a little lost for words. "I'm going into town to run a few errands for Molly today and wanted to ask if I could get you anything."
"What did the others ask for?" Hermione asked to buy herself some time to get her thoughts in order.
"What others?"
Kingsley winked at her and Hermione felt her cheeks light up like a Christmas tree, a warmth creeping into her face that she had often experienced with Sirius, though in a completely different part of her body. That he had come to only her to ask what she might need, moved Hermione in a way that was somewhat foreign, yet entirely enjoyable for her.
"In fact," Hermione began, wondering if it was wise to abuse his offer this intensely right away, "I would like to ask you for a favour."
"Anything," Kingsley promised right away.
"A rather big favour," Hermione amended cautiously. "A huge one, really."
"If it's in my power," Kingsley replied, and another wink told her that there wasn't much that was not in his power, "I'll grant you any favour you could ask."
"Are you going into Muggle London?" Hermione asked.
"As a matter of fact, I am," he confirmed, now slightly apprehensive.
There was no use in stalling any longer, Hermione knew, and plunged right in.
"Might I come?"
"Hermione," Kingsley began, drawing out her name, and that he'd used her name in the first place was sign enough for the girl in question to shut him off.
"I need to retrieve something," she elaborated, "something only I can get to, and I need to get something done."
"Done?"
"It's rather private," Hermione explained, blushing even further at the implications behind that statement, "and I need it soon, so it can't wait."
Kingsley studied her for a few moments longer, then came to a decision.
"Do you have the money for all of that?"
"I will," Hermione answered, "when we've checked our first stop. I need to get something from my safe deposit box at a bank, and there should be cash in there as well."
"I would have to speak with Molly about this," Kingsley stated, "seeing as you're practically under her care here."
"Please don't," Hermione begged. "You know what she would say, and it wouldn't be favourable towards me. Ask Professor Dumbledore instead, please? It's for my assignment," she added as a last thought, knowing that if Kingsley relayed that message to the Headmaster, his answer would most probably be yes.
"For your assignment," Kingsley echoed, sceptical. He eyed her for a minute, then acquiesced. "Alright," he stated, "but if the Headmaster is busy, we might need to wait for his answer for a while."
"I'm sure we'll find a way to pass the time," Hermione asserted with a smile on her face. "I promise I'll make it worth your time."
"Will you now, princess," Kingsley muttered, and the way her pet name fell from his lips had Hermione shudder all over again.
Still having her fixed firmly under his darkened gaze, Kingsley spoke the words "Expecto Patronum", and a magnificent silver lynx erupted from his wand in a blaze of light.
"Miss Hermione Granger wishes to accompany me into Muggle London," Kingsley spoke to the patiently waiting animal. "I would ask your permission to take her."
Hermione cursed the shiver that wracked her whole body at his second sentence, the implication of its ambiguity sending the heat that had been in her face before now down to her core. Kingsley looked at her quizzically, but the darkness of his eyes told her that he knew exactly what he'd just said and was simply searching her face for her reaction to his words.
Just when Kingsley's gaze softened slightly, apparently satisfied with what he'd found in Hermione's eyes, a tiny golden feather fell between the two of them. Kingsley grinned.
"It seems your request was granted, princess," he said. "Anything you need to grab before we go?"
"As a matter of fact, yes," Hermione replied, panicked that she hadn't thought about it before now. "Will you wait here? I'll need a couple of minutes, but I'll be right back."
"Take your time, princess," Kingsley assured her. "This is my day off, and it's just gotten a lot better than I'd imagined it might."
His radiant smile sent a weakness to her knees that made descending the stairs a little difficult, but Hermione managed anyway. Searching her trunk for the key to her safe deposit box that she luckily never travelled without, and for the little velvet back containing the blood diamond, she was back with Kingsley in no time.
"Okay," she said, "I'm ready."
Kingsley looked her up and down. Hermione felt that her face was still glowing, both from running the stairs down and up again, and from the Auror's attention.
"Alright, then," Kingsley eventually said, "let's grab your coat and off we go."
Once they had stood on the front porch together, Kingsley had drawn Hermione close, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Knowing what would be coming, Hermione braced herself, but nothing could have prepared her for the actual feeling of being squeezed through a tube far too thin for the two of them. Having arrived at their destination – a dingy, narrow alley –, Kingsley led her to a long-closed shop front. There, he spelled clean a small area on the window and bade her lean her forehead against the cold glass. Hermione's breathing exercises helped quell her rise of nausea, as did the slow, languid circles Kingsley's broad hands were rubbing over her back.
