an: I'm so excited for you all to read this chapter – enjoy!
Chapter Ten: Crestmoor & Marseille
Kingsley had been for awake for well over twenty-four hours but adrenaline, anger, and a combination of disgust and friendship kept him going. Hermione and Kingsley arrived to the Manor in short order, since Draco was safe at Hogwarts. Upon a harried arrival, Hermione recounted to a confused Narcissa Lucius' instructions. If she was upset that her husband had been arrested, the witch did not show it. In quick succession, Narcissa snapped orders to her house elf, Mipsy. It frustrated Hermione, but she granted Narcissa leeway and practiced patience. Her god-mother was being forced to flee her home under the threat of a madman. House elf rights could wait.
They had precious minutes to pack their things and transfer them to the family's country cottage. Thank Merlin for magic as their items were minimized and quickly stowed away for transport.
It was a calm June night, but rather than fly, they Apparated to the one-turreted cottage that sat on an outcrop of hills. The cottage was outfitted with old stone barriers and surrounded by fields of lush green grass on all sides.
By time Hermione, Kingsley, and Narcissa opened the front door to the wood-paneled home, elves busied about unpacking their Mistress' things. Kingsley brought up the rear, stalking about the premises as if searching for something.
"Narcissa, I require a pensieve," he cut-in, usually short.
Only dressed in bedrobe and a light cloak, Narcissa used her wand to fan the flames of the lone fireplace that sat in the middle of the comfortable living room. The house was fully furnished, but compared to the Manor, was considerably less grand in scale.
Narcissa pursed her lips as she thought through the request. "I'll have to send one of the elves back to the Manor. Lucius has one in his study."
Kingsley nodded. "Please see that you do." His entire manner was gruff and off, as he paced about the room, his wand tapping against his thigh; he was clearly agitated.
Hermione blamed it on the aftermath of battle.
Narcissa saw more to it, though she did not comment.
Seeking to change the subject, Hermione asked, "Is this house under a Fidelius charm?"
Narcissa turned from Kingsley to her god-daughter. "Yes, it was a Muggle property actually. We acquired it after Lucius and I married and outfitted it with wards of our own design. We both agreed we needed a place that was not family property and thus, unknown to the Ministry, should we ever need to escape."
Kingsley snorted. "And we now know why."
Narcissa continued, shooting Kingsley a curious glance, "As it stands, I am its secret keeper and the only people who know about its existence besides Lucius and Draco, and now yourselves, is Severus."
Mipsy appeared with a pensieve in tow.
"Finally," Kingsley huffed as he took the object from the elf.
"Please tell me what else happened at the Ministry?" Narcissa asked to his back as he set to work. "You show up unannounced, in the middle of the night, saying Lucius said we were to flee, but give me nothing further. What is going on?"
Kingsley shook his head, agitated. "Not now, Narcissa."
"Please, my husband has been arrested—"
"And my wife was murdered!" he shouted, suddenly unable to hold it in any longer. The room shook from the release of power as Kingsley sought to rein in his magic. Hermione bit her lip, heartbroken, to watch the man suffer.
Kingsley sighed and apologized for the outburst. Wearily, he admitted, "Lucius gave me his memories of that night before he was taken away. It's just… it's been a rough night, Narcissa," he finished quietly as he ran his wand over the runes of the pensieve, activating its magic.
Hermione continued for her father where he could not, "Bellatrix said Lucius was there the night Marie was murdered."
Narcissa's eyes went wide. "Bellatrix was at the Ministry tonight?"
Kingsley nodded. "She threatened Emmeline," he slipped and called her Hermione by her birth name. Normally, he made an effort to call her by the name of her choosing. To slip now showed the extent of his exhaustion. "Later, Lucius said he wasn't the one to do it, but he gave me his memories anyway." Kingsley peered at Narcissa. "Narcissa, did you know about this?"
Glancing between Hermione and Kingsley, Narcissa replied after a moment's hesitation, "I had suspected. Lucius would never speak about that night, or much else whenever he left to that madman's bidding. But I do know when he returned home that evening, that is when the drinking began. I don't think he's ever forgiven himself for it, whatever part he played. I did not dare to broach the subject."
Kingsley pinched his nose and shut his eyes as Hermione moved to sit on the couch. She was suddenly weary from standing, running, and fighting. Drained, she reclined on the couch.
Kingsley moved closer to Narcissa, his voice lowered for the sake of his daughter resting nearby. "And you never told me?"
