Good evening, my darlings! I, again, have plans on Saturday, so you get your chapter early. I suppose if this disrupts your usual reading plans, you can wait until tomorrow, I don't mind. I am so excited for this chapter! Hope you enjoy it.
Chapter 23 Mother Daughter Bonding.
The morning post arrived as Hermione sat down at the table. Witch Weekly declared Hermione and Marcus a handsome couple, and posted a two page spread of photos: Marcus escorting her through the lobby, posing for the photographers, both of them warmly greeting Viktor, then waltzing, and Hermione's favorite, the two gazing at one another, love radiating on their faces. The Quibbler mentioned they attended and mentioned a lack of nargles affecting the couple. Hermione assumed that was a good sign. The Daily Prophet, or rather Rita Skeeter, took a different stance.
Below the fold, Skeeter's headline declared the Lestrange Heiress to be a man hungry jersey chaser.
Dear Readers, Last night Miss Lestrange entered the fete on the arm of Falcon star chaser, Marcus Flint. Then she flirted her way through dinner with Vulture's seeker, Viktor Krum. She spent the evening dancing with both men, using her wiles to play one against the other. One wonders what Miss Lestrange plans to gain by playing these fine young men against one another? And when will they see through her games? Be assured, I intend to find out.
"What is she thinking, attacking a member of the Sacred 28?" mused Lucius.
"I've heard rumor Ms. Skeeter fancies herself in love with Marcus, despite his refusal to even speak with her. This isn't the first time she's attacked a woman linked to him." Narcissa frowned.
"I'm surprised the editor let it run," remarked Rabastan.
Hermione calmly shredded the article then incinerated the scraps. "You must excuse me, I have an errand to run."
Bellatrix eyed her, "Of what kind?"
"I have a foul, loathsome cockroach to grind beneath my heel." She stood, pulling her crystal wand from her bag.
"Oh shite, you mean Skeeter," Draco paled.
"I do. She seems to have forgotten our earlier lesson about lying."
With a turn that would have Snape green with envy, she whirled and exited the room. Bellatrix caught up with her at the floo. "Stop." Hermione paused. "Glamour that, you don't want people knowing you have two wands. And tuck it in your hands, plausible deniability if no one sees you had a wand." Hermione stared, her mouth slightly open from surprise. "I do know how to avoid suspicion. I was caught red-handed with the Longbottoms, no point denying it." She gestured for Hermione to go through first.
The reception desk of the Prophet faced the door, two sets of frosted glass double doors flanked it. A few leafy plants decorated the area. The young woman at the desk matched the pale gray walls. At the sight of the two curly haired witches approaching what little color was left in her cheeks drained. "Miss Skeeter isn't in her office. I haven't seen her leave, either. Mr. Cuthbert is in a meeting."
"Why...?" started Bellatrix.
"You look angry," the girl flinched when Hermione's frown deepened. "Most angry people are looking for Rita. She snuck in a lot of inferences and insults in her last few articles."
"Which way to Skeeter's office?" Hermione inquired politely.
"To the right, at the end of the hall go right, her office is in the back corner," the girl answered nervously, looking unsure.
"Thank you." Hermione went through the doors to the right of the desk. To the left, she heard yelling. "Bad day to be the editor."
"Perhaps he should keep his reporter on a shorter leash."
"Or in a glass jar," muttered Hermione. Before opening Skeeter's door she flicked her wand. A faint blue glow returned to her. "Gotcha," she whispered.
"The receptionist said she wasn't in," Bellatrix looked confused.
"Sh, not looking for a human." Hermione slowly turned the doorknob and slid the door open. "Glacius." She pulled the door shut. "5,4,3,2, and 1." She reopened the door. "Accio Skeeter bug." A tiny beetle flew into her hand.
"What is that?" Bellatrix demanded.
"Not here. Do you have an out-of-the-way house or something?"
"Cottage Black near Devon, it's barely anything," Bellatrix shrugged.
"Does it have a roof and four standing walls?"