After a few moments, Hermione felt alright again, and together the two of them made off into central London.
Kingsley kept her close. Chivalrous as the gesture was, and Hermione couldn't help feeling flattered, she knew that his offering his arm to her was more for her security than for any other reason. Still, there was no way for her to keep the pleasant warmth spreading through her whole body, from the inside out, at being in public on the arm of such a handsome man. That he kept Hermione on his left arm made perfect sense. Not only did he tend to Disapparate by turning clockwise, so the motion would force Hermione into spinning with him much faster as she was on the outer end of the radius to the circle he would be turning in; Kingsley would also need his right arm in a wand duel.
They reached the bank where Hermione's safe deposit box was stored far quicker than she might have liked. The clerk ushered the two of them to the back, where they were led to a room to open the box safely. He hesitated when he saw that Kingsley made no move to leave Hermione's side.
"If you wish for me to ensure your privacy, ma'am," he offered, "I will gladly offer your companion a cup of tea while he waits for you to return."
Hermione looked from the clerk to Kingsley and back.
"Oh no," she laughed, "that is alright, thank you very much. Unless, of course," she now addressed Kingsley, suddenly realizing that he might rather have a cup of tea than accompany her, "you would prefer that?"
"I would rather not leave you out of my eyes, princess, if you don't mind," Kingsley said seriously, though there sat the hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth.
"I would like for you to be here," Hermione confessed.
The clerk looked between the two of them, his moving head looking as if he was following a tennis match.
"Please, ma'am," he tried again, "I can always call security if this man is bothering you."
"This man," Hermione improvised, drawing herself up to her full height which was, admittedly, regrettably short, "is my uncle, so I would ask you not to presume too much, Mr… Johnson," she read his nametag and had to blush immediately, being carried back to much more pleasurable memories in the company of the delightful Miss Johnson.
The clerk's eyes narrowed, clearly not believing the lie. Hermione realized that it was relatively incredible for her to have a black uncle. If there was a way for Kingsley to be her relative, then only by law, and if they were merely in-laws, then why would she insist on having him with her when opening her safe deposit box?
"I'm her godfather, actually," Kingsley offered, and something seemed to click behind the clerk's eyes, now far less suspicious. "Hermione asked me to accompany her today, as we are choosing a birthday present for her father, my best mate. Is there a problem with that, sir?"
His deep, soothing voice could have calmed a raging sand storm. As it was, the clerk was putty in Kingsley's hands.
"No problem, sir, none at all," he was quick to assure. "Take your time, ma'am."
Thanking the eager clerk once again, Hermione entered the room. Placing the safe deposit box onto the table in the middle of the room, she heard the key being turned in the lock behind her. A moment later, Kingsley was at her side.
"You have a lot to learn, princess," he chuckled, and Hermione jumped when she realized how close he was. "Your uncle, really. Somebody ought to teach you how to lie better."
Hermione blushed. After all, that was exactly what Professor Snape was attempting to do.
Instead of engaging in that particular conversation with him, Hermione asked Kingsley, "Could you check the room for CCTV, please? There shouldn't be any cameras, but I want to be sure."
Kingsley didn't move except burrow his hands deep inside his robes. A minute later, he stated, "All clear."
"Intentional magic?" Hermione asked, wishing an explanation on how he'd checked the room so quickly and without moving.
"Indeed," Kingsley confirmed her guess, and it took all of Hermione's willpower not to give in to the shudder that longed to shake her whole body.
Kingsley's voice and choice of reply had sent her back to the last Potions class before the Christmas holidays, when Professor Snape had been standing so closely behind her, his hardness pressing into the crevice of her bum, arousing her so. That Kingsley was in a similar situation with her now, in a room where nobody could see them, her standing in front of a table and him closely behind her, overwhelmed Hermione.
She stepped around the table until it was between her and Kingsley, drew the box towards her, and unlocked the lid. Carefully opening the box, she found what she'd been looking for right away.
The watch in itself was not valuable enough to warrant storing it in a safe deposit box. Of course, it had been a very expensive item once upon a time, as all mechanical watches had been back then, but its highest value today lay in sentiment only.
Taking the item out, opening the back, and placing the watch on the table, facing down, Hermione raised her head to look Kingsley in the eye.
"May I ask for a rather outrageous favour, Kingsley?" she asked hesitantly.