She replied in equally hushed tones, "What good would it do to ruin a friendship over a suspicion? And Lucius is my husband. Despite his faults, I love him and will protect him." Narcissa looked to Hermione who had started to doze on the couch. "She has been through too much this evening, surely you cannot mean to do this now?" She levitated a blanket towards the dozing teen.
Kingsley vowed quietly as he poured the memories into the pensieve, "I do not ever intend on her seeing this." He looked to Narcissa for a moment. "Do wish to see?"
Narcissa warred with the indecision, before nodding. "If only so you won't be alone."
With that, the two entered the pensieve, venturing sixteen years into the past.
They were in the Muggle world. Kingsley recognized the town square in the middle of Cambridge, even though it was in the middle of the night.
"We'll break off into pairs," Bellatrix spoke to the group of Death Eaters gathered about. "I'll take the Longbottoms, Dolohov and Lucius will take the Shacklebolts."
"The Auror?" Lucius repeated, as if he had heard incorrectly.
Bellatrix smiled toothily. "Problem, Lucius? Our Dark Lord has requested this of you. Do you have a problem with his request?"
"No," he shook his head. "Of course not." Lucius clipped to the man beside him as he pocketed his wand, "Antonin, let's go."
The scene shifted as Lucius Malfoy and Antonin Doholov Apparated into a dark alley. Kingsley sickeningly recognized it as one close to his family home.
As they lay in the wait in the alley way, a lone figure appeared at the other end. As the figure approached, they could make out blond curls under the cloak of her hood.
The line of sight their's, Antonin accio'ed the witch's wand with a flourish, leaving her defenseless. She gasped at the move as Lucius and Antonin revealed themselves. Marie could not identify them behind their ivory masks.
"Well, well what do we have here?" Antonin teased to the obviously terrified witch. "Travelling by your lonesome, dove?"
Marie backed away as Antonin Apparated directly behind her, effectively trapping her within the alley. "P-Please. Let me go!" She held the infant, his god-daughter, close to her chest. Emmeline started to wail. "I promise not to tell anyone."
Antonin pulled the hood of her cloak from her head, spilling her hair free and whispered into ear, "What would you give us in exchange for your silence?"
Lucius was offended, but had not yet moved to take part on this attack. "Antonin, she is a pureblood! Not some trifle thing to play with."
Antonin laughed as he responded, "She is pretty and scared. Again, what would you give us to let you go?" he posed the question to the frightened witch.
Marie looked around, as if searching for someone to come to her aid. But no one was coming. "Anything, just please... let me and my daughter live. We have taken no sides in this war," she begged as Emmeline cried louder.
Swallowing thickly, Lucius sought to re-direct, "Antonin, I fear we must leave. The infant's cries will lead someone to us."
"Then shut the infant up, Lucius!" Antonin snarled, as he pushed a stunned Marie into the wall, his hands furiously pulling at her cloak and clothes.
Marie gasped as she fell against the wall in shock, the hurt clear in her eyes. She held her infant tightly to her. "Lucius?!"
Antonin chuckled, amused. "Oh-ho. Looks like someone has recognized you, Lucius. We can't let her get away now. Now come here, pet."
But Marie was angry. Turning so she held her infant in one hand, she physically scratched and fought the Death Eater. Though she had no wand, she fought for her and her daughter's life.
No longer frozen by inaction, Lucius rushed forward and came to her rescue. He pulled the wizard off of her, refusing to let his partner brutalize her any longer. "Enough!" he snarled to Antonin. "Run, Marie," Lucius said behind his mask.
"You bloody traitor, wait until I tell the Dark Lord!"
The two men fought, and Marie covered the baby with her body as he tried to scoot around the men in the tight alleyway.
Lucius ducked and blocked a barrage of spells while Antonin screamed murder. Lucius narrowly missed an Avada, before the world tipped to black.
The memory began again as Lucius awoke. They were back at the rendezvous point, away from the alley. He lifted his mask to vomit on the ground, physically ill at the sight of the Dark Mark over the alleyway they had just left.
Lucius was lifted from the ground by an angry Antonin. He whispered to the wizard, "What have you done? Where are they?"
Antonin smiled menacingly, "I took care of them both. You filthy blood-!"
Lucius did not give the man time to finish before he jammed his wand into the man's temple and spoke the incantation, "Obliviate!"