"The elves kept it in good repair."
"That's all we need."
Hermione transfigured a jar and dumped the bug in. She poked one hole in the lid and dropped it in her bag. "Out the front then side-along us to the cottage." As an afterthought, she scribbled a note. 'Honesty is the best policy. We'll talk later.'
Bellatrix snorted, "She couldn't be honest if her life depended on it."
"Once, I'm finished with her it won't matter." She led Bellatrix out of the building.
Cottage Black sat near a cliff overlooking the English Channel. The hatch roofed stone building sat inside a stone wall with a wooden gate. Bellatrix disabled the security wards. The inside of the building matched the quaintness of the outside. "This is lovely," Hermione remarked. She waved her wand placing Helga Hufflepuff's private security wards. No living thing, plant, or animal would be leaving the area.
Hermione had expected Ravenclaw or Slytherin to be the most paranoid about security, but it had been the gentle badger wanting to contain her experiments. Only air could pass through the barrier once erected. She opened the jar. The bespectacled beetle launched itself from her cage and sped for the window, only to crash into the wards. Spinning it flew at the door ending with the same results. "Come now, Rita, how dumb do you think we are? Change back, the sooner you start begging for your life the sooner this will all be over."
"Rita? Is that bug Skeeter?" demanded Bellatrix.
"It is," Hermione continued to watch the beetle buzz about looking to escape. "There's no way out, Rita. Just give up."
"How did you know?"
"During 4th year Skeeter kept exposing private conversations and information. Every time those conversations took place a bug was obtrusively nearby. We suspected she was spying, and we were right. Caught her in bug form and kept her in a jar for months. Guess she didn't learn her lesson." The bug slowed down before landing on the end table. "I have ways of forcing you to change forms. I promise those methods will hurt you." Nothing happened. "Mummy Dearest, would you zap Miss Skeeter with something painful?"
"Afraid to get your hands dirty?" sneered Bellatrix.
"Certainly not, I thought you might want to join in the fun."
She pointed her wand at Skeeter, "Bombarda." The force of the spell flung the beetle up into the air with another flick Hermione conjured a fly swatter and smacked Rita into the wall. "Come on, Rita, or don't, maybe Mummy wants to play."
"No, darling, by all means, you have fun. This has been enlightening." Bellatrix waved her hand dismissively.
"I guess it's just you and me, cockroach." She sent Skeeter a feral grin, "I wonder what would happen if I enlarged you and pulled off your antennae and wings? I mean, besides no more flying." She cocked her head to the side, "Should we try, Mummy Dearest?"
Rita landed on the floor in the far corner. She transformed, slumping against the wall. "You win, you win," she panted. "You sound like Granger, you almost look like Granger, but Lestrange would never be helping a mudblood, let alone allow one to call her mummy."
Hermione sent a stinging hex at her, "Don't be vulgar, Rita. It's unbecoming of a lady. On second thought, go ahead, you really aren't a lady. And I am not Hermione Granger, muggleborn. I am Hermione Lestrange, pureblood." Skeeter's mouth opened and closed several times. "Stop that you look like a codfish. Now what to do with you?" she tapped her want against her lips. "You've been warned about publishing your opinions and lies. You didn't listen. This problem needs to be dealt with swiftly and permanently." Skeeter flinched.
"No, please, don't kill me. I can keep my mouth shut, no more reporting on you, I swear."
"I'm not going to kill you." Bellatrix frowned and Skeeter sagged with relief. "That's too simple, too quick. Your suffering ends if I kill you."
Bellatrix viewed Hermione with renewed interest. Skeeter paled further. "Her death doesn't have to be quick. She can suffer."
"Still, only a short time. We're too busy to keep coming back to tend to her. My punishment will last for the rest of her life, with no effort on our parts." She fingered her wand, "Tell me, Rita, have you ever heard of the Seer Cassandra? The Greek god Apollo fell in love with her, so he gave her the gift of true prophecy. When she spurned his advances he cursed her so no one would believe her. The Greek army sacked her beloved Troy. She Saw it, but remained powerless to stop it." She flashed a mean little grin, "We feel sorry for Cassandra because she was innocent. No one will feel sorry for you."