The man in question sighed.
"Ask away, princess," he replied. "If it is in my power, I will give it to you."
Hermione worried her lower lip for a moment or two, then spoke.
"I need to use your wand."
Kingsley gaped at her for a few seconds, before he seemed to find his voice again.
"Prove me wrong, princess," he eventually began, "but if I've heard you right, you just asked me to use my wand, and no matter how I twist and turn the meaning of that question, the result is either highly forward or highly intrusive, and I'm not sure which option to go with."
"Please, Kingsley," Hermione almost begged, "my wandless magic isn't good enough for this, and I can hardly use my own wand, now can I? Please, this is really important to me."
"Well," Kingsley sighed, and the breathiness of that one syllable almost took Hermione's breath away, "my answer is no, I will not let you use my wand. But," he raised his voice, cutting off whatever protest or begging Hermione had wanted to interrupt him with, "I will allow you the use of my hand. Do it right, and your intention will flow right through my fingers into the wand, and it will be as if you used your own magic."
"Can it go wrong?" Hermione asked. It would not do, after all, to destroy what they had come here for.
"Either it works, or nothing happens," Kingsley assured her. "Even if you botch it up, there will be no negative effect other than a minute of your life spent in vain, but then again, we will spend that minute together, and certainly there must be some merit in that?"
He winked at her, and there was no question as to whether Hermione might decline. She didn't.
Kingsley crossed around the table and came to stand behind her. Hermione heard him draw his wand, and suddenly her back was pressed into his chest and his right arm came sneaking around her.
"Put your hand on mine, princess," he instructed her.
Hermione did as she was bid. Kingsley's skin was warm beneath her fingers, far warmer than her own. Somehow, touching his hand seemed far more intimate to Hermione than the couple of kisses he had pressed to her forehead; as if there was an emotional basis for the contact in addition to the sexual attraction. That was, of course, assuming Kingsley felt attracted to her, of which Hermione wasn't in the least bit certain.
Kingsley's strong fingers maintained a light grip on the length of wood between them. Hermione rested her fingers on top of his. Her digits were far shorter than his, and again Hermione had opportunity to revel in the contrast of ebony and ivory.
"Now try and focus on what you're attempting to do, not how," Kingsley murmured into her ear. "Feel the power flow through you, channel it into the wand, and work your magic."
They were both perfectly still for a few moments. Hermione could not say whether it was fifteen minutes or fifteen seconds, but their breaths were in sync, facilitating her concentration. When she felt ready, Hermione led the wand in the movements the tomes of the Black library had suggested to her. She was barely aware of Kingsley's fingers lying between hers and the slim piece of wood, so intent was she on getting this to work. Her eyes fixed on her grandfather's watch, Hermione had to force herself to keep concentrating, rather than celebrating early, when the inner machinery of the watch moved further to the outside, twisting and stretching in a way that in the middle, there was a triangle left.
Only when every little part had come to rest again, did Hermione allow herself a whoop of joy, reluctantly letting go of Kingsley's hand in the process.
"Thank you, Kingsley, thank you," she said, turning her head until she could look him in the eye, "without you, I could never have done that."
"Without my wand," he corrected her, an easy smile on his face telling her that he wasn't serious, "witches only seem to want me for my wand."
"I'm sure that's not true," Hermione countered seriously. "You are an Auror, Kingsley. That is a prestigious and well-paid job. I'm sure they want you for your position and money, as well."
Her wink was no use against the tickling attack Kingsley bestowed upon her at her cheeky words. Only when she begged him to cease, and thirty more seconds had passed in which Hermione felt like she was suffocating to death from her intense laughter, did he back off.
Catching her breath, Hermione almost didn't catch his next words.
"You've changed since we last spoke, princess," Kingsley said out of the blue.
"Have I?" Hermione asked, playing innocent.
"Yes, you have," Kingsley confirmed. After a pause, he added, "Black seemed very happy last time I saw him."
"Oh, you know how he is," Hermione tried to play things off, "he likes having people around him."
Kingsley hummed. Hermione failed to discern whether it was in agreement or in scepticism.
"People," Kingsley echoed, "sure."
Another moment of silence passed. Then:
"It wasn't him, though."
Hermione looked up at the Auror.
"No," she agreed, "it wasn't him. Funnily enough, he suspected you."
"Somehow, I can't imagine he found that funny at all."