He fell to the ground with Antonin. He barely had time to viciously wipe tears from his eyes as Bellatrix's laughter preceded her arrival.
"All done, here?" She skipped merrily as she took in the Dark Mark, signaling victory, over the alleyway down the street.
Lucius glared at Antonin, daring the man to speak an ill word. But dumbfounded and with no memory of the event, Antonin dipped his head in the positive. "All done here."
Lucius lingered behind the group of Death Eaters as they disApparated, one by one. But there was no time to go back as Muggle sirens sounded in the distance. There would be no reason to return to the scene now – they were both gone. Instead, he followed Bellatrix, cloaked in shame.
Hermione awoke to summer birds noisily calling to each other; the sun was mid-way through the sky outside. She shifted on the bed she had unintentionally borrowed and closed her eyes as a calming scent entered her nose. Not recalling when she exactly fell asleep, she threw the covers off her and glanced about the room she had taken for the night. The room was outfitted in shades of navy and gray and toy Quiddich figures sat on a dresser across from her. Gingerly, she slid off the bed (it was perched higher than she was accustomed to) and rolled her neck. Normally she would have taken the time to properly shower and change, but raised voices downstairs indicated something was important was being discussed.
Details of the eventful night came rushing back as she stepped into the hall and tip-toed across the creaky wooden floors. Voices carried through the floor boards.
"The Ministry is in disarray, he is angry, this could present the perfect opportunity." Hermione paused as she recognized her Potions professor's signature drawl. What was Snape doing here? What was the perfect opportunity?
"He is too young, Severus." Narcissa sounded exhausted yet resolute.
"I was nearly his age…" Snape countered.
"And Dumbledore was a fool to allow you to do it!" Kingsley replied. Just what were they discussing?
"I assure you Dumbledore did not allow me to do anything. I made the choice willingly. All I am saying is present him the facts and allow him to do the same. He is skilled in Occlumency, and would be protected, I can assure you. Should something happen to me, you would be glad for the additional tool in your arsenal," Snape sarcastically clipped.
"I will not willingly sacrifice my son. Not when my husband has been just carted off to Azkaban," Narcissa snapped.
The hushed voices of the three adults grew louder as Hermione approached the stairs. As she suspected, her father, Narcissa, and Severus Snape were huddled over a kitchen island and effectively ended the conversation as she rounded the corner.
Knowing they wouldn't answer her, she asked the question anyway with a raised brow. "Why would you willingly sacrifice Draco?"
Narcissa threw Snape a withering glance before turning to her god-daughter. She smiled, but it did not reach the sadness in her eyes. "It seems as if we are being recruited to join the Order," she replied, though Hermione gathered that was not the complete truth.
Hermione's brow furrowed. "What's happened?"
Kingsley sighed and pushed the morning Prophet across the island to her. Walking up to the counter, she read the bold headline: "Fudge ousted with a vote of no-confidence; Several department heads leave in his wake."
"After the battle last night," Kingsley explained, "The Wizengamot met, sans Umbridge, and gave a vote of no-confidence in Fudge. They believe him unable to handle Voldemort's return."
Hermione unfolded the paper, quickly scanning the rest of the article. "Then who will be named Minister?" she wondered aloud, "Did he have a Deputy?"
Severus glanced at Kingsley meaningfully before he replied, "No. Many in his office, including several department heads left with him. The Wizengamot will meet this afternoon to vote in a new Minister for Magic. Dumbledore and your father will be there."
Hermione set down the paper as she hopped on a stool. "Right, well it's certainly been a hectic twenty-four hours."
The three shared an indiscernible look as Kingsley approached his daughter, a sudden weight in his eyes. "Hermione, you should know. There are several who may offer my name for consideration."
Beyond her, Narcissa nodded in obvious agreement, as Hermione rapidly thought through the numerous ramifications of this development. "But we were supposed to spend time together this summer? And if this happens…"
"Then that time will be cut short and you both will be thrust into the political spotlight," Snape finished for her.
Kingsley continued, "I know that school has kept us from not spending as much time as we would like together, and this effectively throws a wrench in things, but we can still have that time together. I still want to go with you to meet your parents. But before I leave for the vote this afternoon, I wanted to hear from you. You do have a say in this."
Hermione was silent for a moment as she chewed on her bottom lip. "We can't let the Ministry fall into the wrong person's hands," she weighed the options. "If Voldemort were to get a man inside the Ministry, then the Order will be that more disadvantaged." Shoulders squared, she pressed on, "If there is no one else, then it should be you."