"How is having the Sight and no one believing me a punishment?" asked Rita.
"That's not what's going to happen. No one will ever believe you again. So, maybe I should have used the Boy-Who-Cried-Wolf as a comparison."
Hermione pulled the Founders Journal from her bag. She found the section on curses. Silently she cast the spell with glowing orange light. She made a show of lowering the wards. "Off you pop, Rita.
We're finished here."
Realizing she could escape, Skeeter lashed out, "I'm going to destroy you! My editor will bury you in litigation. I'm going to tell everyone who you are."
"No, you aren't," snapped Bellatrix. The anger faded and she looked at Hermione in awe, "I know what you did and it STILL affected me."
"Subtle, I know," admitted Hermione. "It lacked any violence."
"But bloody brilliant." Bellatrix beamed at her with pride. "And the perfect punishment. I never would have considered letting anyone get without bleeding."
"I did rough her up a bit."
"Why did you skip any of the darker spells?" She gestured for the two to walk away from the sputtering Skeeter.
"Several reasons: one, we were seen at the Prophet looking for her. Even if they don't believe her, dark energy would trigger an investigation. Two, magic is about intent. Traditional light spells can cause as much damage as other more sinister spells. One of the things Dumbledore and I could never agree on. And, three, I enjoy proving him wrong."
"Hermione," Bellatrix stopped walking, "I have been a spiteful bitch since you arrived. But you've proved me wrong at every turn. I won't apologize, but I would like to start fresh."
"I'd like that, too. I should probably stop calling you Mummy Dearest. It isn't the nicest of titles or movies."
"Was this woman a cruel bitch?"
"She could be," Hermione admitted.
"And somewhat of a badass?"
"In her field."
"I'll keep it. Kind of like the sound of it."
"As you wish, Mummy Dearest."
When Marcus asked if he needed to do anything about Skeeter she laughed and assured him it was all fine.
-oOoOo-
October gave way to November as Hermione spent most of her days reading through the Founders Journal. She met less and less with her tutors unless she encountered a topic that might interest them. Yaxley reacted like a child given a new toy when she asked him to help her study Merlin's hood.
The hood seemed to behave in the exact opposite manner as Harry's invisibility cloak. It revealed hidden things, living objects, even through walls, disillusions, and charms meant to hide things. It would have been a spy's best friend. Like the cloak, it could not be summoned, though, unlike the cloak, it acted as a physical shield. She allowed Yaxley to write up the entry for the Journal since she had no intention of allowing him to report anything to the Ministry.
Hermione kept Circe's wand in her beaded bag, so she always had both wands with her. She used it often when attempting magic from the Journal. She wondered if the close affinity she felt resembled Harry's feelings about his holly wand. Ragnar advised her the Athens Gringotts were arranging travel visas to visit her. She hoped they would be able to fill in her background knowledge of crystal wand lore.
Nora convinced Hermione to attend a few of the practices as the regular season wound down. The players were only really keeping in shape in case they were selected by the national team. "Oakley is hopeful Marcus or Adrian will get a spot. He says they've come a long way."
"He doesn't think he'll claim a spot?" Hermione asked as they watched practice.
"No, he doesn't really want to either, all the training and travel. Maybe if the kids were older and we could go with him."
"I can see how that affects things. Do you travel with him much?"
"I used to, but kids and work, you know."
"I admire you putting your family before the fame and excitement of being with a quidditch player." Hermione glanced at a few of the tarted-up girlfriends and younger wives.
"You won't be indulging?" She glanced at Hermione.
"Only as much as needed to support Marcus. And if they are too annoying, I will sit with friends. The only person who matters is Marcus. He deserves the attention, not me."
"You keep wearing those daring dresses like you did, and you might find the focus on you more than you like." Nora laughed when Hermione made a face. "And some of the other wives can be nice, one on one. They only revert to girlfriend behavior when surrounded by the newer models."