"I didn't say it was funny for him. He caused quite the scene, actually. Luckily, Remus was there – well, if you would find it lucky when a man you trusted intervenes by insulting you, making your quasi-boyfriend apologize on said man's behalf, thus calming the situation down a little."
"I wouldn't call that lucky," Kingsley said, his brow furrowed.
"Oh yeah? Neither would I," Hermione confessed, her voice small.
Without another word, Kingsley drew her into his arms, enveloping her in his body heat and his calming presence, both factors warming Hermione in an utterly relaxing way that seemed to suck all the negative emotions out of her that had crept into her head and heart during their conversation.
"Why did you argue about me at all?" Kingsley finally asked. The rumbling of his voice went straight through Hermione as the vibrations of his torso travelled over onto her own body. "How did I come up in discussion?"
Hermione swallowed thickly.
"I – I ended things between us, just a few days ago, and he suspected that I was going back to my first… partner. He thought that might have been you."
"And are you?"
Hermione dared not lift her head from where it was rested against Kingsley's chest. She was not quite certain what he was asking her – was she going back to her first partner or was she coming to him?
"Am I what?"
Kingsley sighed. He seemed to be doing a lot of that today, Hermione thought, but then again, she probably brought him to so much trouble that it was simply necessary for him to take a deep breath now and again.
"Is the watch for him?"
"Sirius? No."
"I take it you don't want to talk about it, princess, but please," Kingsley said, "if that is the case, then just tell me you don't want to have this conversation. Do me the courtesy not to play dumb with me."
The way he emphasized the last word, Hermione felt that Kingsley valued their friendship – for they did seem to have become fast friends over their past few interactions – almost as much as she did.
"I'm sorry, Kingsley," she said. "It's not exactly that I don't want to talk about it. It's just that there's not much that I can say."
"He's older and you can't elaborate beyond that. It's new and unconventional, and neither of you wants to make it public."
Those weren't questions, and they both knew it.
Hermione sighed, giving Kingsley the confirmation he hadn't been asking for.
Taking a step back and thus leaving his embrace, Hermione said, "To the jeweller's next?"
"Wow, you're taking things fast, aren't you?" Kingsley joked, and the mood considerably lightened. "Come on now, princess, let's get out of here."
After having locked the safe deposit box and having handed it back to the clerk who offered them tea once more (which they declined), the two of them were back out on the streets of London. Walking leisurely down the road, they went looking for a jeweller. They skipped a few of the large brand stores, as Hermione wanted to go to a craftsman, not simply a vendor. They eventually found a small shop tucked into the corner of a side alley, and went inside.
Once inside, an elderly man greeted them. Kingsley went to look at some of the displays, giving Hermione some privacy to converse with who she assumed to be the shop owner.
"Good morning, miss," the man greeted her with a toothy smile, "welcome to Manderly & Sons. How may I help you today?"
"Good morning," Hermione returned his friendly welcome, "I was looking to set a stone into this watch. Here…"
Her reason for going to a muggle jeweller, rather than just implementing the stone by magic as she had changed the innards of the watch, was that she had no idea how the blood diamond would react to external magic. Setting the gem by hand, she assumed, was the safer choice.
Hermione carefully pulled the watch from where she had lovingly stored it in her pocket, opening the back to show the jeweller the inside.
"Well, blow me away, miss," the old man exclaimed in an almost reverent whisper, "this is something I've never seen before, and I've seen quite the number of curiosities in my lifetime. This, however, all the cogs and wheels in a circle around a perfect triangle… No, this is craftsmanship as I've never seen before. And you wish to set a stone in there? In the back? That's rather unusual."
"Unusual, yes," Hermione agreed, "but possible? I wish for the stone to rest against the skin of the one wearing the watch, so the back lid of the watch would need to accommodate that. Just the point of the stone, mind you, but it needs to be in skin contact at all times."
The jeweller took the watch carefully in hand. Turning it this way and that, he pondered Hermione's requirements.
"Yes, miss," he finally judged, "that should be perfectly possible. Of course, it would be better if the person in question were to come here, so that I could adjust the band…" At Hermione's vehement shake of the head in the negative, he amended, "…but of course, that is not necessary at all. As for the stone - do you have something in particular in mind?"
"As a matter of fact," Hermione said, pulling out the tiny velvet bag, "I do…"
And with that, she set the bag onto the counter between herself and the shop owner, loosened the draw string, and pulled out the blood diamond.