"Sweetheart, are you sure?" Kingsley pressed, though internally pleased with her logic. "Moving our family into such a spotlight will come with unintended consequences. Some I will try to protect you from, but it will be difficult, especially with a coming war."
"The penalty for not participating in government is that you end up governed by your inferiors," Hermione summarized Plato and nodded her acquiescence. She wanted her father to do good for the Ministry, for their world, just like she did, and she found herself agreeing. "You should take the position, if it is offered."
"Alright, with your blessing, I will." He gave Hermione a hug. "Now, there is a matter of next steps."
Snape picked up from there. "Draco and the other students are set to be dismissed tomorrow. Ms. Granger, I assume you are not returning with me for the remainder of the school year?"
"Seeing how it is only for one day, I suppose I don't see a reason. I've finished my O.W.L.s," Hermione replied. "Is that alright?"
"I am not Headmaster nor your head of house, do not look at me as if I care," Snape cooly replied. "I will Apparate Draco here once the students have dismissed. I'll have the elves send your things, here, I presume?" Hermione nodded to which Snape dismissed himself.
Once he left, Kingsley turned to Hermione. "After the meeting, we can leave from here to meet your parents. Does that sound alright?"
Hermione nodded.
"Great, stay here and rest. I'll need to meet Dumbledore before we head to the Ministry. And so you know, everyone from last night is alright. Luna is resting well at St. Mungo's, Tonks should be released soon. And your friends have returned to Grimmauld to spend time with Sirius and the others."
"That's good to hear." Relief spread through Hermione. "I'll write them later today."
Kingsley left shortly thereafter and Hermione and Narcissa busied themselves about Crestmoor. Narcissa remained quiet throughout the day; though Hermione did not know the witch well, it seemed unusual behavior. But Hermione didn't know how to broach the subject as they waited on news from the Ministry, so she left it alone.
The hour grew late and still no news had come. By time dinner was served, Hermione's stomach was in a ball of knots. The two witches had just tucked into a summer salad when Kingsley's patronus, a lynx, strolled into the kitchen.
"I've been elected Minister for Magic. Certain procedures require I stay through the evening. I'll return in the morning."
It was as Hermione feared, yet expected. She sighed as the lynx disappeared. "I guess, I shouldn't be surprised," she started the conversation after she had taken a bite of her salad.
Narcissa nodded thoughtfully in agreement. "Your father has long been considered for the position. I'm surprised honestly it took this long."
Hermione pushed her curls from her forehead. "What does mean now? I guess it would have been too much to hope for a quiet summer."
Narcissa took a sip of water. "I daresay, Hermione, the fun for you has just begun," Narcissa chuckled in a way that instantly made her think of her mother and the first time she boarded at King's Cross.
Over the coming days, Hermione was grateful for the reclusiveness of Crestmoor. She and Kingsley's movements were a hot topic for the press in the wake of Voldemort's return. The political sphere of the wizarding world actively postured that Kingsley would declare an all-out war; not to mention their personal lives were a common source of entertainment for the gossip mills.
While Kingsley readied the Ministry, he ordered the renovation of his family home for Hermione's arrival. Until then, she agreed to stay at Crestmoor in the interim. She honestly did not feel like facing her friends' questions, or the press, and was grateful for a moment of peace.
Until Draco arrived a few days later from Hogwarts.
Gooseflesh rose on her arms as he entered the house with his trunk. The two teens stared at each other across the entryway. Despite sharing a school for five years, it felt dangerously intimate sharing a living space with the blond.
Her heart began to race as he came inside to greet his mother first before dipping his head in greeting to her.
Then the arguing had started.
Inadvertently, Hermione had taken his room on the upper level, but she stubbornly refused to move once she'd settled in. The room did wonders to calm her, though she wouldn't tell anyone that, and she placed her foot down on the matter. Knowing Narcissa would take her side, she smirked when his mother chided Draco to be more hospitable, and bade he take the room on the lower level.
Things became incredibly tense when Draco learned that his father had been arrested due to her friends' actions at the Ministry that night. Hermione kept mum where she had stunned Lucius and prohibited his escape.
Cold shoulders and heated glances between the two erupted over their morning meal less than a day later. It started with Hermione asking Draco to pass the butter, and Draco inserted a snip about her friends. She knew he was hurt about the situation overall, but she was agitated and found she couldn't take it any longer.