"That's horrible."
One of the wives wandered over. She wore a tight boxy skirt and an open V-neck sweater. Her beige heels were 13 cm tall. "Nora, what are you doing over here?"
"Hello, Samantha, this is Hermione, Marcus's girlfriend."
"And this answers my question how?"
"I met her after the Cannons match. I want her to feel welcome." Nora smiled at Hermione.
"She's just a girlfriend, and barely one at that. She's been to one match and no practices," Samantha snapped back.
"My life doesn't revolve around Marcus, nor his mine. He knows I have other demands on my time and will be here when I can." Hermione smiled up winningly. "And that if I don't like any of you I can enjoy the game with friends in my own private box far away from you." Nora struggled to stifle her laughter as Samantha huffed back to the other wives. "Oh dear, I think I hurt her little feelings." Hermione deadpanned.
"If you do get your box can the kids and I sit with you?"
"Of course."
"Thank Merlin. We're the only ones with little kids right now, and the others can be difficult when I bring them. We're just in a different phase of life."
"That doesn't excuse rudeness. I'm sure they did or will bring their children to watch. Just because they are older or don't exist is no reason to make things harder for you."
"And it would do some of them good to do anything but sit around or shop all day." Hermione giggled at Nora's tone. "Be prepared for that, the players may push to see if you're after Flint's money, all the while ignoring their own gold digger."
Hermione giggled, "Perhaps I should start buying Marcus expensive gifts." Nora laughed.
"Ah, that's what every man likes to see his beautiful bride lit up with laughter!" Oakley swept Nora out of her seat and into his arms. Marcus walked up after him.
"What's so funny?"
"My suggestion is I could avoid being labeled a gold digger if I showered you with expensive things."
"The spiteful would think you bought them with my money."
"I hate people." He laughed and pulled her to him. He opened his mouth to respond when a hazy white cloud zipped in.
"Mione, it worked! You have to come. St. Mungo's, hurry, please."
"Was that?" asked Marcus.
"Neville? Yes, it might be his parents. I should go." She began looking around for her bag.
"Let me know how it goes." Marcus kissed her.
"I will, I'm sorry, thank you."
"Take a deep breath, and floo maybe. On second thought, let me take you." Before she could protest, he spun on the spot depositing them inside the lobby, away from the front door and gossipy visitors.
A helpful employee directed them to the room containing an ecstatic Neville and a healer. "This is a private consultation, miss."
Neville waved him off, "Hermione is a family friend. And this is the witch who suggested this treatment in the first place. I want her and she deserves to be here. Start from the beginning." Neville patted the seat next to him.
Marcus squeezed her shoulder, "I'll go."
"No," Neville interrupted, "Flint, you stay, too. Mione might need help with my emotions." Everyone but the healer laughed, and Marcus say in the wing chair as Hermione joined Neville on the smaller couch. Neville nodded to the healer.
"As I was saying, over the last two months both patients have become more interactive with their environment. Last week they began speaking. This morning both asked for their son. Once we established they knew he was grown and not a baby, we sent for you. Do you have any questions?"
"I don't think so," Neville frowned.
"Do you know how much of the past 15 years they remember? Or how much they remember from before the incident?"
"Not yet, be decided to build trust by accommodating their request before more testing."
"Wise choice," Hermione nodded.
"Is there anything I should or shouldn't do?" Neville asked.
"Honestly, we have no idea. This is brand new territory for all of us."
"May Hermione come in with me?"
The healer contemplated the question, "So long as her presence doesn't upset them."
"Then let's go," Neville looked at her. "You will come in right?"
"Of course."
"I'm going to wait out here," Marcus joked.
"If you don't think you can handle it," Neville quipped back. They chuckled again, "Let's do this." He stood, offering Hermione her hand. She took it allowing him the illusion that he was escorting her, not him clinging to her like a life raft.