It was a sight magnificent to behold. Tiny in size, no higher than Hermione's little finger was slim, it held a wondrous kind of magic both in beauty and in power. Apparently that magic was palpable for muggles, as well.
"Holy Christ, miss," the man exclaimed once more, "this is –"
Kingsley had crossed the shop in the split of a second.
"Will you excuse me and my goddaughter for a moment, good sir?" he asked politely, yet with an air so assertive that the jeweller could do nothing but agree.
Once the old man had disappeared into the back of the shop, Kingsley turned to Hermione.
"This is no common stone," he said, and his expression meant business. "Hermione, princess, this is not a jewel to give away lightly."
"You think I don't know that?" Hermione shot back, confused that he would even know of what nature the blood diamond was, and even more confused that he would interfere with her decision. "Do you think I'm handing this to just anybody? That this was a spur of the moment decision?"
"Of course not," Kingsley conceded. "I simply wish for you to understand that this is a huge gift, even grander than what you gave to procure this in the first place."
"How do you even know about this?" she asked.
Kingsley sighed, then took her right hand in his left. Lifting their hands until Hermione could comfortably see them, he turned his over so that she might peruse his fingers. Hermione looked at him quizzically, until Kingsley whispered the counterspell to the disillusionment he had laid over his ring finger.
A slim gold band appeared, and Hermione gasped at the implications. Was he married? Engaged at the very least? And not available to her in any case, she who had no intention and even less opportunity, not to speak of permission, of ever availing herself of the Auror in the first place?
The emotions must have been obvious on her face, as Kingsley turned and twisted the ring until the stone that had formerly been hidden under his fingers in the palm of his hand now rested on top. It was a small diamond, so black that it was almost completely opaque.
Hermione looked up into his face, feeling the question burning in her eyes.
"It was my mother's," Kingsley said quietly. "Not as pure as yours, of course, but sprung from similar magic. She burned the sheets of her wedding bed on my seventeenth birthday, when I'd crossed into the realm of adulthood. The ashes were compressed into this diamond. I've kept it on me ever since."
"Why –" Hermione began to ask, but realized that the question was far too personal.
"Why didn't she give it to my father?" Kingsley understood her query anyway. "Theirs was an arranged marriage, and she was a powerful witch in her own right, as was my father a powerful wizard. She had no desire to hand her husband any more power, simple as that. He didn't ask for it either, the way they both told me. They made the decision to harvest her virginal magic anyway, gifting it to their first child to make it into adulthood."
Kingsley looked down to where her hand was clasped in his, studying the ring as if he was seeing it for the first time.
"I was the youngest of four siblings. My two elder brothers died while they were still young; I never met either of them. My sister was abducted and killed when she was sixteen. After that, only I was left. I will never forget the look on my mother's face when she and her father handed me the diamond. They left for the continent soon after that. I've never seen them again."
Hermione couldn't help it; her eyes were filled with tears. When Kingsley raised his gaze to her face again, he smiled sadly and cupped her cheeks in his hands, letting her hand go in the motion. His thumbs wiped unshed tears from underneath her eyes, before he drew her close and pressed his lips to her forehead. They stood like that for a while, stuck in the kiss that took Hermione's sorrow at the Auror's past away.
"Are you certain in your decision, princess?" Kingsley eventually asked. Whether seconds had passed or hours, Hermione could not tell, nor did she particularly care. He pulled back from where he'd whispered the words against her forehead, now looking her in the eye with a searching gaze.
"I am, Kingsley," Hermione answered him honestly, "I really am."
"I feel like I might need a cup of tea after this, after all," he sighed.
Hermione grinned up at him.
"Perhaps we should make on more stop at the bank?" she jested. "I would assume that if you ask him nicely, Mr Johnson will be so accommodating as to offer you a double espresso, as well."
"Oh, I don't know, princess," Kingsley smirked back at her, "I believe that would only work if you were the one to ask him. Play into his saviour's complex, young man saving young girl from mean old black guy."
"I have no desire to play into anything with that man," Hermione asserted. "And I don't think you're old, Kingsley."
"But mean?"
"Only when you start tickling me out of the blue."
Kingsley laughed, a deep, booming sound that had Hermione's heart swell in happiness. It also brought the shop owner back to the front, who looked at them, silently asking for permission to join the conversation.
"Very well, then," Kingsley said, "if you're sure, princess, then let's get this done with."
Coming up: Chapter thirty, wherein an uncomfortable discussion is interrupted by a complete cure.