"Your father's choices led to his where he is. It's not the Order's fault he's in Azkaban!" Hermione finally spoke the truth, tired of walking on eggshells around Draco's feelings.
Eyes darkened, Draco accused over their morning porridge, "Potter had to go sticking his nose where it didn't belong. This would have never happened if it were for his bloody need to play 'hero'."
Hermione shot back, "Harry thought his god-father was in trouble! He was doing what he thought was best!"
"Your god-father needed assistance," Draco emphasized to her. "And yet you did nothing to help him."
"What was I supposed to do?" Hermione said between clenched teeth. "Turn tail and fire upon my friends?"
"It's what he did for you!"
Both pushed from the table, and rose from their seats. They stared at each other, accusation sharp and heated between them.
Something sharply stung her chest, but she ignored it as she pointed her finger at Draco. "I repaid your father for saving my life, by carrying out his final wish. To see you and your mother to safety. If you can't see that, then you need you to grow up."
"Of course, you'd never see it from my side," he snarled at her. "The world hails St. Potter and holier-than-thou Granger-turned-pureblood-princess, while my mother and I are holed away in some Muggle village. I can't visit my friends because the Dark Lord is seeking to kill my family and I'm supposed to be grateful you followed my father's wishes."
"What more do you what me to do?!"
"I want you to pick a bloody side, Granger! Your family or your friends!?"
"Just as you have, you mean?" she accused with narrow eyes. "What are doing, Draco? I don't know if you've heard, but there's a war coming! The Order has brought you and your mother under their protection. Just what are you going to do about it?"
"Why the bloody hell do you need to know what I'm doing? And I didn't ask for your or the bloody Order's protection!"
Hermione rolled her eyes and crossed her arms at the blond's arrogance. "Regardless, what are you going to do about it? Sit around and sulk?"
"Draco! Hermione!" Narcissa admonished as she swept into the kitchen, gloved hands on her hips. She had been dressed for outdoor work and was flushed from the summer sun. "I could hear you two all the way out in the garden," she chastised them both. "What in Merlin's name are you two yelling about?"
Hermione shot Draco a look, almost daring him to speak.
Draco's nostrils flared in agitation, before he returned to his seat. "Nothing," he clipped, his eyes trained on Hermione.
Likewise, Hermione returned to her seat. She sighed, and briefly closed her eyes before also responding, "Nothing."
Narcissa glanced between the two, disbelieving, but chose not to press the matter. The following days were awkward and filled with strain. Narcissa did her best to ease the tension been between her son and god-daughter. Hermione frequently caught Narcissa and Draco furiously arguing in whispered tones about something important, though she could not tell what it was.
In other matters, Kingsley often wrote to her during his days at the Ministry. It was through these letters that Hermione learned of updates on Voldemort's movements. Apparently, he was furious since his defeat at the Department of Mysteries and sought vengeance against the Order. Since that fateful day, Voldemort had gone underground someplace unknown and actively recruited members for his army.
Kingsley was kept desperately busy at the Ministry; it took a whole week for him to find an afternoon to visit her parents. However, she recognized his need for structure, organization, and perfect execution, so Hermione could not begrudge him the time needed to get his new administration up and somewhat running.
In early July, they finally made the trip to her parents' two story colonial. She was anxious, but not nervous, the moment she rang the doorbell to her family home. The door opened and finally, after that disastrous time in March when Rita Skeeter had spilled the beans about her parentage, Hermione could sit and have an actual conversation between the four of them. Hermione did most of the talking, explaining how she had come to learn about her pureblood birth parents, how she and her birth mother were attacked, with she later placed for adoption within the Muggle community. Kingsley filled in where he could, though he was clearly uncomfortable with the subject of the attack. But the respect he paid the Grangers for raising Hermione was genuine. After a few hours, the last of uncomfortableness washed away.
Over a lunch of fish and chips, Hermione asked if it was alright to spend more time with Kingsley and the world he came from. She didn't say out loud that she was rapidly beginning to think of it as home, but she had an inkling her parents knew how excited she was. They always knew there was a possibility that she might find her birth parents, and never seeking to discourage her, gave their blessing to spend a trial period with Kingsley. She almost legally an adult, she would be seventeen come September, but her parents gave their formal blessing anyway. All four the left the Grangers' on good terms, and Hermione promised to write.