Inside a plain visiting room two middle-aged patients sat together on the couch. Hermione recognized them from her visit to see Arthur Weasley back in 5th year. Both Frank and Alice Longbottom looked not only alert but engaged. Alice whispered something, and Frank squeezed her hand. They looked up when the door opened. Hesitantly. Neville stepped into the room. With a cry of joy, Alice leapt to her feet and threw herself at him. "My baby, oh, my beautiful baby boy." She hugged him fiercely. Frank swiftly followed his wife to embrace their son, Hermione becoming trapped in the middle of a family hug.
Frank pulled back, noticing Hermione for the first time, "Who is this lovely lady, then?"
Neville beamed, "This is my friend Hermione."
Alice looked at Frank knowingly, "Just a friend?"
"Yes, my oldest friend. She's the one who suggested this new treatment."
"Muggleborn?" guessed Frank.
Hermione grimaced, "It's complicated."
Frank nodded knowingly, "Pureblood adoption. I often told Albus that was the solution. But any friend who helps my son to this extent is a friend indeed."
"I am so sorry we left you, baby." Alice cupped Neville's face in her hands.
"How much do you remember after the incident?" Hermione asked.
"Bits and pieces flashes really," Frank admitted. "Until I saw him just now I didn't realize the young man who visited us was Neville, and he told us that every visit."
"Encountering people or things seem to bring back memories," admitted Alice.
"Well, please, pretend I'm not here." Hermione moved into the corner.
The Longbottoms sat together on the sofa. "Mum, Dad, what happened that night?"
Alice looked at her lap, Frank swallowed hard. "Bellatrix Lestrange and Barty Crouch, Jr showed up angry. They wanted to know what we knew about what happened to You-Know-Who. Couch didn't like being told to ask Dumbledore. Lestrange was completely unhinged. She kept demanding to know what was so special about us and the Potters. I don't know which one started the torture, but they both participated."
"Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange sent me an apology for not stepping in fast enough. They funded the research," reported Neville.
"How did they learn of it?" asked Alice.
"Hermione," Neville glanced at his friend," they adopted her when she needed a family."
Both older Longbottoms looked at her, "I was angry and it made perfect sense at the time, still does. They've been good to me."
Alice nodded, "The violence against innocents was the thing that sent us into the Order. Muggleborns need education to fully enter our society, they can be taught."
"And Mother pushed us to join," Frank added. His face hardened.
"Neville, when did you get a new wand?" asked Alice to break the tension.
"Uh, 6th year. I, uh, broke yours fighting in the Ministry."
"Why were you using mine?"
"Gran wanted me to."
"Did it work well for you?" asked Alice.
When Neville remained silent, Hermione spoke up, "It did not. His magic improved greatly after that. Though he didn't need it for his best subject. Your son is brilliant at Herbology!" Neville started to protest. "If you try and argue I will kick you in the shin repeatedly."
"Fine, you win." Neville chuckled.
"Good," she settled back into her chair. Both parents seemed to drop the subject of his wand, asking questions about his life and plans, excited to hear about his apprenticeship with Professor Sprout.
Yelling in the hallway alerted them to an issue. Augusta Longbottom burst into the room. "Why is there a Flint outside? And who? You're the Lestrange girl. How dare you show your face here?" demanded the woman, her vulture quivering glaring down from his perch.
"Hermione is Neville's friend, and our anonymous benefactor, or at least the brains of it. She is welcome anywhere and everywhere any Longbottom holds any sway," Frank barked.
"Francis! She's that bitch's daughter," Augusta protested.
"You don't see me inviting her mother to tea, do you?" Alice retorted.
"But if you wish to discuss guilt by association, let's discuss how much influence Albus Dumbledore had over my son, shall we?" Frank roared.
"Um, Nev, this sounds super personal. Call me later if you need to talk."
"I will, thank you, for everything," he promised and Hermione fled.
Marcus stared at the door after Hermione closed it. "What happened in there?"
"Apparently the Longbottoms aren't as staunchly light side as we were lead to believe.