As they left the Grangers', Kingsley turned to a jubilant Hermione. "So, I am available for a few days while the various departments assemble status reports. How would you like to stop by the continent?"
Hermione's brows raised in anticipation. "To France?" she asked suggestively.
"There's this place I've been waiting to show you," he winked at her as he took a hold of her hand and Apparated them away.
The next day, Narcissa, Kingsley, and Hermione left for a country village on the outskirts of Marseille, France. Draco had been invited to travel with them, but declined to spend time with Severus, or away from her, Hermione mused. That was fine by Hermione as the three English wizards landed at the edge of rose garden that was as vast as it was wide; Hermione felt butterflies settle within her joints as she beheld the picturesque country manor.
A bountiful arch framed the entryway to the gardens and the pristine white-brick manor beyond. Covered in vines, the famed house words Hermione had previously read about were etched upon its arch stone: Grace a la lumiere et de l'amour. As Hermione passed under House Delacour's words she felt a warm magic wash over and greet her.
Just as quickly, a witch no older than Narcissa, with flowing straw-blonde locks rushed from the front entrance onto the pebbled driveway to greet them.
As she neared, she greeted in exhilaration, "Zis house knows when a daughter of Delacour has returned. Mon Cherie!" The witch, ignoring Kingsley and Narcissa, wrapped her arms around a stunned Hermione. "Can it be?"
Fleur Delacour, who had grown even more beautiful since Hermione saw her last, followed behind the woman, along with her sister. "Maman? Who is it?"
"Oh, Fleur, Gabrielle. Come quickly," she bade to the part-Veela. "Kins-ley? Narcissa? Oh, is it true?" The French witch spoke very fast. It was difficult to understand her English over her thick accent. "We read in the papers, but we weren't sure." The woman turned back to Hermione and began inspecting her face, her hair. "Oh, you look so much like your mother."
Kingsley smiled as he leaned forward to kiss the witch. "Yes, Apolline it is true." He turned to Hermione and made the formal introductions. "This is Hermione, born Emmeline Shacklebolt. And Hermione, this is Apolline Delacour, Marie's sister, your Aunt."
Apolline leaned down to place double air-kisses on Hermione's cheeks. Fleur and Gabrielle followed in quick succession as hugs and kisses were exchanged all around. "Oh, I knew as soon as ze wards alerted me. The blood does not lie." She turned to the group with tears in her eyes. "Please, please. Do come in."
They spent the remainder of the day learning about Hermione's life and reminiscing about Marie. Apolline had many pictures of the witch from when were children and shared them with Hermione, insisting they were hers to keep. Soon after, she left the room only to return with something in her hands. She presented the small gift to Hermione.
Inside her cupped hand was as a small golden charm in the shape of a rose. It was outfitted with precious rubies and emeralds.
"After Kins-ley gave you a bracelet upon your birth, Marie wrote to me. She wanted ze insignia of our House, a rose, made for you as well." She handed the rose charm to Hermione, who took it humbly. "I'm sorry, mon Cherie, zhat she is not 'ere to give it to you, but please accept it on our behalf."
Kingsley beamed proudly as his daughter accepted the charm and affixed it to her bracelet. Now she had two charms to represent her birth parents. She would carry them both for the rest of her life.
"I'd be honored to. Thank you," Hermione said to Apolline with unshed tears in her eyes.
During her time at the Delacour estate, Hermione spent little time alone. She went shopping for a new wardrobe, visited Beaubaxtons, and spent time about the lush Delacour library. Summer in the south of France was more oppressive than it was in England, but Hermione loved that her new selection of clothes, courtesy of Narcissa, made it more a comfortable experience. Sadly, summer was nearly halfway over, which meant less time to spend with Kingsley, Appoline, and even Narcissa, who she was coming quickly to regard as a friend.
They were currently on the fifth day of their visit to the Delacour estate. As she dressed in her guest room, Hermione unfurled a piece of parchment she had brought with her and glanced over the list of text she had been compiling since this past Spring. Chewing on her bottom lip, she pocketed the piece of parchment (her new white dress had pockets, fancy that!) and shut her bedroom door or her way to join Narcissa, Apolline, and Fleur for tea. Kingsley had left via portkey for the Ministry earlier that day (an emergency he stated). He would be back for dinner, but Hermione was content to spend the day with the elegant witches.
One way or another she was going to get answers to her questions.
She felt woefully out of place with the beautiful women dressed in varying shades of blush, sky blue, and white as they chatted amicably on the veranda under a great, white parasol. But they never made her felt out of place as they chatted about various matters.
Once their conversation had come to a comfortable break, Hermione bravely asked her question. "I've read that the Veela gene in the Delacour line originated from the original gene pool, in what is now Sweden. Is that correct?"
Narcissa set her tea cup down, somewhat surprised at the sudden line of questioning. But it was Apolline who answered Hermione, smiling at her cleverness.
"Zat is correct, mon Cherie. Ze Veela gene is passed through ze matrilineal line, as I'm sure you know," she explained as she poured herself a cup of tea. "Ze Delacour Veela gene dates back to ze first gang of Veela in ze 1100s. Our ancestor, Shaera, migrated to France and established ze Maison de Delacour. We have been 'ere ever since."
"And, Shaera, was it? She married a Delacour?" Hermione queried, wishing desperately for parchment and quill as she committed this conversation to memory.
Apolline shook her head in the negative. "She was with child when she arrived and established Delacour as her surname. She wanted ze child to have a normal life. You zee, Veela were hunted for zeir venom and hair in ze old country. Zey were used for potions, dark magic, and ze like. But Shaera did not want that for her child. So, she gave birth 'ere, to a daughter. Zhat daughter grew to marry a wizard, and following her mother, kept the Delacour surname and passed it onto 'er child and zeir children, after them."
Hermione nodded and turned to Fleur. "Your mother and you are part-Veela." It was a statement, not a question. Hermione remembered how Fleur's status as a magical creature during her fourth-year had been a hot topic, especially among the boys in her year.
"I am half," Apolline spoke for her daughter with a nod. "My Fleur is only part. Ask your question, niece. Zere is no need to 'ide amongst family."
Hermione swallowed, before reverting to her original line of question. "Was my mother half-Veela, as well? Am I?"
Apolline smiled as she signaled for more tea to be brought out. "Marie and I were both half-Veela, yes. But she never matured…"
"Matured?" Narcissa asked, as she poured a new cup of tea for herself and for Hermione.
It was Fleur who then answered, "At age seventeen, the child matures to a full-blooded Veela, or in my mother's case and mine, a part-Veela. Seventeen is when traditional traits are presented."
"At seventeen, I inherited my Veela traits," Apolline agreed. "At seventeen, my Fleur did as well. As will Gabrielle, if she matures. However, Marie, never matured when her seventeenth had approached and gone. She grew as a witch, but did not display ze traits our family naturally possess. After matriculation from Beaubaxtons, she was arranged to the 'eir of House Shacklebolt in England. Mother thought it would be best for her to start life anew across the sea."
Hermione pondered, "Was she sad about the arrangement?"
"Marie was always a stubborn thing. She was against zhe marriage from the start, but swooned the moment she met your father," Apolline recalled the day in question. "If I am honest, I think we all did, he was tres beau in his tailored dress robes."
The older witches at the table nodded in agreement, and Hermione blushed imagining the witches fantasizing about her father in his absence.
"Afterward, it did not matter that she had never matured," Apolline continued with a sigh. "She moved to 'is family home in Cambridge after ze wedding, had you, and was very happy."
Hermione gave a tight smile. Until the war, she thought to herself.
Apolline took a sip of her tea before continuing, "But zhat is not all you wish to ask, is it, child?"
Hermione hesitated, balling her cotton napkin within her lap. "I somewhat suspected based on what I've read, but I can't be sure. Did you experience any … symptoms before you both matured? That is to say, were there any signs before your seventeenth?"
Narcissa quickly put two and two together. "Hermione, have you been experiencing symptoms of late?"
The table leaned forward in anticipation of her response.
Hermione took a deep breath and cautiously responded, "I've only really begun to take note since this Spring…"
Apolline nodded understandingly. "A traditional time for full-blooded Veela to mate. Oui, go on."
Now even more apprehensive, Hermione swallowed and pulled the scrap of parchment from her pocket. Unfurling the parchment, she recounted the symptoms, "A heightened sense of smell. I can pick up distinct odors from across a room. In fact, all of my senses seem sharper. I attributed the earlier agitation and anxiety due to our upcoming O.W.L.s, but what you said about Spring and Veela patterns makes me think I may have been wrong. And…" she trailed off in embarrassment, her face surely aflame as she read over the latest symptom: one she had only added recently.
Narcissa placed a gentle hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Go on, dear. You are amongst family."
Hermione nodded. "Well ordinarily, I wouldn't go shopping for the sake of it, but it seems that overnight, my … my body has … altered." She was sure she was blushing now as she stared at her hands in her lap.
Narcissa titled her head thoughtfully as she recalled Hermione's shyness during their recent excursion to Paris. "You have curves where you did not seemingly have them before?" she gently finished for her god-daughter.
Hermione nodded, grateful the witch said it and not she. "Yes!" she exclaimed, thoroughly embarrassed. She pulled her arms closer to her body, trying not to draw attention to her breasts which had begun to grow in weight steadily over last month. Her hips were snug in all her old skirts and pants, and they were all too short on her legs. She gathered she had grown nearly two inches since the end of the term.
"When is your seventeenth, Hermione?" Fleur asked.
Narcissa and Hermione shared a glance. "A little over a month," Hermione replied evenly.
"Hmm," Apolline frowned. "Ze symptoms you are describing generally occurred after ze seventeenth birthday 'as passed. Do they not, Fleur?"
"Oui," the pretty witch nodded, a frown between her neat brows.
"Then what does that mean?" Hermione nearly screeched, though she quickly apologized for her mini-outburst. She was truly worried now. "You said my mother never matured. Is there a chance that I won't as well?" Even as she spoke the question, she felt in her gut she knew the answer. Because genetics were a fickle thing, and what usually skipped in the previous generation, typically appeared, sometimes exponentially, in the following generation.
"It may mean nothing at all, 'ermione," Fleur attempted to soothe her cousin's worry.
Apolline relaxed in her chair. "Or it could mean you will mature into a Veela. Not a full-blooded one, since Marie was not one, but a potentially strong one nonetheless."
Hermione quickly recalled her facts from her magical creatures' class. "But Veela have pale hair and eyes." Hermione gestured to herself. "I'm-"
"You are an alluring witch with beautiful amber eyes, and skin the color of café au lait. It is not ze looks that matter, mon cherie. It is the blood. It is always the blood," Apolline finished for her.
Hermione took a deep breath for purchase. "Then what happens next? When a Veela matures? What traits did you gain when you reached maturity?" she asked to the two Veela at the table.
Fleur and Apolline shared a look. "It is hard to say," Apolline answered simply.
Fleur tried to explain, "Ze traits are not always the same from generation to generation. I received the ability to charm men to my will, sharpened senses. My sister, Gabrielle, may spout wings or nothing at all. But my mother…"
"I need to take the vein of my mate to live," Apolline stated factually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. "My Veela recognized my mate when I was eighteen. Magical law required that he be with me, but I wanted 'im to love me for who I was. It is not often, but I take 'is vein to sustain myself. Eventually we fell in love, married, and had two beautiful daughters, but all that Fleur said is true. You can have all of it, or none of it. It depends on ze blood."
Hermione pictured herself sprouting wings; it was almost enough to make her laugh. Delirium started to take over. "And how will I know?"
"The morning of your seventeenth birthday or shortly thereafter. Your Veela will tell you," Apolline informed her. But that didn't make sense. Was this Veela her, or a separate entity within?
"But my seventeenth is during school," she looked imploringly at Narcissa. "What am I supposed to say to my teachers…my friends?!"
Narcissa smile was tight as she tried to reassure the witch with a sympathetic nod. "Don't worry, dear. I'll speak to Dumbledore and Minerva. Merlin, I'll even speak with Severus."
Hermione vigorously shook her head at that.
But Narcissa insisted, "Hermione, he really is the best at keeping secrets should you want no one to know. I know he will be able to help you while you are at school."
"It's better first to find out if you are or not," Apolline reminded her, to which Fleur nodded in agreement. "No need to get in a panic over something that might never occur."
Hermione looked to Apolline and Narcissa, "Do you think Marie knew?"
"No, I don't think she could have known," Narcissa replied gently. "But she would have told you the history, I'm sure." After a pause, she pressed further, "Hermione, do you want me to tell your father?"
Hermione shook her head, not ready for that conversation. "I'll tell him, but not yet. He has a lot going on at the Ministry for now. And I need to think this over."
What if she was a Veela? What would mean for her going forward? Her head grew heavy with theories, and unapologetically, she asked, "Do you mind if I visit your library for a few?"
an: Since this chapter has now been posted, I've updated spoiler tags appropriately. *does a jig* Whoop, I'm so excited for what's coming! Til next time, ~L